“It won’t last,” he mutters, eyes narrowed at the couple on the dance floor, Clara with her heavy skirt rucked up and her husband attempting to moonwalk.
The ballroom is full of music and laughter and drunken steps, everything bright and shining and it makes his eyes hurt. He drums his fingers against the table next to his plate, still half full of some overpriced, over-seasoned fish and a sad looking vegetable he hadn’t touched.
All vegetables look sad, he thinks, frowning as the groom - David? Donald? - spins his wife and brings her back, cradling her against him with a reverence that makes his stomach rebel.
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
The Doctor blinks, turning to face the only other person still sitting at the large, circular table. He hadn’t noticed her, half-hidden behind an elaborate - frankly, atrocious - floral arrangement. She hasn’t looked up, thumbing through a blue book in her lap, but it’s her tone that intrigues him - mild, disinterested.
He peers around the pink bundles and weird green stems.
“Am I wrong?”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if you are or not,” she returns. “It’s a wedding. Keep it to yourself.”
He feels vaguely chastised, though unsure why he cares.
“Bride or groom?”
She looks up, finally, but it’s grudging and distracted, her lips pressed into a thin line, a slight crease between her eyes.
For some reason, he can’t look away.
“Your friend. Bride or groom.”
“Neither,” she says, looking back at her book. “I wasn’t invited.”
“You look invited.”
It takes him a moment to realize he’s right - he hadn’t noticed, not consciously, her hair pulled up in perfectly arranged curls, the deep blue dress that gathers at her collarbone and drapes off the shoulders, exposing toned arms and not a hint of décolletage. He’s oddly disappointed in that, and annoyed that he’s disappointed - annoyed that he’s even registered that her hair is blonde and her eyes are subtly lined, that her nails are manicured but not painted. There’s a small bump in her nose he has the wildest desire to touch, and he fists his hands against his thighs.
Meeting his gaze, the woman studies him for a moment, head slightly tilted, and he feels utterly exposed, utterly ridiculous in his deep burgundy suit, no tie, Doc Martens she can’t even see.
“You don’t,” she says, lips quirking up just slightly, and he rolls his eyes.
“I don’t do weddings.”
“Clearly.” At his frown, she closes her book, setting it on the table as she moves her chair just enough to not have to crane around the flowers. “You’re a friend of the bride, judging by the way you’ve been staring at her since dinner ended, but you didn’t bother to follow the black tie requirement and you’re not participating, which means you’re here under duress. You’re not family - no one else seems to recognize you. You’re at least three times her age—” He mentally rolls his eyes at that. “—employer, perhaps?—and most are giving you a wide berth because they think you’re in love with her and find it creepy.”
The Doctor stares, resisting the urge to let his lips part, mind whirring - she must have spoken to someone, must know him, though he doesn’t recognize her, and for the first time in his life he’s positive he would remember. Everything’s been fuzzy since he regenerated, faces blurring together, chunks of time missing - it comes back to him when necessary, it seems, and he chalks it up to being old - terribly, terribly old.
She continues, eyes casually scanning the room, in the same slightly bored tone, as if he’s a mystery far too simple for her to solve. He thinks perhaps he is.
“The truth is, you think the groom’s not good enough for her, which is rubbish, and you know it’s rubbish, which is why you’re over here sulking behind the world’s ugliest bouquet.” Raising an eyebrow, she folds her hands over her book and looks back at him. “How’d I do?”
The Doctor glares, annoyed at being so obvious, annoyed at being intrigued, annoyed at being ever so slightly turned on.
“I’m not her employer,” he grumbles.
He clenches his jaw and looks away, but out of the corner of his eye, sees her almost smile.
“I’m her Doctor.”
“Is she ill?”
“None of your business,” he snaps.
She shrugs, fingers resting against the inside cover, like she wants to open it, but doesn’t want to be seen opening it.
“Not a medical doctor,” she muses. “You haven’t the face for it.”
“What makes you say that?”
She’s right, of course, but he isn’t going to admit that.
“We’ve been sitting here for half an hour and you haven’t said a word to me. Two attractive, single people at a wedding - if you cared at all for people or proprietary, you’d have introduced yourself. Socially stunted and a velvet blazer? I’m thinking physics, astronomy, something without the malaise of regular human interaction.”
“I’m not really here,” she replies, touching the side of her nose.
“You find me attractive?”
He curses under his breath, until she laughs - a warm, soft, quiet sound that makes his cheeks flush, irrationally pleased to have elicited the sound.
“It’s the eyebrows,” she says, leaning back in her chair, one hand over her book. “They’re daring.”
I adore the friendship between River and Amy, especially before Amy knew that River was her daughter and just thought River was the Doctor’s wife. There was never any jealousy from Amy about River’s role in the Doctor’s life (and was so happy to be proven correct), and River took care of Amy when the Doctor was too busy flitting about to do so. It was such a strong friendship to begin with.
13. Male character
Not even Rory can match my love of Wilf.
14. History episode
Vincent and the Doctor
41. If you could travel with the Doctor where would you go first?
I want to see New York City right at the beginning of the American Revolution. Then I want to meet Laura Ingalls Wilder.
44. Which episode made you the most confused?
“Listen,” especially because the plausibility flew out the window once Danny died. It just doesn’t make sense.
"i want to write something for this, when i ask for prompts someone give me something for this" you're not asking for prompts but i'm kindly begging for some clara x river x peggy interaction
(Thank you thank you thank you! Oh, I’m so excited for this! I’m all hyped up on feels from that gifset and the more recent one where Fitz is Twelve’s son)
“So you’re time travellers?” Peggy said again, looking at the two women who were sitting in the booth across from her in the diner.
“And you’re Peggy Carter, one of the most amazing women ever!” the younger one of the two gushed, a wide, excited smile spreading across her face.
The other woman, whose hair was wild and curly, grinned and raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Careful, no spoilers.”
“How do you even travel through time?” Peggy wondered aloud, glancing around and wondering why there were no other customers.
“I can show her, right, River?” the younger woman asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling Peggy to her feet and taking her toward a door near the back of the room. Clara opened it, and Peggy’s eyes widened.
Heyyyy there! Just wanted you to know that I'm sooo happy to see you have a new fic for mattex. Haven't even read it yet, had to send you a message first just to make sure you would know how excited I was. That's because "Someone Tell Me What Happened Because I Don't Remember a Thing" is probably my favorite fic EVER and it was the first mattex thing I've ever read. My God, I cried so much. After that I was just in love with all your works. Thank you for all of them! You're an amazing writer!
Oh god, thanks for the lovely message! I really glad you love that old fic because I love it kind of a lot too and while it was your first time reading mattex (that’s crazy to me, that THAT would be the first out of all the glorious stuff that was around at the time) it was my first time WRITING it. Thanks so much and I hope this newest fic isn’t a disappointment!! :