"Look at you," she says, eyes widening. "You're young…"

"I'm really not, you know," he responds confusedly.

"No, but you are. Your eyes… You're younger than I've ever seen you…" She absentmindedly reaches up to stroke his jaw line the way The Doctor (her Doctor) always loved.

He glances wearily at the odd hand that she has just placed upon his face. What the bloody hell is wrong with this strange woman? Her lion's mane of hair can only be described off putting, even when it's been pulled out of her face tightly with a hair tie. "… You've met me before, then?" Her breath hitches.

"Doctor…" She breathes out. "… Please tell me you know who I am…" She slowly slides her hand down to rest on his shoulder, and he glances at it.

"Who are you?" He looks her in the eye, and she knows this isn't a joke. Knows this isn't some cruel prank that the idiot Doctor finds much too funny. She would never be that lucky. She feels her face contort into what can only be an attempt to stop the tears. It hurts. It hurts so badly. But she has to pull it together. For him. For everyone in this damned Library. She feels like killing someone. She's not sure who, but she feels the urge to shoot someone and she can't help it. Maybe she could have prevented this day from coming somehow. Maybe she could have at least postponed it. She pulls back slowly, and turns away, trying to hide the tear that has just slipped though her barricades, and gets back to work.

As she works, she vaguely remembers telling Rory once about this day. At the time she had thought that it might kill her. She had been completely right, because, surely, this was not River Song. River Song did not exist without her Doctor. Her love. She is a shell that contains nothing. She is nothing but her outer layer. River Song is gone, because her Doctor is gone.

Some might say she's over exaggerating, but really she is not. The Doctor, the one man who ever truly loved her and accepted her no matter the consequences, did not know her name. Did not possess the memories that she did.

"River, darling?" he asks as he holds her bare body against his, never wanting to let her go again.

"'Mm?" she mumbles sleepily. Her face is buried in his collar bone, and the reply gently vibrates his throat, tickling it. He lets out an embarrassingly high pitched giggle at the sensation that is entirely not appropriate for what he is about to do.

He slicks a piece of her hair back to look her in the eye, and says quietly, "I want you to have something." He reaches over to the night table, grabbing for his screwdriver. Her eyes widen.

"… You're giving me your sonic?" He nods.

"I won't be needing it anymore." From her expression, he knows she understands what he means by that. Understands why they have gone to the one place she had always begged him to take her, but he never had. Why they have spent the night listening to the singing towers from the safety of the TARDIS and making love. She knows where he is going once he drops her off at her home again. Judging by the look in her eyes, she obviously suspects something more, but he chooses to ignore it. They lapse into silence.

"You don't have to go," she says suddenly. "You don't have to… do that." He smiles.

"Oh, River, but I do."

"Why?" she demands, but already suspects what he is going to say.

"Spoilers."

She understands that odd glint that he had had in his eye now. The double meaning in his words. "I won't be needing it anymore."

She vaguely wonders if the reason he was so intent on going to his death was the same reason she was about to knock out the Doctor and sacrifice her life. Fear of living without his true love. She's nearly certain it is. That certain incarnation of the Doctor (her Doctor) was always one for romance.

She also wonders if this is the reason why he never took her to Derillium until months before she went to the Library. Probably, it is. It's the type of thing he would plan.

She's really not afraid of death. She's experienced so much in her life, all at the side of her true love. She could never ask for anything else. And so she goes with a smile on her face, memories of all of their times flashing by.

"You and me. You watch us run."


I know. I know. I need to work on A Second Chance. Shoot me... No, actually don't do that. It would hurt.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings (or plot devices, really) in this drabble. They all belong to Moffat and BBC. Also, if there are lines and descriptions that seem familiar, that's because they are. I pretty much shamelessly ripped off the whole diary scene for the first part. So, yeah, pretty much anything vaguely familiar isn't mine. Please don't sue.