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Well, since you're on line, C, I should post the rest of it, shouldn't I mrgreen :

“Oh, you are unbelievable!” said Professor Song as she limped back to the TARDIS, shoes in her hand. “I’ve never seen anyone dance like that . . .”
“I adore dancing. It’s almost like being able to make love with a whole room full of people without all that awkward morning-after baggage.”
Professor Song just stopped and laughed. “Oh, stop, you’re killing me! I’m exhausted! How do you do it? That conga line you had going down the street . . .”
“It’s the two hearts,” said the Doctor. “Increased stamina.”
“Ooh, the thoughts I’m thinking now . . .”
“I thought you just said you were exhausted.”
“Never that tired, Pretty Boy,” she said, reaching up to take his face between her hands and kissing him.
“Besides,” she added, “You still haven’t shown me around this ship of yours. You could show me the toilet . . .”
The Doctor’s nose wrinkled. “Well, I suppose I could, but I’m not about to demonstrate . . .”
“Oh, goddess not, talk about a buzzkill!” laughed Professor Song. “No, I just figure the loo’s got to be pretty close to the bedroom . . .” She wrapped her arms about his waist.
“Oh, you can’t possibly see my bedroom!”
“Why not?”
“It’s a mess. I’m a slob. There are socks and pants everywhere, and the bed’s not made . . .”
“Or are you just trying to avoid awkward baggage?”
“I should take you home,” said the Doctor, pulling away from her and unlocking the TARDIS. “You’ve got important work to do, a grant proposal to submit, an excavation to organize. If you don’t get the funds from the university, I’ll get you there. Somehow. I promise.”
“All right,” said Professor Song and followed him inside.

“So, living quarters through this door, I assume?” she asked once the TARDIS was in flight.
“Oh, no, no, no you can’t! I told you, it’s a mess, I’m a slob, I’m rubbish at housekeeping, and I’ve been traveling alone . . .”
“And I’m an archaeologist, and I’m used to sifting through rubble.” Professor Song pushed open the door and began walking down the corridor. “Let’s see–here’s a bedroom, can’t be yours, it’s all pink and ruffly.”
“No, guest quarters,” said the Doctor, “hasn’t been used since before the War, all the rooms on this corridor are guest quarters, none in use now.”
“You’re all alone in this great big rattling tub? Well, I suppose you would have to be. You poor thing, no wonder you look so lost.”
“I’m not lost. I know exactly where I am.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, reaching out to brush his cheek. “You can take me home now, if that’s really what you’re more comfortable with.”
“I, um, I did say I’d show you the toilet, and it’s through my, um, bedroom.”
“That’s more like it.” She followed him down the hall and around a corner, only to stop before a pair of ornate doors.
“Those symbols,” she gasped, “they’re exactly the same as . . . I feel so stupid! Is that your personal coat of arms?”
“Arms of my House,” said the Doctor. “The Great Seal of Rassilon, emblem of House Prydonia. I was educated in the Prydonian House, at the Academy of Time Lords.”
“And I was going to have it tattooed . . .”
“I wouldn’t mind. I mean, depending on where you had it. And whether or not you let me see it. Do you want to come in? Mind, it’s a wreck!”
“You weren’t joking!” Professor Song laughed at the sight of the sea of detritus covering the Doctor’s floor: mostly books and papers, interspersed with random take-out boxes and wadded-up socks. “How many centuries worth of strata am I looking at here?”
“Aw, it’s not that bad!” the Doctor protested. “Can’t be more than a decade or so!”
“That’s a beautiful bed,” she said, admiring the vast, carved, four-poster affair hung with red and gold velvet that took up most of the room.
“It’s from earth, actually. Italy. Renaissance. Belonged to one of the Medicis. Actually, to one of his mistresses. Until his wife found out, had him send the poor girl packing, sold off her villa and all her things. Sort of a fifteenth-century jumble sale.”
“Oh, and look over here, your dressing table. As an archaeologist, I can not resist . . . Let’s see. Nice collection of neckties, a razor–so you shave?”
“About once a week.”
“Only once a week?”
The Doctor shrugged. “I told you. Low metabolism.”
“And this is a bottle of something called . . . Hairapy?”
He blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m vain about my hair, I admit it.”
She laughed. “And another great mystery is solved! Really, I thought that, that crest there, might be a naturally occurring phenomenon.”
“No, I, uh, actually have to work at it. I suppose you think it looks silly.”
“No, actually, I think it looks precious.”
“You think I look precious?”
“I think you look like a lonely little schoolboy dressed up in his daddy’s suit. Especially when you put on your glasses. You are damned near irresistible. I swear, when I saw you reading that menu in the restaurant, I was about two seconds away from grabbing you by the tie and ravishing you right there in the booth!”
The Doctor said nothing, though his face maintained the shocked expression Professor Song was learning to know well.
“Now, I really should give more attention to the bed, here,” she said, walking over to it. “I wonder what I might find, if I were to excavate? Relics of past mates?”
“Please . . . I’ve been living alone here for ages!”
“Well, we ought to fix that problem, shouldn’t we?” she said, grabbing him by his lapels and kissing him firmly on the mouth. He squeaked, just a little, and then said nothing as she dragged him down into the bed on top of her.

“River,” asked the Doctor, pausing on her doorstep the next morning, “May, may I please see you again?”
“You have to ask?”
“I’m, I’m not asking as a Time Lord. I’m asking as, as a lonely academic, married to his work, who’s been alone for far too long.”
“Of course,” she said. “Come any time. And pretty soon, that ghastly wheeze your machine makes will sound like music.” She kissed his cheek. “Until next time,” she said, then went into her apartment and closed the door.

At a quarter past eleven that morning, Professor River Song entered her lab to find a plastic Hawaiian lei hanging from Dilbert the Dalek’s eyestalk.
“Jenkins,” she said. “Care to explain?”
“It is not drag, is it?” said Jenkins. “You said no drag. You did not say . . .”
“I know what I said. Now I just want to know, are you trying to imply something, Jenkins?”
“Implying? What would I possibly be implying, Professor Song?”
“How was your date, Professor?” asked Sally, coming out from behind her work station.
“Oh, very nice. The Doctor took me to dinner . . . oh, by the way, you’ll be seeing him again. He’s coming on the second dig with us.”
“There will be a second dig?” asked Jenkins.
“One way or another. He’s going to be coming to translate any inscriptions we find.”
“That’s great news, Professor!” said RayQuan.
“So, you went to dinner,” prompted Sally. “Then what?”
“Then we went dancing, and then, before he brought me home, we stopped for a while at his place. For coffee and a biscuit.”

Well, this SECTION is over. There will be more, but I can't write it for a while. In the meantime, feel free to direct other DT fans this way.

Aaah. heart

Sure thing! razz

Lol, two heart boxes. xD
Love it.

Because Ceribri will be back in town sometime . . .

Once the Lupine had safely crossed the warp barrier and been set on autopilot, River called the entire team into the crew lounge for a briefing.
“All right, first things first, introductions. This charming gentleman who arrived so fashionably late . . .” here she shot a little glance at the Doctor “. . . is the Doctor. No, he does not have another name. Yes, obviously, he and I are seeing each other. No, that’s not why I brought him along. I brought him because he’s a brilliant scholar and has offered to assist in translating any inscriptions we may uncover.” She noticed the Doctor opening his mouth and promptly intervened. “I’d like to get through the introductions quickly, so any additional comments or questions, please save them. To my left is RayQuan Jones, specialist in ancient technology, particularly weapon systems. Beside him are Sally Greenpeace, graduate student in pre-human history, Kitty Kincaide, ship’s medic, and Professor Robert Reynolds, of the history department. Robert, or Bob as he prefers to be called, will be documenting the dig for the University archives. On the right, next to the Doctor, are Abernathy Jenkins, computer systems specialist, and Megan Carter, Juan Gonzalez, Po Chang, and Summer Leiberman, all undergraduates in history. This is their first off-world excavation.”
River paused for a smattering of applause before continuing, “Standing behind me is Captain Robert O’Sullivan, our pilot. He also prefers to be called Bob, but would like you to know that, to minimize confusion, he answers to ‘Sideshow’. Don’t ask. I don’t know.”
The Doctor began speaking before River could stop him. “It’s a reference to 20th Century philosopher and satirist Matthew Groening, isn’t it? Brilliant! Don’t have a cow, man!”
“Ah-hem.”
“Oh, sorry River, ah, Professor. Won’t happen again.”
Like I’ll believe that. “To continue: We will be arriving at Ghehenna in approximately five days. Once we land, we have a fortnight slated for excavation. Why only a fortnight? Because, in a nutshell, Ghehenna is deadly. The rivers and seas, such as they are, are toxic. The soil is radioactive. We will be wearing full spacesuits at all times when we leave the ship, and we will undergo a full 45 minute decontamination procedure every time we return. We will not remain on the planet’s surface after dark, as the winds there get up to 50 KPH at night. We will not remain out if it rains–the rain contains high concentrations of acid, which will begin to break down our suits after no more than fifteen minutes. Even with the suits on, a fortnight is as long as its been determined we’ll be able to work safely. So–we make every day count.”
River looked over her team. They were all paying close attention, with the notable exception of the Doctor. He seemed to have developed a sudden fascination with the overhead lights.
“ADHD much, sweetie?” she asked. Jenkins stifled a snort and the undergraduates snickered.
“Uh, sorry, Ghehenna’s a deathtrap, yes, got that.”
“I am not saying anything,” River continued, “that hasn’t been said before, but it doesn’t hurt to have it all spelled out neatly one more time before we begin. The area we’re interested in is approximately two kilometers in diameter. Now, seeing as it would be impossible to fully excavate an area of that size in two weeks, we’ll be focusing on the area closest to where we found the largest items on the last dig.”
“You mean the toilet seat?” asked the Doctor.
“The toilet seat, the medallion, and the other larger pieces.” Is he trying to drive me crazy? “We’ll be using a standard Peabody-Emmerson grid pattern: excavate each square meter down to bedrock, sifting and cataloging as we go. With any luck, we’ll find something a little better for the museum than the Robo-Loo.” She smiled a little at that.
The Doctor put up his hand.
“Yes?”
“What, exactly, is going to be done with the artifacts you bring back?”
I suppose he’s got a right to ask. “There are plans to dedicate a new wing in the University museum to our finds. Considering that this exhibit will be the only one of its kind, I sincerely hope we find something with a little more, shall we say, dignity.”
“Yes, it would be rather rotten luck to be the most advanced race in the universe, only to die and be remembered by nothing but your plumbing,” agreed the Doctor glumly.
“I’ll be going over tools, equipment, and procedures in more depth over the course of our flight. In the meantime, I’d like to remind everyone that quarters on board here are a bit cramped, so be respectful of your colleagues and especially your bunkmates. Jenkins, that means no incense.”
“I would not dream of it, Professor!”
“There are no set mealtimes, though I’d hope we’d at least gather here once a day around suppertime. I’m afraid the food is all pre-packaged. I have made certain that over half of it is vegetarian.”
Jenkins and Summer Leiberman smiled at that.
“Let’s see, I think that’s it for the general announcements. If you like, you may go and settle into your quarters. I’m going to be here for a while. Any questions, ask me any time. The only stupid question is the one which isn’t asked.”
The undergraduates’ hands all flew into the air.

Jenkins was kneeling before the tiny makeshift shrine in his cabin when the Doctor walked in.
“Oh, no, don’t get up,” the Doctor said, folding his overcoat and placing it on the upper bunk.
Jenkins got up anyway. “You may borrow the vases to return the flowers to Professor Song, if you like.” The twenty-four roses were overwhelming a statuette of a four-armed entity with the body of a fat human and the head of an elephant.
“Yes, I do think I’ll take them over to her cabin. But first, I wanted to ask . . .”
“I am so very, very sorry . . .”
“No, no, don’t apologize. I’m just curious–what made you suspicious about me?”
“Well, for a man who had just walked into our lab for the first time, you seemed very knowledgeable. And, as I was running some tests that evening, I detected residual tachyon radiation on the quad . . .”
“Yes, I guess if you knew what to look for . . .”
“So I went to the University Library computer, and did a Boolean search. Time Lord plus Doctor.”
The Doctor laughed out loud. “Jenkins, I like you! You are a very clever boy!” He paused and took a look at Jenkins’ altar. “That’s Ganesha, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The Remover of Obstacles. I thought he might be of help to us.”
“Jenkins, do you . . .”
“Believe in the literal existence of an elephant-headed being with omnipotent powers? No. But do I believe in a divine creative force beyond human comprehension? Yes. Ganesha is simply one way my ancestors attempted to know the unknowable. After all, Doctor, simply because a thing has never been seen does not mean it does not exist. You of all people should know that.”
“Ah, right. I’ll just take these flowers to Professor Song . . .”

Gotta love those undergrads! thought River as she headed to her cabin three hours later. Answering questions had turned into a discussion of the previous dig, speculation on what the next one would reveal, and a general bulls***ing session.
The first thing she noticed on entering her room was the roses on the washstand, filling the cramped room with their fragrance. Then she noticed a slip of paper lying on her pillow.
Picking it up, she saw that it someone had actually gone to the trouble of writing on it, by hand.
It was a poem.
With parched lips, I stand upon love’s brink . . .

River left her room holding the poem in a slightly sweaty palm, only to find her way down the corridor blocked by a lanky figure leaning against one bulkhead.
“Hello,” said the Doctor.
River felt her face flush. “Did, did you write this?” she said, holding up the poem.
“Yes.”
“I mean, you actually composed it?”
“Yes.”
“I knew you were a poet, the moment I laid eyes on you. You wrote this for me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I . . .” She suddenly found herself at a loss for words. “I’ve never had anyone write an erotic sonnet based on my name before.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Yes, very much.”
He moved closer. “River, how long has it been since you last saw me?”
“Since I saw you? About four months . . . Three months, three weeks, and four days. Since you took me to Paris.”
“And I haven’t been to see you in that time?” He wrapped his arms about her. “Three months, three weeks, and four days I’ve wasted, time I could have spent with you . . .” He stroked her cheek, then leaned down and kissed her.
She forced herself to pull away. “This is the main corridor, someone’s likely to come along any moment . . .”
“We could go down to the hold . . .” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. “Check on my equipment . . .”
“Sounds like a plan . . .”
heart heart heart

Doc # 9 was a spaz, IMO, and # 10 first struck me as # 9 on crack! Super-spaz! lol I've gotten used to him (the puppy eyes will take over your brain . . .), but he really could stand to calm down a bit.
BTW, I'm hoping to write the entire poem he gave her and post it as a side-note here. heart heart heart

Welcome back! mrgreen I missed your comments! (and Eirwyn, it wouldn't kill ya to comment every so often . . . or are you waiting for this to get into the less-snuggling/more-plot part of the story?)

As more and more is revealed of the Dramarama that was the Season 4 Finale (no, Eirwyn, I'm not posting spoilers! Sheesh!), the more I want to move on with the fan fic . . . blaugh