River Song stood beside the monitor in the TARDIS console room, watching her husband run his fingers idly over the console. They were taking a break from their latest adventure, an exploration of the inner reaches of the TARDIS herself – a place River had always considered her home as much as his, but one she'd had far less opportunity to investigate than he. Already they had been amply rewarded, encountering uncharted stairwells, rooms, parks and plazas even the Doctor himself said he'd never seen. And most satisfying of all, they were doing it together.

They were still not long into Darillium's twenty-four year night. She knew exactly how much time had passed so far, of course – but she'd promised herself she wouldn't dwell on it. Not now. Not yet.

Instead she turned her mind to dwell on a problem that was looming right in front of her. A problem, apparently, with the Doctor. One that she'd been sensing on and off since shortly after they'd arrived.

Once again she caught him looking at her as he pretended to fiddle with the controls. It was a probing, distancing glance and it sent a chill right through her. Because suddenly, even though he was standing right beside her, it felt as if he was light years away.

And this time, she was no longer able to ignore it.

There was something deeply troubling him. Something that – for all their closeness, including the thrilling exploration of the physics of a new body in an old and familiar relationship – was still keeping them from even greater happiness. And she couldn't bear not knowing any longer. She supposed she always knew she would have to be the one to force the issue. As much as the Doctor didn't like endings, he didn't like dealing with emotions, either.

She briefly closed her eyes. Tried to brace herself for what was to come. Then she moved towards him, closing the physical distance between them, and pressed a firm hand to his chest, just between his hearts. "All right, out with it," she demanded peremptorily, before he could dodge her or attempt an escape. "Whatever it is, just tell me. Please." To her dismay, the final word came out less as a request than as the heartfelt plea it was.

The Doctor's brows knit. He looked away for a moment, as if deciding, and then squarely back to her.

"Why did you go?" His low voice was taut, rough with suppressed emotion. "Why did you leave me, too?"

There it was. Manhattan. He was talking about Manhattan. The space whale in the room. He was asking why, after his two best friends had been thrown back into the past by a weeping angel, transported to a fractured place in space-time where he could never follow, his wife had left him as well. Had gone and left him alone, the one thing the Doctor should never, ever be.

She stared up into his unfathomable grey eyes as he regarded her with an expression that would appear only mildly inquisitive to anyone else in the universe, even those who knew him best. But after all these years his wife could see the hurt that lurked deep within his gaze – the pain that she had caused – and the sight of it burned through every atom in her body more punishingly than even the Tesselecta's all-consuming fire.

Her hand unconsciously fisted the fabric over his chest. Deliberately leaving him – when all she'd ever wanted was to spend her life by his side – had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Harder than killing him, when she eventually discovered he wouldn't really be dead. Harder even than watching her younger self kill him on the shores of Lake Silencio, when then at least she'd had the cold comfort of knowing that the Doctor still needed something from her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my love." The words came out a raw, bleeding whisper. Her hand dropped away from his chest as the tears threatened, and she blinked them away by sheer force of will.

River Song never cried.

"Why?" he repeated. There was a child's – an alien's – incomprehension in the quiet, almost plaintive query, and she wanted to lash out viciously against the cruelty of an uncaring cosmos that dictated he should suffer, even for an instant, because of her.

She shook her head blindly, forced herself to continue. "Because…because I knew if I stayed I would remind you of them, and I couldn't bear to hurt you like that."

And so she had walked away from him there in the graveyard, choosing to leave and hurt him by her absence instead. Although it had been years ago for her now the memory still festered inside, a gaping wound that she knew would last her lifetime and could never be healed, only endured.

This time she had to turn away as the mute, haunted agony of it welled within her once more, blindsiding her with its intensity. She buried her face in her hands, all the old instincts within her screaming at her to run but knowing that this time, there was no place to go.

For a long moment all was silent except for the harsh sound of her own breathing in her ears as she tried to hold herself together. As she waited for whatever came next. She knew she should be stronger – never let him see the damage – but the profound, exhilarating pleasure she'd been taking in their time together here on Darillium seemed to have eroded her resistance just when she needed it most.

Still, whatever he said or did now couldn't make her feel worse than she felt already. All that time she wanted to be beside him – to grieve with him, to help him when he needed her most – they had spent apart. And it was all her own doing.

A hand landed softly on her shoulder. Warm breath tickled her ear, causing her to shudder. "Always and completely forgiven, River," he told her quietly, his tone as much of a caress as the touch of his fingertips on her bare skin. "I just needed to understand."

River's heartbeat thrummed loudly in her ears as something dark and coiled and tight, as tight as a steel trap, loosened and fell away within her breast. This time the tears fell and she couldn't stop them. Turning, she buried her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his back and holding on for dear life.

She felt his arms come around her as he pulled her even closer, fitting them together like the pieces of a puzzle that, once joined, unlocked all the secrets of time itself.

After an ageless infinity had passed he lifted her chin with one fine, long hand and then shifted it to tenderly stroke the wetness from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. The look in his eyes confirmed beyond question that he was speaking nothing but the truth.

She was forgiven.

As the cleansing sense of absolution washed over her, her eyes slid shut and she turned her head just slightly, pressing a burning, reverent kiss into his palm.

"Come on, then," he said briskly, letting his hand fall away to his side. He loosened himself from their embrace and bounded towards the staircase up into the TARDIS interior, then turned and held out his hand. "There's someplace else I want to show you."

River's eyes opened and she puffed out a shaky breath as color began to return to her cheeks. Gasping a half sob, half laugh she hurried after him, reaching for his hand and curling her palm around his. Interlacing their fingers to symbolize a silent but unbreakable bond as he tugged her towards him.

"My River," he said simply as she reached his side, raising and squeezing her hand in his.

"Now don't go getting sentimental, darling," she admonished lightly, trying for a saucy smile that she thought she might just about be steady enough now to pull off.

He threw her a mock frown, then kissed the tips of her fingers. "Wouldn't dream of it." His eyes gleamed into hers. "Ready?"

She could see his gaze was clear now and suffused with a childlike expression of anticipation and delight, and felt the electrifying warmth of it all the way down to her toes. "Ready."

He gestured up the staircase. "Then shall we?"

Her heart soaring, River Song nodded and did something she had hardly ever done – and only once in recent memory, when this daft, beautiful man, her husband, had reminded her that she could.

She threw back her head and laughed with joy. "Always, my love. Always."

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