Title: Lasts
Rating: PG
Doctor Who
Genre: Angst/Drama
She knew that her timeline was coming to an end.
Spoilers for 6x02.

She knew that something was wrong the moments their lips touched. He didn't pull away, but nor did he sink into the kiss, like he usually did. His hands didn't wrap around her, like they sometimes did. Instead, they flailed, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

The look on his face as they broke apart. Before he even said anything, she knew. 'Right. Okay. Interesting.'

'What's wrong?' she asked. She would not – could not – let herself believe that this man – this wonderful, brilliant, amazing man – did not see her the same way she saw him. 'You're acting like we've never done that before.'

'We haven't.'

'We haven't?' she repeated, a little dumbfounded, but not really. After all, she'd know that this day was coming. From the first time she realized that their paths were going in opposite directions, she knew that eventually…

She just thought she had a little longer.

'Oh, look at the time. Must be off. It was very nice. It was…It was good. It was…ah…unexpected.' A wave of awkwardness had washed over him, as though he was trying to find some way of telling her that he didn't want this, that their relationship wasn't something that was so deep, so profound, that it had woven itself into the structure of the universe. He walked – ran, almost – back to the TARDIS. 'You know what they say,' he said, giving her an awkward smile and a few erratic hand movements. 'There's a first time for everything.'

The door slammed shut.

'And a last time,' she whispered to herself, as the TARDIS dematerialized. It hurt her more than it should have, to know that the Doctor would never look at her that way again. That one day, they would meet, and he would see her with new eyes.

If she'd known, she would have made it so much more significant. She would have mapped out his face with her hands, felt the jutting bones beneath tweed, put her hand against his chest, and felt the beating of two hearts. More than that, though, she would have given him a reason to fall in love with River Song.

She stood at the door of her cell until the guards came. The warden had an implacable look on his face, that was caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

'You can't just escape every time you have an errand to run, Doctor Song,' he told her.

'And yet here we are,' she said, mostly to herself. They would increase their security measures (again) and she would take great pleasure in breaking them down (again). A lifetime of adventure had brought her a repertoire of skills useful in any situation – some of those skills had been taught to her by the Doctor. Some had not.

The cell door clicked shut, and River sat herself down on the end of her bed. She pulled out her diary, and let her fingers run over the wrinkled pages. Once upon a time, it had been brand new. She still remembered the day the Doctor had given her this book – a twin of his own, yet empty where his was full.

He knew this day was coming.

He had met her, already knowing how it would end. Every time she looked into his eyes, she saw that. One day, she would look into her eyes and see confusion.

But not today.

River Song pulled out a pen and began to write.