He was sitting in a mound of bubbles up to his chin, with a disposable party hat on his head.
He'd sculpted the bubbles into a Santa Claus beard and mustache, and there were a variety of boats, ducks, and what looked like the tail of a plastic dragon poking out of the mountains of foam.
River lounged in the doorway and stared at him, shaking her head, and smiling indulgently.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked.
"River!" he jumped up, splashing water and foam everywhere. He grinned delightedly. "I didn't hear you arrive." He stopped and cocked his head, listening. "We haven't landed have we?"
River shook her head. She held out her wrist. "Vortex manipulator. Sexy and I have been working on it."
His eyes got huge, gleaming bright. "You materialized inside while we're in the vortex? That's brilliant!" He gamboled over to her, dripping water and foam. He almost tripped over the lip of the huge, clawfooted bathtub. He was slathered in foam like some lumbering, but skinny, snowman.
She could see a pair of orange and green striped trunks peeking out through the bubbles, making him look like a stick of tootie fruity chewing gum. She rolled her eyes.
He grabbed her wrist and started poking at her vortex manipulator. He swiped a bubbly hand up, wiping his hair out of his eyes, leaving a jaunty little cone of foam perched on his forelock.
She pulled her wrist away, he frowned and pouted. "Not while you're wet, honey. The last think I need is to be zapped into a volcano somewhere."
He made to stick his hands in his pockets, then realized he didn't have any. He settled for plopping them on his hips, but they slid off.
He looked up at her with a naughty gleam in his eye. "Amy and Rory aren't here," he said.
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "I know."
He looked at her, face downturned, one eye tilted up to her, no doubt thinking he was giving her a sly look, but it actually just made him look like an adorably naughty little boy.
She shook her head again. Was it any wonder her mother hadn't been able to resist him?
He clasped his hands behind his back, standing up straight as a professor, somehow projecting bowtie and tweed even when slathered in a layer of iridescent bubbles.
His party hat slipped and he pushed it back up on his head. "May I interest you, Doctor Song, in a bubble bath?"
"Why Doctor!" she asked, flirting her eyelashes at him. She reached up and tweaked his hat. "Is it a special occasion?"
He grinned and bounced on his toes, dislodging more bubbles. Really, the view was getting better and better.
"No," he admitted. "I did look up to see if there was a patron saint of bubble baths. Or a bubble bath festival somewhere. But the universe seems to have missed that one somehow." He gave her a glare, as if he couldn't believe the universe could be so limited. "I expect it's archeology's fault."
"Really?" she said, drawling the word out. "Baths have always been one of my favorite parts of archeology." She slid her belt loose, and dropped it, with its various pouches and holster. She stepped out of it, her hands going to the zipper at her cleavage. "Is there a dress code?"
He gave her an incredibly old and thoroughly naughty grin. "Nope!" He unexpectedly swept her up, stalked over, and plopped her down in the bath, fully clothed. Bubbles exploded everywhere.
He hopped in after her. He settled with his legs alongside hers, facing her. But he couldn't see her. The bubbles were mounded up higher than their heads. He tunneled out a cave in the foam, until he found her on the other side, glaring, bubbles in her hair, iridescent light filtering down through the foam, making her look like an avenging, if slippery, angel.
Her arms were crossed under her breasts, he could see the water seeping up into the gray fabric of her combat dress.
"You do realize the water is going to absolutely ruin my boots?" she said.
He grinned and scooped up an armload of bubbles, shaping a cone shaped party hat on her head. It bobbed there, afloat on the golden curls. "Temporal laundry," he reminded her. "The Tardis will take care of it."
She unwound her arms, plopping them into the water, setting the whole mountain of foam bobbing on the waves. "And will it fix my guns too?" she asked.
"Guns?" he frowned, glancing off toward where she'd dropped her gunbelt.
She rummaged in the water, shifting, searching under her bum. "Oh," she said in that sly voice. "There are always guns, Sweetie."
She yanked her arms up out of the water, aiming at him, both hands wrapped around her weapon.
"River!" he shouted in horror.
She grinned maliciously.
And squirted him with the rubber duckie.
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