deadlightsgirl requested: 11/River or 10/River.

My Future, Your Past

The only sound heard in the TARDIS was the sound of pencil sketching on a paper. The artist was quiet, only occasionally emitting a sigh when something seemed to go wrong.

“The ears are too big,” the blonde artist murmured for herself, carefully correcting the drawing. She looked at the men in front of her, his facial muscles relaxed and stoic.

An unconscious Doctor was as close as it ever got to him sleeping. At first the woman felt bad for attacking him like that earlier in the evening (or morning, or night, the TARDIS never specified), hitting him in the head from behind just so she can peacefully draw him into her diary. However, it was necessary. She wanted to have drawings of all his faces and when he was knocked out there was a little chance of spoilers for her. 

The sketching made River so focused that she did not even notice the Doctor opening his eyes. That was until he spoke.

“What is…River Song!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. The woman he saw die a few months earlier was sitting on the TARDIS floor with a book, no, it was a diary, in her lap, doodling something. The Doctor stood up with the speed of light.

“You’re not supposed to be here. This is not good. Not good at all.”

The blonde snapped out of her drawing trance and looked up at him. Almost my Doctor, she thought. The words almost left her lips but she managed to keep them in. 

“You are dead!” he exclaimed and her hearts skipped a beat.

“Spoilers, sweetie,” she reminded him with a sad smile. “However, now that you are awake you can as well be useful and pose for me, Doctor.”

His eyebrows shot up: “POSE? I am the last of the Time Lords, not an art project. And how did you get here anyway?” 

River simply offered him her hand with the vortex manipulator, outlining the unfinished drawing in her diary. Number ten.

“Alrighty. Nice bracelet, woman, but I need answers. Come on, tell me.”

“It’s a vortex manipulator, and that is all I can say. I am a time traveller, you know.”

The Doctor did not seem convinced trusting her would be a good idea. “I know,” he nodded. “You said that, the last time I saw you. You are from my future.”

So River Song was alive. Interesting. What point of time could she possibly come from?

“Sweet spoilers, Doctor. I cannot know about anything that happened when I encountered you last time. I am crossing the lines of my own time-line, it is not exactly safe to know what is coming from here.”

“And yet you crossed them.”

“And yet I did, yes.”

“You are risking the balance of the entire universe so you can draw a few pictures of me. Impossible woman!” 

They stared at each other for a while: him remembering her face from the Library; her trying to write his face into her memory forever.

“You have a drawing of my old regeneration in there,” he motioned at the blue TARDIS diary, daring to look at the filled pages for a second before River moved it.

“I have the pictures of all your faces, sweetie.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes when she added: “Well, almost. Now stay still and look hot.”

And so he stood there, posing for the strange woman from his future that was determined to draw his face into her book.