Set after The Wedding of River Song. If you haven't seen it and are worried about spoilers, what the heck are you doing here?
"Hello Sweetie" she said, putting her book aside and sauntering up to the bars of her cell. She'd felt the vibrations from the TARDIS materializing almost a full minute before she caught the flash of dark blue out of the corner of her eye as she'd turned the soft pages of her journal. The tiniest flutter of surprise was squashed by her own small laugh – what's the point of even trying to expect or not expect him?
He reached one hand out between the bars and brushed her cheek. He cocked his head to one side, considering. She gave him her best "well, what?" look, but she knew she couldn't fool him, not for a moment.
Finally he put his finger on it, literally poking at her. "You look sad, that's it. You don't usually look sad." He looked around her cell, searching for a clue. "When is it for you? What's just happened?"
She sighed dramatically, trying to shrug off his concern. "Oh, you know- the running, the end of the universe, the … getting married."
"Ah," he nodded. "And my 'death'." He grimaced at the cell, "And your 'crime'"
"Yes."
He looked away, and then down, and then anywhere but at her.
"That's not how I wanted it to happen you know," he said finally in a voice almost too low to hear.
"Your death? You're not still mad we didn't let you die? I'm afraid I can't apologize for that – turned out you figured out how to save yourself all on your own."
"No-" he finally caught her eye. No matter how his face and clothing and manners changed, that stare always went right though her. "Not the death, the marriage."
"Why? Because I was holding all of space and time hostage and you were actually miniaturized inside a robot impostor in a bubble universe that was erased from time?"
"Well, yes, some of that too." He looked away again. She didn't want to go through their usual page-flipping dance to find out when he'd come from, but something made her think he was from further along than she'd seen recently. He looked older and more troubled. Not at all the bounding, grinning man on the ice at the Frost Fair.
She knew that look all too well: guilt. The guilt that threatened to consume him every time he paused in his run through all of space and time for even a moment to consider all the people he'd lost. All those who had lost themselves for him.
"Oh I know the problem," she teased, trying to pull him back from the brink of self-loathing.
"You do?"
"No dancing."
"Exactly!" He jumped and spun around, visibly relieved that she'd given him an easy out. "You can't have a proper wedding without dancing." He did a throughly embarrassing series of hand-waving dance moves that had her covering her eyes.
But when she dropped her hands, he had turned serious again. "Also," his voice dipped to a whisper, he leaned against the bars, "I wasn't very nice to you."
"Well, to be fair, the last time I'd seen you, I was trying to kill you – and the time before that I actually managed to poison you. So..."
"Forgiven. Absolutely and always, you know that."
"Yes. I know I am. But, do you know that you are as well?"
