Spoilers

Twenty-four Years

"The music," she breathed. They both looked at the towers.

"Listen to it," she gasped, turning to look at her husband. Her smile faded. "Are you crying?"

"No," he said softly, avoiding her gaze. "Just the wind."

"Nothing's ever just the wind."

"No?" he asked, turning to look at her. "It blows through the cave system and harmonises with the crystal layer."

He was grinning, but she could still read him, even with his new face. In fact, it was almost easier to read this face. "Why are you sad?"

"Why are you sad?"

"I told you, my diary's nearly full," she admitted. "I worry."

"Please don't."

River stared at him for a moment, trying to decide what he meant. Then she turned to look at the towers again.

"There are stories about us, you know," she started hesitantly.

"Oh, I dread to think," the Doctor groaned, turning away from her to look at the towers.

"I look them up sometimes."

"You really shouldn't do that."

"Some of them suggest that the very last night we spend together is at the Singing Towers of Darillium." She turned to look at him. "That wouldn't be true, would it?"

He didn't meet her gaze. "Spoilers."

River let out a breath that was more of a sob than she'd readily admit. There had been none of the flirty playfulness that usually accompanied that word in his voice. He had said it softly, and it had carried a sort of finality that scared her.

"Well, that would explain why you kept cancelling coming here," she said, forcing a laugh. "Do you remember that time . . ."

"River, stop."

". . . when there were two of you—"

"Please, just don't," he begged.

"Because I want you to know that if this is the last night, I expect you to find a way round it."

"Not everything can be avoided," he said, looking her in the eye. "Not forever."

"But you're you," she replied desperately. "There's always a loophole. You wait until the last minute and then you spring it on me."

"Every night is the last night for something. Every Christmas is last Christmas."

"But you will," she insisted. "You'll wait until I've given up hope. All will be lost, and you'll do that smug little smile and then you'll save the day. You always do." She laughed, but it was a desperate laugh.

"No, I don't. Not always. Times end, River, because they have to. Because there's no such thing as happy ever after. It's just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard." He was avoiding her gaze again.

All traces of a smile had faded from River's face. "No, Doctor, you're wrong." He turned to look at her, frowning slightly. "Happy ever after doesn't mean forever. It just means time. Little time. But that's not the sort of thing you could ever understand, is it?"

River had long since accepted that her husband would never understand the importance of the little moments. He had a time machine that could take him anywhere he wanted and he could visit the same event multiple times. He had lived for hundreds of years. Those little moments that were precious to her were simply a drop of water in the sea of time to him. She had convinced herself that she didn't mind but now that it was over, she wished he understood how she felt.