Summary: "Centuries and leagues of grief and rage and regret later, he stares at his knees in the TARDIS and hates himself all over again.

All he does is hurt her."

Notes: In some ways, this might be a companion piece to "The Angels have bowed down to you and drowned", though though it came from a more meta-y place.

Rated: K

sticks and stones and words and bones

And then he remembered the vow he made, so long ago now, after his first visit to Utah. They'd been keeping secrets from him and he'd been so cross. The storm whipping low back in his mind and edging closer. But there was no proper enemy, nobody to loose the storm on - just Amy and Rory, looking heartbroken and wretched. And River. River, who hid her emotions behind an impenetrable mask. River and her secrets.

The storm had lashed at his tongue and he let it. He hurt her. On purpose. Because she was there and she could take it and he knew she would. Because he could.

The look she gave him cut him worse than any words. Disappointment and resignation. And he'd been horrified with himself in a way that still lingered.

He wasn't a fool - oh, far from it - he knew who she would be to him. She loved him, even when she slapped him, even when he said horrible untrue things to her just because he could and she knew it - all he ever saw in her eyes was love. A love so fathomless that he shied away from it with racing hearts. He had seen what lengths it would drive her to and he ran - whether to keep her from ever falling for him or to save himself from loving her and losing her just the same - he could never admit, even to himself.

But was that who he was? In her past, they loved one another - were probably, almost certainly married - and yet she did not look surprised. Just resigned. Was that the kind of man he was? Of husband? To lash out at her just to hold back the tide of his own rage? Just because he knew she would not crumble under the weight of it?

Later, when he found her to try and apologize - explain - beg her to run away from him - and she laughed with eyes like a steel lockbox and told him he was right not to trust her - unless you have handcuffs, sweetie - the Doctor promised himself.

Never again.

He would never again hurt her just because he could. It wasn't rewriting - just, editing. He was a Time Lord - he could do that. And the next time they stood in the TARDIS in that same moment, she would be surprised - not resigned.

Centuries and leagues of grief and rage and regret later, he stares at his knees in the TARDIS and hates himself all over again.

All he does is hurt her. By killing her. By forgetting her. By dying. By marrying her. By costing her her parents - twice. By not being a better husband.

Once again - not nearly the first time - he has lashed out and raged against her because there was no one else to blame and the storms in his mind were threatening to drag him under. All his fault, they whisper, insidious, and they're right. And River lets him rage against her and the universe - a solid fortress against which his fury crashes and is driven asunder - weakened against her calm acceptance, her soft reassurances, her brash humor.

Her love heals him, and all he does is hurt her.

His River.

She hides the damage too well - his damage - and he doesn't know that he deserves her forgiveness even though she gives it anyway. Always and completely.

She said goodbye to her parents and comforted him. She broke her own wrist and comforted him. Oh, he feels her bones cracking as though they were his own. He couldn't bear to break her wrist with his own hands, and he couldn't bear losing Amy, so he stupidly - childishly - left her to escape on her own. Because she was River Song. She stopped time and escaped Stormcage and rode a vortex manipulator through a time storm. He never for one second doubted that she would do this for him - escape unscathed with only one hand and his sonic.

He was a fool after all. If he'd stayed, together, they would have found a way to make the angel let go. Or maybe it was never going to let go, but he would have been there with her, no matter what broke. She wouldn't have had to hide so much from him - for him. River rewrote time for him because he asked it of her - demanded it of her. All these years and he still took for granted the lengths she would go to for him. The lies she told to soothe him.

Years ago, back at each of their beginnings together, they vowed to forgive, always and completely - to never leave such precious time together cross. But they were still cross - behind slammed TARDIS doors and the sizzle of the vortex manipulator. He hadn't realized that they'd really just promised to pretend - to hide the damage and lie in case it spared the other equal pain - even though he really should have known.

River had lied to his face. No spoilers. She had lied about her wrist and she had lied about being fine. Her parents were gone - just like that. And River was so very far from fine that she felt she had to lie about it - hide the damage.

Did she really think him so fragile? Had he really spent so much time running that River thought he'd run from her? Or had he unwittingly made the rules for both of them?

Rule number one.

The Doctor lies.

And never more so than to River. He has been more honest with her than with anyone else in any universe, and there has still been so much damage to hide. Grasping at clever lies to hide her death from behind his eyes at their every meeting and parting. Spoilers.

The Doctor pushes himself wearily to his feet and traces her path deeper into the TARDIS. He follows the breeze of her perfume and sadness and time and, just this once, he doesn't even try to hide the damage. He will hold her until she rages and cries and lets him comfort her, and he won't hide the damage - not from River. Not this time.

"River," he breathes her name and makes a vow all over again.