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To some, River Song is a train robber, plain and simple. To others she’s a curly-haired legend who struts the aisles of trains, leaving with her pockets full and taking no prisoners. She’s a thief, a myth, a vagabond. She is Manifest Destiny personified. She is a trickster. A fairytale with no happy ending in sight. A siren who favors the iron beast over white sails, but leaves the same amount of wreckage in her wake.
Her name slips through cities in fearful whispers, like the plague itself. Wanted posters hang on every corner, displaying that wicked smirk for all to see. People speak her name with a mixture of terror and reverence, the stories told of her never failing to be infused with that tone of fascinating horror. They fear her. They love her.
John has no doubt that her status as a highly wanted criminal makes her dangerous, but there is something else about her. A simple fact that others take for granted when telling her stories, but to John it is everything. She is a woman. And that is the deadliest thing about her.
The first time he met her she made a complete fool out of him. In fairness, he had been new to the whole Marshal business- new to the whole America business as far as that goes. And the West? Well it truly was, and is, every bit as wild as the stories say.
She greeted him with a sinful smirk and a ‘Hello sweetie’ that she purred in a deep tone just to see him shudder. The train they occupied had already been robbed blind and he stood before her as her last target.
He pulled his pistol with a shaking hand that gave away his mostly confident exterior. She frowned. But to his surprise, it wasn’t at him or the weapon in his hand that was meant to subdue her. No, the savage frown that erased that lovely smirk was directed right at his shiny new Stetson that sat perfectly atop his head.
‘What in the name of sanity have you got on your head?’
The question threw him. The train robber who looked like a deadly temptress sent from Satan himself was asking about his hat?
It didn’t take him long to find out that not only did she care very little for the copper star pinned to his shirt and proclaimed his authority, but she also didn’t have patience for hats. When she hopped right out of the train window, an act that immediately pulled his heart from his chest to his throat, it wasn’t before leaving his Stetson with a smoking hole right through the center.
She robbed the train, mocked his position of power, and killed his hat. Somehow, despite it all, she still managed to unwittingly leave with a tiny piece of his heart. Not that he would ever, ever admit it out loud.
---
The second time, he thought he had her. He had been chasing the whispers of her whereabouts for weeks until he finally followed her aboard a train whose rails were only a week old. Vaguely, he remembers thinking that she was certainly clever. The newer lines were sure to draw in the rich- more bounty for her pockets.
An entire hour passed by without any indication of her wreaking even an ounce of havoc. With a huff, he gave up lying in wait and went to find her himself, thinking that capturing her before her thieving hands had a chance to pick pockets was more than likely the better plan anyhow.
He found her in a private compartment, simply sitting on the cushioned bench seat and staring longingly out the window at the passing landscape that stretched for miles. He almost hated to interrupt whatever thoughts were running through her mind.
To a fair amount of annoyance, he noted that she didn’t seem a bit surprised when he slid open the compartment door, turning and simply beaming at him as if she had been waiting all of this time for him to catch up. His heart betrayed him and sung at the mere sight of her.
‘And what sort of time do you call this?’ She had asked. ‘I’ve been waiting on you to show up all week.’
His lips twitched in return, and despite everything he found himself planted in the seat across from her. ‘Sorry I’m late, honey. The road has been hell.’
Her eyes lit with mischief and he could tell that she was pleased with him playing along.
‘What are you doing here?’ He had asked seriously, earning a derisive snort in reply. ‘I’m a thief. This train in full of pompous rich people. You do the math.’
John sighed patiently. ‘No, what I meant was why? You’ve taken enough in the past month to probably see you set for life. Why do you keep doing it?’
She raised a thin brow, mildly surprised by his question. ‘I’m not the only one in need of a bit of coin.’
Giving a laugh, he asked incredulously, ‘What? You expect me to believe you’re bloody Robin Hood?’
The enigmatic smile that crossed her face made him want to kiss her until her secrets lied in a puddle at her feet. ‘Oh, sweetie. Robin Hood’s got nothing on me.’
‘I imagine you’re right. Especially given that he’s nothing more than a story.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ She replied. Then suddenly, her smile widened and her green eyes sparkled as she continued, ‘I want to make sure mine’s a good one.’
Her answer only served to enthrall him further, his heart nearly ready to be dropped in her hands by no conscious action of his own. Falling for her was like being in a burning building, trapped with no way to escape even if he wanted to. Her flames engulfed him and if he wasn’t careful she would burn him to the ground. In the end, he might as well surrender.
He should have been able to predict that just like the first time, she would leave him looking like a complete idiot. In one swift movement she had him locked inside the compartment. She left him with a wink and a lipstick print pressed against the window of the sliding door, and once he was finally able to escape he found that both River and a few coin bags belonging to a handful of wealthy merchants were nowhere to be found.
---
The third time he ran across her it was completely by chance. Those golden curls are like a beacon, and he wondered at how she has managed to go for so long without being captured when it was like she wasn’t even trying to hide herself.
It was one of those rare rainy days on the frontier, the streets turning to orange mud and hardly a person in sight. The little town he was passing through only had one street, and it was there that he saw her. He almost missed her in his rush to the train station, his shoes squelching into the ground and his coat pulled tight around him in a futile attempt to ward off the rain.
The moment he saw her, standing perfectly dry under the awning of the small orphanage and smiling kindly at the owner, he stopped in his tracks, forgetting all about the rain and the train he was meant to catch in only a few minutes. Wiping his wet hair from his forehead, John watched from afar as River pulled what he assumed to be a bag of coins from underneath her coat and placed it in the owner’s hands.
John frowned and continued to look on as River accepted a brief hug before pulling up the heavy hood of her coat and swiftly disappearing down the street. The rain continued its torrential onslaught as he inwardly argued with himself over pursuing her or leaving her be.
In the end, he headed for his train, a wistful smile flitting across his face. He was positive he would run into her again sometime in the near future. He’d make sure of it.
---
As it turns out, he would make good on that promise to himself even sooner than he thought. Now, not even a fortnight after seeing her in that little town, he has caught up to her in a saloon that rests just outside of Arizona territory.
It’s your typical Western watering hole. Batwing doors, a small space dimly lit by gas lamps and the sunshine creeping through the wooden window shutters, the smell of stale alcohol and cheap cigars, the air a haze of low-sitting smoke, and the sound of rowdy patrons betting their last bit of coin on a round of cards.
And of course, sitting right in the middle of this particular group of rowdy patrons is River Song herself. Her curls are as wild as ever and her smirk impossibly smug as she lays her cards down to reveal her winning hand.
“Pay up, boys,” she demands with a smile on her face and a mischievous glint in her eye. There’s the collective good-hearted grumbling from the men around her as they push their coin across the table, River smiling serenely at them as she scoops it all into a bag. “Don’t pout, gentlemen. You’ll have a chance to earn it back next week.” Her words are accompanied by a throaty laugh, as if sure that the future victory already belongs to her alone.
“Not cheating are we, Miss Song?”
Every head turns to him as he announces his presence, though he has focus for only his curly haired thief. The beaming smile that she greets him with nearly pulls his heart right from his chest.
“Hello sweetie,” she purrs, seeming unconcerned as the men around her immediately rise to their feet. On the receptive end of so many cold stares, John swallows tightly and tries to appear more confident than he suddenly feels. He is the law, after all.
“Cheating is beneath me,” River states, leaning nonchalantly back in her chair as she answers his earlier question.
The men take a step toward him, and John forces himself to hold his ground, his eyes trained solely on River as he raises a brow. “What? And thievery isn’t?”
Her lips press together in an attempt to repress a smile, and she kicks out the now vacant chair that sits across from her. “If you don’t believe me, you’re more than welcome to play and find out, sweetie.”
John opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off as one of the men takes another step toward him and asks, “Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction, Sheriff?”
“It’s Marshal, actually. I have no boundaries.”
The man is shorter than him, with sandy blond hair and a slightly manic look in his eye that John thinks he should really take as a warning. Luckily, River stands and intervenes, placing a quelling hand on the man’s arm. “He’s fine.”
For a moment, the man continues to stand there and glare, seconds ticking by in agonizing silence. With a terse nod at River he finally backs down, shooting John one last glare before retreating to the other end of the saloon.
“Short temper, that one,” River says with a smile as she now stands only inches from him. “Thinks he’s the bloody master at cards. You don’t have anything to worry about, he’s just sore that I beat him. Again.” She laughs at the last part, as if she finds the fact endlessly amusing, and John feels his lips twitch in return.
“So,” she says, leaning in and giving his bow tie a tweak before looking up at him through her lashes. “Buy me a drink?”
He agrees immediately, tucking her hand into his arm as they make their way up to the bar. He’s sure that the smile blooming across his face is nothing short of pathetic. It seems that he’s incapable of denying her a simple wish, regardless of her habit of humiliating him whenever the moment presents itself.
One drink turns into two and two turns into four, and before he knows it the sun has set and there is a pleasant buzz humming around his brain and under his skin.
Leaning toward him in her barstool, River places her hand on his thigh for balance, and for a moment he thinks he has certainly been lit on fire by the contact. Her simple touch is such a delicious burn.
Flicking her fingers on the copper badge he wears, River narrows her eyes at him. “Aren’t you meant to be putting me in jail?”
John nods, trying not to be affected by her closeness as he answers, “That’s my job.”
“You’re not very good at, are you?” She gives him another one of those smiles he seems to always be so desperate for, her green eyes sparkling from the alcohol.
Without thinking, he reaches up and tucks one of her wild curls behind her ear, grinning as it immediately springs forth in defiance. He thinks her hair must be where she hides all her rebellion.
“Aren’t you supposed to be running from me?” John counters, noting the sudden flush on her cheeks and wondering if it is from the drinks or his touch.
The smile slips from her face and she swallows tightly, as if noticing for the first time just how very close they are. Her voice drops to a whisper. “I suppose I’m not very good at my job, either.”
The air between them feels suddenly heavy, and his fingers twitch to just reach out and touch her. She watches him with wide eyes, as if she can’t figure out where she should go from here. The dim lighting of the saloon casts her in a soft glow and she looks so damn gorgeous, her lips parted so invitingly that John decides to make the decision for her.
In one swift movement his hands are cupping her face and his lips are pressed against hers in a kiss that causes his heart to flutter like mad. It’s a clumsy kiss, wet and sloppy, but he can’t bring himself to care as she gives a whimper that shoots straight through him like a burning bolt of desire.
“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers as they part.
Her lips twitch. “Probably not.” Despite her words, she leans in for another kiss that he gladly gives.
Her fingers tangle in his hair and he gives a groan as she pulls ever so slightly. His fingers grip at her waist, her skin warm to the touch even through her clothing and god he wants her. He wants to strip those tight tan trousers from her legs and bury himself between her thighs. He wants to know what River Song sounds like when she screams, what she looks like when she comes undone from his touch alone.
He’s just about to whisper that exact suggestion in her ear when a train gives a loud blow of its horn, announcing its arrival in the station just across from the saloon. River pulls away suddenly with a muttered swear, and her sudden absence is like a splash of cold water to the face.
“I’m supposed to be on that train,” River states, refusing to look him in the eye as she hops off of her barstool. Gently, John reaches out and grabs her hand, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in her eyes as she glances warily at him.
“I’ll find you again,” he promises, sealing his words with a kiss to the back of her hand. A flush steals across her cheeks that she immediately counters with a smirk. “I look forward to it, sweetie.”
XxX
In the time between each encounter he has with River Song, he likes to think that he functions perfectly normal. That perhaps she is the siren some claim her to be and it is her presence that drugs him. But for all that he likes to think that, it is nothing but a delusion. More often than not he finds himself thinking about her kisses, dreaming about her curls, and hoping that when he hops aboard a train, she will already be there, gun pointed at a lineup of helpless passengers as she takes everything right down to the silver buttons on their trousers.
Without her, his days are as normal as ever, filled with beating down the dirt roads on his faithful steed and putting countless criminals behind bars. The only thing that has changed is everything. Because though his routine continues to be the same, his heart and thoughts are now with the curly haired thief miles away.
XxX
With a dark cloud hanging over his head, John plops heavily into a seat. Not two hours ago he was forcing three men behind bars for arson- and if he recommended a heavier sentence than normal it's definitely not because he's in a foul mood. After all, he's the Marshal. He has a reputation to uphold.
Now he sits secluded in a booth in the bar car of a train that seems to be almost completely devoid of people, scowling out the window at the bright sunshine and the scenery that's passing by at a slower pace than if he was on his horse.
It's been almost two months since he's last seen River, and almost just as long since he's heard even a whisper of her name. But if anyone asks, that is definitely not what has him brooding. While he knows that neither of them are exactly ones to be tied down- the road and independent adventure calls to both of them- he rather wishes that their encounters would not be so few and far between.
His scowl deepens. Of course the one woman who unwittingly demands his attention is a wanted fugitive. She couldn't have been some nice church-going girl from the country. Oh no, the Marshal had to fall for a notorious criminal. But it makes sense, he supposes. Who other than a thief would be capable enough to steal his heart?
Sudden movement out of the window snaps him from his thoughts and for a moment he can only gape at the sight he is greeted with.
River. On a horse. Her mass of wild curls flying behind her as she clutches tightly at the reigns and drives the horse at equal pace to the train. When she glances up to see his face nearly pressed against the window, she throws him a wink.
Finally over the initial shock of seeing her, John throws the window open. "River!" His tone comes out much more surprised than he intends and she laughs, a glorious sound he can hear even over the continuous pounding of the train.
"Expecting someone else, sweetie?" She calls up to him, bright smile in place, and god he has missed her.
Before he has time to respond, River suddenly throws her leg over the horse, lets go of the reigns and jumps, launching herself right at him. In that moment, his heart nearly stops. He doesn't have time to think, immediately reaching toward her and desperately grabbing hold of her by her forearms.
Her body slams against the side of the train but she doesn't fall, John's grip on her iron-tight in his sudden panic. "Bloody hell, River!" He yells as he pulls her inside through the window, his voice strangled.
They collapse into a pile on the booth and River only laughs breathlessly.
"I- what- you," John huffs. "I'm not going to be able to catch you every time you decide to throw yourself from a horse, River!"
"We'll see about that, sweetie," she responds with a smug smile as she sits up, not bothering to move from her position on his lap.
"And what about your horse?!"
"Not my horse."
"River." He attempts to take on a tone of disapproval, but he imagines the effect is less than grand considering she currently is running her hands through his hair and all he can think about is how warm and lovely she is against him.
"Sweetie?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Just shut up and kiss me."
---
He's not really sure how he manages it, but somehow he convinces her to not run off the second the train pulls into the station. They step onto the platform, and to his surprise she doesn't even glance once over at the group of wealthy politicians and their full pockets awaiting the next train. She only has eyes for him.
The town they've stopped in has called him in for help with some murder investigation, but with River smiling brightly at him as she links her arm through his, he figures that delaying the investigation just one day can't possibly do any harm.
The inn at the end of the town gives them a room, and as River leads him upstairs by the hand he thinks that she has been a terrible influence on him and his duty as Marshal. But then the door is closing behind them and he gets to feel her skin against his, hear her breathless cries of pleasure in his ear, and see the unholy light her eyes as her toes curl and her fingers dig into his skin. It's then that he realizes that he really doesn't mind. In fact, he rather loves it.
---
Early morning light filters through the window and basks him in enough sun to rouse him from sleep. He expects to find himself with his arms full of River and her hair obscuring his vision. Instead, John wakes to empty arms and his vision disappointingly unobstructed.
Turning his head with the new expectation of finding a completely empty side of the bed, his heart lifts a bit as he finds River sitting silently on the edge of the mattress with her back to him. Save for the golden curls tumbling just past her shoulder blades, her back is bare, only her front covered by the white sheet she holds against herself.
"River?" John speaks sleepily, reaching out and placing a warm hand to the cool skin of her back.
"You're making me soft."
Her tone is flat and John frowns. Not exactly the morning greeting he was hoping for, but he knows her brain must be running a mile a minute as she tries to deduce whatever they have become to one another. John rolls to his side and wraps his arms around her hips, burying his face into the bare skin at her waist.
River gives a soft laugh despite herself and John smiles inwardly. Ticklish. River Song, the hardened criminal who has her face posted on wanted signs across the country, is ticklish. He'll have to file that information away for later.
After puckering his lips against her skin in a gentle kiss, he finally addresses her statement. "I believe you've been soft from the very beginning, River Song."
River smoothes the hair from his eyes and raises a brow at him in question.
John gives a shrug. "I saw you at an orphanage a few months back. Giving your hard stolen money away like it was nothing."
River immediately tenses and John presses another kiss to her skin in a soothing gesture. "You don't have to explain to me."
When he glances back up at her, he sees that same vulnerable expression she gave him months ago when he kissed her for the first time. Something about it warms him and breaks his heart all at the same time.
Before he has time to think on it any further, River is leaning down and bestowing him with a passionate kiss. John smiles against her lips and tugs at her until she is straddling his waist. Now this is the kind of morning greeting he was expecting.
XxX
This goes on for months. They steal nights together in between the days that make up the other portion of their lives. Somehow, those days without her become nothing more than a tally mark, a countdown until he is with her again. And if the way she clings to him after a particularly long parting says anything, he knows her days must feel the same.
The latest tales of her thievery always lead him directly to her, almost as if she purposefully leaves him a trail to follow. Other times it is she who finds him. He’ll be disembarking from a train and she’ll be standing on the platform with a smirk and a hello sweetie. Or he’ll find a message attached to the saddle of his horse that contains a nearby address in her handwriting.
On one memorable occasion she infiltrated a party he was attending, dressed to the nines in a rich crimson dress that had too many layers to count and had him staring for far longer than appropriate. Forgetting all about the local dignitaries he was meant to be mingling with, he had danced with her and somehow ended up becoming an ally in her scheme to take the pocket watches from every wealthy gentleman in attendance.
It seems that regardless of the place, trouble finds itself wherever River Song may be. Perhaps he and trouble have more in common than he ever thought.
XxX
“Do you give everything away that you steal?” John asks from his position on the bed, catching River’s eye in the mirror as she tucks the hem of her white blouse into her skin tight trousers.
Just the evening before she had told him a tale of a little girl who grew up in an orphanage that never had blankets for all of the children or enough food to go around in the evening. His heart had constricted as he listened about the small girl having to resort to sorting through trash and picking pockets just to be able to survive.
He hadn’t said a word, only kissed her brow and held her close as everything he didn’t understand about her finally clicked into place.
River turns to him with a light laugh. “Of course not. Some goes to the orphanages and the rest goes to me.” She hesitates before adding, “But that’s not entirely why I do it.”
“You like the trouble,” John states, eyeing her with exasperated fondness.
River smiles and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “And so do you, sweetie.”
Leaning into her touch, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face in return. “Regardless, that last stunt you pulled at that church is bound to get more authorities after you.” His expression cools as he takes her hand in an effort to get her to listen. “Just be careful.”
She laughs brightly. “Careful? Tried that once. Ever so dull.”
XxX
“Tell me where she is,” John demands upon entering a small sheriff’s office in Santa Fe. Ever since he got wind of her arrest his heart has been beating on nothing but pure panic and he needs to see her right now.
The sheriff gives him a smug grin and nods to the short corridor at his left. “Got ‘er in holdin’ cell two.”
John grinds his teeth and tries not to glare a hole through the other man. If it wasn’t for the sake of needing to keep up his appearance as Marshal, John would have already made at least one swift punch to this sheriff’s stupidly arrogant face.
Somehow, despite the manic anger welling inside him, John manages to clap the other man on the shoulder a dredge up a half decent smile. “Job well done, Sheriff. Why don’t you head over to the saloon and let me handle the rest? You deserve it.”
“Well I can’t argue with that, now can I?” The Sheriff drops the cell keys into John’s hand. “She’s all yours. Though I’d be careful ‘round her if I was you- she can be a damn feisty one.”
John is down the corridor the minute the Sheriff is out of sight, relief washing over him as he finds River standing expectantly behind the sliding cell door, her fingers wrapped tightly around the bars.
“I thought I heard your voice,” River speaks when she sees him, sounding more relieved than John knows she would ever admit.
His hands immediately reaches for her through the bars, cupping her face tenderly even as he admonishes. “I thought I told you to be careful.”
“I was perfectly careful!” River argues as he unlocks the cell and throws open the door.
John gapes at her in disbelief and River thumps him in the chest with her hand. “I would’ve gotten myself out!”
“Yes, that seemed to be going smashingly for you.”
River narrows her eyes even as a smile threatens to overtake her entire expression. “Oh, shut up.”
John grins. “Make me.”
With that, River is finally, safely, in his arms again, effectively shutting him up with a kiss to his lips that tastes like relief.
Though he loathes to part from her, John pulls back and tenderly swipes a curl behind her ear. “You should go. You have a lot of running to do.”
River nods, looking about as morose as he feels. “What about you?”
John grins. “I’ll catch up.”
River smiles then, bright and uninhibited before she leans in for one last hasty kiss. “Till the next time, sweetie.”
See you around, River Song.