"That is my name, yes," Reinette murmured, knowing that such was only partially the truth. The name was an old one, a childhood fancy of her father's. It was still fresh, and treasured, which she boldly shared it with the Doctor. Yet now, as a woman, no one else called her by that except him.

But with the Doctor, she could be no one else but Reinette.

She moved to a sitting position, hips brushing his own as she studied him through the filtered light. Nails traced over skin as she wondered if this was what fifteen years must feel like for everyone. She caught his hand, fingers lost into the warm corner of her mouth? And that? Is it what they years should taste of?

Or what it just them.