AN: This is written for the prompt on tumblr: Sympathy. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. It belongs to BBC.
She felt like a fool for thinking he'd let her in after all this time. He didn't want anything from her. That's why he'd stayed to wallow with the letter, while she tried to remind herself that they were nothing but mates. Especially now.
Mickey had offered her sympathy in the beginning. However, the many wonders of the TARDIS soon distracted him from trying to comfort her, and she was left on her own.
She had learned long ago when she was still struggling to please and maintain a "healthy" relationship with Jimmy that when she was alone with her thoughts, doubt would slowly eat her away.
Now, as she lay on her bed in her trinket filled room, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all of her problems, she felt her inner monsters rage inside of her heart.
In the span of half an hour, she went from telling herself that they would survive this and maybe even grow from it to wondering if she should end all suffering now and leave. Promptly deciding that these thoughts were much too dangerous for her emotional mind to try and comprehend at the moment, she exited her room of reminders and wandered.
Despite telling herself she didn't mean to, she always found her feet making their way to the console room. After her fourth time of making up lies to justify her reoccurring location, she finally humored herself with a quick peek in.
He had moved from his position by the console to under it. It was almost comforting to see him in such a familiar pose, fiddling away with who knows what. That is, until he would stop, pick up the now crumpled letter from its spot next to him, and scan it over.
His eyes would go from their usual maniac spark that was mainly there to cover up the scars that came from centuries of seeing too much loss and hurting to a deep melancholy glare at the offending paper as if it caused the aforementioned sights.
She wanted to offer him anything, everything she could, but she knew she would only be met with denial and lies to give her and him false hope. This hurt her so much, and she felt such pain for the lonely angel. And what hurt her even more was that this wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.
He knew how to move past this. He knew how to bury this moment deep and far away to never be pulled out again. It pained her that he had this ability. It pained her even more that he would one day use it again when she blew away like dust in the wind.
Maybe it was a bit vain of her not to want to be forgotten. She found that she didn't care. At this moment, she wanted his, anyone's sympathy and assurance that they would make it. Even if it was a lie.
That moment, however, like all do, passed, and she felt deep remorse for her selfish wish in his time of grief. A soft, strangled gasp wracked her body, and she realized she had started to cry during her dark reflections. It shouldn't be her crying, though, but him. Yet there he sat with only aged eyes and a crushed wad of paper to show for his pain.
With that in mind, she squared her shoulders, took one small breath to calm herself, and entered the console room. He needed her strength, not the other way around, so she would offer him an open ear, an understanding mind, and all the sympathy and support she could muster. After all, he was worth the monsters.