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Chapter Text

AIIIEEEEEGUH! AIIEEEEEGUH!

The alarms of Stormcage Prison rattled the bars on the cells, combining with the constant pounding of the rain outside to give all the inmates a headache.

"All guards in Ward 26 to Cell 1, I repeat, all guards to Cell 1," the warden droned over the intercom to the soldiers covering their ears. "There has been a disturbance in Cell 1 from an unrecognized source. Prepare your firearms but do not shoot until directed by a superior officer."

"Ehh? Wha'd he say?" Prisoner 713 said.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Song was escaping again."

"Nahhh, tha's impossible. Who knows where she is, anyway? Aww, that Song. Always up for a game of strip Gellesian poker during exercise hours."

The prisoners continued to chatter over the piercing alarm and pouring rain, as they were used to, and the guards rushed to Cell 1, the most heavily guarded cell in all of Stormcage.

The soldiers surrounded the little barred room, guns ready to fire, but some of the new soldiers were caught off guard by a sight absent of a complicated plasma-detonator or other expensive and highly dangerous weapon.

In fact, the only thing in Cell 1 that looked out of the ordinary was a bright blue box of unknown origin—and a very confused looking man tapping on the bars in front of him with a sort of fascination.

"Excuse me, gents," said the peculiar man, straightening his red bow tie, "where might I find Professor River Song?"

"We have no record of you on the universal files," the prison warden sighed after quickly tapping on his keyboard. "You don't show up anywhere. Do you want to explain how exactly you got into Stormcage—and why you even wanted to in the first place?"

The man smiled. "I like to make visits. I'm a rather friendly person. Well, not exactly, not really, I just have…friends. Maybe friends are cool. I could use more friends. Would you like to be my friend?"

The warden shook the confusion from his head. "I'm sorry? No, look—you can't break into Stormcage! This is the most heavily guarded place in the universe, and furthermore, according to our records, which are never wrong, you don't exist—and furthermore, how did you get your hands on a Type 40 TARDIS?"

"I borrowed it."

"You didn't answer my other questions."

"You didn't ask any other questions."

"I didn't?"

"No." The peculiar man smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Now could you possibly uncuff me from this chair? This was just a simple mistake. I'm rather horrible with directions, and if you let me go I'll be on my way and I won't bother you again."
The warden tried to refrain from yelling; he could feel that vein throbbing in his forehead and his doctor had warned him about his high blood pressure. "I'm afraid I can't do that! I could have you arrested for breaking and entering—and—and—"

"Oh—about that—" the man's eyes lit up with remembrance, "check my right coat pocket! I assure you the registration is all in order, all my permits are up to date."

The perplexed warden nodded to a young guard, who pulled a shabby looking wallet out of the pocket and opened it. "It says, 'Free Fried Ice Cream for a Week at Jerry's Galactic Snack Shack.' "

The man in the bow tie couldn't hide a smile. "Does it now? That's annoying. Show it to the good warden, eh?"

He glanced at the paper inside the wallet. "It doesn't say anything about ice cream. It's the papers for cell inspection."

"That's it, that's me. I love a good cell as much as the next guy!" the man said. "All right, then, you caught me. I was just checking out your best accommodations and CLEARLY you have a huge problem on your hands if a man wearing suspenders can get into your best-guarded area. I will certainly be having a word with your boss, that is, unless," the man said with a grin, leaning over the warden's desk as the guards released him from the chair, "you could provide me with a bit of information. Where is Prisoner 1?"

Chapter Text

River Song was getting used to civilian life.

It certainly was no great adventure, going out for groceries and managing bills, but it was better than prison. Besides, it certainly was a nice house she'd managed to get on Garetha-12. The planet was another one of those suburban Earth models, and her house was a sweet little nook on the end of the street, with normal things like a mailbox and a chimney and a tomato garden in the back with the real Venus de Milo sitting pleasantly in the middle.

Venus was a gift from her sweetie. He'd promised her that no one would miss it.

Her sweetie. Her Doctor. She hadn't seen him in a full year. When she'd been released from Stormcage, paroled after her work on the Byzantium, they'd put a tracker under her palm to make sure she didn't violate it. Not that River was one to abide by the rules—she'd tried to teleport out to the Doctor the second she got to Garetha—it was just that her vortex manipulator had been acting up, and she didn't want to risk losing her nose just to end up in the wrong time and place. So she'd waited.
Her mother was the girl who waited. Couldn't she have picked up one trait from her marvelous mother?

So, River had waited for the day the Doctor would come to call. It wasn't easy, the waiting. She'd tried sending psychic paper messages, going to all the museums on the planet and leaving jokes in Gallifreyan on exhibit walls just in case, even once planted an elaborate trail leading to her in messages all over cyberspace, but it still wasn't big enough for her husband to come and pick up his wife.

Having to wait on that archaeology trip team list didn't make it any easier.

Lucky for her, the two things she wanted most arrived at her home on the same day.

On one beautiful, blessed day, River Song retrieved her mail from her ordinary mailbox, went inside her ordinary house to read it, and got the letter she'd been waiting on.

Dear Dr. Song,
We are pleased to extend to you, having shown excellence in your field, the honour of joining our expedition to the Library…

"Hi, honey, I'm home."

She gasped, dropping the letter and the rest of her mail on her rug. She'd been so shocked by the letter—she hadn't heard the noise—how could she have missed that noise?

River gulped. "Hello, sweetie. What sort of a time do you call this?"

"Too late?" he shuffled his feet. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

"You already are in. You materialized on top of my coffee table."

"That would explain the splinters."

River was aghast. Here he was after a year, a whole year—a year that meant nothing to a Time Lord, but meant a lifetime to the woman in love with one. Here he was, finally, finally, FINALLY—in her living room, hands behind his back, wearing a suit and a top hat and of course a black bow tie, looking cheeky as ever.

"Oh!" she cried, running forward into his arms. The Doctor stood awkwardly for a moment, arms stuck to his sides, but then he automatically wrapped his arms around her waist in a friendly hug.

Then, not even knowing what he was doing, he held her more tightly, locking her in the embrace and ever so slightly pressing his face into her shoulder, where he could faintly smell her ridiculous hair.

He had missed River. So, so much. Had he even realized how much he'd missed the mad woman? His mad woman?

"You were gone for a year—I was shell-shocked. I'm sorry, my love," she explained. "I was just surprised. Let me look at you."

"No, not just yet," he whispered. "I'm working on something. I'm trying to pinpoint your scent."

"What? Like a bloodhound?" she asked, realizing he was still holding her tightly. "Are we acting like dogs now? We can always take this to the bedroom if we are…"

He let her go. "River, be serious. I'm trying to work on my sense of smell-locating. I can find you if you're in a half-mile radius of me, now. I do it with all my companions, of course."

She rolled her eyes. "You be serious. Someone was clearly trying to cop a feel, and for once it wasn't me."

"End of discussion, Song. What happened in one year? You're no longer in Stormcage?"

Her eyes lit up. "Spoilers! Let's get out the journals!" She pulled out her TARDIS journal seemingly from her cleavage and started flipping through. "Demons Run?"

"Did you just pull your journal—from your—"

"Bigger on the inside, sweetie. Demons Run?"

He thought back. "Yes—are we married yet?"

She sat down on the couch. "Yes, we've been married. I just left the Byzantium a year ago. You hardly knew me. Everything up until then."

"That's nearly two hundred years worth of breaking out of prison that we're up to, then," he said, smiling. "Have I ever told you how fantastic it is to have a companion that I get to have around forever? You're actually my longest-standing companion, you know."

"That's what you love about me. Longevity. Also, I am a tiger in the bedroom."

He cleared his throat. "River, let's not go there."

"Oh, come on, you remember our sixth honeymoon on Arcthuress. Might I say, you are very creative when it comes to incorporating zero-gravity into foreplay."

The Doctor's cheeks turned red. "Erm, so has it really been a year? A full year? I'm sorry, River, I was tied up. Lying low, you know. I went to Stormcage and they said you'd been paroled. The TARDIS had a hard time finding you; it took me to meet C.S. Lewis first. Brilliant man, Lewis. I took him for a trip in the TARDIS, it's where he got the idea for the wardrobe, you know."

River stretched out on the couch, and he settled into an armchair. "He was a flirt, as I recall."

"Be serious, River."

"I am serious. He's almost worse than you. Not to fear, though—I stayed faithful to my good fellow, open marriage or not. How's Madame de Pompadour, by the way?"

"Will you never get over that? It was ONE DAY, and I hadn't even met you yet."

River laughed out loud, relishing the easy banter. This was what she lived for. Of course, there was the thrill of running for your life, of meeting an alien, of crashing somewhere gloriously dangerous—but the hopeless romantic in her lived for the days when there was no danger ahead, just hours of talking about past, present, and future with the love of her existence.
She reached out, touching the back of his neck. "You got a haircut. And a new suit. They suit you. Pun intended."

He swallowed as she didn't let go of the back of his neck, stroking the shorter hair and never wavering in her straight gaze. "I really missed you, you know." She smiled. "You and your stupid hair."

"If anyone here has 'stupid hair'…"

"Shut up."

And she was kissing him, reaching out gently and being careful to not push him away or frighten him, and he was kissing her back. It was awkward at first, as it always was and always would be, and he wiggled his fingers a little desperately as she softly put her hands around his face, but eventually his hands settled amicably on her back.

And then they tightened and pulled her close.

When it came to intimacy with River, the Doctor had known it was coming, either because she had suggested it would come because it was true or because she wanted him to think it was true. At first he did it because she wanted it and deserved it so much, and he certainly enjoyed it because he enjoyed River: the flirtation, the hair, the smile, the mystery. Then he did it because he cared about her and wanted her to be happy, and still he enjoyed it. Then he did it because he really started to want it.

Time Lords certainly don't need sex. But some can grow to want it. And some can grow to really, really want it with some particular part Time Lord madwoman with insane hair and a gun.

Then he did it because they were married and why not?—it was socially acceptable and the sex was incredible.

And now…suddenly it wasn't River who was pulling him in. It was the Doctor who was threading his fingers through her hair, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her onto the chair with him, reaching for more…

"Wow," he said, stopping the onslaught. "That's interesting."

"What's interesting?" she asked, a little impatient. After all, the Doctor never just grabbed women and pulled them on top of him.

He shook his head with a smile. "Nothing. Come on, I'm starving and all the TARDIS has been making is pasta. I've had nothing but pasta for eight weeks, angel hair, fusilli, tagliatelle, ditalini, manicotti, rigatoni…"

River disentangled herself. "If I make you dinner, do you at least get to be dessert?"

"Go make me a sandwich, woman."

"Go fix my vortex manipulator, and don't call me woman unless we're doing a Tarzan thing in the bedroom."

The Doctor laughed, running to fetch the fizzled-out vortex manipulator from the side table. "What's wrong with it?"

"Miniature helmic stabilizer gone wonky again. I was trying to see you, but it wasn't taking me anywhere close."

"You were trying to violate parole for me? Naughty thing. Maybe I will be dessert."

River poked her head inside the fridge, grabbing sandwich materials. "Is that a promise?"

"It's a joke. And done!" he said triumphantly, tinkering with the cuff for a moment before it sparked to life. "It's almost as if you weren't trying."

"We can't all be brilliant. Some of us only have the capacity to make sandwiches," she retorted, putting a newly made meal on the counter of her kitchen. "Come and get it, sweetie."

The Doctor hopped over and took one bite before spitting it out. "River, are you insane? I'm allergic to mayonnaise! What would possess you to put such a vile substance on my food? What kind of wife are you?"

"You're not allergic to anything!"

"Well, I should be!" he said indignantly, throwing the sandwich into the trash bin. It was then that he noticed the pile of letter on the floor. "You've got mail, it seems."

"Oh!" she gasped to herself, gathering up the sheets of paper. "It's my letter from the Lux Expedition Corporation! Did I tell you on Barterda that I was applying for an expedition to the Library?"

She stopped, not recognizing the unfathomable expression in his eyes. "What is it?"

This is the day, then, isn't it? thought the Doctor in horror. Her last day. Our last day.
She's going to the Library.

He blinked the thought away. "You didn't mention it. Brilliant planet, the Library. Did you know they actually have the original manuscript of the first comic book in the universe?"

River smirked, still a little perturbed. "Do they now?"

" 'Course they do. I wrote it. When do you leave, then?" he asked nonchalantly, trying not to crumple the acceptance letter.
"Next week. We're leaving for a briefing and a simulation of the expedition to get our objectives, of course, and then the real flight. Some of my friends from the university are going—are you quite all right?"

The Doctor smiled. "Of course I am. Just jealous. I haven't been to the Library since they built it—things to do, you know."
"Universes to save. I got it."

He smiled cheekily and dropped the letter. "Well, a week, then? Brilliant! Let's get a move on! There's something I want you to see!" He tap danced merrily though the coffee table splinters and snapped his fingers to open the TARDIS door. "Get your coat, grab your gun, and bring your sexiest underwear!"

"I'm already wearing it, sweetie. Why do I need it?"

He stopped for a moment and shrugged. "It will make you feel better. Get in the TARDIS this instant, woman. I need an able sidekick to drive."

"I am NOT your sidekick, and I can drive her better than you!"

"Of course you can, I'm currently inebriated. This is why you should never feed me mayonnaise, River, Time Lords can only get sloshed on mayonnaise, it's Rule 56."

"No, it's not!"

"No, it's not. Quickly now!"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The TARDIS brakes whirred and whistled as they landed her back on the scraps of River's destroyed coffee table.

"Seventh honeymoon, here we come!" the Doctor said joyfully, carrying a pile of boxes and bags out of the TARDIS and onto her kitchen table. "Gourmet chocolate-covered strawberries from Este Valley, 800-year-old vintage from Napa for River and some grape juice for me—"

"You're coming up on 2,000 years old and you pick Juicy Juice as a fine beverage?"

He frowned. "No strawberries for you, then. Ah, yes—macaroni and hummus if I get tuckered out later, and a fabulous chocolate gateau cake that the Princess of the Medusa Galaxy was so kind as to loan to us."

"When you say loan," River asked, putting down her shopping bags of 'borrowed' couture, "what exactly do you mean?"

"Well, when I took it, she said, 'What are you doing?! That's my wedding cake! GUARDS! GUARDS!' Roughly translated, I think that means, 'Oh, you're on a honeymoon with your fabulously cool wife? Go ahead and take this cake, old boy!' "

She giggled. "This is an awfully big celebration for our seventh honeymoon."

"I'm making up for our fourth honeymoon—I'm sorry they singed your hair off, by the way."

"It grew back, didn't it? Otherwise, what else would you tangle your fingers through when you're about to—"

"Okay, who wants strawberries?" he interrupted swiftly. "I know I do, unless I happen to be allergic to them."

"You're not allergic to anything, sweetie," sighed River.

The Doctor smirked. "Not yet."

They worked through the insane foods they'd picked up on their trip, leaning back when they were completely full. The Doctor took off his suspenders and patted his belly contentedly while River opted to take off her dress entirely and walk around in her black negligee and garters.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked as she pranced around.

"Necessary to rile my husband up enough to get him into my bedroom in the next few hours? Well, it shouldn't have to be."

They sat and talked for hours about random things: favorite moments in time, favorite colors, favorite songs…

"You can't just say I'm your favorite Song, that's cheating!"

"It's cheating to complement my wife? This wasn't in the rulebook!"

They eventually decided to make the night a total cliché and popped in a movie, beginning to watch it on the couch but slowly inching toward each other until River had snuggled into his lap and he rested his head on her hair, waiting for her to fall asleep.

Gene Kelly danced across the screen on a rainy city street while River whispered dreamily into the Doctor's chest. "Gene was such a gentleman."

"Very much the perfectionist—he expressed disappointment in my first tap lesson," he chuckled.

He knew that eventually she would fall asleep, and he would have to get up and leave. He could leave a note and say something came up—Cybermen kidnapping the Ponds, Daleks trying to exterminate a star… He would apologize and postpone the vacation, saying to send him a message via psychic paper when she needed him. That way, she'd send the message to his last regeneration when the time came.

This was his last chance to see River again, and he was content. Holding her as she fell asleep held the sadness for her impending death away for just a few more hours. As far as Gallifreyan intimacy went, this was even more potent and desirable than going to the bedroom: Time Lords looked for a unity of minds and souls, with bodies just an extra bonus.

He was at his most intimate and caring point with his wife, whom he now could freely admit that he really and truly—

"Stay the night," she mumbled sleepily. "Please."

The Doctor glanced at a clock. "I should go."

She grabbed at his collar clumsily. "Just for once—don't leave before the morning." She placed a kiss on his neck. "I'll make bacon and eggs for breakfast. I'll even have allergy medication on hand for my Doctor."

He smirked into her hair. "I'll pick you up after your meeting. We'll have plenty of time for medication."

She sat up a little straighter, angling to straddle him at the next possible moment. "Don't make me force you into staying."

"I'd like to see that."

River pretended to consider this, and after a minute, she sprang around to tackle him into the couch—

But he was ready for her, and instead of getting up to leave as she was prepared for, he was grabbing her as she turned and pulling her legs around his waist. Then he was standing, arms snaking up her back and tangling deeply into her curls, and he was kissing her, really and properly kissing her.

And he was walking with surprising ease to the bedroom.

"Are you serious, sweetie?" she asked as she pulled away breathlessly, with the Doctor removing one hand to slam the bedroom door shut.

He deftly moved them forward and gently pushed River on the bed, where she had already gone to work on the buttons. "Are you sure you want to ask that question? We can stop…"

"We're not going to stop," she said firmly, freeing the shirt.

"You're right," he said with a wicked smile before leaning down to kiss her again, "we're not going to stop."

The buttery yellow streams of morning light filtered through the blinds, slowly waking River up. She opened her eyes to the pillow next to her and saw exactly what she'd expected.

He was gone. He'd left sometime after they fallen asleep in each other's arms, somehow disentangling himself from her sleeping form and leaving in the blue of a wonderful night.

River sighed, willing herself to fall back in time and relive the beauty of the evening. She could smell him on the pillow next to her, where she faintly remembered him kissing her forehead as she drifted off.

"You're so lovely," he'd whispered, stroking her hair.

She'd snuggled close into the hollow under his neck. "Stay with me."

"Go to sleep, my love. I won't be far behind. I'll never be far behind."

"You've never…called me that…"

"First time for everything."

Morning had truly broken through, bothering River by blasting brightly behind her eyelids, so she pulled the Doctor's pillow over her eyes for a few seconds before throwing herself off the bed and grabbing a robe.

Coffee was already brewing, and a plate was plastic-wrapped and left on her kitchen counter. Both of which had bright pink post-it notes on them.

On the plate:

Clara called—Cybermen invasion or something or other.

I'm sorry I couldn't be here for breakfast with you. You know I wanted to.

However, I did make this rather fabulous meal to the best of my ability, so enjoy it, dear, with my fondest affections. Pay particular attention to the eggs—I'm working on a new recipe including chocolate and macaroni with scrambled eggs and you're my first taste-tester!

River began to take off the three inches of plastic wrap he'd applied to the plate as she read the second note on the coffee maker:

Not quite sure if I timed this right—or what this is—but I think I got it right.

"That impossible man," she laughed to herself, "just can't give up." And at least he'd made her breakfast. That was almost as good as sticking around.

She went about her morning in the normal way, with only the slightest hint of melancholy. She'd known he was going to leave. He'd never promised her he'd stay. Still, she couldn't shake the tiniest pinch of sadness that her wonderful, impossible man, the husband that was finally hers, couldn't even stay for breakfast.

Well. Such was the life of a time-traveler. Relationships were a privilege, not an expectation. And she was so, so blessed to have a chance to be important to the Doctor—and even more blessed that he chose to let her in.

River sipped her coffee and preemptively threw away all but one bite of his eggs, tasting the disgusting thing for a moment so she could at least say she had.

She could at least say honestly that she wasn't jealous of the Doctor's various connections with his companions through time, even his romantic ones. She was aware of them all and had met them all at some point or other. The only thing she worried about was the Doctor himself. A man who lived for thousands of years and met millions of people, even falling in love over the course of several lifetimes with different people…their time together seemed special to River because it was special, but to the Doctor…

Simply put, how could she be sure that the Doctor would even remember her? After all, one day, a long time from then, River and the Doctor's adventures would be over. When that time came, the Doctor's brilliant brain would have to make room for new memories and new affections. What if, on the horrible, black day of the Doctor's death, he closed his eyes one final time and there was no trace of the woman who loved him most on his mind?

River shuddered to think about it: both the idea of the Doctor ever being gone, not just from her, and the idea of not being remembered were both too frightening to think about.

She shook the unwanted thoughts away and grabbed her journal, which she'd left on the counter the night before, and prepared to write down her latest adventure.

And then she noticed a bright pink post-it note on the front cover.

Terrified that he'd looked at her spoilers, she seized the book and scanned the note:

RIVER!

Don't panic! I didn't peek.

Do me a favor when you get the chance—I left a message for my cool wife on the last page. Read it when you get the chance.

Oh, and good luck with your meeting!

Oh, and—you know.

River's heart jumped at the prospect of a message—a clue, a trail, a mystery, a game, anything left to entertain or inform her from her Doctor. She briefly considered saving the message until she was really missing him, but quickly decided against it, just in case it was an imminent message.

She flipped through every page for his handwriting until she arrived at the very last one, and there it was at the end, in his cramped and sloppy handwriting.

River,

Dearest, mysterious River. I know you didn't want me to say it last night. Not because you didn't want to hear it, because I know you did, but because you knew I would have trouble saying it. You know a lot of words come easily to me, but those three words are probably the least accessible. You actually cared about whether or not I'd have a hard time saying something, so you saved me from myself at your own expense. It's one of the universe of things that are remarkable about you, River Song.

I didn't peek at anything else in the journal, as per instructions, but I did want to make sure you have this with you for the rest of your life. I want to have a record in history where you have everything I feel about you written down, and this way I don't have to say it and you get to hear it.

You are quite possibly the most incredible woman I've ever met, and that is truly saying something. All violent, gun-related tendencies aside, it has been a pleasure to watch you literally grow, even out of order, from a psychopath bent on murdering me to my most trusted companion and wife. You know I never planned on getting married again, River, but I am so glad—so, SO glad—that it was you. You, with your crazy hair and huge heart and expectations for people. I am so proud of you, and I really mean it.

And I know there are a million beautiful things in this universe. There are stars that burn cold and shoot sparks of gold, there are lakes that stay completely still and catch the sunlight, and there are towers that can sing. I won't lie and say that you are more beautiful than these things, but I will say that when I see something beautiful in this insane universe, I smile and think of you. Of course, you clearly rank on my list of most beautiful sights, but you know that I don't see the value of appearance—that is, until their soul proves to be equally gorgeous. And your mad soul is a precious and beautiful thing that means more to me than any star.

You achieve something rare enough by actually managing to impress me (sometimes), but River, you do something far more rare and incredible without even knowing it. River Song, my dear, you make me proud of myself. We both know that I am one of the guiltiest people in the universe, with a long list of names of people I owe and have hurt. I seem to cause suffering wherever I go, whether I mean to or not, but you make me feel like it's worth it to keep trying. Somehow, you don't just make me feel that way, you actually believe it yourself. I'm not Father Christmas, honey, so maybe believing in me all the time no matter what evidence there is to the contrary is a little childish…but if you ever stopped, I honestly don't know what I'd do. I'm not alone when I'm with you: all my past disappears for a few hours and it really is just us. Do you have any idea how relaxing that is?

And now, here's proof for you, River Song:

I love you.

I knew you were important from the beginning, and I knew that eventually we would probably end up together somehow. I definitely anticipated being in a relationship with you, and I fought it a bit, and I played with the idea a bit, but I'll fully admit that I never anticipated falling so deeply in love with you that it scares me to even say it out loud. I'm sorry that I can't admit it out loud, but the things I love I lose, and you cannot be lost.

I never guessed that I would feel calmer just by knowing you'd be somewhere, how I'd think of you at the strangest times. When I'm alone in the TARDIS and the space is silent, I catch myself thinking of you. And I love everything about you, River. I love the fact that you can't control your trigger finger (or so you say), and I love that you are the biggest flirt in the galaxy. I love being called sweetie—why do you think I let you call me that? No one else does… I love how unbelievably amazing it is to make love to you, even if I'm out of practice and you have to be patient with me. I love that you believe in me and wait for me, that you can't stand any music from the 1970s, that you never once wavered when you had to go to Stormcage for me, that you can go on your own adventures, and the fact that you are you, even without me.

I love you, River Song.

I'm sorry I had to leave last night. I didn't want to, TRUST ME, I didn't want to leave.

Should you ever bounce around in time and meet a past me, let me just apologize in advance for being an enormous git. You know the walls I put up then, and the ones I have yet to push down, my love. Forgive me, and have mercy—a me from the past probably will not be able to keep up with someone as brilliant as you. DON'T tell anyone I said that. Especially me. I'll never forgive me for being so whipped.

Send me a message via psychic paper if you ever need me, River. And keep the sonic around. And remember me, because no matter how many years I'll live, I'll never forget the likes of you.

I love you.

P.S.—You should also know that given the choice, you will always be my favorite dance partner.

He didn't sign it; he didn't need to. What was the point?

River blinked at the message, not quite absorbing the gravity of the emotions he'd put into it. She read it a few times more, lingering on the times he said the phrase, THE phrase, and didn't realize she had started to cry.

They were the best kind of tears, filled with joy and relief, and the slightest tinge of foreboding, as if something bad was going to happen in the future and the Doctor had wanted her to know…he'd wanted to make sure she knew before it happened, exactly how he felt…

The moment of premonition was over as soon as it had begun, and River wiped away her happy tears without a care for the future, because she was loved by an impossible man...