Though lovers be lost love shall not – Dylan Thomas

The corridor was dark, a faint glow in the distance casting the only light around her. It wasn't enough. She reached her hand out and touched the wall, letting the smooth surface be her anchor.

"Doctor?" she called out. She'd heard him, hadn't she? His last voice, not this one. Not the Scotsman and not her Doctor. The one from before, from Asgaard, from the library. The last one she'd heard. His companion had been there. The funny one.

"Doctor?" she called again as the swell of voices rose. More than one, indistinguishable from one another. She stopped walking, focusing on the light.

They were there. They were all there, she could hear them.

"Mother?" she prodded, positive she heard Amy among them. She continued, fingers brushing along the wall, quickening her steps when she seemed to stop making progress.

"Doctor?" she called for the third time, heart pounding in her chest, legs burning, arms aching. "Sweetie?" She poured her soul into the endearment, desperate for him to answer

She let go of the wall and started to run. The hallway got longer. The voices never changed. She sped up, chest aching from her exertion, feet pounding on the floor. She was hot, sweating, as her destination eluded her.

Her foot caught. She tripped, stumbling for a few steps before she landed on the metal floor. It rattled beneath her and she winced. The voices stopped, silence settled, and she looked up.

They were watching her, all of them.

Amy. Rory. The Doctors. Every one of them. The scarf. The celery. The one with the jacket that looked like unicorn vomit. Spiky hair, standing next to one he'd loved, looking at River like he'd never seen her before. That had hurt more than anything, ever. The indifference, the disdain. Her husband, her life, hadn't known her.

And he was there. Hers, frowning at her, his arms wrapped around the new girl. The impossible one. The young one. The pretty one.

"Sweetie," she said, her voice catching. She lifted her hand up, reaching for him. He didn't move. Just frowned. He was young, before he knew her. Before he understood.

"Doctor," she tried again, reaching.

"Honey," she heard. A strange but warm voice. "River?"

She reached for her husband, straining to get him. To touch him. But he wasn't talking to her. He took a step back, pulling Clara with him.

She gasped, feeling a hand on her back. Fingers cool on the back of her neck. She snapped around, ready to fight.

"Who–?" she demanded, spotting the face and recognizing him.

"Doctor?" she whispered. New face. New smile.

"River," he replied, cupping her cheek. "Wake…"

She snapped her eyes open and cried out. He wasn't smiling anymore. His brow was furrowed, worry evident. He was cupping her face, blue eyes darting all over, observing. The locked with hers and he brushed a thumb across her cheek.

More tears.

"Doctor?" she managed and he nodded, watching her.

"Nightmare," he said releasing one cheek to place the back of his fingers on her forehead. She tried to pull back, but he held tight. "Your temperature is regulating." His fingers came off her forehead and grabbed the top blanket. He threw it down and it slithered off the foot of the bed. "Being too warm often triggered your nightmares."

A kiss to her forehead, lips soft as he lingered. He smelled different, the scent was somehow familiar, still warm, but different. She loved it, and it terrified her.

He was different. The last time she'd seen him, he hadn't known her.

"River?" he asked, pulling back, thumb collecting more tears. He was worried again. She was being difficult. Complicated. She shook her head and he let her pull away.

"It's nothing," she answered. She scooted away putting a fraction of distance between them. Clara's words about touching rang in her ears suddenly and she ignored the internal voice pointing out that he'd done nothing but touch her since she woke up. "Just the dream," she said, wiping her own cheeks and forcing a smile onto her face. "You know. I was dead yesterday, so bound to be some unsettling thoughts." She swallowed hard, pushing the remnants of her pain and doubts away.

The Doctor didn't do unpleasant.

"Did you," she started, grabbing at anything to take his immediate attention off of her. "Did you get your companion home, Clara?"

"I did," he said, eyeing her for another moment before settling back into his chair. "Grabbed her some takeaway on the stop for being such a sport and picked up these." He gestured to the table and she smiled. There was a huge bouquet of red, white, and pink roses filling in the space. It was beautiful; she loved roses – Earth roses – and he remembered. It was touching and so very opposite of what his previous self would have done. The room wasn't filled with every flower he could find in hopes that he'd managed to get one that she'd like. This gesture was less grand, more personal.

"Thank you," she said, eyes lingering on them before dropping lower and landing on her journal. "And you brought that." She reached, but wasn't close enough. He handed it to her.

"And that," he said. She ran her fingers over the cover. It felt the same as she remembered and so very different than it ever had in the database. She opened it, the familiar smell reaching her nostrils. She smiled and flipped quickly through the pages before letting it close. She tucked it under her pillow, a place she'd often kept it in Stormcage, and turned her attention back to her new husband.

He still looked worried but plastered a smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. She'd seem similar looks before. After the Ponds. At Darillium. She reached a hand out and cupped his face.

"The last time I saw you was at the library," she said. She brushed her thumb across his cheek bone. "I made you promise not to change a thing. Did you do it properly then?"

His smile grew, and he nuzzled his lips into her palm. The gesture held an air of tenderness and longing that was welcome, but almost foreign between them.

"I tried my best," he answered. "I've never been what you deserved though. Still aren't."

She smiled at that, his aching sentiment so apparent on his face. It was very different from his previous version. The one who avoided pain and failure at all cost. He'd have pranced around over compensating and trying to woo her. This was simple, meaningful in a different way, and she liked it.

"Maybe," she replied, smiling at him. "But that's never once changed the fact that you are everything I've always wanted."

He smirked, reaching for her hand and wrapping it between his.

"Even now?" he asked, "Grey? Scottish? Grumpy? The eyebrows?" He wiggled them and she laughed.

"Even now," she answered, surprised it was true and that her affection flowed so easily. "But you're the one who regenerated," she continued. "You're the one with the changing tastes and the cute young…" her voice trailed off. She pulled her hand from between his and reached for the ring.

Third finger, left hand.

He flattened his hand and let her pull it close.

The ring with the stone had caught her eye. A signet. The significance unknown to her. But there was plain gold band underneath it; she ran her thumb over the cool metal.

"We never got around to that again," he said. "Always talked about doing it again. Actual ceremony with all the pomp and circumstance."

She nodded. They had always talked about it.

"I decided to skip a few of the steps, it seems," he continued, shrugging when she met his eyes again. "Came with the body," he said simply, offering another weak smile.

"Then how do you know…"

"Because whenever I look at it I think of you. I never once wondered what it was, really. I knew." He sighed. "It was Eleven's last great declaration to me to never forget."

"I was dead."

"You've never been dead. That was the point, after all."

She nodded and whispered, "No good-byes." She turned her attention back to his hand. They were both quiet as she examined him, the mood heavy again. Awkward. She'd lost someone, her husband. The one she'd loved with everything. And regained him. A new one who didn't seem to miss the man he'd been.

It was a hard balance. She'd met all of him, ever reincarnation. She'd liked some. She'd disliked some. And loved all of them. But never once had she met a new one. Never once had she not known how he'd end. She'd never met a Doctor after her.

"Tell me," she said after a moment, bringing his hand up to kiss the knuckle closest to the ring. He shook his head, looking away. Tears stung her eyes but she pushed them away. She took a shaky breath and wove her fingers through his.

"Tell me," she repeated. Pausing for just a moment before adding, "On the Fields of Trenzalore…"

He shook his head again and looked down. Her Doctor would leave it at that, refuse to talk. Start parading around the room, screaming about an adventure. But at least that seemed to have changed a bit with regeneration. What had Clara said, "More pain, fewer secrets." Maybe he'd finally stopped hiding everything away.

She waited.

She held his hand and she waited.

"Six hundred years," he said after moment. Her fingers tightened and he looked up. There was a hollow look in his eyes she'd never seen there before. An emptiness. The last time she'd seen him he hadn't known her. She'd seen him at his youngest and know she was seeing him at his oldest. The oldest he'd ever been. His right now.

"Gallifrey," he continued, swallowing.

"Gallifrey is gone," she said and he started to shake his head.

"It isn't." The words shocked her into silence as she studied the mix of the emotions swimming across his face. New pain. Old pain. He took a deep breath and started explaining.


"Idiot," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. He continued to stare out the window for a few minutes before turning and headed back towards the bed. The room was dark, the starlight the only thing illuminated the furniture around him.

He slapped his palm against his forehead. "Stupid. Stupid. Idiot." He kept his voice low and glanced at his sleeping wife, seeing no signs of her stirring.

She'd been in the hospital a day. Recovering from, well ,from being dead really. New body, not quite working 100% yet. New husband with a new face. She needed comfort. Support.

What does he do… lay out six hundred plus years of problems in less than an hour.

Idiot.

To tell of Trenzalore he had to talk about Gallifrey. That had led to it not being there. To The Master. To Danny. Bloody. Pink. Clara. Santa. Not being a good man.

She'd frowned at the last bit. Shook her head. He was just an idiot in a box. He knew that now. Accepted it. He had gotten too big. River had told him as much. So he'd stopped. He'd become nothing. He liked being nothing.

But he'd always been more than that to River.

Because she was an idiot too. One of the universe's biggest idiot, and she was his. He just hoped she'd stay that way.

Not two psychopaths on a Tardis. She'd been right about that. One was enough. But two idiots. The Tardis would love two idiots.

She wouldn't do 'forever' though. He knew that. She liked having a home. A planet. A house. Going round the shops. A normality that had been robbed from her. A normality he'd escaped on Gallifrey.

Whenever and wherever she wanted. He could live with that. There was no library looming in front of them. The end was over. The beginning was here again.

And he still had Clara. He didn't have to travel alone.

He was alone too much this go round. River had said as much before she'd fallen asleep. After he'd burden her with all of his worries and heartache. He'd given her the death of Eleven. The death of the one she'd married.

And now she was stuck with his replacement. Who didn't know how to shut up.

"Idiot," he said, dropping down into his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I've always said as much," River said quietly, and he looked up to see her eyes sparking up at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, apologizing for waking her, but the words held much more than that.

"Don't be," she replied, reaching for his hand. Her thumb brushed over the ring again. "I wanted to know." She sighed, unable to hide all of her sadness. It ached through his already dodgy hearts. She looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes in the darkness. "You need some sleep."

He smirked and nodded. "Hardly a comfortable chair, dear," he said.

She smiled, pulling on his hand. "Come to bed." She scooted back on the bed, making room for him.

She released his hand and patted the mattress. He stood and eased his jacket off. His hearts were pounding – this more than anything else making it seem real. His hands were shaking as he kicked off his shoes.

River held her hand out again and he took it. She pulled gently and he eased in next to her. The mattress was too small and too hard, but River kissed him. Brushing her lips quickly against his, and his whole body singed before she pulled away, tucking her head under his chin. He wrapped his arm around her and closed his eyes.