She was his wife.

That was the only plausible explanation, really, he mused. Amy'd picked up on it. Heck, Rory'd even asked him after the whole business in Utah. Two humans had picked up on something that he didn't.

Well, actually, that wasn't it. He had picked up on it. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it. Or couldn't believe it. And now he was in denial.

But really, she couldn't be his wife. She couldn't. He'd never do that to her, of all people. She was human. Easily damaged, died in a few short years, and certainly not up for the things he did. She'd age, and he'd just sit there and watch her slowly fade away. Hell for him, and certainly hell for her. He wasn't sure he was ready to put his heart out on the line yet. It was a lot to ask.

He knew at the Library, he thinks. He knew that she was his wife. She knew his name. As if that wasn't a big enough of a clue. She knew how he operated, knew when he was panicking, knew when to touch him to sooth him and knew when to leave him be. Knew who he was.

The Warrior wasn't someone he talked about. Ever. And she knew.

His wife.

It was too painful, too much. Gallifrey wasn't something he talked about. Ever. It used to be, of course. . It was certainly worth bragging about.

His home was beautiful-amazing, stunning. Take your pick of adjectives from the English language, and there still wouldn't be enough, he thought. And before the Moment, before the Disaster and the War, he didn't mind talking about it. Afterwards was a different story.

He was a burdened man. A guilty man. And he knew it. The blood of his world, his family, hell-his home was smothered on his hands. And every day it was hard to look down at those stains and remember.

Ask anyone, and they'll tell you that blood stains eventually wear off over time. And maybe, physically, that was true. Your mind never forgot that, though. The time when your hands were smeared in red, the smell in the air, the panic all around. Screams, a pounding in your head, everything moving like you couldn't quite believe it was real.

So he didn't ever purposefully look back. Why should he? No use in re-opening an old wound. Best to let it scar over and hope to forget.

But River- River knew.

The conversation had began simply. It shouldn't have led up to the topic, really.

She'd been shaving his beard. Her hand was gentle, dabbing warm water over his chin; down one side of his jaw, then back up the other.

She was just humming.

It was a pleasant tune, one he recognized, though he didn't know where from. She was just finishing putting the cream on when he realized, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers in the mirror.

"Where did you learn that?" It wasn't harsh at all. After the look she'd given him before they began this adventure, he'd decided to change that approach completely. No, it was soft, barely a whisper into the air.

Her hands froze on his face, and for a moment he caught the surprised and guilty look on her face. For accidentally doing that, because it counted as spoilers, he wondered? But her expression quickly turned back to its usual neutral, completely blank and unreadable one.

"Must have heard you humming it."

Ah, her eyes were avoiding his. Why? What reason was there to lie about something so simple?

"Mh." He made a sound of agreement, and she resumed her work, rubbing the last but of cream of into a towel and grabbing a razor. "It's Gallifreyan, you know." He added.

Her expression remained the same.

She was good. No, she was proper good. She was almost as good as him good.

"It's lovely." She said.

"My dad taught me that. Couldn't have been more than 50."

There was a slight flit of surprise across her face, but she turned and began to pull the blade down so that her face was turned away. "Sounds great."

"He was." He agreed quietly. "He used to take us outside in the few hours after both suns were down. Showed us all the stars outside. The galaxies that the Time Lords had helped start. Civilizations. Told us stories, too. Of so many places. There was Fidifa, Ofyia, Wudoa! That was a good one." Time for the test. "And Karn was always so-"

There it was. Her face stiffened, eyes flitted to the side, eyebrow arched, and bit her lip. She did know, then.

"Something wrong?"

"No." She replied quietly, shaving another strip of hair off his face. "Nothing."

Of course not. That would be spoilers.

"I told you, didn't I?" He asked anyway.

She avoided his eyes.

"Okay, how much of it do you know?"

Nothing.

He must have trained her well. She was amazing at completely blanking her face of emotion.

"I've told you about him?" He fished once more.

Finally, she huffed and responded, "Honey, I hope you realize that if I answer you, it makes it fixed, so you won't have a choice whether you want to tell me or not. There's a reason spoilers are such a secret."

He was silent for a moment as she cleaned his face of cream. River was just beginning to towel through his hair when- "I already know I'd tell you. You're not forcing my hand. I'm just asking how much you know."

She glared at him in the mirror. "Just shut it, sweetie."

And then he did something that was probably stupid and not a good idea. It was probably something that she'd slap him for. He did it anyway.

The word slipped across his lips, and she froze. Would've nicked him if he didn't push her hand away in time.

She turned to him slowly. "What was that for?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted you to know that I trust you."

River nodded. "I know."

"About the Moment, as well?"

The conversation ended abrubtly after that. She'd just refused to say a word as she was trimming his hair.

But the point stood. She knew.

His wife.

Why was that so difficult to accept? Was the concept of love really terrifying him that much?

Apparently.

She'd kissed him.

Which, by itself, was nothing scary or new. Kissing wasn't something that meant much to him. It was a simple press of skin to another's. Like holding someone's hand. A gesture.

So why had that scared him?

It was because he felt something, he realized. There was something that was just... there. He wasn't sure he'd had that feeling before.

It wasn't the way humans described it at all. Electricity. Ha. What a terrible metaphor. No, it was more... sweet. Like honey. Or... just warmth and softness and the overall fondness that enveloped him as her hands carassed his cheek. And it scared him, because- that fondness wasn't just from her. There was something there, he knew, that was him.

Maybe he needed to talk. Yes, that was it. He needed to talk with someone who understood these things, or at least knew how to deal with this feeling. And he knew just who. After all, they'd spent quite a while with their spouse, and had done many things to get there.

The Boy who Waited.

[A/N. To be continued! Wasn't really sure where this came from. The idea just popped into my head that the Doctor would've figured out that they were married before it actually happened. He's clever enough. So yeah. So sorry it's been so long since I was on here. Busy busy busy. Apologies for any typos, much of this was typed on my phone. I will do my best to do part two to this soon. Also, something I need to tell y'all- I haven't started on the next chapter oof 101. *covers head and waits for fruit to be thrown* I know, I know, I know. I suck. But I'll get to it eventually. Right now I'm just more in the writing mood of fun and free and no plot line. So yeah. Hope you enjoyed anyway!

VOTES AND COMMENTS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!]