Characters: 11th Doctor, River Song
Summary: Something about River made the Doctor feel very husbandly...
He brushed his hand down her curly hair, fingertips slipping through the ends of the soft coils.
River was leaning against him, completely unconscious. Heavy and breathing softly, limp as a bag of sand.
She’d saved his life again. He’d stopped counting by now how many times she’d saved his bacon, took the hits meant for him, or simply jerked him out of the line of fire.
This time it was anesthazene gas. She’d gotten a face full of it. But not before shooting the grenade in the alien’s hand. Vaporizing him on the spot.
Fortunately, he’d been the last of them. Various raiders, bounty hunters, and general trouble makers were in no short supply in the universe.
River would even have numbered herself among their ranks.
But not him. He smiled down at her, where she sprawled against his side, propped up on his chest. Snoring softly.
He grinned. It was one of those husbandly things he loved knowing about her. That she snored. That she liked going barefoot at home. That she considered fancy footwear essential, both as accessories and weapons.
That she loved strawberries, and liver, and had a fondness for kittens, although she’d shoot anyone for calling her soft. (Usually in the foot or the backside. She wasn’t as murderous as people thought, for a trained assassin.)
And wasn’t that an irony of the universe. He was married. Married to a trained assassin. Someone who had been taught to kill since childhood.
And yet, all he could see was how beautiful she was. Not just her appearance, which naturally was exceptional. But inside. The sheer fire with which she defended the ones she loved. That analytical mind. That sarcastic wit. That gentleness that made her stand out above and beyond most mortal women.
Only the strong could truly be gentle. The very fact that she could kill made her gentleness all the more amazing.
He firmed his arm around her hip, holding her securely, his other hand tracing a knuckle down her cheek. Her warm cheek.
She was so much like him, and so different, it was fascinating. Physically, due to her mixed heritage, they were both very similar, and very different. They shared a time sense (one reason she could use that vortex manipulator so often without going crazy. And pilot the Tardis.) They were both more resilient than the average human. Stronger, faster, more resistant to disease, etc.
But she didn’t share his respiratory bypass (as her unconsciousness showed.) And while his body ran at a lower temperature than most, she always seemed to be running hot. More physically active, more intense, more oxygen being pumped through those beautiful muscles of hers.
And they were both heavier than they looked. Which, at the moment, he was finding very comforting. The feel of her, relaxed and heavy against his side. It pulled out all sorts of emotions in him.
She’d hate being so vulnerable. He’d no doubt get an earful about it when she woke up.
But for now, he relished the feel and weight of her. Draped along his side. Leaning back under a tree and staring out over a pristine valley.
With his wife in his arms.