Work Text:
Having a house made of a time machine shouldn’t have been a revolutionary thing for the Doctor, but in all his many years, it seemed he’d never taken the time to utilise his unique home to its full domestic potential. To River’s amusement and extreme enjoyment, he had begun to draw on the multitude of disused educations he’d obtained over the millennia, many of which, it seemed, had been of a culinary nature.
She woke one 'morning' to the heavenly aroma of warm yeast and charred flour wafting into the bedroom, instantly evoking memories of their 49th honeymoon in Nouvelle Paris. When she wandered out to investigate, she discovered that the kitchen had doubled in size overnight. The Doctor stood in front of a massive stone-bottom oven, which had also not been there the previous evening. He was surprisingly under-dressed by his usual standards, in only a white t-shirt and trousers with a dough-spattered apron tied round his waist. It likely had something to do with the fact that the kitchen felt slightly like being in the mouth of a volcano, but it was not a bad look for him at all.
He was slashing at rows of raw baguettes with some sort of razor blade— which she had to suppress the ingrained urge to immediately take from him because he was (really) an adult, it was fine, really— and then he lifted the scored dough on a wooden board and cranked open the oven door. He slid the peel into the oven, whipped it out with a flourish sans baguettes, like a magician doing a tablecloth trick (at least he wasn’t currently dressed like one,) closed the door again and gleefully pushed down a lever that caused a dramatic eruption of steam.
It was then that he turned and saw River standing, sleep-rumpled and disorientated in the doorway. She must have been a sight, in one of his white button downs and her knickers, blinking at him and blearily wondering what the hell had happened here. He flashed her a manic grin that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen on this face, and dusted a cloud of flour from his hands as he walked over to her.
“Morning, honey,” he said, leaning into her. He paused just short of meeting her lips. “Oh, sorry— sweaty.”
River laughed and pulled him in anyway for a (decidedly salty) kiss. “So.. are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”
“The TARDIS,” he said with that gleam in his eye, “is a time machine!”
River stared. “…Yes…”
“So every machine in our kitchen is a time machine!"
“You need a time machine to make bread?"
“Should think so. I did the starter from scratch; took a year to really culture the wild yeast enough for a good levain. I’m actually chuffed that it worked because this planet has very different strains of—” he caught River’s look, which must have said she had really not asked for this much information this early in the 'morning.' “Well, anyway. Then the dough had to chill for half a day, and the baguettes had to prove for three hours—”
“How long have you been up?”
“A couple of hours. Don’t put anything in the mini-fridge; you really won’t like it when it comes out.”
River had to laugh at the absurdity of it and her husband’s incredibly endearing enthusiasm. Despite all the apparent Scottish gruffness, it was getting hard to remember what his former irritable outer shell even looked like most of the time. Unless he got going on a particularly irksome topic after a few glasses of brandy or they ran into someone he disliked at the shops, but then it was just good entertainment.
“So, then, what’ve you made me?” she asked cheerfully, pulling out a stool under the marble worktop that had also not been there yesterday and taking a seat.
The Doctor grinned. “For starters...” he opened what had previously been a regular cupboard, which was now full of jointed mechanical arms, springs, gears, and other haphazardly wired odds and ends. He removed a jar containing a roughly rounded, pale yellow glob from the midst of the mechanism.
“Did you make butter? ”
“Technically I just put in the cream and salt. D’you remember what the hell I made a perpetual shaking machine for?”
She snorted. “No idea.”
“Well, anyway, it makes butter now. And buttermilk, but that’s already in the fridge. ...The regular-time fridge.”
“What are you going to do with buttermilk?” River asked, dipping a finger into the jar and popping it into her mouth to taste, and, not being one to miss an opportunity, making deliberate eye contact with the Doctor as she did so.
“Crumpets?” said the Doctor, giving her his 'I know exactly what you’re doing, you bad girl,' look. That one might be her new favourite on this face.
“Ooh, I am going to be spoiled, aren’t I?"
“That’s the plan, dear.” The Doctor walked back over to the oven and slid a lever to the side.
“Isn’t it a time-oven, too?” she asked.
“Ah, now where would be the fun in that? A little anticipation makes it that much the better in the end."
River stared at him for a moment, biting back a smile. “Do I need to say it, or—”
“Oh alright,” the Doctor interrupted exasperatedly over the sound of River bursting into laughter, his ears turning the slightest bit pink, “I heard it now, go on and have your fun with me, ye' cheeky woman.”
“Mm, maybe after my breakfast."
Yes, that was definitely her new favourite look on him.
“Is there tea?” she asked, feigning innocence.
The Doctor kept a sardonic eye on her a moment longer with a barely suppressed smile tugging at his lips, then opened another cupboard. “This one’s the Staying the Same one. Made the tea when I got up, and here— still piping hot.”
River accepted the steaming teacup as he passed it across the worktop. “I’m starting to think you should probably la—"
“—Label them, yeah, fair point,” the Doctor joined in, furrowing his brows as he peered around at the newly-expanded multitude of cupboards and appliances with a look of growing concern.
The oven emitted a familiar TARDIS-like ding, and the Doctor rubbed his hands together once in enthusiasm (oh, she didn’t realise how she’d missed that,) and grabbed the wooden peel, his altered-timestream cabinetry momentarily forgotten. He opened the door, swept the peel in under the bread, and in one swift motion, deposited the four crackling, golden-brown baguettes on the worktop. River had to admit they looked picture-perfect.
“You really did study this sometime, didn’t you?” she asked, wasting no time in tearing off the steaming heel of a baguette and dipping it in the butter jar. She didn't bother trying to disguise her ‘he’s hot when he’s clever’ face. After all, she knew which of her looks was his favourite too.
“'Course I did,” the Doctor preened, definitely taking notice. “I studied lots of things. Not all in one go, obviously. Took a few years off during lunch breaks.”
"Mm, thought that would be a bit too much staying still for you," she said around her first crusty-chewy-buttery bite. It was heaven.
"Well, tell you a secret," he said with a conspiratorial smile, leaning across the worktop toward her, "I don't mind staying still when I fancy the professor."
She really had no option then but to meet him halfway and forget about breakfast for a while.