You are always here to me. The perks of dreaming about a spouse that had haunted him perfectly for a millennium; he knew exactly what his River would think within this fantasy. It's the final untarnished detail, envisioning not just her but her thoughts; climbing inside her soul and living as her in a nightmare disguised as something beautiful. The pain is worsening; he's fading. Disappearing inside the dream; it's so comforting here. He never wants to wake up.

That's the whole point. Something inside him screams. Still, he retreats further into the memory of her until the pain stops. He should have known she'd be the thing that finally killed him-

The desktop was nice. Not as garishly fairytale as the one he'd lived in with her parents, but this one was already growing on her. It looked a mile better without all the ivy no don't think about that day now and there were chalkboards and rows and rows of books interspersed with artefacts, was that an original Maldaheid sword on the upstairs balcony?

Think about anything anything anything else CALM DOWN

River's fingers tapped against the controls in time to her stuttering pulses as she forced herself to breathe through her nose.

The reunion had been somewhat patchy, given that as usual the Universe had wedged itself between them and pulling it out of mortal peril had taken priority over any first impulses oh look I'm not dead and we finally look the same age, let's take our clothes off. Buried in the threat of impending death was an unspoken promise between them; later. Every second that she'd survived today had been a second closer to this, and now the Doctor was dropping Clara off home among more unspoken words, so we can be alone just you and I

God, they did excel in the art of not saying things. But then, she supposed they didn't really have to, not when even after all this time apart all it had taken was a mere heavy glance between them, just before the Doctor had left with Clara, for River to know what was going to happen on his return. He'd been looking at her like that all day; caught between a sort of cautious elation that she was actually not dead and a wrenching frustration that they were far too busy saving the world to touch each other, to be properly reunited. Later.

She'd been sure to thank every god she could remember for the first three minutes of being left alone that a later was something the Doctor wanted. She hadn't even been sure that he'd remember her name.

This day was one that should never have happened, and it was now on the cusp of slipping into a night that should never have happened, gifted to them by the Universe. This day was blessed. It was nothing to be afraid of.

Then the Tardis door clicked open, and she was trembling all over again. There was a chalkboard on the other side of the room with equations scrawled across it that she solved rhythmically in her head, stemming the roar of her pulses in her ears. Quiet, save the soft footfalls behind her; her body swayed dizzyingly with each one before a gentle pressure in the small of her back anchored her.

The Doctor leaned past her, tease, to pull the handbrake, releasing them into the silky abyss of the vortex, and later wasn't later anymore. His hand slid from her back to her hip like a whisper, the other leaving the controls to settle on the other and he was finally, finally holding her. How long it had been since he last had scarcely bore thinking about.

She thought what sort of time do you call this? might have broken the ice, but she was a little wary of puncturing the silence lest she scare him away like some sort of wild creature. She remembered how easily spooked he'd been in his last body, never quite accepting that touching her like this was something he was allowed to do; a shift of her hips, a quiet hum in her throat, and he'd spring away as if she'd screamed.

Tonight, though, it was she who was more wary. She couldn't recall a time when he'd been the one to reach out to her for anything more than a hand holding or a hug, other than the instance after her own death. He'd seldom refused her, but in hindsight she was terribly afraid that all of that was merely because the nature of their relationship had become an unavoidable fixed point for him the day he'd met her; or, worse, that that fateful day in question had led him on a three-hundred-year mission to ease his own guilt, letting her take him to bed because he had to – she had sacrificed her life for this, after all-

Stop being afraid

"River?"

She shivered. He spoke her name like a lyric, drawn out and soft against her ear, and her eyes fell shut. Nothing was being sacrificed now, nothing was owed; yet here they were, and she intended to savour the freedom, the elation that flooded in with being free of the shackles of time. His fingers skittered uncertainly in the curve of her hip, and she knew that it was her move.

Drawing air into her lungs, she twisted around and when her eyes opened again she found an owlish, pale blue pair staring back at her. Oh, but she did love his eyes; ancient and kind and, now, just a little frightened. The knots in her stomach melted away, insignificant.

She tried willing herself to tell him that it was fine, that they didn't have to do this, but couldn't quite summon the words out of her throat. He was right here with her, not conjured up by a damned library computer or her own head, in mere minutes they could be skin to skin and damn it, she'd waited a century to get here.

He'd waited a millennium. Now he was letting his gaze trail over every inch of her, as if wondering whether or not she was real. He still maintained a light grip on her hips – keeping her from fading, she briefly thought – thumbs just brushing her stomach. As she gazed down at his weathered hands, lined and rough with callouses, she suddenly felt like crying. He didn't seem to be faring much better, if the noticeable tremor in his fingertips was anything to go by. Which one of them was meant to be the strong one tonight?

River followed a spiralling urge to hold those new-old hands in hers, bringing his knuckles to her lips and dusting kisses along them as his eyes fell into hers, intrigued and afraid. "Don't overthink it, sweetie."

He tried desperately to obey her, not to drown in the magnitude of what it meant to have this woman before him again; not to sob out loud upon being blessed with the term of endearment he'd missed so very much. "Ok," he managed to whisper, hands twisting out of hers to skirt along the hem of her shirt. "I just…" His mouth faltered, unable to squash whatever this aching miasma of emotions contained into words.

"I know. Me too."

This had been building up from the moment they'd set eyes on each other again, a lit fuse burning surely between them. It was simmering now, almost, almost at the point of no return. Just one more barrier to be broken.

"I don't know if I remember how to do this…" he managed hoarsely. His hands fell away and the air was somehow thicker with the absence of touch, the stupidly tiny space between them like smog.

She could see his pulses thumping in the hollow of his throat, feel his breath on her skin. She swallowed. "Do you want me to show you?"

The question had barely left her lips before it was being swallowed down with her surprised gasp, his lips crushing against hers.

If she'd had breath to spare, she would have laughed. Both pairs of hands bunched into useless fists at their sides for a stumbling moment, her caught off guard and him unsure and more than a little taken aback by his own bravery. But that hot spiral of need became their guiding light, binding them together; in one fluid movement her arms slid around his waist as his hands lifted to cradle her jaw, pressing her back firmly against the console.

She wished she could have drowned in him. The fizz of time energy burst along their lips and god, he smelled like honey, that same smell that she'd avoided washing her clothes and bed sheets to maintain. Her fingers curled into the fabric of that gorgeous jacket of his softer than tweed, and his bruising kiss settled into a deep, lingering rhythm that seeped into the marrow of her bones.

He stayed close enough when they broke apart that all she'd have to do was lean forward ever so slightly to be kissing him again. She offered him a sunny, encouraging smile instead. "You seem to be doing just fine without my help."

His lips touched her forehead tenderly, murmuring against it. "I may need your help with the rest of tonight."

She felt a burst of flutters in her stomach. "Maybe we'd be more comfortable upstairs?"