Tomorrow. Finch.

"Finch, I think you need to come down to the cemetery."

"Did you find Henry Walters' grave, Mr. Reese?" He was already limping down to the garage. He'd learned that when Reese asked for help, he needed to go.

"Yes, and my guess is that if we dig it up, we'll find no body. But that's not the important thing right now."

"What is? Are you in danger, John?"

"No, I'm not. You'll see when you get here."

He hurried. He found John in the old graveyard with a woman, tall, strong, beautiful, vivid.

"Finch, this is River Song. She's a time traveler too. River, my friend Harold Finch."

They made appropriate being-introduced noises. Then Reese said, "Here's what I wanted you to see, Harold." He pointed at the simple, unadorned gravestone before them.

In loving memory
Rory Arthur Williams
Aged 82

And his loving wife
Amelia Williams
Aged 87

Finch put out a suddenly trembling hand and touched it. "What happened?"

"They were sent back in time, where the Doctor couldn't get to them. They lived out their lives here, in New York City," Professor Song said with a tremble in her voice and tears in her eyes. "I come here every year, the day after."

"Were they together?" Finch asked.

"Yes. That was what Amy wanted."

"Rory too," he said, earning a puzzled glance from her eyes. "You're their daughter, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Deduction."

"You married the Doctor?" Reese groaned. "Why does that not surprise me? So she published this book?"

"I wrote it, she published it. It told us what to do when the Angels took Manhattan. But not what to do when they sent my parents back in time."

"What does that even mean?"

While Reese and River squabbled like siblings, Finch was looking up historical records for his library on his smartphone. He held it out. "Mr. Reese."

Reese took it. "What's this? Blue Box Publishing Company, CEO Amelia Williams—?"

"That's my library, Mr. Reese. She liked old buildings, and she liked my library, so she bought it, or built it, and eventually donated it to the city for a library."

Professor Song stared at them. "I think I'm going to have to see your library, Harold. But how do you know about all this? You weren't there. How do you know about the book?"

Reese raised his eyebrows at her. "River, you gave it to me, remember?"

"What are you talking about?" She pulled it out of her pocket. "I have it here. I just got it hot off the press, to give to the Doctor. Not really looking forward to that."

Finch was already pulling a card out of his card case and scrawling Reese's last-week phone number on it. "This is John's number. Give him a call."

"I already have, haven't I?"

He smiled at her. "Spoilers, Professor Song."

The End.