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She apologizes profusely to her belly that is just now beginning to curve outward, giving evidence of the new life it holds.
“Mummy can’t let him know. You see, your daddy is a time traveler - a Time Lord. We never quite manage to meet in the right order. It could be spoilers for him. Somehow he always turns up where the weeping angels are concerned. You think a bit of cleavage will distract him and the men from this rather primitive time? We’re only just past the ankle being scandalous here.”
She does up the last few notches of the black corset before examining herself and giving her hair one last little fluff.
“Oh, it’s going to distract, alright,” she says matter of factly, pushing her breasts up and adjusting them for maximum impact.
She puts on her trench coat, tying it round the middle for extra measure, throws on her fedora, and heads out into the city.
Really, she should have left New York long ago, but she doesn’t think it wise to travel by vortex manipulator more times than she has to whilst pregnant. She can’t help but need to help the people of this unsuspecting city. Most are safe, what with all of the people constantly in motion with their many eyes open and looking all about them, the angels can scarcely move. However, it just takes one angel to get loose from the hustle and bustle to wreak havoc and cause destruction. People just outside the city, on the outskirts and just beyond, will find themselves helplessly thrown back in time, and the past doesn’t need a load of nutters claiming to be from the 1930’s.
For the time being, she’s come up with a (so far) successful method of keeping the weakest point of the city watched over. It’s not her finest moment - stealing recently deceased cadavers, gluing their eyelids open, dressing them up, sitting them into a wheelchair, and throwing on a perception filter for good measure. Humans would simply not acknowledge the dead man’s presence, and the angels would surely believe he is alive. It was a whole lot of complicated settings, and quite a bit of tinkering, but she had managed it in the end. Unfortunately, they do tend to give off an eventual odour, fowl and unable to be disregarded. This leaves her with no choice but to swap out the old decoy for a new one (‘swap’ because she still thinks their families deserve a proper burial for the deceased), and she repeats the schtick over-and-over again. It’s a rubbish way to handle things, but it’s a plaster on a wound for the time being and will just have to do.
Knowing she is being watched by both humans and angels, she tries very hard to make it look good and properly real.
“C’mon, grandad, you love to sit here and look at the statues, don’t you? Always saying they inspire your work and whatnot. Old fool, but my old fool. If only gran were still here to sit with you, and keep you company…” Her words fade off mournfully, and she sniffles as she even sheds a small tear from her left eye. God, she is good, she thinks.
She leaves the wheelchair where her ‘grandad’ can see all of the angels and goes off on her way. Recklessly, she gives a quick blink, pleased when none of the angels move.
Oh, her husband certainly would not approve…
First is her father that shows up, right before her eyes by some sort of miracle.”
“Hello, dad.”
She knows her husband isn’t far off, and she isn’t mistaken. He nearly burns the whole of New York from the map, but then he is there and it makes something clench inside of her chest. She looks right at him, giving him no indication that anything is wrong or that she is hiding such an enormous, life-altering secret from him. Of course, she is pleasantly surprised that they seem to be on the same page for once. Knows who she is: check. Knows what she is: check. Knows that they are married: check.
She briefly wonders if they might finally stay that way, but the universe has never been so kind to her. Something always gets in the way where the love of her very long life is concerned. Everyone else has just been fodder for her loneliness; it’s only ever him. Her Doctor.
She catches herself as her hand subconsciously begins to raise to caress her unsettled stomach that holds life within it. She lowers it again, giving the Doctor her cheekiest smile, knowing he won’t see past it because he won’t want to see past it.
Then her parents are gone to a place where the TARDIS cannot reach.
It’s perfect. The absolute perfect hiding place.
Her vortex manipulator can just squeeze through, she knows, and she declines the Doctor’s offer of travel, thinking she could always see him once she’s had the baby. She asks him to drop her somewhere on Earth - as close as he can get - under the guise of simply dropping off her manuscript. She doesn’t want to travel too far by way of vortex manipulator in her current condition.
Just before he drops her, he asks her if she has any idea about a very curious story he saw in the paper, claiming bodies were being snatched then returned days later from the county morgue.
She just smirks and tells him that she hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about before she gives him a proper snog (who knows when the next one might be), and she steps out of the TARDIS, waiting as he dematerializes. She wastes no time in typing in coordinates onto the device strapped to her wrist.
She lands on her hands and knees, wind knocked from her body, and she feels the cool grass and earthiness beneath her fingers and palms. Nasty bit of time travel indeed, taking quite a lot out of her, but it is really her only option at the moment. She heaves, nearly clawing at the fastenings of her corset, and she takes in a great, heaving breath as she flings it to the ground. She coughs momentarily, seeing a light in the house flicker on before a door creaks open.
“River?”
It’s Rory’s voice, confused and questioning.
“Hello again. Miss me? How long has it been then?”
“How? I thought you could never travel back here?” He asks.
“Not me. The Doctor can’t; the TARDIS is too clunky to make it through the distortions, but a vortex manipulator or the other hand is very slim and can just slip through.”
Her father is at her side now, holding a hand out for her take, and he helps her to her feet. He looks to her discarded corset then at her stomach. He frowns.
“Yes, I might’ve put on a bit of weight. All that American diner food you know,” she says nonchalantly, waving his worries off, but he looks unconvinced.
Nevertheless, he nods, picking up the garnet for his daughter before leading her into his new home.
Her mother always did sleep like a hibernating bear and is rather unpleasant if woken before she’s had her 7-8 hours of rest. She tells Rory not to wake Amy, that she could talk to the both of them in the morning.
“I’ll just sleep on the couch, shall I?”
Rory scratches the back of his head. “Actually, you- um- you’ve got a room. We did it up, you know, just in case you somehow managed to come around one day.”
Bloody hormones. She’s growing teary eyed by the second, bottom lip quivering.
“Hey, River, it’s alright. I- I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to-“
She barrels into Rory knocking him backwards nearly as she envelops him in a hug before she begins crying into the collar of his era-appropriate nightshirt collar.
“You- you made me a room? I have a room in my parents’ home?” She sniffles.
“Rory? What’s going on?” Amy’s voice calls from the bedroom.
“We’ve got a visitor, dear,” he calls back.
“But it’s three in the ruddy morning? Who…? River!”
River immediately switches to hugging her mother.
“What’s wrong?” Amy asks, squeezing her daughter tightly, concerned. “Wait a second… young lady, are- are you pregnant?”
Amy’s voice squeaks as she feels her daughter’s stomach press against her and she places a hand on it.
River wipes her eyes and steps back, placing her own hand over her belly as Amy’s hand falls away.
“That’s actually why I’m here,” she says, and she clears her throat. “The Doctor can’t come here, so I’d like to stay with the both of you, at least till the baby is born.”
Amy and Rory both frown.
“Why don’t you want him to know? Is it not his?” Amy asks, confused.
“No, no, it’s definitely his… but you know how things are with the Doctor: never in the right order, can’t sit still, could regenerate any day because he tripped over a crack in the bloody pavement. He won’t want this, and I don’t even know if I want this. I’m a psychopath, and certainly not mother material.”
“You will be a great mother, River,” her dad tells her, sincerity in his voice. “And how do you know about the Doctor? He might surprise you.”
“It’s for the best, trust me. Besides, look what happened to me, do you think it wise that people know of this child? I’ll have it right here where it’s safe, quiet, and unable to be invaded by time travelers. Now, I’d like to see my room please.”
Amy and Rory share a glance before Amy decides to show her daughter to her room.
“We don’t have any clothes for you, I’m afraid. We don’t have very much money right now, but we can go into town and buy some fabric and I can make you some dresses.”
“Oh, mother, that is very sweet of me, but you must not know me that well if you think acquiring a bit of maternity wear will be difficult for me,” River laughs lightly.
“Yes, what was I thinking,” Amy smiles. “My daughter, the accomplished criminal who I once helped steal a car with. You are a bad girl, Melody, and I haven’t the faintest idea where you got it from.”
They both share a lighthearted laugh at that.
“Should I go with you? Be a decoy? Lookout maybe?”
“If you like, but it’s not as though any jail cell in the entire universe can hold me.”
“I think I’d like to spend some time with my dear daughter then.”
“I look forward to it.”
The next morning finds River hunched over her parents’ toilet. The noise wakes them, and Amy ushers Rory to the kitchen to put the kettle on and fetch his daughter a glass of water.
Amy dampens a washcloth with cool water and dabs at the sweat of her daughter’s forehead and neck. Her curls are saturated and slick against her skin as they stick against the sides of her face as she once again leans forward. It’s mostly stomach bile, and it burns her throat and nasal cavity. Amy helps wipe the curls back with the cloth once again.
“Oh, I bloody well hate him…” River grumbles.
“No, you don’t,” Amy says the Doctor’s line, but it only makes her start sobbing as she clings to the porcelain bowl.
“I’ll run you a bath and see what I have for you to wear, okay?”
River gives a small nod just before she retches again amidst her sobs. She’s miserable, and she just wants the Doctor, but she can’t have him right now. She feels so weak, being such a blubbering mess, but she can’t help it. She wonders if Time Lords have some kind of super hormones that are making her like this?
She hears the tub faucet come on, and she decides that her nausea has finally passed well enough now that she can enjoy a nice soak, and enjoy it, she does.
Amy brings her a cuppa as the bubbles are rising up over River’s torso.
“Well,” Amy coughs, “you sure didn’t get those from me.”
River laughs, not giving a toss about modesty; she’s got a nice body and has never been afraid to show it off. Besides, she comes from much more ‘open’ times; the 52nd century is not a shy one.
“The gift of regeneration I suppose. Universe owed me one… or, I guess, two, technically.
“Oh, you did not get any of that body from me, young lady.”
“Mother, I’m nearly 200 - hardly young, I’d say.”
Amy’s eyes grow wide. “Are you really?”
River nods. She knows it mustn't be easy for her mother to hear that she’s already lived more than twice the normal human lifespan, and it’s just another reminder that her daughter isn’t normal, that her daughter never got to be held by her everyday as a baby, never got to be mothered at all really.
“Is the baby human or Time Lord?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. Without the TARDIS, I suppose I won’t know until it comes out, and even then I still might not know right away,” River replies.
If the baby is human, it will be easy enough to hide, but if it comes out all glowing with regeneration energy (if that’s even what actually happens) then she isn’t entirely sure what she’ll do. She expects that it will grow up normally then can make its own way in the universe…
When River and Amy return home from “shopping”, River pulls out the little journal she had snagged, and begins writing to her unborn child. She writes about the stars, about their father, about their grandparents, about time travel… about all of it, and before she knows it, Rory is knocking at her door, telling her that supper is ready.
They eat like a proper family. A dysfunctional- but proper - family.
“You won’t need to worry about money anymore; I’ve written down the results of games for the New York Yankees for the next three decades for you. I got the information off my scanner,” River says a bit vaingloriously.
“You want us to make illegal bets on baseball games,” Rory asks incredulously.
“I don’t see why not,” she replies. “It would be fast and easy.”
“And illegal,” he reiterates.
“Fine then,” River huffs, “I will do the illegal betting until which time I can hop about time in search of valuables for you to sell. How does that sound, dad?”
“I’m fine with the betting, personally,” Amy says offhandedly, and Rory looks between the two women with exasperation on his features.
“See, mummy will make sure you don’t starve, daddy dearest. Glad we’ve got that settled then.”
Rory groans, stabbing at his green beans with just a little too much force than is required, metal clanking and scraping against the ceramic.
River manages to keep dinner down… at least until the wee hours of the morning anyway…
So begins the accustomed routine of Rory making tea, Amy wiping at sweat from her daughter’s face, and River miserably throwing up in another bout of morning sickness. It’s lasted quite far into her pregnancy, she thinks, as she’s just over halfway there.
“I need him,” she chokes the confession out weakly, and she really is so very weak. Her body is worn down, and her mind and her resolve is going with it. She needs the Doctor. She needs the Doctor to hold her hair back, bring her tea, and wipe at the sweat from her brow as his child wreaks havoc on her entire body, but who is she to kid herself into thinking that he would be interested in doing that for her. This is how she finds herself sobbing into the porcelain bowl for the second day in a row.
Rory comes in with tea, and Amy tells him to take care of their daughter and unborn grandchild because there’s something she has to do.
She scurries off to River’s room, looking for the device that her daughter always has. Finding it next to a little leather bound journal on the bedside table, she picks it up and starts clicking, hoping that there might be a way to contact the Doctor. She doesn’t know if it even has a phone, or a messenger, or anything like it, but she does know that she has to try. She thinks if it was this easy then River wouldn’t have needed to deface the oldest cliffside in the universe to get the Doctor’s attention. She growls in frustration, putting the device back down.
“Telepathic, yeah?” Amy says out loud, though there is no one else in the room. “Well, if you’re still listening, River needs help. Please, she’s your child too, and she’s hurting. I need the Doctor to help her. She needs the Doctor. Please help her.”
She pleads with the ship, hoping that the message somehow makes it through, but she knows all too well how bad the Doctor is with punctuality.
It’s another fortnight before mechanical wheezing and sputtering sounds in the backyard. River’s eyes fly open because, “no, he can’t be here…”
Coughing. Coughing. “Rivah!” A bit more coughing.
It’s him alright - her husband. Her husband, in a place he shouldn’t be able to be in, and she wonders why that is so shocking to her, because of course he is. She hopes, maybe, if she lies very, very still and falls back to sleep, this will all have been a dream. But then she hears the sonic unlocking the back door and she cannot suppress the groan she makes.
“Rivah!” He shouts, and stirring comes from her parents’ room across the corridor. “The TARDIS got Amy’s message! Please tell me I’m not too late! River, where are you? I need to know you’re okay!”
He sounds positively frantic with worry, and it warms her heart just a teeny tiny bit. Might do more if she wasn’t so cross with him for ruining the first decent night’s sleep she’s had since before Manhattan. Her nightdress is loose and flowy, but does very little to hide her five-month baby bump. She scrambles for her dressing gown, tying it loosely in the front, and she thinks it will just have to do until she can convince him that she is fine before she sends him back on his way.
“Hello, sweetie,” she greets him, plastering on the biggest, fakest smile, but the Doctor merely frowns at her, eying her with intense skepticism.
“River? What’s going on? Amy sounded terribly upset when she sent the TARDIS her message,” he replies.
“Sent you a message? How?”
“Strong, emotional, telepathic brain waves. For a human to send something like that across time and space, they’d have to be very emotional and feel very strongly about it.”
River gulps. This is the damage she doesn’t like for her husband to see.
“There’s something wrong with you, I can tell,” he says. “You don’t look… you don’t look well.”
“You’re certainly a sweet-talker aren’t you,” she replies sardonically.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. You- River, you’re lovely. Always so lovely, but you look tired. What’s going on?”
River wonders why her parents haven’t come out yet. Surely they’re eager to see their long lost friend, aren’t they? Perhaps they’re just giving her a bit of alone time with her husband.
“Nothing, honey. Really, I’m fine,” she protests.
“You’re not,” he contends harshly.
No, she’s really not fine.
The Doctor lifts his sonic, pointing it at her. She hastily steps forward, crying out, “Doctor, no!” But it’s too late, he’s already done it. He has already scanned her, and now he is going to know exactly what is wrong with her and why she hides from him.
His eyes widen, jaw lowered as he gapes at his sonic, and she knows the game is up…
River unties her dressing gown, hand moving to smooth the nightdress over her bump so that she can display it for him. She can’t meet his eyes though. She thinks it will be too painful to see his rejection. Bad enough to have to hear, but to see and hear… it’s too much.
“Is it mine,” the Doctor asks, sounding almost hopeful, River thinks.
She looks up in surprise. “Of course it’s yours, you daft old man,” she scoffs at him.
“Really?” He asks brightly. “Oh, gods, I’ve not been a proper dad in a millenia…”
She smiles at him, pleased that he isn’t angry at least.
“Well, I’ve never been a mother at all, sweetie.”
He closes the distance between them. “River Song, you are bloody magnificent, and brilliant, and I have no reason not to think you won’t be the same when it comes to being a mother. Yes, we might have to work on the thieving bit, and the shooting-at-things bit… and maybe a few other naughty habits, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’re both clever, aren’t we? We’ll be fine. I’m sure of it,” he says self-assuredly, but River just raises an eyebrow, confidence not instilled.
“You’re okay with this?” She asks disbelievingly. “Won’t a baby cramp your style? What if it chews on the console controls? Or your sonic?”
“Oi! It had better not!”He exclaims with a frown. “If it does, we’ll know which one of us they get it from as only one of us is a biter,” he informs her with a tap on the end of her nose, and she blushes at his implication - truthful as it may be. “But, as for style-cramping, didn’t you know, Miss Song, that babies are, in fact, cool?”
“Oh, are they?” She asks with playful skepticism.
“Yes. Very.”
“You know what else is cool?” He asks expectantly.
“What?”
“You carrying and growing them inside you.”
River rolls her eyes, unable to hold back her smile or the tears that sneak out from her eyes.
“I hate you,” she chokes out, sniffling.
“No, you don’t,” he replies smuggly.
“You’re right; I really don’t.”
Just then a Scottish voice calls out from down the dark corridor. “Oh, just kiss already, will you!”
Who are they not to disobey an order like that? After all, their kisses are capable of repairing time itself.
They cling to one another, forgetting that anyone’s parents are still present, as lips meet lips and tongues meet tongues. Their bodies suffuse with warmth as they press against one another. River’s bump makes it marginally difficult to get as close as they’d like, but any amount of closeness is better than none at all. They have missed each other so much, and the feelings of longing lessen as they continue to snog right there in the little corridor, in a little house just outside of the city.
“Don’t you two ever have to breathe?” Amy asks, perturbed by the long snog fest her daughter and the Doctor are having that is growing irksomely close to something along the lines of dry humping… and in her own bloody home!
“Respiratory bypass system, mummy,” River pants out salaciously. “Ever so helpful for things like this.”
And the snogging continues.
“Can’t you two go do that on the TARDIS or something? But don’t you even dare think about going anywhere till we’ve gotten a proper sit down with you, Raggedy Man,” Amy warns threateningly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Pond,” the Doctor replies. “See you in the morning!”
Then the Doctor is pulling River along by her hand, small, soft, and warm as it nestles in the grasp of his own larger, rougher one.
“Goodnight mum! Dad! Maybe don’t expect us in the morning! How does lunch sound?” River calls out behind her, not waiting for an answer as she and the Doctor exit the home and practically throw the TARDIS doors off their hinges trying to get inside. Thankfully, whatever had made the Doctor cough has now dissipated.
By this point it’s all fingers grappling with clothes - mostly River as the Doctor wears so many ruddy layers. In her impatience, she simply pops the last half of the buttons on his shirt to which he verbally protests in reply, hearing them clatter to the glass floor. She quiets him with another kiss, sliding his shirt and braces from his shoulders, fingers expertly making their way to the button on his trousers.
“Boots-” he gasps. “No, no, no! I’ll get them!” He insists, seeing River begin to kneel down for them.
While the Doctor fiddles quickly and nervously with the laces of his boots, River removes the one piece of clothing that she’d had on. Just as he is finishing up with the last lace, he sees the nightdress flutter to the ground, making a soft noise as it makes contact with the glass.
Silently, he looks up at his wife, mouth open as his eyes scan up and along her newly nude body. His mouth waters at the sight of her; it’s been so long for him. Her usually flat stomach is rounded, and her already generous breasts have grown even more, well… generous with the pregnancy.
“Look at you,” he says with awe, coming to stand once again.
He kicks off his boots and sheds his trousers and pants.
“Socks too, dear,” she says, and he groans, reaching down to pull them off.
“Better?”
“Much.”
“Blimey, River,” he whispers, fingers grazing over her belly with a featherlight touch. “If the universe thinks we’re bad, imagine what a troublemaker this one will be.”
River giggles. “I don’t dare to think what any child of ours is capable of.”
“Best not dwell on it then. Now, where were we? Ah, yes - right about… here!”
The Doctor pulls River in for another kiss, hand seeking out a full breast, and its heaviness is delightfully - as is the loud moan she makes when he brushes over a hypersensitive nipple.
“Oh god!” She moans.
“Sensitive, hm?”
“Very sensitive, my love.”
“Might I suggest we move this to the bedroom, wife?”
She tells him that she would like nothing more, and they are dashing towards their room without a care of how ridiculous they look running about without a stitch of clothing on. It’s not as though anyone can see them anyhow.
For a clumsy bloke that’s all limbs, angles, and chin, the Doctor does a remarkably excellent job at pleasing his wife.
He kneels between her spread thighs, kissing, and sucking, and licking at her sex till she is crying out and tugging at fistfuls of his hair. He brings her to orgasm with two fingers pressed to that magical spot inside her and his lips wrapped tightly around her swollen clit as he sucks. She cries out sharply, her release running down in little rivulets along her husband’s hand and wrist, body shaking and convulsing with pleasure until she finally stills and her grip on the Doctor’s hair loosens.
She moans helplessly at the sensitivity as the Doctor laps at her essence with a flat tongue, keening when he circles the too-sensitive bud.
“Inside, sweetie, please,” she pants out the plea.
Their lovemaking is fast to start, but grows slow as they relish in the moment of togetherness. Neither of them are ever quite sure when the last time they will be together like this will happen, but they can treasure the present and live in it wholly with one another. They want this moment to last.
Their sweat slicked torsos press against one another and their skin sticks and peels as they move. So much heat builds up between them as they rock together, held tight in one another’s arms.
River’s sensitive nipples just barely graze against the Doctor’s chest, feeling the light dusting of hair he has there. It feels so nice and she tries to pull him closer, but her bump makes things unfortunately far more difficult than she would like. However, she knows it’s only going to get harder from here as she grows larger by the day. They probably won’t even be able to manage this position within a month; it’ll be all spooning and missionary, and she dreads to think about it just a bit. River likes sex, and she likes it in almost every position; what else can she say?
The Doctor reaches between their bodies, finding the little pleasure point that will bring River to climax. He knows just how she likes it: just slightly off to her left with purposeful, steady strokes. That little button is the centre of her entire world, and she comes quickly, teeth clamped into the skin of his neck (only partially in retaliation for his earlier comment). The tight clenching and fluttering of her sex brings him along with her, and a short scream followed by a cacophony of moans and cries fills the infinite ship as they work the last of their pleasure from their bodies.
They slump into one another for support, breathing heavily as sweat has beaded and trails down their skin that simply seems to glow. They take a few moments to catch their breaths and wait for the lingering little tremors to pass before they move to a more horizontal position, though it’s not any less close than the previous one. They still remain wrapped in the arms of the other.
“How did you manage to get here?” She asks curiously. Truthfully, she’s a bit impressed he managed such a feat.
The Doctor looks at his wife staring up at him with interest, and he brushes back a few damp, curly tendrils of hair from her face.
“Honestly, I think it was mostly her,” he says, referring to the ship around them. “She heard her child was in trouble and she fought like hell to get me to you. I’m afraid I might’ve deleted a few - probably several - rooms… Hope they weren’t ones that were important,” he adds nervously before then further adding, “completely worth it though.”
“I agree. Completely worth it,” she smiles. “Now, I’m knackered, growing an entire living being and whatnot, and that’s besides the fact that my husband interrupted the one decent night of sleep I’ve had in months.”
“Sorry, dear,” he apologizes, looking sheepish. “We’ll have lunch with the Ponds when you wake.”
“Okay,” she says through a long yawn. “I think I’d like to take you up on that offer to travel now.”
“Oh,” he replies, a bit caught off guard. “Actually, I was going to offer to stay here for the rest of the pregnancy, if you wanted. I’m not sure if the TARDIS will make it through a second time; it was a miracle it did it this time.”
“We couldn’t take Amy and Rory with us?” She asks. She’s fairly certain she knows the answer, but she can hope that maybe he’s sorted something out with the universe.
“The paradox would be too great, combined with the mangled timelines… We’ve seen their graves, read the words literally set in stone. The TARDIS could only sustain the paradox for so long,” he explains sadly, wishing that things were different.
“They seem happy here, despite everything. I guess they really only ever did need each other…” she muses wistfully.
“Hey, don’t do that, River,” he scolds gently, knowing exactly what she is implying. “They need you too. You’re their daughter. If Amy didn’t love you, and feel so strongly for you, then her message never would have reached me.”
“I’ve felt a bit rubbish about coming to them, knowing my mother can’t have any more children. I feel like I’m taunting their misfortunes with this baby,” she admits, hand running over her belly. She can never keep her hand away from it for very long, and it’s as though she needs the frequent reminder that all of this is real because she still can’t quite believe it. She can’t believe the Doctor is happy and she had worried for naught.
“They would never hold that against you. Only rubbish people want suffering for everyone else when they’re suffering. Your parents aren’t rubbish people, and neither are you,” he assures her, his large hand coming to rest over his wife’s smaller one.
“Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me for the truth,” he tells her. “Do you think you might be able to get back to sleep now?”
She nods, burrowing tighter into the Doctor’s side, a touch irritated when her stomach continues to be in the way, keeping her from getting as close as she would like to be to her husband.
The Doctor doesn’t have to sleep, but he chooses to for River, holding her close and feeling rather protective of both her and their unborn child that rests and grows inside of her. It’s the best and most restful night of sleep either one of them has had in a very long time.