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… They were the light at the end of the tunnel when I was a child, and they were my best friends as an adult. Funny to think that way of your parents, but that’s how it was for us. I wish I could have seen them more, but they chose a lifestyle that prevented such. As did I. Freelance travelling is never the best way to keep a family together. I’m sure I’ll see them again.
Maybe.
River finished writing the last word with a trembling hand, trying to hold back tears. Even though she was alone in her spaceship, she tried not to cry. She’d done enough of that already over her parents’ death. Her diary entry was nothing but a stream of consciousness, not even an attempt to piece together a proper story, but it didn’t matter.
What did matter was that her parents were dead, and that she was alone, floating in space at unknown coordinates. Her husband hadn’t been seen in months by anyone she had talked to, and River had been everywhere, trying to keep Manhattan off her mind.
She lay down, curled up in her massive captain’s chair, looking out at the vast space before her. She didn’t know what time it was, or where she was, or if the fuel levels on her ship were low. And she didn’t care. River hadn’t been this sad since she had to kill the Doctor, and, even then, he didn’t die.
This was so much worse.
Right on cue, a little blue box rushed across the sky in front of her. She sat up with a jolt and peered out the window. It flew out of sight in a matter of seconds.
“Melody, you take care of him. You be a good girl, and you take care of him.”
River sighed and returned to her chair. It was nice to have the near quiet with just the whirring of machines to comfort her. And… was that what she thought it was?
The TARDIS reflected in the front window of the ship, landing behind her. She got up, turning around to face it. The Doctor, her Doctor, stepped out of the doors.
He was wearing a new, purple waistcoat and tails and an atrocious top hat. He had kept the bow tie, though, much to her dismay. She assumed that he lost his old coat when he lost them.
“So, where are we then, Professor Song?”
“Two months after Manhattan.” River sniffled pathetically.
“Come here,” the Doctor said, holding out his arms, which she gladly fell into. River let the tears flow freely, sobbing unattractively without a single care, burying her head in his shoulder. The new coat was rougher than the old one, less friendly, but she didn’t care. He was still her Doctor, and she would always have him.
It took her a moment to realize that he was crying, too— that they were both mourning, as they had both loved Amy and Rory. Their relationship with the two of them had been so different, yet they were the two that had to watch them go, that visited their grave every so often. They were the two that got married in front of them, that had dinner and picnics and saved the universe together.
And nothing, not even death, could take those memories away, even though there would never be any more like them.
The Doctor lifted his head up and patted River’s hair, stroking the curls, attempting to calm her down. She stayed in his arms for a while until her throat burned from sobbing. She looked up at him, gazing into his old eyes.
He kissed her on the forehead, her eyes closing as she leaned into his shoulder again, wrapping her arms around him, the human comfort she’d been missing for months.
“We’ll always have each other,” he said, but River didn’t hear. She was far, far away, dreaming for the first time in ages, undisturbed, no longer haunted by her mother’s last wish, and how she could never fulfill it. Not thinking about the fact that she didn’t remember the last thing she said to her dad. The Doctor was here, with her, and that was all that mattered.