The hospital room is mostly silent, except for the slow, steady beeping and the sound of someone shifting in an uncomfortable chair. Melody shifts, her gaze drifting back to the hospital bed, to her husband. She holds his hand in hers, and traces the wrinkles on his hand.
“Eighty years. Only eighty years old,” she murmurs to him. “You said that you would tell me your story one day. If you wake up I’m going to hold you to that.”
The wait is long, and the hospital issued coffee feels like sand in her throat. Finally, the doctor enters. She stands up in a rush.
“What news?” she asks, but her face doesn't show much hope. The doctor clears his throat.
“Well, he will suffer memory loss, but he will recover. Over time, the memory loss will get stronger, until eventually he might not remember how he got there, but that will take a long time. He’ s awake now.” She was gone in a flurry of activity.
“Doctor,” he whispered. She frowned uncertainly. “Do you want me to go get him?” she asked, concerned.
“No, doctor. That’s what they used to call me.” he answered, and with gentle prompting he began at the beginning.
I was just a five years old the first time they came. They were on the council, and they were so powerful. The weeping angels, my parents called them. They said that they called them that because they were so beautiful and so corrupt that they caused weeping wherever they went. I went to school November 9th. It was a Wednesday, and the church bells were ringing. I remember thinking how beautiful it all looked, glistening with dew. By that night, the bells were broken. The Nazis had gained control, and the war was beginning. The war took my universe and spun it upside down so I did something- something that I will never forgive myself for. I stole a box and ran away. It might not seem like much, but I stole the box that my parents kept full of money and when I ran away, I left everyone that I cared about to be destroyed. .
His voice cracked, and Melody handed him a cup of lukewarm water. He paused, but the comforting feeling of her hand around his persuaded him to keep going.
I don’t remember much of my travels, but I had picked up a little girl. Susan, her name was. She had been my cousin, and I had always felt protective of her. I found her a family, a home. She wanted to come with me, to help me because they couldn't take me too. I left her, and I kept traveling. Then, they caught me. I was fighting for so long, for the very survival of my people. We were put into the camps, and we buried our dead by the thousands. We were being marched when a revolt started. All the guns had been used up, and everyone was just fighting. I saw a mortar nearby. I used it, and I killed them all. All those monsters but all those people too.
“You don’t have to go on,” she said quietly. “We can take a break for today,”. That night she lay fitfully under a thin, brown sheet and thinking about the little boy aged to impossibility. A boy who stole a box and ran away, and a boy who tried to stop the fighting. They started again the next morning.
This story gets a little better here. There was victory in Europe, and I was free at last. Never give up, never give in. There was food and work, and I made my way to the United Kingdom. I was planning to set off for a fresh start in the US when something wonderful happened. The first wonderful thing in my life. I met you.
His gaze turns tender now , and he brushes tears from the corner’s of Melody’s eyes. “I don’t understand,” he says quietly. I don’t remember what I have been telling you happening. It’s like I’m telling it just before I forget it. You’re learning about me as I forget about you. It’s all back to front, like we met in the wrong order.” Her smile is sad and wistful.
Our marriage was beautiful. I wore my best bow tie, and you wore a dress. Do you remember what they best wedding present was that we got?
No, although that was pretty brilliant too. No, the best present was when someone gave me another box. I’d lost my parents in the camp. It was full of money, and it had no name on it. It just had a note that said ‘for services rendered’
I saved it for you, he replied after a pause. Just in case. The money is in a bank account under your name. The box, well… It was bigger on the inside. Just big enough, I’d say, for one last adventure.
“I’m sorry, my love.” The last words ever spoken to him. His response was simple, and strange.
“Until next time, Professor River Song.”
