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shone) wrote in

valloic,
@ 2020-08-05 09:38:00

Who: Dan & River
What: Having a talk about traumatic things; River opens up a liiiiiittle
When: Wednesday night, after the Death support group meeting
Where: DOA ground floor, meeting site
Warnings: Nah?
Status: Complete

The AA meetings back home were in a basement, definitely, a library or something - Dan couldn’t actually recall the precise location. Just the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and the scent of stale coffee, musty and bordering on rancid - but it was free, and holding the styrofoam cups gave fidgety alcoholics something to do with their hands besides pick at their own clothes, or nails, or the armrests of the chairs they sat in. It was hard to believe he’d spent eight years in recovery, and yet it would always be a struggle - sometimes alcohol was a siren’s call, even the pungent scent of it. Other times, it was a stark reminder of who he was one drink away from being - during those times, he was grateful for the reminder.

In Vallo, AA/NA meetings were high class in comparison. They had the ground floor of the DOA building, a good place for conferencing, and fresh coffee and fresh pastries - after the first meeting there was the second, the death support group. He never thought he’d need one of these but here he was - his own death didn’t feel all that far in the past either.

There had been so much pain it all blended together, the ax at his femoral artery, Rose’s fingers digging in, blood that oozed thick and scarlet; but then at the very end, as he stood by the boiler he’d rigged, the Overlook hotel poised to be blown sky high, heat sinking into his weary bones - he saw his mother and they comforted each other. He’d been at peace. He’d reckoned with the past in a way his father never could.

There was still a lot of working through it, of course - but here in Vallo, he felt as if he’d gotten a decent start. The meetings helped and if he could help other people, that was a bonus.

Once the weekly Wednesday session was all done, he began packing up - out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone still there. She didn’t talk during the meetings but she’d been attending them, that much he knew. Maybe a more one-on-one icebreaker was necessary. “Hey,” he greeted, before folding some chairs closed. “You’re...River, right?” He knew names. That much, at least. “We’ve talked on the network.”

River wasn’t entirely sure why she kept coming to the meetings. She’d gone once, just to see what it was like, and she’d ended up leaving partway through. But then she’d gone to the next one and the one after that. She never talked, but she’d started listening. Whether or not it had been helpful was yet to be determined.

It couldn’t hurt, though. She’d barely been sleeping, and even she needed some rest. She was exhausted. Talking to the Doctor again was out of the question. Her husband felt badly enough. He’d been the one to spend that final long night with her, the one who’d had to tell her goodbye. And her wife, well, she really was quite sweet this time around, and so much older. The idea of adding to her guilt didn’t sit well.

So she went back to doing what she’d always done. She hid the damage, best she could, packed the emotion away and said she was fine for their benefit. Not that it was doing her any favors.

“We did,” she agreed with a smile. And since she was still there, she moved to help him pick up the remaining chairs. She must be getting soft. “It was a good meeting,” she added, conversationally.

The chairs were stored in one of the supply closets nearby, so Dan carried a few over, opening the door and stacking them inside. He flashed a smile of thanks at River; it was crooked and reached the blue of his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. “I’m glad you’re coming,” he said, and he meant that.

He knew it was difficult for people to talk about their own deaths, how it felt both physically and mentally - how it felt to have clawed your way out of the coffin, so to speak. How it felt it be alive again. It was a jarring sensation, often like whiplash. The fact that people did manage to even try, that said a lot about how strong they truly were. Some just sat and stewed, they didn’t let anyone help them. “I’ve been curious about what you said anyway,” he went on. There was a little kitchenette area attached to the space as well, and he went to go clean and wash the coffee pot. “About your...consciousness being uploaded?”

Following him over to the closet, River stacked the chairs inside, absently wiping her hands on the back of her pants. It was more of an anxious gesture than anything else, though she’d never admit as much. “Yes, well, it’s something to do.”

She hadn’t even died, not properly. Oh, she remembered it fine. But it had all been over in a blinding instant of light and pain, and then she was alive again, in a manner of speaking. The trouble was…it wasn’t really living. When she’d found herself here, that had changed, and while she’d been grateful, was grateful, it hadn’t been the easiest adjustment. All those little things a person forgot about being flesh and blood could be surprisingly unpleasant after spending so much time as code in a computer.

“What about it?” Her body language remained casual, but her tone was guarded.

The water of the sink turned on, and Dan was close enough to still continue on a conversation while he kept his hands busy - and cleaning up after using the DOA space was important to him, because he wanted to be able to keep using the space. It wasn’t in his nature to be ungrateful - or leave a mess behind, for that matter.

“You mentioned it was well-intentioned,” he said, scrubbing at the pot with dish soap. “I guess I was just - wondering how it came about?”

He’d never heard of anything like that before. And for someone who was in the business of mindreading, of being in wonder and awe at the vast complexities of the human mind, it intrigued him. But if River didn’t want to talk about it, he’d just shut up and clean up, no problem there.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I did.”

For a moment, it seemed she might leave it at that, then she slipped her hands into her back pockets and looked down at her feet, smiling slightly. “My husband.”

That probably required a bit more explanation, she realized, lifting her head again. She wasn’t used to sharing her secrets, even with the people closest to her. There were no more spoilers, no more timelines to keep in order. No, it was more personal than that.

A soft sigh marked the moment she made her decision. “I…died, so that he wouldn’t. He saved me the only way he knew how.”

Sacrifices made for love - now he knew what River meant, when she said the decision had been selfish but well-intentioned. “I can understand that,” he mused quietly, soapy fingers working in a methodical kind of way; he was thinking, however. Contemplative.

“Does it bother you, that he didn’t give you a choice?”

Love made you do insane things, Dan knew it firsthand - he’d died to save Abra; in that instance he felt as if he had no other option. But to make the choice to die, to save your husband, and then have that decision invalidated only to be brought back in less than ideal circumstances - he imagined it was bound to create some resentment, and that was probably something to struggle with.

“It’s…complicated,” she said softly. Because what in her life hadn’t been complicated?

It wasn’t just that she hadn’t been given a choice. It was that he should have known. After everything, he should have known.

“He did what he always does. He solved the immediate problem, but he didn’t think it through.”

Whether it was sadness or bitterness she couldn’t quite keep out of her voice, it was hard to tell. She loved them, all of them, but it was hard not to blame them. For not coming back, for leaving her there in the first place…If they couldn’t save her properly, they should have let her die. But they couldn’t, and once it had been done, well, they couldn’t rewrite time, could they? Again.

“I haven’t answered the question, have I?” She smiled, but she didn’t sound especially apologetic. “I spent so much of my life in a cage. He never considered he was putting me into another one.”

“You’ve answered it just fine,” Dan assured, returning the smile - it was small, but genuine. Reassuring. “The right to die is...well, you don’t realize how important it is until you feel like it’s taken from you. That’s general you,” he added, wiping his hands with a towel.

They called him Doctor Sleep for a reason - because he’d spent eight years, prior to arriving in Vallo, working in hospice where death was commonplace. It happened all the time, and he was there to ease people into it - to erase pain that coursed through the dying like mercury, to ease anxiety, to pull up memories that were beautiful as a comfort, when they sailed on and left this world. As a result of that, he had thoughts about it.

“But - everyone’s afraid of it, you know? Afraid of death. Of loss. It’s not easy, and it’s not supposed to be. It clouds judgment. Is he here, your husband?”

She laughed, and it was genuine if out of place. “Yes, he is. My wife, as well.”

And though she owed him no explanation, she knew, without one, it would only further confuse other aspects of their conversation. “Different body, different personality, but technically speaking, the same person. She’s his future.”

Despite what they’d been discussing, there was fondness and a certain pride when she spoke about them. She loved them both, dearly and equally.

Alright, that was unexpected. Dan found it difficult to wrap his mind around but he imagined there must be some explanation - or reasoning for why there was a body transfer, anyway. Fascinating, yes, but also confusing.

“Well - “ From his view, it seemed like River kept a lot inside. Now, with both a husband and a wife here, she had two people to look after - two people tied to how she lived and died before, and that probably wasn’t easy at all, when she was trying to work through her own feelings about everything. “We don’t know each other that well, but if you want to talk one-on-one, outside of the meetings - I’m happy to listen. Offer perspective. Whatever will help,” he said.

He cleared his throat, and he wouldn’t pry about it - he’d just put the option out there, let her take it if and when she was ready. “Are you heading back to Morningside? I can walk you there, or wherever you’re going,” he offered. There were waypoints, sure, and other public transportation - but sometimes a walk at night was nice.

“Do you think it will help, talking about it?” She did still sound the slightest bit skeptical, but for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, she kept talking. “I tried speaking to my husband. I think all I managed to do was make him feel badly about it.”

Which, despite a certain amount of anger she couldn’t deny, hadn’t been her intention. Yes, he should have realized. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind an apology, some understanding. But mostly, she’d just wanted him to know it hadn’t been easy, that in the end, her life in the database had been lonely.

“I can look after myself, you know?” She knew that wasn’t why he was asking, and it wasn’t an actual dismissal. “But you’re welcome to walk back with me, if you like.”

“Sometimes the company is nice,” was Dan’s reasoning - for him, he’d just be heading to one of the waypoints, so he could return to the mortuary in the forest. It was an easy way to travel, he had to admit. Though he was sure River could look after herself - he had no doubt about that. “But, yeah, to answer your question - “

Taking one last look around to make sure he’d put everything away that needed to be put away, and cleared up sufficiently, he flipped the lights in the room and it was time to say goodnight. Until next Wednesday, that is.

“All of this - the after effects of what happened - all of it is still in you, locked away, and it’s hard to find a way to reckon with it but...you owe it to yourself to do that,” he continued, thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans as he walked. “Rather than let it fester. I’m sure at some point you and your husband need to hash it out but until then, maybe you’ve got some things to work out for yourself too.”

Nodding slightly, whether in agreement or acceptance, it hardly seemed to matter, River waited quietly for him to make his final checks so they could walk out together.

“Do I?” she asked, and though her tone kept its lightness, the question was sincere. She laughed again, low and light on humor. “Our lives, his and mine, it's always been complicated. I can’t blame them, you know, either of them. My death was written from the day they met me. They’ve had their moments, but they loved me, in the end.”

“No doubt they did,” Dan concurred. “They still do, I’m sure. And love is - pretty great, but it doesn’t solve all problems.” And sometimes, by itself, it wasn’t always enough. There were puzzle parts that went along with it too, other components - overall it was difficult to pinpoint, to define, but it was complex and not neat or tidy in the slightest. If it was, it wouldn’t be this thing that people wrote sonnets about, or tried to express through other means.

The city lights looked nice at night, here in Vallo - like someone just tossed a handful of glitter onto the dark canvas of the sky. Where he’d come from, that small town in New Hampshire, paled in comparison - for a lot of reasons. “And even if you can’t blame them, you can still feel how you want to feel about it,” he added, shuffling along.

She laughed again. “No, it doesn’t.” Though hadn’t they tried. She wondered what Dan would think if he knew their story, really knew it. The Doctor had said she didn’t deserve her, and there were moments, rare and fleeting, when she’d thought that herself, but then she always remembered who she was. And she had never felt like she deserved The Doctor. But she’d loved them all the same, couldn’t help but love them.

River missed the stars, missed being among them. She fidgeted absently with the vortex manipulator she still nearly always kept strapped to her wrist, a reminder she couldn’t escape, not this place or the people.

“I feel…” Well, discussing her feelings wasn’t really her strong suit. “I wish Pretty Boy had known me well enough to know what he was doing. I wish my husband had thought about what he was doing. I wish one of them had come back for me.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? Had there been a plan? Did he assume he’d think of one? Or did he always intend to leave her there until she faded like the others?

After Kovarian, the Church, all those years she spent in Stormcage, for him, how could he believe that was what she would want?

That all seemed fair. Dan didn’t know all the details, of course, but he found that sometimes putting words to the jumbled mess you had going on in your heart, in your head, could be helpful. It was why he kept the support groups going - for the talking aspect, as well as the sense of community. That was important, when you were attempting to work through something difficult.

“I hope that one day you can tell him these things. It may make him feel guilty but it’s not - it’s not entirely about his guilt, you know? It’s all something he needs to hear,” Dan said.

He stopped by the waypoint that was his - or, really, the one that would lead to the forest, to where he needed to go. Wednesday nights he was always off from work but they were also chock-full of activities and by the time he got home he was usually beat. Getting some reading in, of one of the books he’d checked out from the library, seemed like a good way to wind down.

“This is me,” he motioned toward the waypoint. “But I’ll see you next Wednesday? And if you want to grab a coffee or anything before then, I’m around.” Not like he had much of a social life.

River nodded, rather noncommittally, then hesitated for just a moment before smiling and saying firmly, “Wednesday.”

Time. She just needed time. But the meetings couldn’t hurt, even if she hadn’t yet decided if they were helping.

“But thank you. For the walk.” It was for more than that, but some things she simply still couldn’t admit. Some things still felt too much like weakness. And of all the things she had been in her lifetime, River Song was never weak. She couldn’t afford to be.

With a small nod, she turned to continue on to her own flat, leaving him to it. Maybe next week.

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