One thing married couples have to do, is learn to interpret each other's grunts...
River pulled down the sheet that covered her face and looked up, bleary-eyed, at the Doctor looming over her in her cell.
"Unh!" She glared at him.
"Did you just grunt at me?" he asked.
She grunted again.
The Doctor grinned like a little boy who'd just discovered his dog could talk. He bounced on his toes and beamed at her. She gave him a dirty look and scrubbed her hands over her weary face and into her tangled hair.
Resigned, she flung aside her prison issue blanket and swung her feet to the floor. She sat up, then hunched over with her face in her hands.
"What do you want, Sweetie?" she asked, trying not to sound as disgusted as she felt.
"Grunt again," he said.
She stared up at him over her fingers. "What?"
He bounced, beaming. "Grunt again. It's cute!"
River groaned into her hands and rocked slightly, finally rocking herself to her feet.
She poked a sharp-tipped fingernail in his chest. "I am not in the mood for your cheerfulness, honey. I just got back twenty minutes ago. I'm tired, I'm dirty, I ache, and my mind is moving so slow it feels like I'm swimming through molasses. Go away!"
She plopped back down on her bunk, the force knocking another grunt out of her.
He blinked a bit, somewhat shocked at her outburst. Bless, he must be early on. She was too tired to care. "Come back in a few hours."
She rolled over on her bunk and curled up in the fetal position, trying to garner what warmth she could in the dank cell.
There was a disquieting quietness behind her. She ignored it, and felt herself slipping into sleep.
Suddenly she felt his hands slipping under her shoulders and her thighs. "What?" she blurred back awake. "What are you doing?"
He lifted her, rolling her into his chest. His arms, as always, unexpectedly strong under her.
Her head thumped down on his chest, too weary to even hold it upright. "Shhh," he said. She felt him drop a kiss on her hair. "I'm taking care of my wife."
She felt him carrying her out of her cell, toward the Tardis. She would have protested, but she was asleep before they reached the door.
She awoke later to the feel of downy softness and warmth all around her. She gave a catlike stretch, moaning in delight.
"You know," her husband's voice came from beside her, popping her eyes open. "I really am going to have to start a dictionary. 'The Dictionary of River's Grunts and Moans.'"
He was sitting beside the bed in a straightbacked chair, a forgotten book lying open in his lap.
River grinned. "That sounds promising," she purred.
His eyebrow tipped up. "You're feeling better," he observed.
She hummed in the back of her throat, taking in his jacketless form, his shirtsleeves rolled up over his forearms, his braces half sliding down his shoulders, his undone bowtie dangling down each side of his chest.
She curled up on all fours and crawled across the bed. "This dictionary," she traced her finger down the buttons on his shirt, she could feel his body heat. "Will it be a two-way translation?"
Both his eyebrows rose.
She grabbed his braces and yanked him into the bed.