His hearts and his feet pounded, the noise echoing off the walls and through the deadly air as he tore along the corridors of the place that was so often the subject of his nightmares. The place where he failed her. The place where he left her.

He launched himself down the flight of steps that appeared round the next corner, taking them three at a time, slowing briefly at the bottom to snatch up his sonic and her battered blue diary from where he had left them on the balustrade a lifetime and yet just a few short moments ago.

When he'd placed them there long ago, turned to take Donna's hand and headed back to the TARDIS he'd been on a high. The sadness he'd felt at her sacrifice, the loss of this impossible woman he'd only just met yet who clearly had such love for him, had been lifted by the knowledge that she wasn't gone – not really. That he'd managed to save her, give her everlasting life and unlimited adventures in a land of storybooks.

But now, when the day he had dreaded from that fateful first meeting had finally arrived, the wrenching pain in his chest and the sickening lurching of his gut screamed at him that it wasn't enough, would never be enough. For either of them.

He rounded another corner, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. He sped through the hall with the gift shop, past the small group of people still queuing for the teleports, so intent on reaching his destination he didn't even notice them. He burst through the door. And stopped short.

There she was, just as he had left her, looking relaxed and peaceful. Still. He had removed that twisted crown from her head, carried her from the darkness of the planet's core back up into the light and laid her down gently in the elegant hall, arranging her as though she might be sleeping and covering her with a pure white sheet.

It had just been the two of them then, and it was just the two of them now. In the cavernous room with soft daylight shining down from above, he was alone with his grief. Alone. All alone. She had died alone. He hadn't been there, not really. She had died alone, lain here alone. And still. She was so still. So unlike the River he knew, who was full of life and love, craving adventure and excitement, leading him into trouble with a wink and a brilliant smile, challenging him with every look, every breath.

He'd wondered at the time if she had any family, anyone waiting for her to come home, wondering what had happened. Would they ever know what she had done? How many people she had saved? Now he hoped they never would. He never wanted Amy and Rory to see this, to have this image of her forever burned into their memories. Didn't want to see the pain on their faces as he told them their daughter was dead, didn't want to watch the tears fall, watch them lash out or break down, see them hysterical and helpless as they knelt by her side and cradled her in their arms as they'd never been able to when she was a baby.

Finally able to move from his frozen state, he took one shaky step towards her. Then another. And another; the journey seemed to last an age. Finally he reached her and sank to his knees by her side, overcome by the weight of his grief and his guilt. He reached out with trembling hands and pulled back the sheet, letting out a strangled sob as he saw her. He couldn't stop the tears then, the dam broke and they came flooding out, his whole body shaking with grief, aching for her.

He reached out a hand to place it on her cheek, but hesitated. What if she was cold? He didn't want to feel that. He wanted to remember River as being soft and warm, not hardened and icy cold beneath his touch. He withdrew his hand and let his eyes travel the length of her body, trying to take it all in, memorize every last detail as he had done with all their moments together.

But as soon as he laid eyes on her suit, images began to flash before his eyes, the soundtrack coming to him from somewhere far away, disjointed and echoing, as if someone had left a TV on in a far off room. He was assaulted by memories; River's emotional final moments; the two of them standing on a beach, her visor slowly coming up, revealing her tear-stained cheeks, her eyes pleading with him as she told him to run; and a terrified little girl running from a spaceman, begging for help.

As he slowly came back to the present, his eyes drifted to her gun – a sonic blaster from the factories of Villengard. He reached out and took it in his hand, rising slowly to his feet and carefully backing away a few steps, his eyes never leaving her face. He changed the weapon to the appropriate setting and turned it inwards so it was pointing at his chest.

He pulled the trigger and stumbled back, as the burst of energy tore through him. He doubled over in pain, the blaster dropping to the floor. Then he felt the familiar tingling, the warmth gradually moving through him. He lifted one hand to his face and saw a rippling glow beginning there. He stumbled back to River's side, collapsing to his knees once more and reached out to take her in his arms. The light intensified as he leaned down towards her. "Please," he breathed imploringly to whoever may be listening, before closing the tiny gap between them and pressing his lips gently against hers.

Every second felt like an eternity as the warm golden light flowed around them, through them. Until finally her lips began to return his gentle pressure, and he felt her eyelids flutter against his cheeks. He pulled back ever so slightly to see her eyes slowly opening, as if she was waking from a peaceful slumber.

"Doctor?" she questioned in a weak voice.

"River," he breathed, his voice full of awe, a genuine smile making its way onto his face for the first time in a long time.

"My Doctor," she whispered, her eyes shining with contentment, the beginnings of a smile making its way onto her own face.

"I'm all yours Sweetie," he agreed affectionately before leaning forward to kiss her again, locked in a loving embrace as the glowing regeneration energy swirled around them, permeating every cell, every inch of their souls, repairing the damage and making them whole again.