A/N: Hello again. All I can really ask for is your feedback, should I bother continuing? Much love x


"What do you think of Paris, River Song?"

"Well, I think… Romance. Amazing tales of love at first sight. That kind of thing, mostly."

"…Ah."

"What now, Doctor?"

"I didn't think of you as a romantic, River Song. Not at all."

"What did you think me as, then?"

"I was thinking more of a revolutionary."

"Haha, there are worse things than being a revolutionary, I suppose. But why?"

"You're a rule breaker, River. You go against the ideal just because you can. Plus there's the added bonus of being able to guillotine…"

"Thank you, Doctor. You've just made me sound like a murderous psychopath."

"You are a psychopath. A gun-slinging, archaeologist psychopath."

"Not anymore."

"Still, I can imagine you enjoying over-throwing the French royal family."

"Yes, that might've been a good day out; but I do not enjoy killing. Just because I carry a gun doesn't mean I like using it."

"…Yes you do."

"…"

"…"

"Fine, I do a little. Quite a bit. A lot."

"I told you so!"

"Can we drop this now? What has this got to do with Paris? Are we going to Paris?"

"Do you want to go to Paris, River?"

"I don't know. I can't imagine there being much running in Paris."

"Oh, River, River. There's a lot more running to do in Paris that first meets the eye."

"…Oh, okay then. Let's go to Paris. It is the city of love, after all."

"…"

"What's wrong, Doctor? Have I made you blush because I used the dreaded 'l' word?"

"… No, of course not."

"Yes, I have."

"…"

"Aww, you've gone bright red!"

"River Song, outside those doors is nineteenth century Paris. Do you want to go or not?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, wait a second; I just need to get ready."

"Huh?"

"…"

"Doctor, you never get ready. You stay in that jacket all. The. Time."

"…"

"Doctor…"

"Voila!"

"…Oh God, Doctor, you've surpassed yourself."

"Why thank you! Should I wear it on the side like this, or on top of my head?"

"You know what I think, Doctor? I think you shouldn't wear a beret at all."

"Why not? It's very Parisian."

"So?"

"It's perfect for selling onions. And Frank Spencer impressions."

"Who's Frank Spencer?"

"… Never mind."

"… Ok. Fine. Let's go see Paris."

"Really? You're not going to vaporise my beret or anything?"

"Nope."

"Oh, good grief! Let's go for a jaunt along the Seine then, shall we?"

"Will they still have guillotines in the nineteenth century?"

"Yes, very probably. Why?"

"… No reason."