// A song for your drabbleness! Because I am a horrible person. Jonathan Coulton - "When You Go"
(( OOC: OH. MY. GOSH. the feels with this. Hopefully it’s okay! I’m writing it in a sense that The Doctor and Clara made it out alive and unscathed for the most part. For the record, I have no idea how it’s going to play out in the 50th Anniversary, but this is just my take on a small moment with the Doctor. Also, the song fueled this scene. *clutches at chest* God my heart.))
He knew losing her would hurt, but he didn’t understand how bad until now. River had been gone for some time, but her echo was always there, keeping him company on the lonely nights where he’d pretend it was just him and the TARDIS. Her snarky comments and sighs of frustration silently amusing him as he tinkered with the console late into the night, or how she whispered, “I love you,” in the darkness when she thought he couldn’t hear her. But he heard her. He always heard her, always took what she had to say seriously, because if anyone’s opinion mattered to him, it would be River’s. Now…now there wasn’t even her sound of her frustrated sighs coming from the TARDIS console room as she tried to go back and fix what he’d tinkered with. There was just the quiet hum of the TARDIS, and his own thoughts. Wasn’t that how it always ended up? A mad man with his blue box, leaving behind a trail of destruction and pain wherever he went. The blood on his hands was more than he could bear, and now River’s blood stained his hands with bright crimson, a constant reminder of how truly monstrous he was.
There were several stages to grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Denial came first as the first signs of dusk washed over the floor of the TARDIS. Shell shocked, he’d stumbled down the hallways, his chest heaving as he tried to compose himself, pushing through the door of his bedroom. The bedroom they’d shared. This room, with it’s dark mahogany floors, and hunter green sheets, was full of memories; languid, lazy moments in the night, his thumb stroking her bare shoulder as she slept, soft words in the early evening. Plans made that were never carried out, and memories that could never be replaced. He staggered into the room, palms agains this face as he leaned against the dresser, gazing up into the mirror. He hated the monster that looked back at him, with his weary, haunted eyes, and tear streaked face. “She can’t be gone. It was a dream, a dream that I’ll wake up from. Wake up. Wake up, you idiot” He brought a hand to his face, pinching his cheek hard enough to leave a purple mark come morning, trying to bring himself to reality. But he knew, he knew there was no dream to wake up from. This was his reality, this was his life now. A life without River.
Anger and bargaining came next, swelling in his chest, with only one way to go and that was out. Breathing heavy, he looked at everything on the dresser behind the tears that rose with his anger, and lashed out, sending everything flying, landing with a loud clatter on the hard wood floor. Perfume bottles that belonged to River, pieces of jewelry that she wore, a stray bow tie, pictures, and a pocket watch all skittered across the floor. He was angry, so very angry. At himself. At River. At the Universe. Why did this happen to him? Why did he have to outlive everyone he’d ever held dear? Could he change it if he tried? “If I could just go back…I could save her. I could trade places with her.” How he would trade her last breath for his own, give her another day to feel the warm sunshine on her beautiful face. But he knew that was impossible. Time could be re-written, but some things, no matter how hard one tried, they always ended up at the same destination.
He pressed his back to the side of the dresser, sinking to sit with his knees to his chest as the next stage washed over him. Depression. He folded into himself, hands holding his head as he sobbed into the darkness of the bedroom, surrounded by her things, and his memories. She would never be here again, she would never warm the sheets next to him, or fuss that he steals the covers too much. Her clothes would stay folded up in the wardrobe, hanging in the nearby closet. Would she fade away from him? Would the smell of her perfume that lingered on his collar no longer cross his memory? Would he forget what her lips taste like, or how her fingers filled the spaces of his? Of course they wouldn’t, but it scared him to think that one day she may only be a distant thought to him. He finally succumbed completely to his grief, tears falling freely as he finally let go in the sanctity and seclusion of his bedroom. Around Clara, he kept a strong facade, a face of courage and strength, but here in his room, where the sound of her laughter still hung in the air, he no longer had to be strong. “River..” He sobbed into his arms, fingers digging into his hair and tugging as he tried to inhale to keep from making himself sick. He’d known this was coming, knew that one day he would lose her completely. As he’d told her echo at Trenzalore…there was a time to live and a time to sleep, but it was easier said than done. Just because he knew that fact, it didn’t make her loss any easier on him, and he wasn’t ready. One more day. One more night. One last kiss to her cheek, but it would never be enough, and he would never be ready. He would never be able to stomach her loss, and he knew this. Another life lost, and it was his fault. His fault. He gazed up after a moment, tears staining his cheeks as his eyes took in the damage done, eyes falling on a glittering chain made of soft gold. A necklace River had worn often, a gift from her mother. Reaching out with lithe fingers, he scooped it up and ran his thumb over the cool metal, breathing her name quietly into the room. He’d loved this necklace on her and would often trail his fingers over her neck to feel the warmth of it, and excuse to touch her. After a moment of thought, he unclasped the chain, and wrapped it around his neck, letting it drop and hang just inside of his shirt, over his hearts. Wherever River was, wherever her soul existed, she’d taken his hearts along with her, and how he hoped she knew she was loved by him, more than anyone else. He stood slowly, wiping the backs of his hands across his cheeks to try and compose himself enough to clean the mess he’d made, revisit the memories with each item as he placed each item back into it’s rightful place on the dresser.
Acceptance would come with time, as it always did. It would heal the open wound, leaving behind another scar upon his already marred soul.