Disclaimer: None of the Doctor, the TARDIS, or the show itself, Doctor Who, belong to me. Everything belongs to the BBC. This is for reading enjoyment only. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N Because 11 and River are amazing together. 11's speech, coupled with that kiss in The Name of the Doctor broke my shipper heart in two. This is just an excuse to put 11 and River together and therefore may not sync exactly with their timeline on the show…I blame the timey wimey.

For all 11/River shippers.

The sound of silence is deafening. It echoes throughout the TARDIS emphasising how alone he is. Alone. The one thing he has been told by many of his friends he should never be and yet here he is again, alone.

He's angry at them. All of them, because they tell him not to be alone, but the need to not be alone is what forces the attachment which in turn fuels the feeling of loneliness and sadness when they leave or get lost forever, dead or worse and he finds himself in this situation again. Alone and scared of what he might do, because he knows what he is capable of and he knows deep down they are right. He should never ever be alone because he is dangerous when he is angry, but he doesn't want to and can't open himself up to the prospect of getting hurt again.

She'd slap him, she would. His River. He thinks he might quite like that right now. River always laughed at his ability to get lost when going somewhere. So, he angrily stomps around the TARDIS, pushing buttons not caring where he ends up and not aiming for anywhere in particular. The TARDIS groans and fights him. He tries to put the brakes on to land, but she won't let him.

He pulls with all his might, but she won't budge an inch and he exerts himself, trying to force the issue. Still, the TARDIS is adamant and he is furious with her and yells, "you're not River. You don't get to tell me how to fly you!"

She tries to tell him something, but he's not listening. Doesn't want to hear. His anger pours out, fury enveloping him and he aims a kick at her, "don't talk to me. Don't tell me WHAT TO DO!"

The TARDIS shuts down on him and he can hardly see. He is so angry the words tumble out in rage, faster than even he can keep up, aimed at the TARDIS, who won't respond to him at all now. He feels the wave of emotions taking over, consuming him and collapses to the floor.

He's angry at himself because he couldn't protect them and because he doesn't always appreciate people. He thinks of Martha Jones. Brilliant and brave Martha Jones, who walked the earth alone. He never fully appreciated her until the day she slapped him awake by telling him she was staying at home with her devastated family who needed her. Martha Jones, who made the choice to stay at home before she became just another lost friend of the Doctor's. Martha Jones, whose parting words were that he should find someone because he was no good on his own.

He met Donna for the second time and she had been pleased to see change in him and offered the opinion that Martha had been good for him. She'd been repulsed, not the slightest bit impressed at how easily he disposed of the Racnoss, children and all, first time she had met him.

He lost Donna and himself, in a manner of speaking before he found his Pond. His first Pond, before the other two followed, River in spectacular fashion. Now, his Ponds are gone too. He thinks he might be able to cope with losing Amy and Rory, if only River was here, but River isn't here and all that stares him in the face is how he never appreciated her enough either and now it is too late. He hated remembering and tried not to, but the sound of silence is deafening and all there is left is regret.

It's cold and he finds himself not caring because hot, fury induced tears blaze a trail down his cheeks and he feels the anger draining out of him until he's just tired, mentally, physically and emotionally.

He closes his eyes tightly until he feels dizzy and can see the stars in his mind. He wants to go back and slap his younger self silly. His younger self handed such a gift, but so careless with it and so completely unable to appreciate it.

"I love a bad girl, me. But trust you? Seriously?", he'd once asked her, scathingly. His younger self, scared and angry, frustrated, intimidated and cruel at times. Such an idiot and so afraid of the gift the universe gave him just because it didn't feel like a choice at first. He had seen the briefest flash of hurt in her eyes, but she never wavered. She met his eyes and did not look away. His strong and wonderful wife, living every day with a broken heart. But back she would come just to run with him, waiting for him to grow up.

He wants a siren call. A message on his psychic paper or perhaps, on the white cliffs of Dover. He can give her into trouble for it and she can chime in that if he answered his phone, she wouldn't need to leave cliff notes for him.

He wanted to give her into to trouble for flagging him down like he is an intergalactic taxi service, all the while she waltzes in humouring him by listening, but with not the slightest intent of changing because he wouldn't want her to. He likes their bickering and knows she loves it too. He wants her to come in and use his scanner as a shoe rack, taking over control of the TARDIS and he can pretend to be extremely upset about those things as well. Secretly he loves the fact that she flies the TARDIS better than him, even if he would never admit it to her and even if it exasperates him as to how she manages it. He's damn sure he never taught her to fly it that well. He can only assume the old girl found the thought of his wife managing it better than him amusing.

He wants his flirty wife his younger self was so intimidated by. He wants to see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. He wants to hear her laugh and say those two words reserved just for him.

"Hello, Sweetie."

He remembers the first time he heard those words when he hadn't the faintest idea who she was, when he hadn't noticed the pain his not knowing caused her and when he hadn't understood how much he would one day miss not hearing her say them.

"Hello, Sweetie."

He could hear her say those words all day.

"Hello, Sweetie."

But it didn't sound right in his head. There was none of her joy and mischief, just sadness and a bit of impatience. His mood was ruining his memory of her.

"Hello, Sweetie."

She sounded as if she were in the TARDIS with him. Oh, how he wished that could be. Suddenly, the TARDIS powered back up giving him a jolt as she did so.

"Oi! I thought I told you not to talk to me when I'm cross", he retorts in reply.

"And how many times, Sweetie? She does as I ask, because she likes me better than you."

The Doctor hears his own breath catch in his throat, hardly daring to believe it. Thoughts race through his mind and most particularly the possibility of his mind playing tricks on him. Was the dream lord back?

He hears her sigh of impatience, but can't bear to open his eyes for fear of it being a dream.

"Clueless as ever. Obviously you didn't land the TARDIS here, because the breaks weren't on. It's why I didn't notice at first. So, why did she bring you here then?

He hears the question she didn't ask because she knows, his River always knows. Just like he knows he's not the only one upset about something. He can tell that about her too. The only thing is that he doesn't know when they are because he hadn't checked. In his fury he hadn't realised the TARDIS had landed much less some when his wife is still alive.

"You don't know when we are, do you?"

Opening his eyes and despite himself, he smiles. Despite the promise of loss that accompanies them every time they meet, his hearts flutter with hope for the first time in ages. For she is there, sadder than he can ever remember seeing her, with the exception of the Library, but there nonetheless.