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Everybody knows that everybody dies, but not every day. Not today. Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all.
“Oh, oh, oh! Look at that! I am very good!”
When the wind stands fair and the night is perfect, when you least expect it, but always when you need it the most, there is a song.
“What have you done?”
Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair and the Doctor comes to call, everybody lives.
“Saved her!”
There’s only one way I’d accept. If you ever loved me, say it like you’re going to come back.
The Doctor woke with a gasp, his ears ringing. He carefully extracted his arm from under River’s neck and swung his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his head into his hand. It was there, taunting him. There was an answer. He wouldn’t have done it if there wasn’t. He wouldn’t have saved her unless he could save her. Whichever one of him was ultimately responsible in this tangled loop where causality was a merry-go-round, he would never do that to River. But he did. So he must. Save her.
He knew he’d gone too far before. There was a gaping hole in the still-raw memory in the shape of Clara’s face, but not all of it was gone. Not the gun in his hand. Not the twisted desperation. He’d lost so much already— he had lost, was losing, would lose River again— he hadn’t been willing to lose the only friend he had left too. He was always losing them, always hurting them, always letting them down. He should have been protecting them. He had a duty of care. Just this once, he had wanted to live up to it. But he went too far.
And now he had River again, and he couldn’t let things spiral out of control. But this was different. God, everything was so different with River. She knew him so well, and they were really so different from each other, they knew how to keep each other in line. She was, in every way, his equal. She told him all the hard things he needed to hear. She made him so much better. She filled in all the shadows and emptiness and ancient, painful secrets because she knew them all, and she loved him completely, and she made him at peace with himself. They struck a perfect balance. He was terrible alone, he was better with a friend, but with River… with River he was part of something so much more.
There was no way it could be wrong to save her. If it were wrong, she would simply be gone, and that point in time would have to stand. But she wasn’t gone. She was saved; she was waiting. The universe needed River. Especially if the alternative was being left to deal with him and however many lives he was doomed to live without her.
And what he had thought was evidence of his failure… perhaps it was really the answer. Maybe for hundreds of years he’d despaired of finding a solution because it didn’t yet exist.
His pulse began to speed up as his mind raced on ahead of him. He would have to be careful. He would have to be so very clever and careful. But he wouldn’t have to go to the end of the universe, or even to Gallifrey. He would only have to go past her visit to Trenzalore. That needed to happen, because it already had. He’d never have made her wait without a reason. Somewhere after Trenzalore, his chance was waiting.
He had to see her ghost, beyond her last goodbye. Wherever the years had left her in the Library, when she struck out in defiance of every natural law to see him. Where they’d both have all of their history, where they’d both be completely beyond the loop of their back-to-front existences, where they’d move forward together: no spoilers, no foreknowledge, no dread or spectres of unavoidable loss. Somewhere in that future was the answer.
Blind determination gave way to a terrifying flicker of hope, a cold flame deep in his stomach.
___
Several hours later, the Doctor was hunched under the sunlamp in the study over a huge, battered tome, wearing Amy’s reading glasses and furiously annotating in the margins with complete disregard for the book’s antiquity. Well, technically it was from the future, but in the future it had been old. The TARDIS had been helpful in acquiring some rare printings he supposed he would find, one day. She must be in support of his idea. That was always a good sign.
He had told River she really shouldn’t look up stories about them. Well, they were just stories. There were plenty of versions and not all of them were true. It wasn’t like Melody Malone. It wasn’t finding every detail, setting it in stone. It didn’t hurt to look a little, just to see where he might start. He wouldn't leave River on Darillium without him even for a moment; would never risk their time here or risk mucking things up. But he had to find a way to lay his plans, to be sure, and then he could relax. Then he could wait.
It was odd, though, that he kept coming upon references to the Hybrid. He thought he’d averted that particular fate when he left the toxic entanglement he’d been in with Clara. At least, it was how he vaguely remembered the conversation with Ashildr going, and how he remembered feeling: twisted and furious and desperate, and knowing he was not at all himself. Maybe she’d been wrong about what it was. But right now he didn’t particularly care unless it was somehow going to help him save River.
He heard her then, emerging from the bedroom, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. He dropped his pencil and removed the glasses when his eyes landed on her, her sleep-mussed hair a wild corona around her face, green silk robe skimming her thighs, smiling as she met his gaze. That flickering feeling of hope in his gut blazed up into his chest, and before he knew it he was out of his chair, across the room, and kissing her as he backed her up against the wall.
She made a little noise of surprise that turned into pleasure on the last note, then she sank into him, one hand curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, her mouth soft and open under his. The warm, heady scent of her skin, like safety and contentment made tangible, flooded his senses. She tasted like toothpaste and that almost-sweet underlying something that was just River and he kissed her again and again, desperate for more of her, his trembling hands cradling her face.
His fingertips were right there, caressing her temples. He reached out gently, guiding the rush of emotion he was feeling into her mind. She gasped into his mouth and pulled him tighter against her, whimpering as she kissed him more forcefully. He couldn’t tell her, but even so, he could let her feel it.
Love is a promise.
Finally, slowly, reluctantly, they parted, still staying close enough that their lips were nearly brushing as they caught their breath.
“Good morning,” the Doctor said, his voice a low rumble.
River let out a dazed laugh, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. “Good morning indeed.”
He pulled back a little to admire the glow in her face, her kiss-swollen lips, damp eyelashes and grey-green irises glittering with emotion. “River, how long has it been since I reminded you how desperately in love with you I am?” He leaned back in to lightly nip at her earlobe.
She laughed again, like music, delighted and moved. “Well darling, not long at all, but I suppose that is long enough.”
“Excellent,” he said, in between kisses to her neck. “Then I’m right on schedule— my perfect, radiant, clever, mad, dazzling wife.”
His lips wandered back to hers again and their mouths moved together slowly, opening to each other in a warm, tender caress; tongues twining, breath mingling. He pulled back just as slowly, drawing her bottom lip with him for a moment, running his tongue over it before releasing her.
“D’you want some breakfast?” he asked quietly, voice raspy.
They both laughed as she shook her head, took his hand, and led him back to the bedroom.
___
It was afternoon, probably, before they made it out of the house. The twenty-four-year days and nights must be murder on human sleep cycles, the Doctor mused as they crunched along a gravel road in the starlight. He was so used to sleeping irregularly himself that it didn’t matter all that much, and so far as he could tell, River wasn’t suffering any adverse effects from it so far. And well, it wasn’t as if they needed to be anywhere at a particular time. When every hour was midnight, time was really not the boss of them, even if they were living it all in the right order.
It had gotten colder as the first years of night wore on. They might even have snow for their fourth Christmas. They were both bundled in wool overcoats and scarves, River tucked into the Doctor’s side, as they trekked down to the little town centre near the Towers Restaurant. (They had a standing reservation there for Christmas dinners on the balcony. The towers would probably look lovely under the snow.) River’s coat had been a birthday gift from him, in that deep red colour that was quickly becoming one of his new favourites on her. Together with the flush of the cold on her cheeks and the tip of her nose, it brought out the sparkling green of her eyes. She was so warm and alive and vibrant with happiness. And he was going to make sure that, after everything, she’d be that way again. He promised.
They were going to have a... double date of sorts? with Nardole and Ramone. It was a little odd crowding into a tiny cafe for coffee and doughnuts with a huge, noisy, bright red, 100 stone two-human-headed robot, one head of whom was his wife’s former other husband, but the Doctor had been coming to appreciate Nardole’s quirky, seemingly-innocent demeanour. Seemingly, because occasionally something would come out in conversation that entirely defied his expectations, though maybe it shouldn't have, considering Nardole worked for River. If nothing else, the man was amusing. The Doctor was just in such a damn good mood all the time, it was hard to be annoyed by much of anything. Maybe he’d have to see about getting the poor sod out of that thing. He might very well have plenty of time for such projects, anyway, if he was able to find out exactly what he needed to be waiting for after Darillium.
Ramone’s head could stay.
He’d never claimed that he wasn’t a jealous old bastard. Besides, River liked him that way.
He hummed a little tune to himself and leaned in to place a warm kiss on her cold, rosy cheek, before holding open the cafe door for her.