To the last syllable of recorded time;
xvii.
She should have died hereafter;
He never looked back.
But never ever had that been more difficult than that night – soaring towers and songs wrapping all around them, her body soft against his and his face buried in her hair so she wouldn't see the tears. Her skin was impossibly soft and she held him, her breath soft on his neck while his hearts beat a discordant tune, melancholy and clashing.
He didn't want to leave.
He had to anyway. As much as he wanted to take her away again – spirit her off to the stars so that she never ever stepped foot in that wretched Library – if he did, none of this would have existed. Not her smile or her mouth against his, not her heart that loved him and only him and all the other hims that ever were or ever would be, not his promise to love only her that he intended to keep even after she was gone.
Because she wouldn't really be gone.
She'd be saved – in a life he knew now she would hate, but she would endure only for the sake that he would be there with her. One day. At his own end.
He didn't say goodbye. He'd kissed her goodnight and he wondered if she tasted the goodbye secreted within it.
As he set his ship – his loyal, faithful ship – off into the vortex, he'd broken in two. Neither of his hearts would be whole anymore.
xxii.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
"I told you no weapons!"
"If you thought I was going to let you go there alone and completely unarmed, you are out of your mind!"
"They are a race of pacifists-"
"With terrorist cells who would do anything to stop the merge-"
"And you deliberately brought a weapon-"
"Which was needed to protect us all from the assassination attempt-"
"Why do you never just listen to me? I don't make these rules up for my own benefit-"
"I only don't listen when your orders are stupid-"
"You put lives at risk!"
"Well so did you – your own."
"I don't come first, River. That's not how it works."
"It's how it works for me."
"River..."
"I put you first. No matter what. Even no matter what you say."
"River-"
"You can't ask me to watch you die. I can't do that, I can't."
"Okay. It's okay. I won't do that."
"Do you promise?"
"I won't do that."
xxv.
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
Who was she?
It felt like a mantra – like some rampant manifesto that had been lodged in his head. Who was River Song?
Everywhere he looked, he only found more questions. Was she his wife? Was she his killer? Who had she killed? Why did she stay in prison when she could clearly come and go as she pleased? Why did she constantly – constantly – try to sacrifice herself in his place?
He wasn't ready for this – it felt thrust upon him and he staggered under the weight of the disappointment, expectation and knowledge he saw every time he looked at her.
She looked at him like she knew his very soul. And loved every inch of it. And he – well. He barely knew her, and he understood even less than he actually knew.
He wasn't ready for this.
xviiii.
To-morrow, and To-morrow, and To-morrow,
She kept bringing it up. The Library – the damn, stupid Library.
He'd put her off – tomorrow, he'd drop her off tomorrow, but first just one more trip. Just one more trip – the end of the universe and then back to the beginning, let's go watch stars being born and then watch them die. She liked the symmetry of that. Every place he could think to entice her with, he did.
Every place but Dorillian.
Every place but the Library.
Anyplace but home.
He'd come back for her – just for this. After living it all out from his end, going all the way to her beginning until he understood it all. He'd come back to just before her end; one more trip, just one where he and she were together in every manner possible – their shared history, shared lives, shared love – just one trip.
But he was selfish. He was just so greedy for her – her body next to his, her heart finally in accordance with his own. Just one more trip.
Tomorrow.
He'd take her to Dorillian tomorrow.
xxiiii.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
He went back for the diary.
While his younger self was racing down to the mainframe, he slipped in, his Tardis cloaked. He stood in a doorway, watched Donna enter the younger Tardis before moving silently down the hall to the ledge where he'd left it.
There were no more spoilers within its pages. No secrets withheld, no event he had not lived.
He needed it with him. Needed to read it all in her words, to see it all through her eyes.
It was the only way he could keep her now – until he was finally ready to join her.
The leather was soft and the pages were wrinkled with the wear of continuous handling. He brought it to his face, inhaling softly – it still smelled like her. He felt his chest constrict, and tears burn behind his eyes. She'd touched it – just moments ago.
Moments.
Something inside of him felt hollow as he thought of her, mere floors down and a lifetime away from him. He'd been with her at the end – but it hadn't really been him had it? He'd been with her, but it was the wrong him, and it was as good as her being alone.
He didn't open it until he'd snapped his fingers and stepped back into his Tardis, looking hatefully over his shoulder at the shadows that had been the root cause of her death – of her need to save all those others.
But it wasn't time yet.
And until then, he would turn the pages, live her life through her eyes, and keep her with him until it was time. Time was something he always had plenty of. But these last few years he managed to eke out before his final regeneration would be a pale imitation of those that came before.
There was no forgetting this ghost.
There was no way he wanted to even try.
xviii.
There would have been a time for such a word.
"When are we?" She was flushed with the effort of her running before he'd shown up as told and rescued her. Though she preferred the term 'given her a lift.'
"Quite a ways in. Have you got Asgard yet?" Her eyes lit up and she nodded.
"The Bone meadows?" He walked closer to her, taking the diary from her and setting it aside so he could wrap his arms around her in a familiar way. A welcomed way – he loved their middle meetings.
"Just last week." His words were whispered into her neck and she laughed softly, her arms reaching across his shoulders and pulling him closer. "What have you got for me this time?"
"I just needed a lift, sweetie. Also I missed you." She pouted prettily up at him and he grinned in response before lowering his head to kiss her softly. She hummed in the back of her throat and his hands slid up her back to settle on her shoulder blades. She pressed in closer, and he opened his mouth a bit wider, eager for the taste of her coating his tongue. She was thirty-one, seven months and twelve days old. Give or take fourteen hours. She broke away with a moan, her breath coming in pants and he remembered that oh yes, he should be breathing more, and he dragged in a lungful of air. "You missed me too." She purred and he simply nodded, beyond the denials and bantering – though they still did indulge as often as possible. It just wasn't the default mode anymore.
"Course I did. Do you know how dull it is without you around? This would all be solved if you'd just stay with me you know." His tone was petulant and she laughed, pressing a hand to his cheek, her thumb wiping off traces of her lipstick from his lips.
"Such an over-grown little boy." She spoke indulgently and he pushed her back toward the hallway leading to the sleeping quarters.
"I am not." He dropped quick kisses to her mouth and cheek, dragging his lips along her jaw and down to her neck as she tilted her head back languorously.
"Are too." She murmured and he chuckled against her clavicle, his hands clumsily attempting to unbutton her sweater while her shoulders shook with repressed laughter.
"Well then you married a child, so what does that make you?" He exhaled in frustration, and she grinned, pulling back far enough and slapping his hands away with a huff before reaching down and pulling her sweater over her head. His hands were on her again almost immediately and she pulled his braces down just as they reached her bedroom door.
"Certifiable probably." She pointed out and her hands fumbled behind her, turning the knob suddenly and they stumbled through the open doorway. He pressed a kiss over her heart, running his tongue around the approximate shape of it while she furiously unbuttoned his shirt and unknotted his tie. "Little bit lucky too." She admitted breathlessly.
"Little bit?" He pulled back to stare at her questioningly and she laughed, reaching a hand behind his neck and pulling him flush against her before kissing him fiercely. Her hands slid down his chest and slipped under his shirt, cool against his over-heated skin.
"Very lucky." They landed on the bed with an ungraceful thump, a tangle of limbs and her hand somehow managed to get caught in his braces. He laughed and she giggled, trying to pull it free, but the strap kept tightening with each tug. "Oh, I love you, so much." She was breathless with laughter and he disentangled her arm gently, pressing soft kisses to each finger and knuckle, before turning it over and kissing the palm.
"I love you too." She pressed both hands over his hearts and smiled up at him, and he stared down at her, flushed skin and a knowing smile, her hair spread out in a riotous halo around them. His buried his hands in her hair, kissing her softly.
The middle was definitely his favourite part.
xxvi.
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
The first thing he noticed upon waking – is that somehow his mind had recreated his Eleventh body in here. The next thing he noticed was the sunlight warm on his face, and the dew on the grass beneath him dampening his jacket. He sat up, somewhat annoyed by the return to this gangly awkward body –he'd been ginger finally that last time.
There was no one around, but he simply thought of River and found himself suddenly in front of a house. In front of him was a garden gate and he glanced around – a smile bursting forth when he saw a blue Police Call box on the curb behind him. He placed a palm on the wooden doors, and there was a gentle hum in his mind. "Oh you're here." He'd hoped, of course, but hadn't been sure. He grinned and pressed his forehead against the door for a moment.
He heard laughter in the back garden and he turned around with one last pat to the Tardis before he crept through the gate as silently as possible. After all, this would be the only time in his long life he could genuinely surprise her. She'd not looked surprised once during their relationship – not even the first time he met her.
He can see her in the garden, spread out on the grass in a white dress, three small children all around her. He recognized Charlotte – but not the others. They were laughing and she was smiling, her diary spread open in her lap as she read to them. She was playing up one of his more ridiculous moments – the story of the pandorica, and she was telling them about the fez. He stepped out into the sunlight quickly, striding up to them. The children saw him first and their faces were comical, while Charlotte's smile grew larger.
"Oi! Fezzes are cool, stop filling their heads with lies." She looked shocked when she turned around, and he grinned, arms spread. "Hello, sweetie." She leapt up, launching herself into his arms.
"Oh Doctor! What are you doing here?" Her arms were so tight – so tightly around him, he could not believe how real this all felt. His hands moved to her hair – just as soft as he remembered and ginger again, he sort of missed the blonde, but it wrapped around his hand just like he remembered and she smelled just like he remembered and he quickly lowered his face to hers and yes, she tasted just like he remembered too. The children let out squeals behind them, but her hands moved to the sides of his face and her mouth opened under his and he didn't care if they were watching or not. In the back of his mind he thought it was good for them to see love like this anyway.
He felt her cheeks, pressed against his and damp with tears, and he pulled back, wiping them away softly. "Hey now, hey. No crying, darling. No crying."
Her breathing was erratic and she smiled up at him brilliantly. "I just – I can't believe you're here."
"Only get so many regenerations you know. Surely you knew I'd end up here at the end. Bit disappointed about the face – I was ginger last time you know. Had a beard and everything!" He grinned and she pressed her palms flatter against his cheeks, shaking her head as he spoke.
"My fault – I think. I tell Charlotte all the time that this face was my favourite."
He kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her again, and pulling her as tightly to him as was physically possible. When she put it like that – well, he didn't really mind this body either. It had been one of his favourites too.
She was ginger enough for the both of them.
xx.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
They did travel linearly together, once.
Somewhere in the middle to end, her beginning to middle, she finally said yes to the numerous times he asked her to come along. It wasn't domestic – because travelling with River could hardly ever be called that. It was epic battles and saving the universe, sight-seeing in ancient civilizations and her 'preserving' artifacts for his collection almost everywhere they went.
It was the joy of never receiving a blank stare when he asked 'where to next?' – River, his River always had another destination in mind. Another curiosity to be seen, another era to visit.
But there were Sundays spent in the Vortex, because he still never landed on those days, with her exploring the Tardis like it was an undiscovered planet, him trailing behind her with a cup of tea and a face-splitting smile. She would flirt, and tell him she had a mind to christen every room in the Tardis, to which he laughed and said they'd need a thousand years of Sundays.
She just winked and said she was aware it was a very long-term goal, before dragging him into the Zepplin hangar, staring around with an incredulous look and a shrug as she pulled him against her with a lascivious smile.
He hated landing on Sundays, but he hated Sundays a whole lot less during that time.
They definitely weren't boring anymore. Nothing ever was, with her.
xxvii-xxviii.
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.
He'd deliberately taunted her when they'd stood there, debating those ridiculous messages from no one.
He'd deliberately hurt her. Because it was easy. Because he could. Because he was frustrated by being the only one with any lack of knowledge, and she was the only one strong enough to take it.
Her eyes when he'd question her yet again – the tension and pain in them had been clear, but he hadn't want to see them then. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge them.
And despite his standing there and scoffing the very idea of trusting her, not three months later she proved yet again her absolute faith and trust in him by diving off of the side of a skyscraper. It made him feel guilty. Small and inferior and like he was running and running after her constantly, never catching up.
He just wanted to stop running.
But fear drove him onwards.
He just ran faster.
xxiii.
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
He'd wondered you know, if the last time would be different than all the regenerations before it.
Everything died. Nothing was infinite. There were a set amount of regenerations allowed, and the unknown aspects of dying permanently wound through his mind. Could he hold it back like he did with regenerations?
He'd not said goodbye to any of them – not this time. No going back, no last visits, because they'd all know. So he'd said his goodbyes in his hearts, and had known that somewhen, somewhere – they would all know.
Last coordinates entered into the Tardis, and she'd hummed sadly as she materialized. He stroked the console one last time, before whispering to her gently, "You'll be with me there. Telepathic link, old girl. Come on then. You'll be a curiosity now." He'd stroked the doorframe, before locking her tightly and wondering if centuries from now, someone else would discover this planet, and this magical blue box.
He'd left his life locked inside – his nine hundred year diary, and two Tardis blue diaries that told the best story of his long life.
The pain was almost overwhelming, and his limbs shook as he moved deeper into the Library. He didn't avoid the shadows, but this time, maybe the shadows avoided him. Maybe they knew he was already a dead man walking. Carrion was more the Vashda Nerada's style. He wasn't dead just yet.
It took longer this time, and he kept remembering himself – so young, of course she'd been right about that, when wasn't she right? – running and running to save her in the Library, lifetimes ago. His shoulder hit the corner of a book case and he flinched, paused for a moment while he waited to get his limbs under control.
"Should have come earlier." He muttered to himself, and the shadows seemed to whisper in agreement.
Slowly, he pushed himself to stand; sweating from the effort it took just to control all his limbs, and continued the agonizing walk to the core lift. It was already activated, lit and waiting for him. "Thank you, CAL." He stepped on to it and sank to the core gratefully.
It was all just as he'd remembered it. He felt suffocated when he saw it - the spot where she'd sacrificed herself. Like he just couldn't possibly breathe in – it hurt, it all hurt too much.
"Welcome Doctor." CAL's voice was melodic and he sank into the seat, exhausted from the effort of just getting here.
"Hello, Charlotte." He whispered, pulling out his sonic and waving it around him before checking the readings. "Will she be surprised?"
"Oh ever so surprised, Doctor. I'll not tell her. Do you require assistance?"
He wanted to do it like she had – choose the time, choose the moment to say goodbye – but what was the point? There was no one to say good bye to. All he wanted was to say hello. "Please, Charlotte." He slumped in the chair and heard the humming of the mainframe behind him. "Will it hurt?" He felt suddenly afraid, and yet oddly excited. He wanted it over with – this life had been long enough. "Did it hurt?"
"She didn't feel a thing, Doctor."
"Has it been long? You know, for her in there?" His hands gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white and his skin glowing with gold. It looked just like regeneration, but he knew it was not. It burned hotter, brighter and darker. It felt like death.
"Not that long for her, no. Are you ready Doctor?"
The pain was too much to even nod, but she must have known he was – his last fleeting thought was the Tardis – a gentle hum inside his hearts and then-
xxi.
To the last syllable of recorded time;
It was stupid, how he finally admitted defeat.
After an unexpected kiss, and his mind running around and around the mystery of her - it was the moment before the truth that finally made him admit just how much he was in love with her.
She was moments away from confession - he was moments away from discovery, and he stopped her. Took her hands and looked into her eyes, her mysterious, saw everything eyes, and pulled her into him. "No matter what, River – it won't change anything about us." It's his own whispered confession into her hair and she wrapped her arms around him with a sob.
"You don't know-"
"Yes. I do. I do know. Nothing you're about to say will make me love you any less." He felt her soft gasp and she pulled back, her eyes searching his face.
"Is that your first time saying it?" She questioned and he nodded, scratching his neck nervously, before reaching up and pulling at his hair. She smoothed his hair down, pushed his hands away and smiled tremulously.
"You pick the absolute worst times, don't you?" Her voice was shaky and he nodded solemnly in agreement.
"Timing has never been our forte, now has it?" He grinned and she hugged him fiercely, her arms around his waist.
"You still need to know." She whispered into his bowtie and he nodded. "You've waited long enough."
"Ah," he scoffed and squeezed her a little tighter, "after all I've put you through – well will put you through – I think we can take a moment of time just for this." Her head is turned, her ear pressed to his chest and she sighed in contentment, her eyes fluttering closed. She was incredibly beautiful and he brushed her hair back, twirling his fingers in the golden tresses.
"Okay, but just a moment."
"That's all we are, really, River. Endless moments."