The Doctor's hair was mussed. River's skirt was hiked up her legs, and her dress draped down over one bare shoulder.

When Amy and Rory walked into the library, the Doctor was sitting in a chair reading a book, while River was sitting on the sofa opposite him, reading a manuscript.

"So," Amy said, looking at their disheveled appearance, the books that looked knocked over on the table between them, and River's shoes flung in the corner. "What have you two been up to?"

The Doctor looked up from his book. He held it up. "Reading."

"Uh, huh," Amy said, looking at the Doctor's jacket lying over the back of the couch beside River and the Doctor's one shoe that was off lying in a heap of books beside the coffee table.

"Why, Amy?" River asked innocently, rolling her scroll higher. "What do you think we were doing?" River gave her mother a thoroughly limpid look.

Amy put her hands on her hips. "Oh, don't give me that look." She poked a finger at her daughter. "I know you."

"Maybe we should just go, Amy," Rory said, laying a hand on her arm and trying to tug her out of the room. "Give them some privacy."

"What?" Amy protested. "If they wanted privacy they could have locked the door." She turned and stared triumphantly at the Doctor. "And how exactly did your hair get so messed up? Hm?"

The Doctor blushed bright red under Amy's stare and River's bright-eyed grin. He pointed at the standing fan behind the sofa. "The fan was on..."

"Oh, I just bet it was..." Amy said.

"Come on, Amy," Rory said resolutely, in that implacable Roman tone he'd occasionally get. "Let's give them some privacy." He dragged her out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"But all I wanted was for them to admit it..." They heard Amy's voice diminishing off down the hall.

River turned and gave the Doctor a blush-inducing grin. His eyes flowed down over his wife, noticing the way her dress draped down over one creamy white shoulder. Blushing a bit more at the pretty bare feet she tucked up under her skirts.

She returned his look with a long, appreciative, sweeping one of her own, admiring the soft fit of his shirt over his chest, the cling of his braces and the long, lazy sprawl of him in his chair. His grey-socked feet.

He toed off the other shoe and accidentally knocked down the rest of the books on the coffee table between them.

She rolled over on the sofa and snuggled her shoulders back into the pillows she'd piled behind her, her pretty knees poking up. She help up the ancient scroll, scanning a few sections. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. She grinned and bit her lip.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

He slumped comfortably in his chair, turning the pages of his paperback. He held it up and turned the cover to face her. "Agatha Christie. You?"

"Phoenician empire," she said, tilting the scroll to show him the glyphs.

"Any good?"

"It's interesting. We'll have to go there some day."

They settled back to their books, thoroughly content. Silence descended.

They turned and looked at each other at the same time, both pairs of eyes old and thoroughly naughty.

"Do you think they'll ever believe we were actually in here just reading?" the Doctor asked quietly.

"Nah," River said, giving him a sparkling look. She turned back over and went back to her scroll, grinning wickedly. "Where's the fun in that?"

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