Hey everyone. I decided I wanted to give the readers of "One May Face a World of Demons" this last gift for sticking with me through such a long and sad story. These are the epilogues that didn't make it to the final edition of "One May…".

In the early days of writing this story, I was still deciding whether or not I wanted Clara to live or die in the end. This first epilogue was written when her living through her encounter with the Silence was still a possibility.

Disclaimer: All rights to Doctor Who belong to the BBC

She Lives.

They knew him by name in this shop. Or, really, by nickname.

He'd relocated to this small town on the coast a few years back. Witness protection had moved him a total of three times during his first few years in their care, but he hadn't heard from them—other than the annual phone calls from his handler—in a little over two years.

He was settled. He was safe.

He knew the people of this town had whispered about him when he first arrived. He had heard them as he passed them on the street.

"Who is he?" one would ask.

"The Doctor," another would answer.

This would always lead to a follow up question. "But what's his name?"

"Just, the Doctor," the other would reply.

"That's all?" At this point the first would sound disbelieving or even condescending.

"That's all he ever says," the other would whisper.

Matt smiled down at her picture. It was his favorite. Her face was glowing with surprise and delight as she proudly displayed their honeymoon tickets to New York.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat.

"Here you go, Doctor." The waitress handed him a chocolate soufflé with a single candle. They made it special for him once every year.

He smiled politely up at her. "Thanks Sally."

Matt waited until she was gone to close his eyes. As his tradition demanded, he allowed himself only one memory to dwell on per year. Otherwise he knew he would wallow, and he couldn't afford the luxury anymore.

Matt felt a warm spark in his chest. She was laughing—her head thrown back and her eyes crinkled just around the corners. At what, he couldn't quite remember, but just the memory of her happiness was enough to satisfy him.

"Someone stand you up?" a voice asked.

He opened his eyes to look up at the intruder. It was a tall woman, with dark hair that was curled up onto her head and striking brown eyes.

"Who is she?" the woman prompted when he didn't answer.

He swallowed. "Clara, my…" he trailed off. "My associate." He had to be careful with the information he gave out now. Matt knew his handler would be none too pleased with him if he revealed who Clara was to anyone. His accidental slip of information had been the cause for more than one of his moves. The agency would not be pleased if they had to relocate him once again.

"Must be a very close associate," the woman said as she sat across from him, "for you to still be mourning her."

Matt blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Tasha." The woman completely ignored his question and stuck her hand out to him. "Tasha Lem. And you are?"

Matt took her hand cautiously. "The Doctor."

Tasha raised her eyebrows. "Doctor who?"

He chuckled, and felt an all-too-familiar, bitter smile cross his face. "Ah, now that's the real question innit?" He leaned over to blow his candle out, and stood. "Nice to meet you."

Tasha grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Mind if I see you again?"

Matt glanced down at her, and shrugged. "I'll be around."

"Wait," Tasha called as he turned away from her. "I'm a friend of River Song's."

Matt's heart stopped and he froze. That was not a name he had ever wanted to hear again.

He slowly spun to face her again. Anxiety tugged at his heart, and every fiber of his being was telling him to turn around and run, but something in her voice made him stand his ground.

Relief flooded Tasha's face when he didn't walk away from her. "She sends a message."

He reluctantly moved back over to the table. "Yes?"

"She said to tell you that Silence will fall." She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a slip of paper. "And to give you this."

Matt took the paper, and carefully opened it. His heart froze when his eyes caught sight of a handwriting he knew all too well.

Run.

Run, you clever boy, and remember me.

—Clara