A/N: This is just for fun; it'll be two chapters, possibly three. AU, in my head, because even though I can't get the idea for this fic out of my head, I don't see such a situation ever being remotely canon.

Set after The Snowmen for the Doctor.

He stood at River's front door, grinning like an idiot, and immensely pleased with himself that he had found her house on only the second try. Well, maybe the TARDIS had nudged him in the right direction, but he had made some very good conjectures all on his own! It had been months for him since he had seen her; he had tried, really tried, to keep to himself, in spite of the advice of both his Pond women. Then suddenly, he'd met Clara, and lost Clara, and...oh, she was a mystery, and he couldn't wait to figure it out. And River could help him, he just KNEW she could; she was smart, smarter than anyone else he knew (besides himself), and she would help him figure out the mystery of Clara Oswin Oswald.

He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, unsure whether to knock or just sonic his way in. Knocking seemed a bit formal when one was visiting one's wife, but then again, using a sonic screwdriver to enter the home of a woman who was trained as an assassin probably wasn't wise, either.

Deciding it was worth the risk, the Doctor unlocked the door and stuck his head in. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" he called, hoping he was giving enough warning to avoid being shot at.

"And what sort of time do you call this?" a familiar voice answered back, lilting from a room he couldn't see, and he grinned stupidly before making his way towards the sound. He quickly found River in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup.

"Dinner time, from what I can see!" he quipped back merrily, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. She chuckled warmly, setting the spoon down so she could turn in his arms to face him.

"Who said you're invited?" she asked airily, raising an eyebrow, but there was a playful smirk on her lips. He grinned again, then held her out at arm's length to look at her.

"River, you're wearing an apron," he observed, playfulness replaced by shock. She laughed at him and placed her hands on her hips.

"I suppose I'm not allowed to be domestic occasionally? It's not all shooting aliens and kissing robots, you know. A girl has to eat," she replied, winking at him over her shoulder as she turned back to the stove. He eyed her figure from the back, taking in the dip of her waist where the apron was tied, and he was suddenly reminded of just how long it had been for him since he'd laid eyes on his wife.

"Never said I didn't like it," he replied, reaching his hands out to fiddle with the apron strings. On impulse, he untied it, then slid one hand around her waist underneath the apron's fabric. His other hand reached up to move her curls away from her neck, and he began planting a series of soft, slow kisses moving from her shoulder to just behind her ear. She sighed blissfully, leaning back into his embrace, and his other hand joined the first around her waist, holding her tightly to him. He gently took her earlobe in his mouth and began nibbling lightly, just as one of his hands began to trail down lower across her stomach.

"Sweetie," she said breathlessly, and to his surprise, she stopped his hand's explorations with her own. "Sweetie, it's only been four weeks for me. You know we need to wait six..."

"Six what?" he asked, distracted by the intoxicating smell of her hair and skin. Suddenly, her body went stiff, and loosened his grasp on her, puzzled. She turned to face him again, eyes wide.

"Doctor, when are you? When was the last time you saw me, for you?" she asked, voice suddenly urgent. He frowned, looking a bit put out; truth be told, he didn't want to bring up Manhattan at all, not just yet.

"Is it really that important, River?" he asked crossly, knowing it was a stupid question and not really caring at the moment. "Am I not allowed to visit my wife without...without having to go through all this?" he continued, waving his hand around for emphasis.

"When, Doctor?" she asked again, voice hard, and he sighed, rubbing his hands across his face in frustration. He sighed, realizing there was no point in fighting about this.

"Manhattan," he replied quietly, looking into her eyes to see if there was recognition there. Her face softened, and she instinctively reached a hand up to caress his cheek.

"Oh, my love. I'm sorry. I really am," she whispered, then sighed and shook her head. "But you should go."

"I just got here!" he exclaimed loudly, looking rather hurt at being put out. River opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a long, shrill cry coming from down the hall.

Both their heads turned towards the sound, then back to face each other. Something in the vicinity of acceptance seemed to settle on River's face, and she shook her head.

"Now you've done it," she said; there was no anger in her voice, just resignation. She started off down the hall, calling over her shoulder, "I might have known you would do this completely in the wrong order. But I suppose there's no helping it now. And you did warn me," she added before disappearing into the room that the wailing seemed to be coming from.

"Warn you about what? What have I done? River!" he called, belatedly following her. He rounded the door frame and stopped still, staring. River was standing in front of a crib, bouncing a small, squirming infant in her arms. "What's that?" he blurted out, shocked.

She looked up at him; he was expecting an eye roll and a witty remark, but instead received a patient, somewhat tired smile. The Doctor stood stock-still as River walked up to him, positioning herself so that he could get a good look at the child she was holding. "This," she said softly, looking down at the baby, then up at his face, "is Amelia Rose Song."