She was asleep.
He looked down at her in adoration. She was so sweet when she was asleep. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Those flushed round cheeks, those curls flopping every which way, those long, spiky eyelashes.
He grinned.
He knew better than to touch her, or make a sound. She was always so hyperaware of her surroundings. It was only here in the Tardis that she allowed herself to sleep this deeply. He felt a panging glow in his hearts. Only here did she feel safe enough.
He wanted to just scoop her up in his arms and cuddle her to death. Not that she'd allow that. And if he startled her she'd flatten him before she was even awake enough to hear him say it was him.
So what could he do for her? He wanted to do something for her.
What did she need? Not a gun, she'd just use it to shoot his hats off.
She didn't need him to take her anywhere, she could do that for herself with her manipulator.
Clothes? She'd already expanded the Tardis wardrobe three times.
A trip to see Amy and Rory? No, they'd just seen them.
Candy?
He started pulling at his hair. What could he get her? She had everything. She didn't need anything from him. She was the most perfectly whole person he'd ever met.
Suddenly a light brightened behind his eyes. He looked down at her, curled on her side in perfect sleep, her breath a soft sigh. He grinned, restrained himself from bouncing on his toes, and very carefully backed out of the room, not making a sound.
He dashed, lightfooted, back to the console room, took the brakes off, and very carefully eased them back into the vortex, trusting the Tardis to bend the temporal streams around River so she wouldn't notice they'd changed course.
—
He took his shoes off in the corridor, and snuck in his sock feet into the room. He approached the bed silently, almost holding his breath. She was still asleep. That pang hit his hearts again. That flushed cheek just seemed designed for him to kiss.
He restrained himself.
He tiptoed toward the bed and carefully laid his gift on her pillow, just in front of her nose.
She sighed, inhaling.
Her eyes fluttered, then blinked.
She pushed herself up and stared down.
It was a flower, brilliantly red, its lacy petals as complex and convoluted as their timestreams. A carnation.
She picked it up in a reverent hand and lifted it to her nose. She inhaled and closed her eyes.
He'd stolen it from one of the Victorian royal gardens. He didn't know which one, royals always had fantastic gardens. But this was back when flowers were still bred for their scents. And he knew River had a keen sense of smell.
She cupped the huge flower in both hands and buried her face in its velvety richness. It didn't have the perfumy stringentness of roses, but a scent all its own, strong and spicy and sweet, a voluptuous scent long missing in her modern world.
Like her.
She lifted her eyes up to him above the petals, soft eyes that glittered like starlight, blue and green and silver. Rising over the bloom like dawn, those eyelashes...
He also knew River, as an archeologist, understood the language of flowers.
Her eyes smiled at him.
His hearts bumped.
— ~*~ —
Language of Flowers:
Carnation (general) - Fascination; Divine Love
Red Carnation - My Heart Aches For You; Admiration