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Amy and Rory are gone, but Time Lords are clever, and there's always a way to keep in touch...

“We’ve got mail!” River caroled as she bounced into the Tardis, waving a handful of heavy vellum envelopes.

“Give me!” the Doctor ran down the Tardis stairs and snatched half the envelopes from River’s grasp, scattering others across the entryway floor.

River didn’t protest, she was as eager as he was to discover the contents.

They both sat down right there on the entryway floor and started opening envelopes.

The Doctor slit open a thick square envelope with his pinkie and pulled out the sheaf of papers inside. He quickly unfolded them.

“Hello, Raggedy Man, What’s up?”

Tears started in his eyes at that irreverent greeting, he grinned fit to bust and blinked his eyes clear.

“We got your last letter,” Amy continued. “Sounds like you put my daughter through the ringer. Really, you should know better than to take River to the planet of Dress Designers then not give her time to buy anything. That’s just cruel. : D” He grinned at the little smiley face Amy had written at the end of the sentence. 1940’s US postage letters with emoticons in them. He loved it. Only his Amelia...

“Oh, good on you, Dad!” River suddenly exclaimed.

“What? What?” the Doctor looked up eagerly.

River turned around a large, glossy black and white photograph, showing Rory standing there, a bit chunkier, a bit older, wearing a white lab coat, a black tie, a buzz cut, and a huge grin. Amy hanging off of him like a groupie, beaming up at him.

“Dad finally got his MD!” River beamed like it was her own doctorate. Her cheeks were so round from the grin that they must hurt. She practically glowed.

The Doctor took the picture and stared down at it. Amy was in a conservative cut suit dress, cut just a little too short, and her straight hair pulled back and bobbed to curl under at the ends.

They looked like a successful, happy young couple. He had to admit, Rory looked good in that doctor’s coat. It suited him.

River turned the photo back around and looked down at her parents proudly.

“We should get a frame for that,” the Doctor said.

“Oh, I will.”

The way she said it reminded him he’d better have the Tardis make a copy for him, maybe a couple, since River had more than one home other than the Tardis.

“What did yours say?” River asked, setting the photo aside and picking up another letter.

“Oh,” he waved the sheets of paper at her, “apparently I’m a bad man for taking you to Cresiden 4 and not allowing you to buy any dresses.”

“Well, you are!” She pouted adorably at him. “All that velvet and silk and you had us chasing after a manky old lizard. Really, it’s too, too bad of you, Sweetie. And that gold lame number would have looked fabulous on me.”

He could hear now what that letter must have sounded like to Amy. She’d probably rolled all over the floor laughing.

He grinned. He ignored the wringing of his hearts and concentrated on the joy. It had been a stroke of genius from River to set up that post office box in Paris. They may not be able to see Amy and Rory ever again. (He forced his hearts to shut up and stop whining.) But that didn’t mean they had to lose all contact.

He slit open the top of what looked like a birthday card, and jumped when a two-dimensional pasteboard clown face sprang out at him.

River fell over laughing.

He glared down at her, her golden curls spilled over the Tardis floor.

“You knew that was going to happen!” he accused. His hearts beating a mile a minute.

She giggled at him and covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes sparkling at him.

He “humphed” and ignored her. He turned back to see a garishly painted birthday card covered in cavorting clowns, the one with the most hideous smile bobbing forward on a spring neck.

“Happy Birthday to my favorite son-in-law! Have fun clowning around!” They ‘d signed it “The Legs” and “The Nose.” And had drawn in pencil sketches of ringed planets and suns and stars behind the clowns. 9012 had been drawn in in big overblown balloon letters, complete with little tied off tails, in Amy’s distinctive drawing style.

The Doctor’s lip wibbled. And he sniffled. Just a little bit. But his eyes gleamed behind the tears.

“You okay, Sweetie?” River asked softly.

He turned the card around to show her, the clown head bobbling on the end of its spring. He smiled wobbly at her, but sincere.

She smiled at the card. But didn’t give it much notice, studying his face. “You sure you want to continue?” she asked, waving around at all the unopened letters.

“Of course,” he said, ignoring his own tears. Ignoring the tickly trickle down his cheek. He leaned sideways and raked the strewn letters toward them, into a pile between them as they sat Indian style on the floor.

The letters were a bit random, as they always were, they covered a period of a few years, since it was always a while before they managed to get back to check their post office box.

Some letters were sad and lengthy, pouring out their homesickness and their struggles to adapt to WWII era New York. Both the Doctor and River pulled out big pads of yellow note paper and wrote back letters, (noting the date at the top,) filled with encouragement, love, advice, and time travel tips. They’d travel around to post the letters back so that Amy and Rory would get them only a day or two after their original letters were sent. In time for the advice or cash or encouragement to help.

More than a few tears were shed, as they always were. And more than a few laughs.

They both screamed, and wrote quick letters demanding autographed copies when Amy wrote that she’d published her first children’s book. River made a note on her handheld computer to rent a bigger post office box to handle the size of the books.

The Doctor wrote a long, thoughtful letter, without telling River its contents. She didn’t ask. She knew the Doctor and Rory had developed a deeper relationship as Rory realized he could pour out his uncertainties and fears to the distant Time Lord. Both as two young husbands, and as a younger man to a much more experienced older man.

River was glad to see it. But she didn’t interfere. She didn’t read the letters, out of respect for both men who meant so much to her, father and husband. But she knew that sometimes the letters left the Doctor very thoughtful.

River opened up the last letter, a nice fat one, and pulled out the contents. They included a tiny, Christmas wrapped parcel. She glanced at the letter casually as she noted the Doctor licking his envelope and pressing it closed on his letter to Rory.

She brought her attention back to the package. They were always sending little presents back and forth. Amy’s first disastrous attempts at tatting. Their used ticket stubs for having gone to see the first showing of “Gone with the Wind,” and sunflower seeds from their first successful Victory Garden.

River tore the package open without thinking, still concentrating on looking at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, as he carefully wrote out Amy and Rory’s address on the envelope in his beautiful handwriting.

Something soft fell into her lap. She looked down, then stared. She quickly scrabbled for the letter and hurriedly scanned it.


The Doctor looked up, surprised by the constrained sound of River’s voice. He hoped his advice to Rory would help, he never knew quite what to....

He saw the look on River’s face, she was practically glowing.

She held up two tiny crocheted socks. They were as tiny as their thumbs. They had a ruffle. They were pink.

The Doctor’s jaw dropped open. “But, but, Tony’s a boy.”

River nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears, smiling so hard her face was red, her voice squeaked. “They didn’t adopt this time.”

They both screamed and lunged for each other. They hugged furiously, dancing on their knees.

“We’re grandparents!
We've Got Mail!

Amy and Rory are gone, but Time Lords are clever, and there's always a way to keep in touch...

Doctor Who, 11th Doctor, River Song, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, PG

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(The Doctor is embarassed by his lack of eyebrows. River reassures him.)  

"Why don't you have any eyebrows?"

River loved his eyes, so deepset and dark and gentle. Piney green and clear, full of tenderness and hope. And she loved the way he looked at her. As if she was the wringing beat of each of his hearts.

She drew her finger down his long, strong nose and watched him watch her. She was propped against his chest, the shush and sway of meadow grasses sounding like surf around them. Tiny white and yellow flowers floating like flotsam on the green.

They had been cloud gazing, but she preferred gazing at him.

He inhaled and exhaled under her, lifting her gently up and down with each breath.

She smiled and traced one finger over his eyebrow.

“I suppose now you’re going to make fun of my eyebrows,” he said underneath her, with a bit of a defensive rumble.

“What?” she said, startled. “No!” She scowled. “Has someone been making fun of your eyebrows?” she demanded dangerously.

He looked down, away from her, not answering. She smiled wryly. “Let me guess, Amy.”

His eyes flicked back up to her and away, a tiny bit of little boy hurt in them.

She sighed. “I love my mother, but sometimes she has the tact of a rhinoceros.”

He smirked a tiny grin at that, and bit it down.

“What did she say?” River asked, she lined herself closer up to his side, lending him her warmth and support.

He shrugged. “She just asked why I didn’t have any eyebrows. If my regeneration had gone wrong or didn’t finish me or something.” He looked down again, away from her, plucking at a piece of grass.

River gasped. “Why that... I’m going to have to kick her ass next time I see her.”

He looked up at her and grinned.

She smiled back.

“Sweetie, you do have eyebrows. You actually have very thick eyebrows, they’re just very pale and light and delicate. They’re beautiful eyebrows.” She leaned forward and kissed each of his delicate, beautiful eyebrows.

She drew her lips softly back and forth. He giggled at the feeling of the hairs tickling.

She leaned back and his eyebrows went up, his eyes gleaming with hope.

She grinned at him. “I think they’re sexy,” she purred.

She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

"Why don't you have any eyebrows?"

Doctor Who, 11th Doctor, River Song, Romance, Humor, Fluff, PG

If you enjoyed the story, add me to your watch list to be notified of future stories. More stories available in My Gallery

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River is fresh out of the shower. The Doctor is really not prepared.

River stepped out of the Tardis bathroom wearing nothing but a towel.

The Doctor “eeped” and slammed his hands over his eyes.

River laughed. That sultry, husky laugh that slithered right down his backbone. He kept his eyes firmly shut.

“Really, Sweetie,” she gently mocked him. “It’s not like anything’s even showing.”  

He parted his fingers and peered at her, his eyeball went up and down. She was completely covered by the fluffy towel from shoulders to mid thigh. She even had a towel wrapped around her hair, like a big turban. Hardly a seductive outfit. But, oh, she was freshly scrubbed, and pink, and glowing.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

She walked toward him. His eyes got huge, he backed up, feet skittering on the floor, and thumped into the wall.

She reached up and casually unwound the towel from her hair, letting loose all those silky corkscrew curls.

He swallowed, his mouth going dry, his brain, as always, fascinatedly trying to count each and every spiral.

She rubbed at her hair with the towel, the motion doing wonderful gyratey things to her shoulders, and lower.

She tilted her head at him, like an inquiring bird. He pressed himself back into the wall. She had a considering look in her eye, not naughty, just, thinking.

She was never more dangerous than when she was thinking.

She stood so close in front of him that he could smell the sweet fruity fragrance of her shampoo and the warm huskiness of her skin. He whimpered a little, trying to keep it subvocal.

She smiled at him.

He went up a little on his toes. Surely he could get farther back into the wall, the Tardis could help.

River reached up and tipped his chin up with one long fingernail. Every nerve in his body focused on that one point.

“Too bad you’re still so early, Sweetie.” She went up on tiptoes and gave him a tiny smooch.

She turned and padded elegantly off down the corridor, beautiful and blond and barefoot, in his Tardis.

He tore his gaze away.



Somewhere cold. Surely there were some coolant pipes around here that he could repair and accidentally douse himself with?

She started humming.

Cryogenic storage!

He could lock himself in.
Shower Bait

River is fresh out of the shower. The Doctor is really not prepared.

Doctor Who, 11th Doctor, River Song, Romance, Humor, Fluff, PG

If you enjoyed the story, add me to your watch list to be notified of future stories. More stories available in My Gallery

Please leave a comment.
The Doctor talks River into going bowling, trouble is, he sucks at it...

River pulled her arm back holding the heavy ball, stepped forward and swung, one leg sliding elegantly behind the other, her bum looking beautifully heart shaped in the tight fitting jodhpurs as her bowling ball rolled like thunder down the alley.

It crashed into the lead pins, just off center, and mowed down the whole swathe of blowing pins in one clamorous jumble.

“Strike!” River jumped around, fists in the air, bouncing with victory. Her hair and her breasts and her hips and the sparkle in her eyes all bounced together.

She was so happy he couldn’t be jealous, even though she was having a nearly perfect game and he was having a lousy one.

She bounced down the slight step from the waxed floor in the atrocious bowling shoes, and pecked a victory smooch on his lips. “Your turn, Sweetie!”

She had groaned when he first suggested they try American bowling. The loud rattle of pinball machines and video games, the clash and clamor of balls being dropped in the aisles and pins tumbling and spinning, the squeaks of flat soled shoes on the polished floors and the hum of the ancient ball retrieval machines added up to a sound like a battlefield at a fair.

He could barely hear her speaking, but the delight in her eyes spoke for her.

She picked up her Coke and sipped through the striped straw, her eyes never leaving his over the cup, flirtatious, vital, absorbing, thoroughly enjoying herself.

He looked up at their scores and grimaced. It would be nice to get at least one strike. A score would do, there was no shame in taking two balls to knock all the pins down.

The eight year old in the next lane pumped his fist and twirled as he knocked down the last of his pins. His family applauded him.

The Doctor poofed his chest out. If an eight year old could do it, then so could he. His chest caved in a bit. It would be nice to hear River cheer him.

He picked up his pink speckled blowing ball off the carousel, dried his fingers over the ancient, cranky blower, and fitted them into the holes in the ball.

He could do this. How hard was it? It was just geometry, he was good at geometry; angles, velocity, piece of cake.

“Relax, Sweetie,” River called her advice from her plastic seat beside the score screen.

Relax, right. Let it flow. Good clean motion, swing and release. His hands sweated, he rubbed them off on his trousers. Swing and release.

He twisted his slippery shoes on the floor, stepped forward, stopped, stepped back and started again; wrong foot.

He rushed forward the prescribed three steps, pulled the heavy ball back underhand, swung hard and let loose.

Let loose!

His sweaty thumb stuck in the hole, the heavy ball’s momentum flung him forward into the lane, he hit the boards with an almighty smack! Arm outflung.

The ball slammed down on the boards, the jar popped his thumb loose and the ball rolled away in a leisurely meander, like a wandering drunken tortoise.

He lay in the aisle and put his hands over his eyes, too mortified to look, the eight year old’s laughter ringing in his ears, the adults on all sides equally asking if he was okay, or telling him to get out of the aisle.

He peeked through his fingers. The ball rolled with a heavy “whomping” sound end over end, never quite managing to teeter into the gutter. The floor pressed hard under him, his ears burned hot with embarrassment, and the ball, just kept rolling, little by little down the aisle, losing momentum.

Until it finally rolled up to the center pin, and dinked against it.

Then all ten pins slammed backward, bouncing and clattering against the walls, like they’d been hit by a cannonball. His pink bowling ball rolled drunkenly sideways and fell in the gutter.  

He twisted on the floor and looked behind him.  River holstered her blaster.

“I think that’s a strike, Sweetie.”

God he loved this woman.  
The Doctor talks River into going bowling, trouble is, he sucks at it...

(Author's Note: I know British people don't generally do American bowling, but I think the Doctor enjoys all kinds of things. And if you want to see a really hilarious video of the crew of Doctor Who (Matt, Karen, Arthur, and Moffat) trying American bowling, check out the Doctor Who vs. Nerdist All Star Bowling video.)

But not before you leave a review here please. Thank you.

Doctor Who, 11th Doctor, River Song, Romance, Humor, Fluff, PG

If you enjoyed the story, add me to your watch list to be notified of future stories. More stories available in My Gallery

Please leave a comment.
River's armed, she's annoyed, and not even the Doctor is immune from her wrath...

River hit him over the head with a corndog.

"Ah! What was that for?" he demanded, shaking his head and watching as cornbread husks fell onto the shoulders of his tweed jacket.

"Because you deserved it." River said, scowling at him.

"Why?" he asked plaintively. "No, wait, don't tell me. Spoilers," he guessed. "I haven't done it yet." He sighed, resigned.

"Not this time, Sweetie."

He frowned at her, she glared at him. "Look down," she said, her voice grated.

He stared down. He was standing on her toes. He grimaced, he was wearing his boots, and she was wearing open toed sandals with her toenails painted a lovely light pearlescent pink.

He quickly moved his foot. Her big toe was bright red. Grit stuck to her foot from his boot.

He dropped down on all fours and stared at her foot, carefully brushing the grit away. He peered at her bright red, creased, toe, concerned.

"Sweetie, if you kiss my toe, I swear, I'll..." her voice trailed off. He stared up. She had the most conflicted look on her face, half naughty, half annoyed.

He grinned, right there in front of the hot dog booth. "You'll what?"

She glared at him. "I'm not entirely sure," she mused. "But I'm fairly certain it will involve another crumpled corn dog."

He bit his lip. He looked down at her poor abused toe, then looked back up at her. And grinned.
She's armed and she's annoyed, and not even the Doctor is immune from her wrath...

Doctor Who, 11th Doctor, River Song, Romance, Humor, Fluff, PG

If you enjoyed the story, add me to your watch list to be notified of future stories. More stories available in My Gallery

Please leave a comment.
I'm a prolific Doctor Who fan fiction writer. I write Doctor Who stories from as short as a couple of hundred words to full novels and everything in between.

All the stories are canon compliant, meaning they're the type and rating of thing you'd find in the TV show itself. Adventure, mystery, humor, romance, and fluff. Alien worlds, historical times, contemporary adventures, and including all the different Doctors and Companions from Doctor Who, Classic and New.

I hope you enjoy the stories.

(I'm new here on DeviantART, so I'll be adding the stories gradually over time.)

All stories are works of fan fiction. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. No infringement is intended.


Betawhofic's Profile Picture
United States
Longtime Doctor Who fan and writer.

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Anouk-Jill Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you so much for the fav!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Hug :happybounce: 
ChibiAyane Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for joining :icontorchwho:
TheFemaleDoctor1073 Featured By Owner Aug 31, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello, how are you? :)
Radiolaire Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2014
Thank you for the favourite!
Tomsworld642 Featured By Owner Aug 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the fav!Mini Tardis 11th Doctor Dance 
Rapsag Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2014
Thanks for the fave!
firestar541 Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Will you put the TARDIS in more stuff? Maybe as human? (If possible again, or maybe another TARDIS that they find somewhere on their travels)
ChibiHugs Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
You know I was thinking as much a Amy loves to tease the Doctor, she probably likes to tease River too. Do you think she ever asked them about granbabies just to watch the ensuing madness? Not sure what Rory would say. Of course the thought of actually becoming a granny at her age might really give her grey hair.
Betawhofic Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014
That's a good idea. Unfortunately, if I wrote it right now, it would probably be all sad and angsty, I can see River, as Rory's daughter, secretly really wanting children, but knowing it's not possible because it's too dangerous.

But, I'll let the idea percolate in the back of my head for a while, maybe something better will occur to me.
ChibiHugs Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Well just let it simmer and if anything amusing comes to mind, then I will look forward to reading it. :)
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