Title: To Reconcile the Soul

Summary: Some events are meant to pass while others are in constant upheaval, ever-changing, fluctuating and transforming. Conservation is a tricky concept, that the Doctor knows, but the salvation of her soul depends on it and thus the journey goes to the dark last days of Tempus. Hopefully he will find reconciliation for them both.

In 'To Catch a Star' River lied – the Doctor did travel to Tempus in his own personal future and he did evade the lock-down – only it's the very end of the desolate, war-ridden planet - the origin of the Blood Meadows.

A/N: Sequel/Prequel, possibly a be-quel (its gets rather complicated when you're a time traveller) To Catch a Star – same universe (Think I'm gonna call it 'Cause and Effect' universe). =)

I tried to set the same tone and pacing, the same mythical universe as the other story, but don't know if I succeeded – I like it though and guess that counts the most hehe. It's rather dark and sad, so be warned, but with a bit of light.

-o-

The essence of causality is the production of an effect by a cause. Causality is the internal connection between that which already is and that which is generated by it—that which is only becoming.

- I stayed in the darkness with you.

-o-

What is a name but a mere impression of the essence, but an imprint of something much more solid, of something much more ethereal and eternal than the name of it. The indentation, the name of which you cloak yourself with, is not the true nature of your being, not even a mere reflection of your soul. I know you, nameless, I know you, in the dark, in the light, under water, above the heavens. I know you, and I call you mine.

-o-

The Plains of Valedo – now there was a sight to behold. The Blood Meadows, not so much. Then why was he at the Meadows instead of the Plains – an excellent question. He spun around and gave the Tardis another glare; sure she'd had a finger in this. She always did, temperamental independent thing, he thought affectionately. He had had enough destruction, chaos and death to last him a lifetime – time lord life span mind you – and he had been looking forward to showing his companions the wonderful Plains where they could frolic around in grass the colour of the rainbow, gallivant around in rivers of druid-berry and climb mountains with ever-changing gravity. But no – it was the Meadows. And worse still – this was the early Meadows, long before they came to bear the name Blood Meadows – this was wartime at the gruesome, horrible end; a world of waste and ravage.

"Doctor," Amy spoke, her voice uncertain as she looked around her. "What is this place?"

In the valley below them the ground was cracked, upturned in bouldering chunks of earth that was meant to be covered in peaceful grass. Once upon a time the Meadows had been even more beautiful and wonderful than the Plains – a long, long time ago. He could feel the despair in this place, it hung like an invisible fog in the air, covering the ground in its desolate, forceful pull and drenching his very soul with an urge to run. The things that had happened here, he dared not think about it.

He had tried, a very long time ago, to help. But it had been impossible, and then other things had snatched his attention, more close to home he thought with dark remembrance. But deep down he knew that one day, he would once again visit this place. She'd told him after all, this was the place where it all began, here in the midst of chaos and death; a tragic tale beginning. He remembered her whispers in a dark bedroom, her warm skin next to his as she'd briefly, abruptly told him about the beginning, their beginning – only telling him that time would know when. River, the word sang in his mind, sad and miserable in this place.

The Tardis must have sensed her, he reasoned and she had brought him here. It was the last days of the torrential Tempus, and River was bound to be here somewhere. Trapped somewhere in this nightmare.

"It's death warmed over," he told Amy in a quiet voice, earning him a warning glare from Rory and a puzzled frown from Amy. He shrugged, half apologising for his brooding, gloomy mind in this place.

In the horizon the sky burned deep orange, the aftermath of spilt blood and spent explosions and as far as the eye could see the landscape stretched, barren and broken, as dead as a desert. This must be the very last days, he thought, looking out over the scenery, unnerved by the silence and the smell of burnt flesh.

"What are we doing here?" Rory asked, giving an involuntary shudder as he looked around, noticing what appeared to be dead, charcoaled things on the ground, the residue of life.

"Finding something I lost," he told them, taking a tentatively step away from the Tardis. She would be alright, it was more the three of them – and especially the two human ones – he was worried about, "maybe you should stay in the Tardis – this is not going to be pretty or safe!"

Amy ignored him, as usual; "What have you lost?"

He decided not to answer her – not really sure it was River they were going to find here but more an echo, a shell of a person and he wasn't even sure he could find her. She could be anywhere, dead or alive, the odds of finding her in this vast chaotic world grim. Not anywhere, idiot, he berated himself – she would most likely be in the worst imaginable place on this god-forsaken planet – and he knew exactly where that was. Somehow, he knew the moment he had stepped out from the Tardis and seen the ruined meadows, that his path was destined to the deep below, that she would be there, somewhere.

"You really should stay in the Tardis," he advised them again – they were only children. Not that they listened, both taking a step towards him, adventure and excitement in their stride. Too young to really comprehend this place and what it meant. Oh well, even he was too young for this place.

"What good will that do us, if you end up dead somewhere – then we'll be stuck in your time machine – no I don't think so – we better come along and keep an eye on you" Rory reasoned, a slightly mischievous quirk to his half-smile – that boy was becoming more and more troublesome, the Doctor thought with a proud grin. Amy nodded in agreement, her eyes smiling at Rory as they stepped over to him, their hands in each others, entwined. Ah, young indeed.

"Alright, alright – but don't say I didn't warn you" he sighed, half annoyed and half relieved. He didn't really care for this place and wandering around the graves was not something he'd looked forward to on his own.

"Really, what is this place?" Amy asked again, her curiosity sounding slightly off, as she looked around and wrinkled her nose.

"The end of an era, of a world I suppose. It will be the Blood Meadows one day, a tomb of death really," he explained as they moved further down the hill, crossing wide stretches of charred ground and watching their steps around the big, deep rifts that seemed to run all the way down to the core of the planet, "There was a war, despicable war and this is the outcome – Now whatever you do, do not touch anything okay," he warned them, stepping over a grave of blackened bones.

"Why?" Amy asked as she jumped from one boulder of stone to another, looking around warily.

"Must have been some war," Rory mumbled in comment, following Amy and keeping an eye on her, on his guard.

"Just don't touch anything – the war isn't exactly over yet and who knows what horrible things you could get contaminated with. This is the place where tenth of thousands got slaughtered in a heartbeat, deadly wind carrying a virus in the air. In the early days the ground would roar and rumble, crack open and swallow people alive. And the Dja't waited in the trees and attacked anything that moved, their venom poisonous to even Time Lords and the native al'ukule', disguised and invisible in the tree tops they would drop down and invade your body, small devilish creatures crawling through the pores of your skin and killing you from the inside – nasty things the Dja't. The empire must have bombarded the planet with endless toxic canisters of wild-fire to dispose of the small suckers, it still lingers in the ground, I'd wager – so just don't touch anything!"

They looked at him, scared wide eyes as they stood still, cautiously regarding the very air around them, waiting, almost as if expecting things to jump out from the graves and attack them. Maybe he should have paraphrased that better, less horrifying and less graphic.

"Sorry, sorry – I mean obviously the trees are not going to attack us – that was a long time ago – but just be careful, eh?"

They nodded and followed him again as he began to walk, wary of the ground around them. He heard crunching under his boots and shuddered as he stepped away from the shattered bones, almost powderized from the force of his boots. This was going to be a long day, indeed. But this was something he had to do, fixed and meant to happen – so onwards and into the fire.

The ground levelled somewhat out as they reached the bottom of the hill and he threaded carefully over a small stream, the water blood-red and reeking. He took Amy's hand and helped her over, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he waited for Rory to take his hand.

"What is that? – please tell me it's not blood!" Amy exclaimed but her voice was low, almost a whisper.

"I'm not really sure," he answered as he squatted down at the edge of the stream, squinting and trying to analyse the colour and texture, "though I don't think it's entirely blood – must be something else in it too"

"It smells awful enough" Amy commented, not coming any closer and eying Rory with slight distress as he edged closer to the Doctor and bent down and took a look at the small stream as well.

"Looks like blood," Rory voiced.

"Yeah – better not linger though"

And they walked again, away from the little stream and towards something large, blackened and climbing skyward in the horizon. Along the way sparse vegetation covered the ground where it was not blackened, though most of the plants were black with soot or still burning, smoke billowing from them and lingering low on the ground like a mist. Like invisible tendrils of fog snaking around their feet, sinister and disturbing.

The wind blew across the meadows hard, uncompromising and merciless, no trees to shelter them. Once upon a time there had been whole forests of trees, esoteric and exotic sorts, magnificent in their majestic growth and it had been a beautiful assembly of nature. Now though what remained was charred trunks burned halfway down; logs lying haphazardly on the ground and severed branches making a direct route across the country a very hard thing to accomplish. The wind was cold and harsh, and it chilled them to the bone. Shivering when gusts hit them and trying to keep warm, huddled in their clothes, hoods drawn up and sleeves dragged over their hands. He wished he had been better prepared.

Every now and then, they found shelter behind a small hilltop and they took a few quiet moments to breathe before they went over the top and was swept away by the relentless wind again. Amy and Rory were busy trying not to stumble, zigzagging between the fallen trees and keeping their eyes out for holes in the ground. He – on the other hand, walked without really seeing, fallen silent and contemplative, trepidation and uncertainty painting his thoughts dark. Anticipation gripping him in a tight hold, and it was neither a sweet anticipation nor one of eagerness – it was downright dreaded anticipation. He had no clue what he would find – and frankly that scared him. More often than not he was used to not knowing, used to expecting the unknown and plunging headfirst into adventure but this place was so much more than that, so much darker – a place where nightmares were born, so reminiscent of his own home planet, he thought, that it settled into him, heavy and intense.

He drew a sharp intake of breath, the odour of decay falling into his lungs and he tried not to think of what was to come or what had happened long ago. That was the best strategy in the end – no need to dwell on it earlier than necessary - and no reason to linger in the past. Not now.

The landscape levelled even more and more out the longer they walked into the valley, small hills flattening out and the wind got harsher – more a storm by now – bringing with it an even more putrid smell and more smoke. The smoke burned in their noses, itched their throats and their eyes began to water from the sting.

"Where exactly are we going, do you know?" Rory asked when they took a break by two large fallen trees, one lying over the other and therefore offering some refuge from the storm. It still howled though and he really didn't feel any warmth.

"Inland and underground – there's a deep cave, the entrance shouldn't be too hard to find"

Amy stopped her observation of blackened bones on the ground and looked up, her gaze alarmed while Rory looked at him in disbelief.

"Underground! - into a cave!"

"It's the only way – though much of the grotto will probably be under water, but yes, into a cave."

"Why?"

"There's a city there, down under the ground. It's rumoured to be quite the sight – and I think I'll find what I lost there. I hope so"

"So there are people there – alive?"

"I hope so, I really do"

What he didn't tell them though, was that the people down there – if they were alive – would hardly qualify as people. No need to upset them further however, he reasoned, as they already felt bad about going underground.

Swinging his legs over the tree trunks and hopping down on the other side, he helped Amy, Rory already in mid jump and obviously needing no assistance. The boy landed on his feet with a triumphant grin, brushing his dirtied hands on his trousers. Amy huffed and poked him playfully in the ribs. He rolled his eyes at their antics, but really he kind of enjoyed the light, untroubled atmosphere, such a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. It calmed him down somewhat.

"Why won't you tell us, what you are looking for? What you lost?" Amy asked some time later as they moved between boulders of stone, walking into an enormous gorge that had been the black spot on the horizon.

"How can you have lost a thing here? In a cave, underground?" Rory asked simultaneously in an incredulous voice as he craned his neck and stared up into the sky and the peak of the gorge. "This is like something taken out of – I don't know – it's just – you've been here before?"

"A long time ago, Rory, and I was really only a spectator. The Judoon would not grant me access; they had the planet in lock-down. But frankly this, now, is an improvement"

"What was is like before then?"

"Fire and brimstone. The atmosphere was set afire by the al'ukule' empire, and it burned uncompromisingly. The very air smouldering hot and ashes pouring down, getting into your lungs and suffocating you from the inside out."

"That's why the people went underground?" Amy questioned while Rory said; "Just like an exploding volcano!"

"Yes, for some. The Dja't in the trees probably had a fair bit to do with it as well. Though most stayed above ground. Others fought back. It was an age of innovation in terms of weaponry."

"Why did they stay above?"

"Worse things below, I'd imagine"

And he got scared looks again and he felt like hitting himself, maybe knocking some sense into his skull. He really should work on his conversational skills, and part with the horror telling; otherwise he might find himself quite alone having scared his companions away.

He sighed, and they travelled further inlands.

-o-

What is a river but the trickle of water through time, but the flow of that which brings forth life, so much more than the simple path of water, so much more than streams in nature divine. The perpetual ebb and flow, the rise and fall, a testament to the ever changing, undying rivers of our existence. The river flows through me, through you and tempers the fiery fires that slumber in the depths of our pretend souls. I calm you down, hold you in my cold embrace as you breathe me, the river of life.

-o-

Oh she was young. Vengeful, fiery, mostly dead and so, so young – he hadn't expected that and it shocked him. How long she had been under the water, he did not know, but from the bluish tinge to her lips he guessed a too long time. Her hair, dark under water, was wafting like seaweed and she hung suspended in the water, the chain around her legs keeping her from the air above. A ragged doll thrown away by its owner, limp and mangled in the water, he thought as he felt anger burn within him – she was but a child. Oh River. He swam towards her, anger burning in his bones and in the kicks he gave the water as he swam down to her limp form, gripping around her small body to steady himself. She was cold like the water, icy and still. He turned his head down and swam to her legs, placing his hands around her ankles. Her white pale skin looked shadowy blue, almost blackish under the water and he saw the dark bruising under the heavy chain, smears of dark, black blood and a wound beneath, looking infectious and threatening. Who drowned a little, helpless girl? – tied her down! She would have struggled for life, struggled to come back to the surface for air. He could feel rage burn in him, running along his arteries and veins with an intense blaze, sweltering and rendering his vision black for a brief moment. So intense with the desire to avenge her, avenge this horror.

He tried to calm himself, knowing he had to get her out of the water first before he could succumb to rage. Using all of his strength he tried to ply the brazen chain apart but it wouldn't budge, not one bit, the metal strong and merciless in his hands. He tried again but to no avail. His lungs were starting to hurt; he would soon need air again. Damn.

Tenderly he touched his hands to her temples, silently telling her he would be back, wondering if she was there at all or had passed on – then he swam upwards swiftly, kicking his legs frantically and praying for a miracle.

He resurfaced, spitting out water and inhaling the sweet air, gulping and trying to think clearly.

"Help" he yelled, desperately, the dark water around him seeming ominous and sinister in the dark light of the caves. His two companions stood on the bank of the underground lake, their shadowed faces revealing no emotions but he could sense their distress, almost vibrating in the stale air as they hurried forward, into the water "I need help – find me something, a rock – something sharp," and he dived under the water again, anxious and worried that she would somehow be gone. He dived down and moments later he heard a splash, and looking upwards he saw the boy swimming after him, something in his hand.

Rory caught up with him faster than he'd expected and together they swam down towards the dark figure at the bottom. Despite Rory's surprised look when he realised the figure was a child, he quickly started hammering on the metal chain with a rock, almost hysterically, struggling to balance his need for air with the exertion. When he couldn't stay under water anymore, the Doctor took the stone from his hands and pointed upwards. The boy swam for air and the Doctor started banging the rock against the metal himself, intense fear coursing though him in electric bursts. Hold on. Please hold on, he chanted in his mind.

This had to work – he had to get her up, now.

But the metal stayed whole and he felt water slip into his mouth as he tried not to cry, compressing his lips together, biting down on the urge to open his mouth and scream with frustration. Please. His arms were weak, trembling and he could feel them shaking in exhaustion. The water pressed down on him, oppressive and demanding, his lungs screaming for air in protest.

And just as he was about to surrender as well, he heard a dull sound and he watched in bewilderment and sweet relief as the chain broke and her ankle floated free. With his last strength he snaked one arm around her middle and started kicking his legs and free arm, swimming upwards as quickly as he could, his vision blurring nauseously. He felt light-headed, weak and sleepy. Halfway up Rory and Amy appeared and together they heaved the child from the water, up onto the stone bank, half stumbling onto dry land, the three of them heaving for air and panting with the effort.

The lack of air from the rescue was making him dizzy and he fell to his knees, his remaining strength slowly ebbing away. Rory fell to his knees as well, his features painted with exhaustion but he pressed his hands to the child's chest and started compressions, mumbling words that had no meaning, incomprehensible.

Her skin looked even more ghastly in the dark light of a single gravity globe, the darkness of the cave closing in on them. Her clothes, dark dirty blue, stuck to her soaked body and she looked so lifeless and small. He wanted to weep but he couldn't break down, not here and not now. He crawled closer and when Rory stopped his compressions he leaned across her and pushed air into her lungs, watching as her chest rose artificially, a knot in his chest tightening. Rory resumed the compressions again. They continued this for a while, a heavy rhythm, nothing but silence; he really had no concept of how long, the resuscitation the only constant and variable for the moment, time suspended in his mind.

And when she suddenly moved, jerked fitfully, he thought he was going to faint. He'd almost lost all hope she would ever come back. But she twitched, and water flew out of her mouth as she vomited again and again, the sound a reprieve to his ears. They turned her on her side and he drew his dry jacket across her, afraid the cold air underground would be too much for her frail life.

When there was nothing left for her to throw up she coughed dry air, her arms weakly following the violent heaves of her chest, as she struggled to breathe and breathe.

"River, it's alright," he told her in a quiet voice, holding her shoulders and head gently in his lap, keeping his jacket around her. "It's alright now"

And that was when she started screaming, horrible screams ripped from her throat, the raw sound echoing in the vast, dark cave and eliciting a cold, prickling sensation to travel down his spine, coiling with desolate fear. She howled, her voice faint and foreign, her body limp in his arms. He placed his hands on her cheeks and turned her head towards him, but her eyes were unfocused, blank and so empty.

She screamed, howled, till she had no voice left, till it was a small trickle of noise, faint and fragile in her throat, clawing its way out. There was no recognition in her stare, no awareness only a blank look that turned his mind in uproar.

He held her, cringing at her pain, nausea boiling in his skin but he held her, rocked her forth and back till she'd cried herself into exhaustion and sleep took her into its embrace, her weak body no longer able to fight for consciousness.

River, her name sang in his veins, sad and foreign, desolate and horrendous in this place. And he writhed with her pain and trembled with an unbearable, sizzling rage that consumed him raw. The need, desire for vengeance so vivid and livid in his mind, in his hearts, it nearly choked him.

Amy and Rory watched him, their eyes sad and despaired, the small girl in his arms a stranger to them but he read the horror in their lost gaze, knew this would be etched in their memory for a long time to come; etched into his for even longer.

-o-

What is a soul but an unnamed, unclaimed fairytale that lingers inside the depths of our hearts, but a stray notion of infinity among the stars, something so vague and fragile, so distant and yet to close, that is slips through your fingers. The mirage of it tangled into myth; a token to oblivion and a hope for continuity, a strangled cry for comfort. And I see the deep, dark hollow in you where I suppose your soul should reside, know it's like my abyss where I suppose my soul should reside. Do not fret; I will create a soul for you and I will light it till it shines.

-o-

She was a menace, a hurricane of frightful emotions running amok in the Tardis, as she raged, throwing things at nothing and hurtling objects at him, at Rory, at Amy, yelling incomprehensible words at them in a voice so angry, so despaired, it pained him deeply.

An untamed beast. Lost and alone, death in her eyes and horror in her mind, afraid of them, afraid they would drown her as well. So she scratched and bit him when he came too close, snarled at his companions when they smiled at her and tried to help her.

He had to help her, fix her – somehow. She was only a child, her small, thin body malnourished, and it was nightmare to get her to do anything. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't talk, wouldn't take a bath. She would hide in dark nooks for days, lie in a comatose state on his bed, her blank eyes unmoving or scream till she had no air left in her lungs and collapsed from lack of oxygen. It was almost impossible to find her when she took off; roaming through the many dimensions of his Tardis angry and hurt. The Tardis seemed to recognise the small girl as River, or maybe she just felt her pain but nonetheless his Tardis welcomed her and opened gates and doors for her, left her to wander through secret rooms and hidden corridors, without stopping her. If the small girl really did not want to be found even he had a hard time finding her, taking hours and days to even locate her, the Tardis not even remotely helpful. It puzzled him.

And every time he saw her, his hearts hammered with her pain and he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, his mind turning against him as the unshielded emotions of the lost girl enveloped him. He could feel the oppression of water, feel the slick wetness of it and his throat constricted with the feeling of drowning – he cried for her.

In the end he sent his companions on a vacation, a space cruise through the Orion Belt, knowing they weren't equipped to handle the full-blown emotions of death River was projecting. He waved them off with a faint smile and then tracked down the hurt, little thing; a plan forming in his mind as he strode down corridors. She was hiding between rows of bookcases, encased in a thick woollen blanket, only her dark eyes visible from within the cloth.

She just stared, her eyes hollow and blank.

He sat down opposite her, a safe distance away should she decide to attack him again, and he took out a book. Opened it and started reading, doing his best of ignoring her. He would sneak a look at her occasionally, and fascinated he watched as she slowly started observing him. Her eyes becoming curious in their depths as they regarded him, and her pale little nose suddenly protruding out of the blanket.

He continued to read, turning pages and pages, while he stole a look at her every once in a while, watching as her face emerged from behind the blanket, dirty strands of hair, black with soot and grime sticking in every direction.

He started humming, turning a page, humming some unknown melody in a low, unthreateningly voice; a lullaby he vaguely remembered from back home. And he could feel her pain, her dark mind, calming down slightly, the feeling of asphyxiation blurring, images of dead people in his mind disappearing, slowly but steadily.

"Did you know that stars are alive?" he asked her, his voice turning from a hum to a question, still he turned pages and continued his quiet hum. She didn't answer but he stole a glance at her and saw her small hands coming out of the dark blanket and fiddling with a book of her own as she turned pages as well, imitating him, almost timidly.

"Beautiful things, the stars – beautiful. Do you like stars?"

He looked up and caught her gaze before she fearfully turned her stare down in her lap again, her fingers clutching the book in her hands.

He hummed a bit more, laughed out loud at an insane sentence he read – the absurdity of encyclopaedias; they had a tendency to get events horribly wrong.

"Have you been to Ghren'Myrud?" he asked the little girl, giving her a smile before he looked down at his book again.

"Oh, it's wonderful – beautiful, planet covered in mysterious, arcane ivory islands, the water turquoise and the ground covered in glittery gems – beaches of ruby and jade and stones of amethyst and diamonds," he spoke to the book in his lap, keeping his eyes on the small print and resisting the temptation to look up again.

He heard a small sound then, almost like a half snort, half chuckle, and it sounded wonderful.

"They have big, boiling pools of mud, the planet's core warming them from beneath, and you can swim in them. Have you tried that? Swimming in mud – that is funny. Stinky, but funny"

This time she did giggle, and he laughed with her, looking up again and holding her eyes in his. Watching as she clutched the small book to her chest, her eyes big and round as she watched him, curiosity painting them a violet blue. He could feel her light amusement, colours bursting through his mind in an alarming pace, twisting and shifting as her emotions rumbled within her.

"You hair looks like mud," he told her, "I think maybe you have been in the mud pools"

She gave him a smile, her small teeth visible.

"What colour is it, beneath all that mud, hmmm – blue?"

She shook her head animatedly, her mouth curving with repressed laughter.

"No, hmm – then it must be green?"

She shook her head again, her eyes dancing.

"Purple?"

She giggled but shook her head in a silent no.

"White?"

No, not that either.

"Ah, I know – it's invisible!"

At that she giggled and she shook her head back and forth, curls bouncing. She pointed a finger at him - at his bowtie.

"It's a cool bowtie, isn't it!"

She shook her head, amused.

"No?" he asked in mock-confusion, mock-hurt and drew another smile.

She pointed to it again.

"You want my bowtie?" he asked her seriously, though he knew she was pointing at the colour of it.

She shook her head, almost frustrated, her eyes regarding him as if he was stupid.

"Ahh – my bowtie is red – and your hair is red?"

She merely smiled and gave him a single nod. And then she retreated back into her blanket, buried in it and he watched the flashes of blurred images of himself, looking quite ridiculous with a wide smile in her mind, and the blurred images of glittery beaches and blue, blue water, and mud pools as she mulled over what he had said.

He smiled at her gently; pulling an apple out of his pockets and laying it on the floor. The vivid colour of further curiosity mingled with a dark hue of hunger, assaulting his mind in a quick flash, and he smiled at her before he left, knowing she would eat it the moment he was gone.

-o-

He wondered if she talked, if she could. Maybe she had been too traumatized and had lost the ability? That was not unheard of. But she laughed, giggled and tsk'ed at him as she slowly began to creep out from her blanket and hiding places, slowly started to seek him out and slowly started to trust him. And one day her hair even shone red, her newly washed face glistening and her skin paler than before. Her hair was still impossibly entangled, knotted and a mess but it was clean. She pushed him away when he tried to brush it out, her small eyebrows knotting together in anger and he was assaulted by a sad, grey shadow and the image of someone brushing her hair, rough hands tenderly unknotting her messy curls. He left them alone after that.

One day, having sneaked up on her, he watched her blabber something to the console, her voice excited as she babbled something indecipherable to his Tardis, the two of them holding a secret conversation. She looked so serious as she patted the console, jumbled words coming out in rushes as she talked nonsense. He quickly hurried away; afraid he would laugh out loud and scare her off.

Another day she came out of nowhere, took his hand in her small one, and started guiding him away from the screen at the console. She took him to the library, dumped a book into his hands and she settled on her blanket in her corner, between the two bookcases holding fairy tales from Earth, her eyes expectant as she watched him, the blanket tightly-fisted in her hands. And so he opened the book and read for her, his voice turning to a low, comforting hum.

He showed her the kitchen, hidden behind a secret door, hard to find in the chaos of staircases and cellars but he showed her the way, her small hand nesting comfortably and warm in his. And she stared in wonder at the vegetable garden the Tardis had sneaked in, in the last regeneration, laughed at the odd-squared refrigeration system that kept hardly anything but ice cream, fish fingers and canisters of custard, cartons of milk. Her eyes shone with awe at that much food. He grinned and made banana smoothies with ice cream and druid-berry from the garden, finding large bowl-sized goblets and pouring the drink into them. She followed him into the garden and they sat down on soft warm grass, crawling plants around them, a pumpkin patch, the big bulky fruits comfortably behind their backs. The thick liquid ran down her cheeks as she tried to drink from the oversized cup and he watched amused as she smeared it further across her face with her sleeve. He took a slurp and she pointed to him laughing, banana juice stuck to his face as well. They laughed, wonderful and warm colours springing from her mind and enveloping him a cocoon of happiness and childish glee. Abruptly images of himself covered in his drink flashed in front of his eyes and he looked up surprised and saw her fling her drink on him, smiling conspiratorially at him as he felt the cool thick smoothie cover him. He licked his arm, 'Mmm' and smiled back at her.

But taming her emotions was something altogether different, teaching her to keep them huddled up inside herself, he couldn't do that to her, it would pain him too much, pain her too much. But he knew she had to learn, it was a fact wasn't it. She was dangerous in this state, emotions volatile and wreaking havoc on her mind – and his. But how? The little thing would unravel the moment he did something new, the moment something unpredictable happened.

He had once, in a stupid moment of insanity, opened the Tardis door and pointed out to the stars outside, colourful galaxies in the distance and she had run away, frightened, little feet faster than he'd imagined. He had tracked through endless corridors, deep caverns and vast rooms in his Tardis, following the scent of her panic and the blurred images of death, finally finding her in the cherry garden, high atop the crown of a large alir'kean cherry-tree. She had snarled at him when he climbed the tree, hissed and spit, and attempted to crawl on to another tree. He had caught her just as she was about to jump, and surely fall to the ground, and she had squirmed and cried as he brought her down, the taste of blood in his mouth, smoke in his nose and he thought he saw a brief glimpse of a red-haired, grizzly-looking man, lying on a white floor, blood marring him but it quickly disappeared, other images following. Down on the ground she had calmed down somewhat, and he realised the big vast sight of the universe stretched out in front of her, distant stars and foreign worlds, was a bit too soon for her.

Some days he found her curled up on his bed, ignoring him and everything around her, staring unblinking at something he couldn't see, unmoving and still. But her thoughts were nothing but motionless, writhing inside her mind like angry, burning flames. Screaming with pain and the memory of the Tempus etched into her soul, imagery escaping her control and hurtling at him, entrapping him in her mind as she emerged deeper and deeper into a recollection of fire, destruction and death. He was unprepared for the sight, for the image of the burning sky, the fleet of shiny, heavy ships hanging above the atmosphere, dangerous and spitting out blindingly bright streaks of liquid light. Lights that plunged to the ground, gravity accelerating them, and they crashed with deafening roars, the liquid wildfire burning with such an intensity he felt the blast of warmth on his face, searing and prickling. He tried to shake her awake from her comatose state, tried to calm her down, stroking her soft curls but she just lay there, unmoving, the images continuing in quick successions of horror, dark and cold colours and smoke in his mouth. So he pulled her blanket around her, tucking it beneath her, kissed the top of her head and sat down by the opposite wall where her projections weren't as strong, only faint impressions in his mind, and he watched her, silently, contemplative.

Another time he was drenched in cold sweat when he heard her terrified screams, her small voice ringing out with desperate, frantic cries and he ran from the control room – where he had been itching to go somewhere, in the middle of deciding if she would be ready for just a small trip when her scream had brought him out of his daydream. He ran his hearts racing with fear – what had happened? Was she hurt? He found her backed up against a wall, her eyes terrified and glued to the swimming pool in the middle of the circular room, her small body trembling at the sight of the water and tears streaming down her cheeks. He had swept her up in his arms, holding her close to his hearts as he quickly left the room, in search for the library, and her blanket.

She had sobbed so hard it broke his hearts all over again, and he wept with her as he was once again emerged into the nightmare of her mind, trapped under water, drowning as water streamed into his lungs, the metal digging into his ankle painfully, flailing his arms… in the end opening his mouth to scream, water rushing in, oppressive and hurtful, too much, too much - it hurt, he wanted his daddy, he cried… daddy…hurt…

It took every inch of his willpower to distance himself from her images, her memories and the vibrations and colours of it, but he had to hold it together. Otherwise he would go mad.

With shaking hands he enveloped her in the blanket, sat down on the ground and started rocking her back and forth, comforting her and himself. Smoothing her hair, muttering words of comfort, stroking her back. When she'd calmed down and slept in his arms, he laid her on the floor tenderly and brushed tears from her face before he escaped to another room and a toilet, vomiting his guts out, the taste of rank cave water in his mouth, his mind in wild panic, the feeling of drowning, asphyxiated in dark, rank water, clear in his mind.

He had to do something. She couldn't live like this and neither could he. It was too painful, too horrible. He walked back to the library, almost in a trance, sat down next to the sleeping girl, slumped back against the wall as he contemplated what to do. How to help her? He looked at his fingers in despair, he could really use some guidance and he wondered, darkly and with slight contempt, why his future self hadn't left behind some kind of instruction. This was barbaric. Cruel, of him, he thought.

Bastard, he cursed.

-o-

"Can you keep a secret" he asked her in a hushed, mysterious voice as they huddled together, her mouth still quivering from another outbreak, large drops of water hanging unto her lashes and her nose running. The Tardis stood a few yards away and he could feel her distress even now, humming with disagreement and begging him to let the child stay. But she was a child, and he knew what happened when he travelled the stars. Too much darkness and horror, and she'd seen too much already. No, he was not going to traumatize her further. This was better. She needed stability. Safety. Oh she could stay with him but he had a sinking feeling it was not meant to be, a dark feeling that he would somehow ruin her life further. Safety – and she needed to learn to shield her mind.

She nodded, curly hair bouncing and her small, slightly chubby hands clutching each other, standing closer to him than she would normally – but they were in a strange new place, and she knew nothing, their surroundings alien to her, only the Tardis and him to trust.

"Are you sure?" he asked, sitting down on the ground, soft tall grass tickling and patting the ground beside him, waiting for her to sit down next to him.

She nodded again, running a sleeve across her face and smearing tears and snot on the new dress he'd found beneath heaps of clothes in a wooden, gilt chest, in a dark cellar he'd never visited before. He felt horrible. She sat down next to him and he turned his head to her side, a sinking feeling in his stomach and his mind in silent chaos.

"This place is a safe haven – do you know what that means?"

She shook her head and looked at him confused, edging closer and grapping the labels of his jacket, looking up at him, her eyes expectant and trustful behind the shimmering tears.

"Nothing bad happens here – nothing bad at all. You play all day long here, eat, sleep and dream wonderful dreams and wake up to another day of play – doesn't that sound wonderful?"

She sniffed in response, burying her head in his arm.

"You'll love it here; they will take very good care of you."

She cried silently into his clothes, tears soaking it and he felt it dampen, sticking to him.

"Shhh," he murmured to the top of her head, "it will be alright. It's for the best, sweetheart"

She shook her head again, an angry edge to it, her small hands clutching the sleeves of his jacket and his arm to her.

"There's even a mud pool, out in the forest – you'll like that"

She trembled and he brought his arm around her, bringing her closer, not really sure who he was trying to reassure.

"And when you look up at the stars at night, the big lights in the sky – you know I'm up there and nothing bad can happen. The Tardis will be up there looking after you"

She mumbled something, the words incomprehensible and perplexing but the sound was disagreement.

"And you know what?"

She snuffled again and he brought the other arm around her, hugging her to his chest, the beginning of tears at the corners of his eyes.

"I am going to tell you a secret, the biggest secret of the universe, and I hope you will look after this secret for me."

Her eyes became visible again no longer buried in his jacket – wide and round, cerulean and glistening, but she looked at him, hopeful and curious behind her tears.

"Will you look after it? For me?"

She nodded.

He leaned down and whispered his name in her ears, slowly pronouncing the difficult Gallifreyan words, the name reverberating vividly in his mind. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten it.

She whispered the words back to him, images of Gallifrey springing from the connotation and the air almost still with wonderment.

He smiled, tried to hide his despair – this was not about him.

"Keep it safe, eh" he told her, putting a strand of her tangled hair behind her small ear.

She crossed fingers across her heart and nodded – smiling back at him, a big wide smile that lit her tear-stained face and coloured her eyes with childish glee at the secrecy.

She thought he was going to change his mind, he knew that. It lay there in her hopeful smile and the lessening of his jacket sleeves. He wanted to but he couldn't.

And he saw the smile crack and her mouth quivering when the Ghren family came, and he hugged her goodbye.

It broke him.

She cried and cried, her arms flailing in the embrace of the large, broad-chested Ghren alien who held her back.

She screamed, unrecognisable, made-up words, howled and cried and it teared him apart from the inside. He waved goodbye at the Tardis, once again thanking the telepathic Ghren in his mind for his compassion and for taking the half erinýes into his care. The Ghren – the kindest, most peaceful beings in the universe – what better place for her. The Ghren telepathic and able to handle her mind and outbreaks, they would know what to do.

She would hate him, he thought.

He closed the Tardis door, her screams still echoing in his mind and he quickly strode to the controls, needing to get as far away as possible.

She would hate him, he was sure. But she would be safe.

That was more important, in the end.

-o-

What are we but the sums of our actions, but the calculated summation of our time spent inhaling and exhaling, so dependent on our surroundings and the very air we breathe, so reliant on the company of others. Where do you belong, you with no home and no origin? And where do you go, nameless one, when your world is thrown off its axis? What do you dream of empty child?

-o-

He was submerged in despair, sinking and descending into this bleak, gloomy darkness he'd created for himself; a womb of despair to nest in. But it was a cold womb, and he felt so numb.

Amy and Rory sensed his distress, he knew that, but he did not have the strength to pretend that nothing was wrong. On the other hand, he had absolutely no desire to speak of it, and he knew that saddened them as well.

He felt unbalanced.

Amy called him grumpy with a hesitant half smile, afraid he would explode but he only shrugged and tried to smile back; he only succeeded in a weak and faded version, the smile never going beyond superficial.

When they asked about River, mentioned her or had that look in their eyes he'd come to recognise as 'thinking of her', he closed off. And thought maybe they could see his pain, for they left him alone – and for that he was glad. He didn't want to pretend.

He wanted to apologize to them. He must be an absolute nightmare to be with even though he tried. He observed the couple from the corner of his eye – this couldn't be much fun.

Maybe he should just pretend after all?

-o-

He hated himself.

-o-

He wondered if she would be different the next time he saw her, if he would be able to distinguish the hate in her eyes when she looked at him. Would she even greet him hello?

Had he done something he wasn't supposed to? Had he changed their timeline, the fragile thing he'd promised to protect – promised not to change. Had he ruined it?

-o-

What is love but a strange foreign feeling invading our senses, rendering our character into something unrecognisable, a thing so wondrous and so cruel, a contradiction we cherish and loathe, embrace and burry. I can see your struggle, see your attempt to not fall into this abyss you are so unfamiliar with, this uncompromising feeling. But I will tell you a secret, lost one, love is everything but.

-o-

"Hello sweetie," she sang as she barrelled through the door, bouncing across the floor to the console, tossing him a flirty smile when she looked up from the buttons and levers she was pulling and directing, without his permission, once again. The Tardis had barely materialized and he wondered how she did it.

He was stunned, not expecting her, lost in his own company, alone with despondency, and then she walked back into his life, amusement in her eyes as she danced around the console to music in her head, swinging her arms out for him to join her, hips swaying. He drank in the sight of her, filling his need to mesmerize her beauty, her carefree appearance so different and yet so similar to the child he'd left behind.

"River," his voice rang out in surprise, a half strangled sound, pitiful and on the brink of a sob. And he almost knocked her to the ground in his rush to hug her, enveloping her in a frantic embrace. He crushed her against him, holding her as close as possible, her bones melting into his skin and her soft curls caressing his cheek. He bit down on the urge to apologize, to cry out for forgiveness – the need to just hold her stronger, the need to keep this mirthful atmosphere where she laughed into his skin intact. He did not want to ruin that.

He almost cried when she embraced him back, happiness flooding through him like a violent current while despair left – fading.

"Missed you" he told her ear in a low whisper.

He could hear her breaths, the vibrations of her exhaling and inhaling pushing against him, softly and tranquil.

Her smile was wondrous, her eyes delighted by the small truth he'd let slip beyond his mouth, and he wondered how often he'd declared any feelings about her. She had a small glint of surprise in the depths of her gaze and the genuine, happy smile shone on her face like a star.

"I missed you," he told her again just to watch the display of mirth on her face, more important than anything.

-o-

Her chest rose and fell; a slow rhythm of tranquillity.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, "I'm so sorry"

She slept peacefully, undisturbed by his apology. He ran his fingers lightly across her skin, mesmerized by the soft, magic feel of it. If he placed his palm, outstretched and flat, against her back and just over her heart and lungs, he could feel the beautiful melody of her breaths and the slow, steady thud-thud of her heart – it calmed him, settling into his soul with comfort.

She was alive and well – not damaged, not consumed by hatred or despair.

He smoothed a finger around a curl, stretched it out and watched it bounce back. She murmured something in her sleep, a bit restless as she moved a bit.

"Shh, sweetheart," he whispered, stroking her bare shoulder blade tenderly, settling down again next to her, his body aligned with hers.

"I had to you leave that time – and for that I'm so sorry" he told her in the dark as she slept, "I had to leave you there"

He kissed shoulder, soft and feather-light.

"I know it seemed cruel back then – you must have felt so alone. All alone in the universe."

Her skin was so warm against him.

"But it was for the best. I only wanted to give you a relatively normal life, you know. If you'd stayed with me, I would have screwed you up – immensely. I hope you have good memories of Ghren'Myrud, I really do. That's what I wanted – to give you the chance to have good memories of what was left of your childhood."

He stilled his hands on her back, edged closer, her hair soft against his face.

"Other memories than Tempus. You know, I do think it was meant to happen that way – you never really told me that much. But I think – I hope you did okay there"

He kissed a curl.

"You are beautiful" he admitted, the words seeming to fit him better in the dark.

She was so solid, here in the dark and next to him – no barriers or masks. All that mattered, here in the dark where troubles and nightmares seemed so distant and absurd, was her beating heart, her serene sleep and the feel of her warm skin in his embrace. She calmed him down, kept him from falling apart.

She was his – this impossible enigma that never did what he expected or what he wanted, unpredictable. But she was his, steady and solid.

"You know, the many first times I met you, I was so confused and annoyed with you" he laughed into her hair, quietly, "But you sure did know how to capture my attention, huh. I'm sorry about all those times as well; sorry when I was cold, when I didn't know you. That must have been horrible."

His voice was a low hum, quiet and soft and he heard his own indrawn breaths, loud in his ears and trembling.

He leaned closer, his lips next to her ear and he breathed ancient, whispers of affection, Gallifreyan whispers as he gently ran a thumb down her shoulder again, caressing the skin – whispering beloved in the tongue of his heritage to her as she slept. He slipped a hand over her hip, lay down his head and closed his eyes.

He didn't feel her stir, nor did he see her open eyes.

"Nothing to forgive," she whispered, the words caressing him in his sleep, settling into his mind, invisible but there.

-o-

A/N:

I'm actually not a big fan of the Doctor meeting River as a child but it kind of fitted my story and it grew on me. In my mind, the child is not his River just like for example ten was not her Doctor. They meet so many versions of each other, different regenerations and different ages; I'd imagine it would be rather timey-wimey like separate entities of the same person though still the same.

Hope you like it though. I may write some more in this universe (quite fond of it) – but Uni has just started and I'll be insanely busy (so everyone keeps telling me).

And I know the doctor said there was only one time he could tell her his name but in a timey-wimey sense he can still tell her his name on a whole different occasion and still tell her the name in the future, the only time he can – if it makes sense. Sort of… hehe.

/Iso