And This Is Why
The universe takes...
It does not teach. It does not watch. It ends,
too often for any one lifetime, pulling and colliding
and igniting. It halts, and I, the tourist,
half the running footsteps,
will always, always, end up here.
River slipped through the throng of people, temptation in a red gown, every curve and curl promising everything and delivering nothing. She tossed her head back, golden hair aureoling around her feline face. He was here; she could hear the double-beat of his hearts, like the sound of drums announcing his entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she searched the crowd for a good man, the best man she ever knew.
That was when she saw him, dark hair flopping over a broad brow, bow tie at his throat and sonic in hand, fizzing up a flute of already bubbly bubbly. He was everything that ever was and ever will be. He was her equal, her equilibrium. And she was his death, his destruction, murder wrapped up in a kiss. She had done it before, she would do it again.
He had said she would have to.
River took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She would deliver his end with an embrace; she would send him to the underworld with her undying love. This is what came with loving the impossible. You had to do the impossible. You had to kill what you loved, annihilate what you adored. The whole universe was depending on one fatal kiss, one fatal blow.
Some things never changed.
As River stepped out of the crowd, revealing herself, a killer in crimson; a girl stepped out in front of her in turn, petite, pretty. She was dressed in the simple black shirt and skirt uniform of the female serving staff, dark hair pulled off her face in a high ponytail, a tray of canapés in her hand. River made to move past her, but the girl stepped in front of her again. River sighed in exasperation, making to barge past the impertinent girl. But then River froze, immobilized. Her mother was sashaying up to the Doctor, Amy stunning everyone within a six feet radius, her tight, bright green sequinned gown glittering like scales, setting off her pale skin and fiery hair to dramatic effect.
He hadn't told her that she would have to kill him in front of Amy. Again. Oh, she could kill that man...
To make things worse, Rory appeared, adorably awkward in a slightly too large tuxedo. He stumbled up to a laughing Amy and Doctor. Her father was obviously the worse the wear for drink. River tutted under her breath. Honestly, her husband's timing was terrible. For a moment, she watched Rory start a saga of sorts, waving his glass of wine wildly through the air to illustrate some elusive point Amy and the Doctor couldn't quite understand, judging by their puzzled faces.
"You don't have to do it," the girl said, startling River.
"What?" River said, taking a step back.
"The universe has been cheated of his death once too many times," the girl said sadly. "He owes the universe."
"The universe owes him," River snapped.
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Exactly," she said nonchalantly. "So I'm going to settle the debt."
River looked at the girl in disbelief, almost in fear.
"No, you can't," she said, shaking her head. "That's not possible."
"I am the impossible girl," the girl said, a small smile playing on her lips.
"It has to be his life," River argued, trying to deny the hope rising in her. "Nobody else's."
The girl looked very old and very young, her large dark eyes ancient and forever.
"I am his life," the girl said, "I am them all, from beginning to end. At every point, at every passing, I am there. I echo through his lives like the ghosts of all the stars that have ever been, my light burning through his darkness long after it has flickered its last flame. I am Clara Oswin Oswald, and I was born to save the Doctor."
Swift and sure, the girl who called herself impossible, stepped past River, before laying her tray on a nearby table. River watched her move like a ghost amongst the guests. And then she was at the French windows that led onto a balcony, disappearing through them. River couldn't move. She knew how this would end before it ended. A girl would fall, as she had always fallen; a girl falling through time and space, through all the Doctor's lives. A girl would die, as she would always die, and had always died.
Then the screams started. The Doctor whirled around, his gaze colliding with River's. For one moment, nobody existed in the world apart from them. Then he strode into the panicking crowd, leaving a bewildered Amy and drunken Rory trailing in his wake. Her parents hadn't seen her; they didn't know their only daughter was so close yet so far from them. River closed her eyes, trying to blot out the pain. It hurt, but then it always did.
River opened her eyes, forcing herself to face the future. The Doctor was safe. The universe was safe. Her conscience was as clear as it could ever be. And it was all due to one girl, one strange impossible girl. As though in a dream, River wove her way through the throng, reaching the balcony before she even knew she had. She leaned over the edge, looking down at the lawn below, the evening breeze ruffling her curls.
Clara lay there, arms flung above her head, eyes wide and unseeing. But there was a smile on her face, as though she was pleased at finding herself in the company of death. River couldn't help but smile brokenly in return.
"You impossible, impossible girl," River whispered.
Then she looked up, gazing at the ghosts of all the stars that had ever been, stars still burning their light through the darkness of the sky above.