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A/N: Set after The Wedding of River Song for the Doctor and River and three years before it for the Brig. But, you know, time lines. And this was all written pretty quickly.

They are both dead, he knows. Alistair died three years from now, and River died centuries ago, three thousand years in the future. He wanted to introduce them anyway, and so he chooses a summer day while Alistair is still living in his old house, and he and River bring wild strawberries they picked in seventeenth century Cornwall.

He raps sharply on the door, grinning at River as he does, and she rolls her eyes fondly. It takes Alistair a few minutes to get to the door and draw back the bolt, and they can hear the grumbling as he does. "Alright, alright, just a minute..." The door swings open and he sees Alistair for the first time in so much longer than he wants to think about. He looks so old and frail and the Doctor feels his hearts clench. "Now, then, I don't want to buy any..." He stops and stares at the Doctor sharply, his gaze fiercely sweeping him up and down, lingering on his bowtie, which he self-consciously adjusts. Slowly, the smile spreads across Alistair's face. "Hello, Doctor," he says quietly.

"Hello, Alistair," he says, smiling. "We've come for tea. We brought strawberries."

River smiles and holds up the basket as evidence.

"Well." Alistair is still staring. "You'd best come in." He looks over their shoulders with a sort of irritable apprehension. "We're not about to be attacked, are we?"

"No, no," he says, shaking his head quickly, and then considers. "Well, not as far as I know." With his luck, he probably shouldn't make any promises. "This is just a social call."

Alistair looks at him sharply, and now the Doctor can see the brilliant soldier he remembers. They both know he doesn't make social calls. But today he does, because there are so many other times he should have and it's too late now.

"And you must be his latest companion," Alistair says with a smile, turning to River. "Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart. Retired. At your service."

River smiles graciously and holds out her hand, but the Doctor leaps in quickly. "Alistair, this is Professor River Song. My wife."

They both turn and stare at him, and he can feel the tips of his ears turning red. He's never said that before. He wonders if River has ever heard him say that before. It feels...strange. But he thinks he likes it. And he knows he likes the shock and delight in River's eyes.

"Congratulations, my dear," Alistair says, leaning forwards and kissing her on the cheek as he shakes her hand. "You're a brave woman."

"Don't I know it," she says with a laugh. "And can I say, it's an honour to meet you. I've heard so much about you, but I'm sure you have even more stories to tell."

He hasn't told her any stories. Archaeologist, he reminds himself. Alistair is history to her, of course she's heard so much about him. A man who saved the world so many times. It helps to think that Alistair will be remembered so long.

"I'm sure you have too," he says, with an amused sideways glance at the Doctor. "Come in, and I'll find us something a bit stronger than tea, and we can go through the best ones."

River claps her hands together gleefully. "Drinking and gossiping about my old fella. Oh, Alistair, I think I'm going to like you."

"The feeling is mutual, my dear," Alistair says, offering her his arm, and their heads are already together as they walk inside.

The Doctor follows a step behind. He is smiling, but his eyes burn, just a little.

The afternoon passes with strawberries and stories and a bottle of fine brandy, that he doesn't touch, but River and Alistair enjoy.

"I like her," Alistair says, as River goes in search of biscuits. "I can see her keeping up with you. She's sharp. Plucky too."

He nods, and finds himself beaming at Alistair's approval. It matters. "Clever. Funny. Beautiful. Wonderful and frightening and listening."

River stuck her head around the door and gave him that wide, bright grin that always made him feel like the world should stop. "Of course, sweetie. I learned all my best eavesdropping tricks from you. Should I open the chocolate biscuits or the jammy dodgers?"

"Jammy dodgers," he says immediately, and stops. "Ah. Right. You probably weren't talking to me, were you?" She shakes her head silently. "No."

Alistair snorts. "Give him what he wants, or he'll be sulking for hours."

River laughs. "Don't I know it?" She disappears again.

"I would never have expected you to settle down," Alistair says, looking at him thoughtfully.

He feels a jolt of panic. "I haven't settled down," he says quickly. "I've just got married, that's all."

"For some of us, it's the same thing," Alistair says dryly. "But I suppose, since you don't get old, you just put on a new face - "

" - I don't age," he corrects, and Alistair stops talking. "I get old. I am old." He feels it. His death is a fixed point in time, and he walked right past it like he's just going to keep on living forever. And it has been so many centuries since he and Alistair first met, fighting Yetis and the Great Intelligence.

"Love has a way of making a man feel young," Alistair says, with a meaningful look towards the door.

Yes. Perhaps. And he smiles with sympathy, or apology. Alistair and Doris were together for almost forty years, before she died, and he knows how loss feels, knows the emptiness and enormity of grief.

He doesn't know how long he and River have, he only knows how it ends. If he is careful and guards his days like a miser, seeing her only occasionally, he could spin it out for centuries, or he could let it all go in a handful or bright and glorious years. He doesn't know which would be best.

But it will end, because it has already ended, and that is always in his head, every time he looks at her. (The only water in the forest is the river, but the forest is full of books and the dead and he left her there. Oh, River.)

"I'm sorry we didn't invite you to the wedding," he says brightly, and this at least is true. "It was an end-of-the-world sort of thing."

"It would have to be, to get you to the church," Alistair remarks.

"It wasn't a church," River says, coming back with the biscuits, and the Doctor absently helps himself to three Jammy Dodgers before she's even put the plate down. "We went with a Gallifreyan ceremony, on top of a pyramid. He was a robot, it was very romantic."

"Technically, it wasn't the full Gallifreyan ceremony," the Doctor points out. "That would have lasted ten days and there would have been much more chanting. And special headgear." He considers for a second. "Sort of like fezes, actually."

"Now I know you're lying," she says easily.

He smiles. "Fezes are cool."

Alistair shakes his head. "You must show me the photos, sometime," he says dryly.

They look at each other. "I knew we forgot something."

"No wedding photos," she says with a sigh. "That's terrible."

"Go and stand by the fireplace," Alistair orders abruptly, standing up and shuffling towards the desk in the corner. Confused, they do, and after a couple of moments of rummaging, he pulls out an old, battered camera. "Here we go. I know it's all digital these days, but this still works just fine as far as I'm concerned, and there's a one hour photo place in town. It'll be shut by now, of course, but if you stay the night, we can get it developed in the morning. Now, smile." They stand and pose awkwardly, and Alistair sighs irritably. "Look at each other, for pity's sake."

That's easier. He turns and looks at her, and her eyes sparkle with love and amusement. Sometimes when he looks at her, he thinks he's going to forget how to breathe. Without thinking about it, he reaches out and brushes the hair off her face, and the camera flash passes unnoticed.

It is late and dark and they are outside, sitting on the patio and staring up at the stars.

"Why did you never come with me, Alistair?" he asks quietly.

Alistair snorts with amusement. "Bit late to be asking me that, isn't it?"

He shrugs. "I'd take you anywhere you asked. Always would have."

"I was always needed here," Alistair replies after a moment. "I belong here."

He does. Earth without Brigadier Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart is a colder, darker place, and one the Doctor still can't face just yet.

"Time machine, remember?" he says, more for the sake of arguing than anything else. "I can get you back before anyone knows you've gone."

"I've spoken to enough of your former companions to know that isn't quite the case," Alistair tells him firmly.

"Oy," he protests. "The TARDIS is one hundred percent reliable. Sometimes." He sighs. "It's just...all those times, all those adventures – there's a whole world out there, and it seems as though you only ever got...get...to see the bad things. I just wish you'd seen some of the good things out there. The amazing things."

"I can think of one thing," Alistair tells him, smiling as he looks out to where the moon is rising over the hills.

"Oh? What?" he asks eagerly.

River leans over and takes his hand. "He means you, sweetie," she tells him, with a look that means remember what I told you.

He is loved. Now there would be a quick way to make Alistair uncomfortable. Thing is, that doesn't mean it's not true. His friends have always been the best of him, and Alistair has always been one of the very best.

River holds his hands, and Alistair smiles fondly at him, and the stars are bright and glorious.

They are both dead, he knows that. But he can pretend for a little while longer.

A/N: Thanks for reading, please review.