Author's Note: Hello everyone! Please consider this the EPILOGUE. For those of you interested in smut, there will be a following chapter posted to my ao3 account. For those who don't want smut, don't worry. You won't miss anything plot relevant. This is the end :) But for those that DO, I'll try to have it up (pun totally intended) in a week. If you're worried about missing it, I would suggest subscribing to this story on archiveofourown or following me on tumblr (xhellnhighheelsx)

And now I'm going to do that thing all authors do and gush all over you guys on the last chapter. Thanks so much for sticking with me through this entire story. I know a lot of you have been here since day one and you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you to everyone for giving me a chance, and double thank you for the comments, kudos, and support! Without you guys, I would have lost faith in this story ages ago. lol I hope it's everything you wanted it to be. And at the risk of ruining everything, I felt like it was time to see things from River's perspective. So here's the world's longest epilogue. Enjoy. :)

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"To make an end is to make a beginning." –T.S. Eliot

She works her way backwards, starting with the base.

Which is fitting, she thinks. To end it like this, tying up the last of this mess the way she'd always lived her life: back to front.

She does what needs doing alone. Truth be told, she's always preferred to handle these things on her own. Less distractions that way. Besides, this is a sensitive matter; and, despite his best efforts, the Doctor never has been any good at being inconspicuous. But this, back tracking, cleaning up his messes, dealing with the fallout, this is what River Song does best. So when she smiled sweetly and told him to let her handle it, that he'd only endanger himself or get in the way, the Doctor conceded with barely any protest at all.

He drops her off at the base. The TARDIS hardly even lingers long enough to light her way, fading away before the dust around her even has the chance to settle. He's no doubt hurrying off to squeeze in another adventure before he meets her where she asked him to. If he meets her where she asked him too, she scolds herself. River's never been one to set unreasonably high expectations, especially where the Doctor is concerned. He could be ever so forgetful, not to mention easily distracted. There's never been a guarantee she'll get the right him or that he'll even show up at all. And she's fine with that. She always has been.

"I've arsed up this rescue quite spectacularly, haven't I?" He apologizes like he expects her to agree, to smile and tease him as if everything between them is peachy.

River hums in response, his need to compensate for her intentional indifference growing more audible by the second. "How did you even know I was in need of rescue?" River asks, breaking the silence before he can apologize again or attempt to lighten the mood with more of his self-deprecating antics.

"When you left the TARDIS, I followed you." His answer is raw and honest, as if there was never any other option but to chase her into oblivion. It makes her itch with unanswered questions, the skeptic and the foolish optimist battling within her. He's a liar and a fraud and yet he's here, with her, to help her, to save her. He's bickering and teasing her like his actions are nothing, like her forgiveness is something that he owns rather than something to be earned. It makes her furious and resentful and, heaven help her, curious.

"Why?" River presses. Why would he follow her here? What does he want from her? What is he to her? Who is he really?

The question seems to cause him physical pain. Though she can't see him, his shifting gives him away. He's nervous, his tongue flicking at his lips like it wants to confess something his brain simply will not allow. The weight of his contemplative silence speaks for him and she knows before he speaks that his words will carry more power than the oppressive darkness around her and make her feel more vulnerable than the restrains that hold her in place.

John, the Doctor, whoever he is, lets out a breath, reverent and tender, as he answers, "I promised to keep you safe."

It isn't until she notices her eyes are lingering on the cold, metal chair that River lets out a shaky sigh, pushing the memory aside. Everything they've said or done since the hospital lingers inside her mind like stagnant water. Looking back is like seeing their time together through a looking glass, like having two different memories of the same event. There is how she felt at the time, when she knew nothing about him, when he was just a kind stranger that gave her butterflies and came charging in to save her like a white knight. And there is now, when she can look back and see everything for all that it was and all that it wasn't.

The words I love you ring in her ears, and she shakes her head, blatantly ignoring the constricting in her chest.

Her chest, where not long ago a blaster had scorched her, nearly stopping her hearts. She was dying, of course he'd told her that. What else could he have offered as consolation? But for a moment she'd believed him, the her that didn't know the Doctor doesn't use words like love. He doesn't feel them either, not in the way humans do. Not in the way she does.

She is more than just human, of course. She has all the capacity for knowledge and years as a Time Lord. But she loves like humans do, fiercely and without reserve. She does it with all the drive and focus of a psychopath, leaving her hearts stubbornly fixed on him, endlessly allowing him the power to tear her apart and piece her back together. There was only ever enough spaced carved out for him, the most impossible and brilliant and unattainable man in the universe. He, who was so much bigger than all those humany emotions and far too ancient and detached to ever understand what it meant to fall in love.

But for one shining moment, she believed he could. In the fragile bubble between drawing her last breath and learning to breathe again, he was hers. The blood draining from her body made her cold. But his words had warmed her in a way she's never allowed herself to be warmed before. He melted the sheen of ice she so carefully sculpted to guard herself. He tore away her defenses with three words he didn't even mean. She isn't sure if she's grateful or hateful for her state of ignorance. Because that feeling, that fleeting moment, no matter how false, will stick with her for the rest of her days. It will cling, rattling inside her chest and sticking in her throat like a sickness that won't seem to fade.

She feels like two sides of a coin, remembering their days together as both a blank slate and as the woman who has all the answers. There is learning him and there is knowing him. There is loving him and falling for him all over again. To be honest, she isn't sure which reality she prefers.

River pushes that thought aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. The room remains rich with the smell of phaser fire, the unconscious bodies of her former kidnappers still littered across the floor. They are incapacitated, harmless, defenseless. She shoots them again, just for good measure. After all, they tranqued her twice. It's only fair she return the favor.

Another figure lays sprawled across the concrete, one she hadn't dealt with personally. Phoenix lies face up just behind the Doctor's chair and River makes her way over to him, checking his pulse. He's dead, as she suspected. She isn't sure if it's relief or pity that courses through her muscles, making her shoulders sag at the sight of him. He was one of them, yes, but he had helped her. He had shown compassion where the others had been cruel. He must have been the one to free the Doctor, probably saving him in the process. And for that, River can't bring herself to simply leave him here to rot where no one will ever find him.

There's no ring on his finger, but surely there must be someone to mourn him. Maybe she'll leave him with the Time Agency, let them be the ones to figure out who he is and track down when and where his next of kin reside. She'll do it anonymously, of course. The less people that know about her soft spot for scrawny idiots, the better. As for the others, well, River has plans for them.

After she disposes of them, she'll take care of the base. Burn it and everything inside, purge all their files and tech until there is no evidence that any of them were ever here at all. River rises to her feet, making her way toward the trolley Phoenix had rolled in. On its lower shelves exists an array of stolen gadgets and gismos. River takes it upon herself to assume ownership of some of the naughtier toys, including a new vortex manipulator. This one is stealthier, sleeker, and a damn sight less conspicuous than her last model. It wraps around her wrist effortlessly, clinging to her more elegantly than some of her most prized jewelry.

All else aside, she really can't fault their taste. These cowboys certainly had a hankering to possess the finer things in life. It seems a shame to burn it, really. Most of these items would go for a pretty penny in the right circles. Any other day and she wouldn't hesitate to find a buyer. But for now, she has bigger fish to fry.

Then again…

A smirk curls its way up Rivers cheek, a better idea springing to mind.

xxx

The Dam is busy today, too busy for River's liking. She makes extra effort to keep her wits about her, never letting anyone get close enough to casually bump into her. Busy markets like this might as well be a buffet for the sticky fingered sort, and she's really not in the mood to break the arm of anyone unfortunate enough to pick her pockets. As a precaution, River finds herself scooting to the edge of the aisle, letting an elderly woman cradling a man eating Ficus move past.

"There must be something exorbitant from every century in here," Jim awes, riffling through the box of goodies she deposited on the counter. As he fusses over the contents, the sunlight catches on his long, scaly coat, making the silver dance with pinks and greens. Jim's seen a lot in his line of work. There aren't many things that can fluster him, and River takes personal satisfaction in the way his eyes always light up whenever she informs him she's brought him a present. "Honestly, River, this is much too gracious. I can't accept this!"

"Really, Jim, it's fine. Don't mention it." River's tone is friendly but her eyes flash with something wicked and dangerous, silently adding, to anyone.

Jim swallows behind a fond smile, understanding her message. That's what she likes about Jim, he never asks too many questions and she can always count on his discretion. "At least let me give you something in return," he insists, eyes flittering across the small table of merchandise. "Have you seen my newest perfume? It doubles as a holographic wardrobe mist." He picks up the bottle, brandishing it out to her with a hopeful smile. "Comes with eight programmable outfits and it smells divine."

River shakes her head, laughing lightly. "Still making good use of the last sample you gave me, I'm afraid. Let's just consider this a favor."

"Owing a favor to you?" Jim arches a brow, smirking deviously. "A man should be so lucky."

River's expression matches his, eyes sparkling and an impish purr thickening her tone. "You have no idea."

Jim lowers his arm, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he scolds her. "Wish you wouldn't tease me like that, River. It isn't good for my health. Besides, that ball and chain of yours gets frightfully jealous."

"Why do you think I do it?" River chuckles. "Oh, and speaking of flirting, is Casia around?"

Jim's brow pinches together, offering a puzzled frown. "It's her day off. Sorry, I wasn't aware you two had met."

"We will have done." River smiles softly, mildly disappointed by her own poor timing as she turns to exit the store. "Tell her thank you for me, yeah?"

Jim gives an understanding nod, still smiling affectionately as River turns to leave. As she twists, her eyes scan her surroundings, taking in the array of curious objects and shoppers when something out of her peripheral vision catches her attention, making her give pause. It's tiny, black, discrete, hardly worth noticing at all. And yet River finds herself walking toward it, a tingle of familiarity pulling her in. It's entirely out of place, a small piece of plastic mingling amongst potted flowers and ferns. But River recognizes the device instantly.

"It's a broadcast beacon, that if plugged into, oh, I don't know, acommunicator, it would amplify the homing signal of said device, taking us straight to the source."

River smiles, plucking up the tiny object and rolling the smooth plastic between her fingers. Oh, she is clever. "Jim," River calls, twisting back around with the beacon in hand. "I think I'll trade in that favor after all."

xxx

The Egyptian night air is blissfully cool, caressing at her cheeks and playing in her hair like it has a mind of its own. There's a crispness on the wind that tastes like old memories and bites like the strain of a clock yearning to tick. Time is still fragile here at the epicenter, still crackling with electricity from days that never were. The imprint of her rebellion still nips at the atmosphere; and when she closes her eyes she can feel the fractures in reality dance across her skin. Life and death and now and never merge as one. Energy flows through her, tugging at her mind. Except this time, it doesn't hurt. Now that her memories are restored, the current around her brushes against her lips. It caresses her like a kiss, an aftershock of the Doctor's mouth and how it had moved against hers all those years ago.

River stands near the edge of the monument, letting the rush of being on the precipice of something greater than herself wash over her. It's exactly where she'd stood before, when her mind ached to remember days that never happened and a wedding history would never see, when her lips tingled to recall a kiss that saved time and a promise more infinite than all of space.

She opens her eyes, turning to locate the spot where he'd plopped down cross-legged on the ancient stone and offered to rub her temples. The mirage of his form, that silly Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind and a rather ridiculous grin stretched across his face, is still crisp in the forefront of her mind. The memory of those long fingers pressing into her skin is still fresh enough to make her shiver, the blissful contentment that settled between them still warm enough to ward off the chilly desert breeze.

She recalls how just earlier that night she found herself half on top of him, her hand resting quite happily on his chest. She wants to feel bad for him, really she does. But it's his own fault he fell over. He should have known better than to try and steal a girl's sweets.

"Are you alright?" River asks, barely subduing a grin.

"Yeah. Me hat took most of the blow." He's still rubbing at his sore head and River bites her tongue to keep her laughter at bay. Not that his injury is in any way amusing, it's the face he's making. All scrunched up as he rubs at his head like a pouting child. It shouldn't be as endearing as it is.

"Maybe it's a lucky hat," River offers as consolation, untangling her limbs from his long enough for him to sit upright against the rocks. He looks ridiculous, with his atrocious hat and utterly appalling Hawaiian shirt. And yet the sight of him leaning against the stone wall is too tempting an invitation to pass up.

As soon as he's settled, she eases herself back into his side. He doesn't protest, rather, he wraps his arm around her, cradling her to him like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he's done it a million times before. He even takes the liberty of plopping his abomination of a hat upon her head. She allows it, if only because she's too comfortable to bother moving. He's surprisingly cozy considering his scrawny physique. No, not quite scrawny, more like wiry, lithe, lean. She wiggles slightly, making a nest in the sharp angles of his body. The urge to let out a pleased hum swells in her throat, but she settles for curling into him further, holding out her candy as a peace offering. He accepts with a giddy smile, and together they lay in content silence, listening, breathing.

Everything about him seems to come easy, their banter, the way he orbits around her like he anticipates her every move. It's a little terrifying how quickly and easily she came to trust him, how seamlessly he fits into her life even though she can't remember most of it.

Here, bathed in the music of Darillium, he feels as familiar breathing. Being curled into him feels as natural as the beating of her hearts. And she knows that she shouldn't, but she can't help but wonder if maybe she's the one he'd spoken about, the one he loved, the one whose timing was never quite right.

"It was," she decides, the hum in her throat making itself known in the form of quiet confession.

The gangly man beside her shifts, brow furrowed as he gazes down at her quizzically. "Was what?"

River simply smiles, eyes still fixed on the Singing Towers as she answers, "Worth the wait."

River pushes the thought aside, focusing her attentions to the pyramid at her feet. She kneels down on the ruins in search of the right groove in which to hide her beacon. Upon locating one, she places a kiss to the device before wedging it between the rocks.

Time around her shifts as if some great cosmic puzzle is slowly slipping into place. But as quickly as the thought can dance across her mind, a new one takes its place. As if on cue, the groaning of the TARDIS signals her past self is about to arrive. The Old Girl pulses into view, her bright blue doors standing out against the faded stone. River doesn't stare long, typing her next destination into her newest toy and vanishing before a younger her can emerge from the timeless, wooden box.

xxx

Crossing one's timeline is something of an art, one River has taken to mastering. Which, today, happens to work in her favor.

She materializes inside the Asgardian souvenir shop just in time to hear the bell chime as the Doctor bolts from the building. She figured it was best to play this one close to the chest, to follow like a shadow, to sail in the wake of their former selves. At least this time around she has the privilege of knowing they're being hunted, and where better to hide than in the places she already knows she won't be discovered.

The roar of the festivities is only slightly muted by the shop's stone walls, but the hum of an AC unit provides for calming background noise as River makes her way around the small store. The window at the front, where all the tackiest merchandise can always be found, is her destination. And just as she knew there would be, amid the selection of trinkets are snow globes for all nine realms.

One of River's deft hands scoops up a snow globe depicting Valhalla. It's an exact replica of the one he'd given her just before unceremoniously zapping her away, the very same one she'd given to his younger self with the spikey hair and brown suit. She turns the keepsake over, light sparkling off the glass as she inspects it for imperfections. Satisfied, River reaches for another, this one showcasing the thriving city of Galgvior. They're equal in size and weight and she reasons that swapping the bases shouldn't be too difficult a task with the help of her sonic.

Outside, the tempo of the music changes and River finds a soft smile has stolen its way onto her cheeks. Fast paced music, warm sun, and a snow globe in hand, the familiarity of the situation can't be ignored. She finds her thoughts floating back to the last time she was in this shop, when her much younger self stood in this very spot, a cotton sundress clinging to her form and plans for a picnic buzzing in her mind. She remembers how delighted she was to find him here, how she covered his eyes with her fingers and brushed her lips against the back of his neck. The memory of how he greeted her is as vivid as ever, shock and awe and hope painted across his features, as if she was something majestic to behold, her presence an answer to a desperate prayer. His hands had trembled, his eyes anxious, and his shaky voice as hopeful as ever. She remembers her need to help him, to somehow fight a battle that hadn't reached her yet as he begged her for answers she couldn't possibly know.

She flinches at the recollection of how effortlessly he told her everything would be fine when he knew damn well that it wouldn't. It burns her how affectionately he'd pressed a kiss to her forehead, hiding his face from view. In light of everything, she wonders if his touches and his kisses ever meant anything at all. Was he only playing for the end game, buying time until his penance had been paid? How many of his confessions had been Rule One all along?

Her cheeks burn with anger as she stares down at the communicator, her own pixilated face staring back at her. How could he do this? Why would he keep something like this from her? Doesn't he trust her? "Why didn't you tell me? Why hide?"

"I…" he hesitates, deciding the best course of action. "Didn't want to worry you."

"You mean you wanted to protect me?" He remains silent just a little too long and River wonders just what else he's protecting her from? How much would he, did he, IS he withholding under the veil of keeping her safe?

Her eyes fall to the window, where she can clearly see her younger, amnesia ridden self being ushered away, the Doctor's hand possessively wrapped around her waist. Another set of eyes observes them as they go. From her current view out the window, River doesn't miss the frown that paints Orion's face as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a communicator and speaking into it as he watches his prey fade back into the crowd.

The overwhelming urge to reach for her gun and shoot him on the spot makes River's fingers itch. She can't kill or maim him, but surely just a graze or a flesh wound wouldn't do any harm to the timelines. He'd never even see her and she'd be gone before he ever knew what hit him. The idea makes her lips twitch upward and she's just about to reach for her holster when–

"Finding everything you need?" The owner of the shop speaks up, breaking the spell over her, and River twists to face him, flushing like a guilty child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. He eyes her curiously, but if he notices she's no longer in the cotton dress he saw her in a moment ago, he doesn't mention it.

"Quite," River exhales, her fingers closing tighter around the snow globes. Her eyes drift helplessly back to the window, finding that her target has vanished. Shaking the thoughts away and plastering on a fake smile, River turns back to the shop keeper, giving him her full attention. "How much for these?"

xxx

She materializes in the ladies toilets, earning a few frightened shrieks from some startled university students.

"Professor?" One of them manages, stunned eyes blown wide and mouth slightly agape.

"Hello, dear." River smiles, taking a moment to asses her reflection. Vortex manipulators were a bit like riding a motorcycle: efficient, flashy, and hellacious on the hair. "Just passing through. Don't mind me."

"But...," the other girl stammers, eyes bouncing between River and the bathroom stalls. "Where did you come from?"

"Asgard," River says breezily, making her way toward the exit. "And before that, Egypt. It's been a hell of day." She laughs lightly, pausing as she opens the door to add, "Which reminds me, don't forget to turn in your papers."

With a wink, River exits the washroom, leaving the girls staring after her in dumbfounded silence. She takes caution before stepping out into the hallway, ever mindful of her past self's imminent arrival and a certain Cowboy she knows will be searching for her.

It must be between classes, because the hallway is bustling with students, their combined chatter creating a dull roar of noise. At the far end of the walkway, River eyes catch sight of Xarida's vibrant green skin and bold red sweater. She's leaning against the wall, a smile on her lips as she converses with a tall, imposing figure. River recognizes her pursuer immediately, all but growling as she watches Orion lean in closer to her student. He whispers something that makes the young girl blush and giggle, her lashes fluttering as he reaches out to stroke one of her dark green spikes.

River practically seethes at the sight, knowing there's nothing she can do. She'll have to settle for having a word with the girl later, share a bit of advice about men with charming smiles and promises that seem too good to be true.

Momentarily burying her protective tendencies toward her students, River heads quietly in the other direction. She makes her way through the masses, crossing the short distance to her office and slipping inside with practiced ease. The lights buzz to life on command, illuminating the familiar room. It's exactly as she left it before her expedition to the Library, the muted walls adorned with photographs and gifts, her mahogany desk still cluttered with papers and her favorite lip-stained mug, her bookshelf filled with her most prized bound texts and speckled with keepsakes.

It's comforting and familiar and normal, the latter probably being what she liked about it most. In her out of order life, it's nice to have somewhere where days on a calendar run linear, where there are deadlines and dates to keep and meetings to attend. All her life, River had been living on countdowns: to fulfill her training, to get out of prison, to run out of days where her parents knew her, to use up her kisses with a husband that trusted her. After a lifetime of going, it's nice to have somewhere to come home to. When she feels the things she holds most dear slipping away, it's comforting to know there's a place that will always be waiting.

The Doctor had certainly never been one for that. He could hardly stand coming to her office, as if just the sight of somewhere so mundane made him itch. Before, he'd always regarded it with slight disdain and fear, like her static life and title of Professor was contagious, as if responsibility would leap out and bite him or clamp around his ankle like a ball and chain.

Their most recent visit hadn't been like before. He didn't shy away from reminders of normalcy or the life she led when he wasn't around. He had gobbled up the sight of her office like a connoisseur in an art museum, his attention to detail so thorough she honestly believed it was the first time he'd set foot in the room.

Or perhaps he was just curious. He's been here a handful of times, back when their countdown was growing closer and closer to zero. He popped in near the end of her timeline to say hello, to show up and remind her to miss him, to flash his bright smile and make things seem duller in his absence, to make things that had once been enough feel like something was missing.

He fulfilled his duties, even though she suspected he was growing board of her, especially after her parents were out of the picture. She wasn't as much fun to him in his later years, when all her mysteries were unraveled. He didn't seem to want her towards the end, when she wanted him most.

Facts she'd come to terms with now make her give pause. When she and the Doctor had last come here in search of clues, he had been nothing if not eager to examine every inch of her office, curiously smiling at her framed pictures and rifling through old boxes. Then again, maybe the curiosity she saw dancing in his eyes stemmed from absence. Maybe he'd been gone so long he'd forgotten all about her keepsakes and stacked books and paper weights. Maybe he simply forgot. Or maybe he never bothered to remember them at all.

These are her caves. They're beautiful and impossible and built upon millennia of sky and earth coming together to forge something incredible. But more importantly, they are hers. No one else's. They're where she runs to when she's sick of running.

The man beside her seems dumbfounded that such a place would exist, and not because something so beautiful was born on such a volatile planet. He is shocked by the revelation that something belonged solely to her, offended that he hadn't heard her speak of it before.

What's worse is, his quiet disappointment bothers her. She hardly knows him and yet she feels oddly guilty, like she kept some terrible secret or hidden a part of herself from him. This man who knows so much about her, who remembers things like how she takes her tea and what she eats for breakfast is devastated by the sight of her caves, by a side of her he doesn't know. How does he have this power over her? Why does he make her feel guilty for having a secret? Why does he care? Why did she feel compelled to show him these caves at all? Why does that contemplative look on his face make her hearts flutter? Why does she want him to know her when she hardly knows anything about herself?

"I come here to be alone," she confesses quietly, forcing her voice to be sturdier when she adds, " I've never brought anyone else. That's why I've never mentioned it. "

He looks so intrigued, like her words are prayer or salvation or the best kept secrets in all the universe. "Why bring me then?" he asks softly, and she tries not to notice the way his voice wavers with quiet concern, his eyes laced with gratitude.

She focuses instead on her vortex manipulator and the colors it displays, marking her progress as she tinkers with the array of wires and sensitive mechanisms inside. In the distance, thunder rumbles. But the sound of his breathing is far more distracting. Her own hearts pounding in her chest for reasons she can't explain. She wants to tell himthat'swhy. To grab his hand and place it over her hearts and answer his question with a million of her own.

Before she gets the chance, the tool in her hands flashes red and River sighs, taking it as a sign. "It doesn't matter."

She feels his frame tighten beside her, angry with her or himself or everyone or no one in particular. Despite his inner conflict, when he speaks his voice is timid, curious, friendly. "Tell me," he prompts and he's wearing such a look of eager interest that River can't help but soften. There's rare beauty to be found when someone who genuinely wants to know is listening. There's magic in the intensity of their eyes as they gobble up words, trying to learn another person with nothing but the cadence of syllables and soft, meaningful sighs.

"I've lost a lot," River confesses, her voice quiet even to her own ears. "I guess I wanted to share this with someone. Someone I trust. For safe keeping, in case I lose any more."

The way he's looking at her is enough to make her shiver. Not because it's heated, though he thinks she didn't notice the way he gawked at the fabric clinging to her frame or her wind tousled curls. But his eyes track her face, too. They linger on the corners of lips as if he could make her smile through sheer force of will. He gazes into her eyes like he's searching for something, some light or answer or confession, as if there is truth there he's made it his life's ambition to learn.

It's all too much and she's forced to tear her eyes from him, breaking the moment with a sigh of bravado as she dutifully returns to her work. "Or maybe I just wanted to see you get sand out of that fancy purple suit."

He lets the moment pass, looking down at his own hands and letting her vulnerability scatter like dust in the wind. River is glad to see it dissipate like a fine mist. She must have read the signals wrong or been reading too much into it. He doesn't want learn about her, not really. Why would he? They're stranded in a cave and he's just passing the time. He probably won't even remember.

River makes her way to her desk, where he'd been standing when he discovered the snow globe. Underneath it she finds a small box she's been meaning to dispose of. Without wasting any time, she pulls the container out just enough for his clumsy feet to trip over, bless him, and places the snow globe inside.

"What are we looking for exactly?" her past self announces their arrival, their faint voices floating through the airwaves, muffled by the thick, wooden door.

"Things that seem out of place. Anything you don't remember that seems a little odd," the Doctor answers, as giddy and cheerful as ever.

Inside the room, River smiles to herself, her fingers are already typing away at her vortex manipulator as her past self replies, "You mean other than you?"

River vanishes before the door lock disengages. There's only has one place left to go.

xxx

The Library is a damn sight brighter than it was last time she was here. And she doesn't just mean the well-lit rooms; she means the sea of shinning faces. The place is bustling, filled to capacity with smiles and echoing with laughter. Friends are being reunited and families made whole again. It's beautiful, a miracle, even. It's the kind of scene worth dying for, and something inside her swells with warmth.

One life to save thousands.

A final goodbye to ignite infinite hellos.

It was worth it, trapping herself in another prison so four thousand and twenty two souls could taste freedom.

They're dressed all in black and River stands out like a sore thumb among them. Her clothing is different, her smile less bright. The corners of her lips tremble, weighed down by inner demons and doubt. Try as she might to bask in their light, she can't keep her own shadows at bay. She forges on anyway, searching the halls and shelves for the blue book her sweetie left behind.

The heart monitors beep steadily and the fluorescent lights buzz softly as the stranger before her falls into a contemplative silence. River lets the quiet stretch on, unable to stop herself from noting how comfortable he is with her, how familiar. But there's a sadness about him too. It clings to him like mist, beads of longing hanging from him like morning dew on autumn grass.

Her eyes travel back to her lap, wondering if there's more answers to be found in the mysterious man at her side than in all the books sprawled out before her.

"Where's your diary?" he blurts suddenly, and River's eyes snap up to meet his.

"My what?"

"A small, blue book. Very old," he tells her, already jumping to his feet to search the room like a man possessed.

"I haven't seen one," she confesses, sitting up to watch him as he kneels on the floor, searching under her bed. "Is it important?"

When he pops back up the tender look on his face has been replaced by a fierceness that steals her breath. There's fear dancing just behind his eyes as he swallows and says, "right now, finding that diary may just be the most important thing in the universe."

She finds it not on a table or tucked away on a bookcase, but perched on the edge of a railing. It sits atop the metal like a throne, the sonic resting above it its a crown and the Library skyline its kingdom. He made what was left of her a monument, an ode to the woman trapped inside the planet's heart.

Placing her sonic safely in her pocket, River picks up the diary, smiling to herself at the familiar blue binding and the memories encased within. The sun has warmed the old leather, its color not as bright as it once was. The book is faded and cracked and loved, read and written in many times over.

Most importantly, it is closed, the pages exactly how she left them. He didn't peak, out of respect for her wishes or his own rules. Or maybe it was fear, of what he'd find, of what he'd gain, and what he'd already lost. He left her here because he didn't know that there was always a way out. She hadn't taught him yet.

A lesson she's still teaching him, River muses as she opens the book, her fingers flicking through the frayed edges of her beloved diary. Maybe just once more, for old time's sake, she'll show him, she'll restore his faith. Flipping to the end and tearing out the last bit of parchment, River decides to do as she's always done. She'll leave him a note.

It only seems fitting to forge a new beginning from the final page.

She keeps it simple, concise, just enough to keep him hooked, scrawling out coordinates for the hospital in her unique ledger. She seals the message with a kiss, knowing full well he'll take the bait, that he'll waltz into that ER like a man reborn and the cycle of doing what's been done will begin again. Now, there's only the small matter of making sure he gets it.

Mingling with the crowd, River spots one of the Library attendants, not one of the interactive faces, but a proper attendant sent in to help with the clean-up. "Excuse me," she announces, marching up to the Quatto and gaining its attention. "Can you see to it that my husband gets this?"

The creature eyes her questioningly as she extends her hand, offering the folded parchment. "I'm not the best with human faces," the creature says hesitantly, extending one of its many arms to accept the note. "How will I know him?"

River flashes an enigmatic smile, already fading back into the crowd as she offhandedly instructs, "You won't miss him. Just look for the panicking idiot in a bow tie."

No sooner have the words left her mouth does River realize that she must have been the one to lure him back to the Library in the first place, a message from her the summons that begot this trail of breadcrumbs. He would never come back here of his own accord. Her Doctor was never one for repeats. And that's just it, she'll have to be more careful than the last time. She needs to ensure the right version receives the message.

Taking a deep breath, River wills her mind to make a connection with his psychic paper, tugging carefully at the fabric of time to ensure it reaches a version of him far enough along in his time stream. She loves all of his faces, but for this she needs her Doctor. She needs gangly limbs and a school boy smile. She needs an old man's soul clothed in a young man's body.

River steels herself, focusing on bow ties and blue and the way he bops her nose. She thinks of nights there were two of him and planets with Rain Gods. She thinks of towers that sing and the goodbye kiss he gave her before he leapt into his own time stream. By the time she finds a connection far enough along in his time line, she already knows what she'll say, something subtle but unmistakable, something too specific to be coincidence, something to give him just enough hope but not give the game away too soon. Only one message will do, the message that started it all.

"The Library. Come as soon as you can. X"

Before she can even catch her breath, the groaning of the TARDIS fills her ears. And just like that fate is sealed, all the puzzle pieces fitting seamlessly together as a message to his slightly younger self is sent just as the elder version she's been running with since her escape from the Library appears. River's eyes snap to attention, tracking the sound, searching the sea of people for a beacon of blue. Elation shoots through her when she spots it in an abandoned corridor, standing tall and bright against a cream colored wall. She wonders if coming here was an afterthought or if he came straight from dropping her off at the base.

In the end, she decides it doesn't matter. He's really here, right on schedule, just like she asked him to be.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't surprised to see that he showed up at all and hadn't gotten distracted in his endeavor to avoid another goodbye, that he followed through even though he was no longer dictated by their twisted timelines or obligated by the actions of his future self.

He came when she called. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

But the sudden rush of joy doesn't last long. Almost instantly it is tampered by an equally powerful thought: there's nothing tying him to her any longer. No reason to keep track of a diary or catch her when she leaps out of space ships. No reason to be in her life at all. But he's here now, her hearts whisper. Her brain is quick to combat the niggling hope, scolding her with the reminder that he only came out of habit. Or maybe he came to give her closure. Maybe he hurried here, not to say hello, but to give her a proper goodbye. Surely he wouldn't want her now that he's not governed by a fate she all but trapped him into the very first time he met her.

Part of her wants to run, to save him the trouble of explanation and herself the pain of hearing her worst fears finally spoken aloud. And yet, even as dread pulses through her, she crosses the distant with ease, her feet pulled toward that bright blue box like a moth to a flame.

Her hearts hammer against her freshly healed chest as she approaches the TARDIS, afraid of what she'll find there, of the man waiting for her inside. She lingers by the entrance, curling into it like one does the comfort of bedsheets after a trying day. The spicy smell of the vortex still clings to the door frame and a soft breeze threads its fingers through her curls. His essence still thrives in her veins, warming her from the inside out. Doing her best to ignore the sensation, River places her hand on the TARDIS and pushes open the door, slipping inside.

Effortlessly, her eyes seek him out, the picture he paints causing the last of her dwindling hope to crumble like pastry. He's been pacing. She can tell by the twitch in his step and the hum of the console. He's a bundle of nervous energy. It radiates off him in waves, evidence of it written in his hair, matted and wild from the tug of his fingers. Even after all this time, she can still read him, still catch his twitches and quirks. And right now it's never been more obvious that he's dreading this moment, her, on the TARDIS, alone. His tightly clenched jaw and the sharp angles it carves into his face tell her he's been fretting on what to say, how to explain away all the promises he had no intention of keeping. He should know by now that she knows him better, that just because he didn't want her to die doesn't mean she expects him to live out his days with her.

He's never been one to stick around for long. He's probably only here now because he feels obligated to explain himself, another quirk he's never been great at. If the pattern holds, this whole encounter will just become more damage they hide, another chapter in their long life together they ignore, another fight they brush under the rug and never speak of again. If she even sees him after today. Without pages of her diary to fill and the weight of timelines pressing down on them, he may no longer feel the need to come when she calls. Their days could be done. And that's fine. She had her time.

River's eyes drift downward to her diary, weathered, worn, and closed, a reminder that all stories must someday come to an end.

It's all a little surreal, being here with him. It's hard to keep her chin high and her hearts steady. But it would be harder on them both if he knew just how terrified she truly is. Summoning strength, River buries the ache in her chest and stretches her lips into a semblance of a smile. "All taken care of," she announces dutifully, already making plans to leave this ship as soon as she can. Rule thirty three: Never stick around too long or he'll forget to miss you.

At the sound of her voice, his eyes snap to attention, nearly jumping out of his skin like a naughty child caught with his hand in the sweets jar. Something in the way he's looking at her makes her uneasy. He's never looked at her like that before, stunned and a little anxious. It makes her wary, treading carefully into the TARDIS like these once familiar walls are now laced with booby-traps, like she knows nothing about this ship she calls mother and its thief she calls husband.

"I left them in the jungle of one of the Formidulosus' moons," she forges ahead, flashing a smile that not even she believes. "Landed them just in time for wet season. They won't be a problem for us anymore. They might even survive."

"Might?" he queries, his sharp eyes watching her as she makes her way toward him.

The tension between them is palpable, but River's steps are sure, portraying more confidence than she feels as she comes to a stop at the console. She keeps her distance from him, standing a few feet away and feigning interest in the controls as she set the TARDIS in flight. If he notices the deliberate gap between them, he offers no comments and makes no move to rectify it.

She can't help but notice the way timelines don't creak at their close proximity, causality itself no longer aching from the imminent threat of paradox. The air feels thinner now that they're linear, the back of her mind too quiet without the ticking of a clock counting down their every encounter. Even the secrets encased within her diary don't feel as heavy now that the past and the future have finally caught up with them.

At the thought of it, the blue book burns in her hand. Holding it close suddenly feels like clinging to the past, like a lifeline it's high time she let go of. Tucking her beloved book away, River distracts herself by answering the Doctor's question.

"It's only a week or so's hike to the mainland," she tells him, a practiced smile plastered to her cheeks. "And the acid rain isn't due for a fortnight. But you know those cheeky hurricanes. They're ever so fickle."

"That's not enough," the Doctor blurts, shaking his head in distress. It's clear by the tone of his voice that what he means is that's better than they deserve. Something akin to desire and shame highlights the shadows on his face. It showcases the darkness within him and the depths his old soul can sink.

River stalls, the look in his eyes making her brow furrow in confusion. She spared those men's lives for him, been on her best behavior for him, because it's what he would want, what he always wants. But that's not what he'd intended for these men, was it? He'd sought more than just resolution. He'd wanted vengeance. She's standing there, in front of him, alive and well, and still he would see those men pay.

"I mean," the Doctor clears his throat, quick to blink aside the urges haunting him, passing it off as concern. "Just subjecting them to finicky weather and an unpleasant hike is a bit of a risk, don't you think? What if they come after you again?"

He's convincing, so much so that he thinks she misses it, the flash that says his concerns are selfish rather than practical, that punishment is exactly what he wanted. A shudder of sadness passes through her, face softening at the bitter realization that this is Manhattan all over again. Violence begetting violence and it makes her hearts ache. Not because those men deserved better, but because the Doctor does. He shouldn't have to carry any more burdens or feel the resounding echo wrath leaves on the soul. Maybe he's been alone too long. Maybe he's forgotten their most fundamental rule: forgiveness.

"Trust me, Doctor," River says quietly, pretending she hasn't seen what they both know is dancing just beneath the surface, that she hasn't always seen him for all he is and all he's capable of. She buries the moment with a nonchalant tone and a practiced smile. "The air is spectacularly toxic to the human circulatory system and crippling to the short term memory. They'll be lucky if they remember the last fifteen years of their lives. Even if they manage to get off that moon, they won't know their left foot from their ball-"

"River!" the Doctor squeaks, fidgeting and flushing at her crass analogy.

"What? All I'm saying is ten minutes in that rainforest and any cockamamie stories about Time Lords and their back-from-the-dead wives will be completely discredited as jungle fever. That is, if they don't get eaten by mosquitoes first."

She takes a moment to toss him a coy smile, finding him eyeing her warily. "When you say eaten by mosquitoes, do you mean figuratively or...?"

"Who can say?" River shrugs, and the Doctor shakes his head in protest.

"I still don't believe that's enough. They were clever enough to capture you. What makes you think they won't be resourceful enough to get out of there unscratched?"

"They weren't."

"Weren't what?"

"Clever enough to catch me," River boasts, unable to help the smug little smirk tugging at the corner of her cheeks. "I got caught on purpose."

She can feel the way the Doctor gapes at her. His slackened jaw speaks of baffled disbelief, but the embers in his hazel eyes burn with outrage. "Why would you do that?"

"I needed to investigate," she announces, shoulders squaring in defiance. "And men are all the same. If you want to manipulate them, you need go no farther than letting them think they're in charge."

The anger written on his face slips, replaced by something else entirely as his eyes fall away from her. From the corner of her eye, she follows his line of vision. His gaze has dropped to the console, where the long spindly fingers on his left hand toy absentmindedly with one of the TARDIS' controls. She wonders what about her admission brought on his sudden shift, what wounds he's silently licking, when, "You didn't believe those awful things they said, then? That was just an act?"

He's quiet when he asks, and River is sure a loaded question has never before been so delicately spoken. She makes a point to not meet his eyes, busying her hands by typing into the console. "They told me half a story, a story that would get me to do what they wanted. Sound familiar? Besides, I'm an archaeologist. I never take anything at face value."

"And when you almost let those maniacs fry your brain, was that you investigating, too?"

"No," River exhales with confidence. "That was an educated guess. Before you found me in the TARDIS library, I read one of the books about Time Lord regeneration."

"What, all of it?"

He's blinking at her, eyes wide, and bless him, because he sounds so impressed she almost hates to admit, "Well, I skimmed it, the important chapters anyway. I gathered enough to know that if I was indeed part Time Lord and my brain was injured, a kick start of regeneration energy would do the trick. So I figured, why not?"

"River," the Doctor sputters, protests hot on his tongue and fingers twitching to tug at his hair in exasperation. "You can't just… What if you'd… Or if they'd…" His thoughts trip over themselves, stumbling out of his mouth in a flurry of frustration.

It feels like doubt, like he doesn't trust her anymore. A century of following her into danger, of watching her take risk after risk and suddenly he wants to act like this isn't the part she plays. For as long as she can remember he's expected the impossible from her. She has no idea why he wouldn't think her capable of it now, why she's suddenly undeserving of his faith. It makes her insides boil and her hearts break and she can't help the way her words crack at the air like a whip as she snaps, "It worked, didn't it?"

He winces at the harshness of her tone and the thinly veiled accusation lurking within. "Barely," he sighs finding the courage to look at her once more. River returns the courtesy, eyes tracking the sharp contours of his face as he asks, "How did you know you had any energy left?"

"I didn't," she admits. "But it was my only shot and I took it."

A shadow of guilt passes over his face, a pain he isn't quick enough to bury darkening eyes. "How did you know I'd be able to keep them busy enough that they wouldn't notice you?"

She can't stand the way his features fall when he's sad, how his shoulders slump and the corners of his mouth sag. She feels the way his hearts twist as acutely as a knife to her own chest. She hates the way the urge to make him smile comes as naturally as the tide, swelling and cresting like a wave reaching for the moon. So no matter how angry or hurt or confused she may be, it comes as no surprise to her when the corners of her lips quirk and she finds it in herself to tease, "I don't have to know I'm your wife to know you've got a mouth that won't quit."

"River," he grits through his teeth, unmoved by her deflection. "That was reckless, even for you. You should never have tried to take them on alone."

She brushes away his concerns, her attention fixed elsewhere as she shrugs, "I knew you'd come after me."

"How?" he breathes; and he sounds so tentative when he speaks, so genuine that she can't help the way her eyes flutter shut before roaming back to his.

"Because that's what I do, Doctor." River lets out a long, mournful sigh, as if her enduring faith in him should be obvious, a constant that's been hardwired into her soul. "I trust you, beyond reason and without sense. Always."

The admission thickens the air between them, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe she's just forgotten how, because the way he's watching her is certainly distracting enough to steal her breath. Those ancient eyes look eager and terrified, ruined and hopeful. He sways toward her and then away, filled to the brim with an emotion she can't name. His fingers flex like he wants to be near her, but they hover by his sides like she's something he doesn't dare touch. He takes a tentative step toward her, eyeing her as if he fears she'll burn him if he comes too close.

As she watches him dance around her as if she were fire, she can't help but wonder if he's been fighting that urge their whole lives.

She makes the decision for him, turning away and reaching for the scanner as a distraction. She can't look at him, can't hold his heavy stare or pin point what she finds lurking there. Whatever it is, it frightens the life out of her. She feels like a little girl running from a spaceman again; and her eyes wander, looking anywhere but him. Somehow she manages to keep her feet planted, caught between Rule Seven and the child afraid of a space suit.

She's perfectly still, back against the wall, hiding. Outside these four walls, lightning scars the night sky, brightening the dingy halls and casting an eerie glow on paint-stained walls. 'Get Out' is graffitied in bold, red letters and the voices of strangers fill her room, the only home she knows. A crack of thunder makes her jump and another wave of adrenaline bursts through her veins. Now's her chance to run. Run from her childhood prison. Run from the woman with red hair that won't help her and voices she can't quite remember. Run from the nightmares. Always run when you're scared.

River tampers down the urge for flight, the first lesson she ever learned and the hardest to forget. The Doctor is watching her, those curious eyes studying her like he means to read her mind. River's jaw tightens in an attempt to bury the fears she promised to never let him see.

"You're cross with me," he observes softly, not a question, but an answer in and of itself.

River scoffs, the last traces of frivolity in her eyes replaced by anger and hurt. "What was your first clue?"

"River, I-"

"What, Doctor?!" she finally snaps, cutting him off before he can distract her with his silver tongue. The starkness of her tone makes him flinch like he thinks she means to slap him. She can't say the thought hadn't crossed her mind, that her palm doesn't itch to leave its burning print on his cheek.

She wants to hurt him. She hates herself for it, but she does. She wants his eyes to sting the way hers do. She wants his cheeks to flush red and the word 'why' to dance behind his lips, to taste as bitter on his tongue as it does hers. Why did he come back just to make her watch him leave? Why did he put himself in her veins if he doesn't want a place in her heart? Why must he look at her like she matters when they both know she's only ever been an obligation?

"I have seen terrible things in my life and terrible things have been done to me," she confesses, green eyes wet with unshed tears. "But you, youreally take the cake. After all this time, you still don't trust me, do you? Was any of it real or did you only tell me your name because you had to? You had so many chances to tell me who you were, who I was and who you were to me. But you didn't! Because you didn't trust me with it or or… or want it. And that's fine. I can live with that, but what I can't understand is why you felt the need to make me fall in love with you all over again. You say you wanted to give me a choice but when you're holding all the cards, how could you expect any less? When you have all the answers, how could I ever be drawn to anyone but you? When you use our past like a weapon how could I ever love anyone else?" She's fuming, flames licking at her insides and words lashing off her tongue like a whip. "What you did was selfish and vain and cruel, even for you. You took me to Darillum. Of all the cheap tricks, that wasn't just low, that was conniving. So what, Doctor? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm not sorry," he admits boldly, completely unrepentant.

River huffs in disbelief. And, oh, she hates the tears that build behind her eyes, hot and angry and so very sad. "Of course you're not. Why would you be? You only manipulated and lied to me-"

In a moment, he closes the distance between them, his mouth descending on hers. River almost blanches at the sudden contact, her eyes bugging out in surprise as he silences her with a kiss. At first, her entire body tenses, hurt still scorching her skin and questions still spilling from the lips he now massages with his own. The large hands that frame her face feel cool against her flushed cheeks and the press of his body is so familiar that she can't help but melt into him with a shaky sigh, her eyes fluttering shut.

Self preservation tells her that she should stop him, stop this before she gives in to hope. But the press of his mouth feels like home and the taste of his tongue as it probes at her lips is like honey. Even when she's furious, she can't resist him. She doesn't understand why he's kissing her, but she can't bring herself to care. It could very well be the last one she gets. So against her better judgement, she gives in, opening her mouth to him and letting herself be putty in his hands. His gently probing tongue slides against hers and her insides flood with warmth.

It isn't a moan, but a whimper that escapes her mouth. It's a quiet sound, a secret, a question. He answers with a soft hum, the tip of his nose deliberately nuzzling hers as he presses tender kisses to her lips. It's different than how their lips usually clash. His kisses habitually attempting to swallow her whole, to consume her, drink her in like it's the last time he'll ever feel the press of her skin.

This kiss is nothing like the last one when he pushed his body against hers, pinning her to the rocks, the plasma around them sloshing as their bodies press together. There is only skin on skin and hungry mouths and curious hands and probing tongues and soft, low moans. Their movements are frantic, like they've both been dying to do this for ages, holding back, a dam that's finally breaking free.

She wants to drown in the way his hands slide across her skin, the way his tongue licks at her mouth like he's trying to devour her, insistently pushing against her like he wants to take her right here, right now. His hand in her hair tugs her closer and his hips press her back into the rocks, pushing and pulling like he can't get close enough, like time is running out and he needs to smash a thousand kisses into this one moment. Like he means to make up for lost time and there isn't a second to waste.

This kiss is slow. It isn't searching or desperate. It is patient, the movements of a man whose already found everything he's ever searched for, discovered every truth worth knowing. Even angry, she can't help the way her hearts skip or halt the euphoria that comes from the way his tongue licks at the inside of her mouth. She can't stop her hands from sliding up his chest and around his neck. She can't fight the press of his lips, not when he using them to confess his gratitude for her very existence.

When his mouth finally stills, he pulls away from her with a long, shaky sigh, his hot breath ghosting over her tingling lips. The hands cupping her face are light as they brush back her curls and River wills her eyes to open. She finds him staring into her in a way he never has before. There's a smile tugging at his cheeks, one that's both dusty and brand new, one he's had buried inside of him for eons but never been able to use, one he's been waiting for, saving for the perfect moment.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he speaks and his words are hardly a whisper, an echo of something she doesn't dare name, some sentiment deep inside his soul.

River swallows, calming the hearts still beating out a tattoo in her chest. "That's all very sweet, but you can't just excuse what you did with a kiss."

The Doctor's lips part, a soft, pained chuckle slipping out around the words, "You misunderstand." She barely hears him when he speaks, his voice still choked and something thick clinging to the back of his throat. But she feels his breath on her cheek, a caress as warm as memories and days tangled up in sheets. Her nails scrape gently across the nape of his neck, soft enough to go unnoticed but friction enough to prove to herself that he's real.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. Of course I am. But I learned so much about you, about us and what we could be. You didn't hide from me and I wouldn't trade that for the world. We were better than we've ever been and we can be that again." River opens her mouth to protest, knowing he's just being a dreamer, that his offer is too good to be true. But the Doctor doesn't spare a breath for her skeptical thoughts, continuing his speech with even more fervor. "You showed me places I've never seen before. You trusted me in ways I never dreamed you would. And you're wrong about Darillium. I didn't take you there to manipulate you into falling for me all over again. I took you so I could give you everything I wish I could have given you the first time around. We got to see the Singing Towers the way you deserved to see them; and I certainly didn't keep things from you because I didn't trust you. I was trying to give you a choice, River. I wanted you to choose me without the obligation of our timelines. I wasn't withholding your past to be cruel. I was giving you an out."

"I never asked for that."Her voice is weak, afraid it will break over the syllables or shatter the surrounding air. She knows he was giving her a choice, that he had the best intentions. He always does, but doesn't he understand that she'll always choose him, all of him, basking in his darkness as well as his light? "I never wanted a way out."

He smiles down at her like she is some precious artifact, something too divine to be real. "And you never would. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve the choice. River, everything those men said, all those awful things I put you through, there's truth to all of it."

"It doesn't matter," River sighs, sure and resolute, and the Doctor's hands bury deeper in her hair, pressing his forehead to hers.

"It does! It matters more than anything." His eyes search hers, one of his thumbs sliding down to brush over her cheek. "There were times where I genuinely didn't know if you wanted to remember me. I thought you'd be better off. I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't want me. I've never understood why you do. I've never been good enough for you."

"Sweetie," the endearment falls off her lips in an exasperated rush. "Your fears and chronic self-loathing don't justify keeping half my life from me."

"I know, but I couldn't risk you only staying with me because you felt obligated. Or worse, have you bolt because you felt like I'd shackled you with a life you didn't remember or want."

"Who says I wouldn't have wanted it?" River asks earnestly. Sure, he was right about one thing: River Song did not like being put in boxes and she certainly wouldn't stand for being told who and what she was by some madman with no proof to back up his claims. But he's a fool if for one moment he thought she wouldn't stick around to find out. Be it stubbornness or out of loyalty to her past, River Song will always fight for what's hers. "And you never know," she teases, offering a shrug and a small olive branch smile. "I might have stuck around just because you're pretty."

"Alright, maybe you would have," the Doctor chuckles, his hands falling from River's face to trail down her arms. Both their eyes follow the movement, silently watching as his fingers gently entwine with hers. "But what about now? No more backwards timelines. No more secrets. Still choose me?"

He peaks up at her through the flop in his fringe, his thumb stroking over the sensitive skin of her wrist. He looks like a nervous school boy asking her to prom and for the life of her River can't understand why. She's never been shy about her affections, never thought twice about calling him darling or leaning in for a kiss goodnight. He's the one who's been running from her since the first day he met her, haunted by a forest without trees and the data ghosts he left behind. He's the one who made a habit of flinching at the mention of Darillium and the title Professor like the words themselves would scorch him. He's the one who spent years forgetting. He's the one who, when the past finally caught up to him, his first instinct was to lie.

"Sweetie, I will always choose you. That's never really been the question, now, has it?"

His face shifts at her pained question, his expression morphing from nervous to grievous. His eyes bore into hers in a way that makes her itch. She wishes he would step back, stop looking at her like he's seeing her for the first time, stop reading her face in a way he was never able to before.

"River," he pauses, tongue sneaking out to lick his lips in that way he always does when he's anxious. "How much of your time in the Library do you remember?"

The question makes her jaw slacken, lips parting in surprise as her eyes break from his. Swallowing her fear, she answers, throat tight and tone guarded. "All of it, I think."

"Trenzalore, when we…," he starts, and the chill that shoots through her body is enough to tell him she remembers the encounter vividly. "You asked me if I loved you. Why?"

River gives a hollow laugh, and if her voice was any more intentionally light, she thinks her whole body might just float away like mist. "You'd never said it before. What's a girl to think?"

"You knew, though," he questions, his grip on her hands tightening. River finds herself grateful for the gesture, the pressure of skin on skin tethering her in place. "Surely, you knew?"

"You never came for me," she offers as answer, her soft confession heavy enough to make his hazel eyes crack. He looks so ancient, so weary, as he tracks the contours of her fragile smile.

"You've never needed me to rescue you before." It's as much a defense as it is an apology and it spurs River's too bold tongue to run away with her.

"Would it have killed you to try?"

"No," he shakes his head, eyes downcast. "But it would have killed me to fail. As long as I never went back to that data core, I had hope. If I tried and failed you, again, if there really was no way to save you... I wouldn't survive that, River. I'm selfish and I'll always be sorry for that. Even when I can see that I'm hurting you, even now, I'm too selfish to let you go."

"I never wanted you to," she insists, hands breaking from his to cup his face. His cheeks are sharp and his jaw is hard, tensing nervously beneath her palms. "Even when I didn't remember you, I wanted...," River sighs, eyes softening. "I've always hoped..."

"Hoped?" The Doctor cuts in, affronted. "Hoped what? That I love you?" His eyes scan her, confusion setting in as he takes a step back, letting her hands fall from his face. "You still don't believe me, do you?"

Her fingers feel cold without the heat of his skin, her arms lost without the comfort of his embrace. She does her best to hide it, a tired smile plastered on her face as she shakes her head, curls falling over her eyes as she dismisses his concerns and buries the hole in her chest that still yearns to believe.

"My memories are back now, honey," she says effortlessly. "You don't have to humor me. I'm not some needy companion. I know you, Doctor. I know what you're capable of and what you're not. And romantic love, well, that's never been a burden I would ever expect you to bear. I know you care, in your own way. Really, I do-"

"No, River. You don't." His blunt words bite at the air, but it isn't her he means to wound; it's himself. Guilt swims behind his eyes and he's never sounded so weary as when he says, "You don't know at all. My fault, I know. I've never told you, so how could you possibly know how much you mean to me?"

"Doctor, you don't have to-"

"Please," he stops her, covering her hands with his and clutching them together like he's about to open a prayer. "Please, River. If you believe nothing else I say to you, please, believe this. The universe is vast and there aren't many things I know for certain, but I do know nothing is permanent, nothing lasts forever. Earth will crumble and the sun will expand and swallow it whole. The universe will expand and contract, explode and snap back into one tiny ball. I don't know why that's the way things are. I don't know why nature is compelled to create and destroy and bring together only to tear apart. I don't know why the fabric of time saw fit to bring you into my life over and over again. I don't know what I did to deserve you. But I know that I love you. I feel it in my bones, in the very air that fills my lungs. I feel it when you're gone like a hole in my chest. I feel it when you smile like the sun warming my cheeks. And, above all else, I need you to know it too.

"Because I've had a glimpse of what we could be. I got to fall in love with you all over again. I'll never be sorry for that, not for knowing you better, and certainly not for seeing you smile. You didn't hide from me, River. I saw sides of you I've never seen before. You let me hold your hand when you were upset. You let me help you when you were hurting. You showed me your caves. I've seen how great we can be and been blinded by the parts of yourself you keep shrouded in darkness. And I'm telling you now, I want all of it, all of you, and I won't settle for anything less. That is, " he pauses, sheepish. "If you'll still have me?"

It feels like time is standing still, like reality is cracking around her and he's leaning into her ear to whisper, "Look into my eye." It feels like the impossible is unfolding before her, like she's submerged in a pool of liquid energy, wrapped in the Doctor's embrace. His hand is resting on her once wounded chest and the last of his regeneration energy is swirling around her like a sea of gold. His essence swims in her veins, breathing new life into her and willing hers hearts to beat. Colors spin like spiral galaxies behind his eyes and the smile he gives her is more blinding than the sun. In this moment, she knows only one thing for certain: if heaven were real, it wouldn't hold a candle to this.

She is lost for words, drained of declarations that would normally flood like spring rain. The sound of his voice rings in her ears, deafening her with confessions she never dreamed she'd hear. "I love you," he murmurs, and she isn't sure what's draining faster, his hope or her life. Or maybe the two are entwined, maybe if she holds tight to the sound of his voice the blackness encroaching her vision will recede.

He loves her, she tells herself. But the words don't feel as heavy as they should. They don't mean as much as they ought to, not coming from a stranger. And yet, the way the air escapes his lungs like it's the only breath worth breathing tells her that he means it. Urgent and desperate, soft and caring, he says those words like they belong to her, like it's the only truth worth hearing.

She lacks the strength to smile, but her lips twitch of their own accord, imagining what it must have felt like to be loved like that. Unconsciousness is tugging her in, the world around her fading. But his voice echoes in her ears. He loves her.

But what's more is, she loves him, too. And it's these thoughts alone that keep her afloat as darkness threatens to pull her under.

"You told me you love me," River finally manages, her voice croaking under the weight of words.

The Doctor merely, chuckles, "I do believe that was the general message, yes."

"No," River shakes her head, brow furrowing in annoyance. "Back at that abandoned base. And before that, in the TARDIS library, you told me you loved me."

She shoves lightly at his chest and the Doctor coughs out a disbelieving noise. "Are you… are you angry with me for telling you how I feel?"

"Don't be ridiculous," River scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I'm annoyed at your poor choice of timing. A century's worth of dates to choose from and you blurt it out when I can't even appreciate what I'm hearing."

She makes like she means to shove at him again, but the Doctor's hand snakes up to capture hers, a smile curling his cheeks as he steps in closer to her. "Then I'll say it again. And again. And again. Every minute of every day until you can't hear my voice without remembering those words." His hands settle on her hips, his nose nuzzling into the side of her cheek as he whispers, "I'll say it till you're sick of me."

She turns into him, her hands resting on his chest and her lips brushing against his as she says, "I could never get sick of you." The smell of his cologne and the heat of his mouth demand she close the rest of the distance between them, her hand winding up behind his neck and pulling him toward her.

Their mouths meet, brushing together with a patience that makes her tingle. It's like no kiss they've ever shared, no ticking clocks, no tangled timelines, no shackles to weigh them down, and no secrets to make the sweetness of his mouth seem bitter. He tastes only of promise, the insistent flick of his tongue against hers an invitation. For once, their futures stretch onward in the same direction. River deepens the kiss, pressing her body against his as her mind floods with possibility and urgency to discover all the glorious ways they can count down their forever.

When they part, her hearts feels lighter than they have in years. The pull between them stronger than ever before, like they are bound by forces greater than foreknowledge and the tangle of time. His gaze is boring into her with more passion and joy than she ever knew he was capable. His hazel eyes are unclouded by guilt and restraint, his smile no longer weighed down at the edges by the weight of a past he couldn't change. They are no longer hindered by spoilers and she understands now that she had it all wrong before. It wasn't fear and dread she found in his eyes. The look she didn't dare name is anxious excitement, an eagerness for what's to come, for adventure like they've never known.

She'd always seen it, the sparkle in his eyes he'd been holding back, sentiments he'd been afraid to let himself feel. Now the windows to his soul shine with possibility, with uncharted maps and limitless days stretched out before them. The Doctor's eyes drop to her lips and River realizes she's smiling, Hope is blossoming inside of her, the joy of second chances humming in her bones.

"Is that a yes, then?" he asks with a grin. "You'll have me?"

"No, you idiot," she chuckles, the nails scratching at the nape of his neck sliding down to stroke his face. "That's better than a yes. That's an always."

His face lights up like a child on Christmas day, his eyes burning bright as he says, "And what shall we do now, wife? How shall we spend the first day of the rest of our lives?"

A smirk crawls its way up River's cheeks, something devious shining in the green of her eyes. Her hands slip beneath his jacket, fingers wrapping around one of his braces. "Well, if I remember correctly," she pulls back on the red fabric, releasing it with a snap. "There's a bed I wouldn't mind getting reacquainted with."

The Doctor quirks a nonexistent brow, "Just the bed, or would you like some company?"

"Come if you like," River purrs, taking a step back and dancing away from him. "If you think you can make it worth my while."

A indulgent grin steals over him, a playful glint darkening his eyes. "I think you'll find that I have it on very good authority that I'm wonderful at bedtime stories."

River continues to back her way down the hall, the Doctor following after, drawn to her by some invisible force. She watches him with dark eyes and a tingle stirring in her belly. He's walked with her through these halls before, danced with her on mountain tops, and chased her across time and space more often than she can count. But the certainty that this time he does it of his own free will is a comfort she never thought she'd know. It makes the sensation inside her all too familiar and somehow entirely brand new.

Her back finds their bedroom door, her spine pliant against the hard, wooden surface as her sweetie stops before her, meeting her toe to toe and nose to nose. "Then tell me a story, Doctor," she breathes, and the soft smile that blooms across his face tells her he knows exactly what she means. It's not just any fairytale she wants; it's theirs, with all its frayed edges and fractured pages. She wants to hear their story spoken in all the ways their scattered timelines never allowed it to be told before.

The Doctor leans in, his palms framing her face and a quiet promise hanging from his lips. "I'll make it a good one," he whispers.

And when his mouth meets hers, he kisses her in a way she'll never forget.

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Author's Note: Don't forget, for those who want smut, stay tuned! I plan to post it to tumblr and ao3 some time next week. :)