She was wrong! It was all her fault.
He slapped the wet ground beside him causing one of the otters to jump, turn in a startled circle, and stare at him.
"Sorry." He pinched his mouth tight and glared down at his bare toes. Why did she have to be so impossible? It wasn't his fault...
One of his discarded boots beside him suddenly moved. He startled, then stared down. One of the otters had stuck his whole head down into the boot, and was now wiggling and scooting it as he tried to burrow deeper.
The Doctor bit down on an involuntary grin. "Hey! That's my shoe!" He reached out to grab the sturdy long body and pull it out of his footwear. It was one of the adolescents. It scrabbled backward and kicked at him with its clawed, webbed feet.
"Ouch! Hey! There's nothing for you in there!" He dropped the skinny little animal and sucked on his bleeding thumb. It backed out of his shoe and looked up at him, his brown sock clutched in its teeth.
"Hey!" He swiped at it, and it twisted and gallumped off, his sock dangling from its mouth.
"You're an otter! You don't need socks!" he yelled after it.
It launched itself into the water and sleekly paddled away, getting his sock soaking wet. Several of the other adolescents converged on it and tried to steal his prize, resulting in a scrambling, tumbling, tug of war that left his sock in shredded tatters.
He glared glumly and slouched, sulking. "Fine. I have other socks."
He looked over the water. Mabel, one of the mature matrons of the clan was calmly beating open some oysters on her chest, with a "clack!" "clack!" of rapping shells.
Two of the downy babies, as cute as stuffed animals, and softer than rabbit fur, chased each other over his ankles in a gleeful tumble of youthful exuberance.
Old Lawrence, the patriarch of the clan, lumbered over and dropped his heavy self down beside the Doctor, thumping his head down on the Time Lord's thigh. The Doctor petted the sleek, wet, gray head.
"Do females always have to be impossible?" he asked. The old male turned and looked at him with a wise eye, then rubbed his rubbery nose commiseratingly on the Doctor's pantleg.
The Doctor sighed in dismay. "Yeah," he said, patting the tired old head. "That's what I thought."
The sun reddened and lowered over the horizon, Ginger and Filipe were already snoozing, floating in slow circles, paws clasped so they wouldn't float away from each other.
Mabel came and gathered up the kits, tumbling them with her nose as they protested bedtime in high little squeaks.
Rather than tumble them over to the water, she herded them over to the Doctor's ankles and lay down, curling around them, and one of his feet, as they squeaked and mumbled and yawned, and curled up and over and around each other until they settled down.
He grinned despite himself. It felt like having a very active but warm and comfy slipper on.
Out on the water, Beadus, the clan's sleek, black, Lothario male, groomed his tail and washed his face and settled down to sleep. Floating casually, one back flipper twitching as he settled into dreams.
The Doctor yawned and stretched his arms over his head. It was all River's fault! He'd apologized, and she'd just stayed mad. She'd preferred to go back to Stormcage than go with him. Still mad at him.
Well fine!
She could just stay mad.
With a last pout and glare at the setting sun, he lay back on the wet grassy bank, baby otters curled warm around one foot, Lawrence's gray head heavy against one thigh.
He threw one arm over his eyes and slept.
—
He woke up, cuddled warm. He sighed, and wiggled a bit, and hugged the warmth to him.
His eyes popped open.
He snorted at a nose full of yellow curls.
He stared down.
River looked up, curled around him like his tumbled adopted family. Her soft eyes, her golden pink cheeks and warm solidity.
She stared at him, her eyes twinkling warmly. "You really otter know better."
His hearts burst in his chest. And he hugged her tight.
—
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