Author's Note:

A warning, again: This contains material that may be triggering to some. If you are triggered by mentions of Self-harm: stop, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

If not sit back, relax, grab a blanket and some snacks and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, unfortunately. (Also: I am not familiar with Classic Who, so if my ignorance is showing, I'm terribly sorry. I'll try to make it up to you somehow.)

What I Deserve

The TARDIS was quiet. Strange, for a time machine that served as transport to the most active man in the universe. Usually, it was a whir of lights and sounds and vibrations, the Doctor and his companions laughing as they careened through time and space without not a care in the world.

Tonight, however, the Doctor sat alone; his companions slumbering after a particularly dangerous adventure. One they had very nearly died on.

And he blamed himself.

He sat with his back to the control desk, bow-tie undone and tweed jacket laying discarded on the floor, feeling older than ever.

"They could have died." He thought to himself. "Amy, Rory… I could have gotten them killed. I just had to get involved in the most ruthless political elections in the Universe and drag them into the middle of it. Of course I did."
Guilt tugging at his hearts, he sighed.

The three of them had been headed for a peaceful beach planet for some long-overdue relaxation when the TARDIS had hiccoughed, for lack of a better word, and landed on a planet in a neighboring solar system. The inhabitants—tall, lanky scaled creatures with highly-advanced intellects—were right smack dab in the middle of electing their supreme dictator. Of course the Doctor hadn't been able to resist poking his nose in all their interesting business. A few snips of the proverbial scissors and they had broken through the red tape and discovered the cult that was rigging the elections in order to ensure their control over the planet's religion. Confident as usual, the Doctor had attempted to expose them to their people, but the kidnapping of his companions and their subsequent torture had shocked all of his trademark bravado out of him.

After a daring escape that was barely successful, they had managed to get back to the TARDIS and lift off before the cult had sacrificed them to their gods. The Doctor had wordlessly crossed to the controls, avoiding his companion's worried faces as they made their way to the medical bay.

He hadn't wanted them to see how scared he was.

How scared he still was.

He slammed his fist down onto the floor. "Why did I have to be so stupid? I should've just gotten out—just gotten them safe. But I didn't. And now they're hurt."

Images of Amy's arms and legs and face decorated with angry, red welts and burns swam before his eyes and he squeezed them shut, shame rising within him. He had done that to her—and to Rory. Maybe he hadn't been the one holding the weapons, but he had done it. However indirectly.

They had to go. He had to take them home before something worse happened-before he actually got them killed. Nausea washed over him as he realized how close he had gotten to doing just that. Too close.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He murmured softly, pressing the heels of his palms against his tired and bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry for what happened. For everything that I did… Everything I have done… to all of you." He drew a shaky breath as faces appeared in his mind.

Martha... Donna... Jack... Rose... River... Rory... Amy...

He thought of their eyes; how they had lit up when he showed them something exciting and wonderful. How they seemed to do things just to impress him, and how it always did, even if he didn't show it. He saw their faces when he had hurt them, or betrayed them, or rejected them, abandoned them. How even though he was guilty of terrible things, they forgave him and loved him anyway. "You're the Doctor," they had said, with their eyes if not their words, "you're you. Of course we forgive you—how could we not?"

"I don't deserve any of you." He said in a tortured whisper. "I never did. I'm not worthy of your admiration or your respect or your love. I deserve to be alone."

A thought nudged his mind—a memory of something almost forgotten. Something from his younger, less controlled days after the Time War... Before he had met Rose. His eyes were drawn to a tiny compartment under the console. He reached forward, the metal of the handle cool under his touch. Reaching inside his hand slowly curled around a small object, familiar even after all this time. He drew it out and uncurled his shaking fingers. The surface of the small knife still gleamed, the smooth handle feeling both alien and hauntingly friendly in his hand. He bit his lip. It had been years.

Years of self-control and struggling to withstand the temptation. So long that he had almost forgotten. His body offered no reminders—the scars had disappeared with each regeneration. But his mind remembered.

Determination setting his jaw he pulled his left shirt sleeve up, exposing his forearm. He sat there, staring at his pale skin, the knife poised in his hand. "I deserve this. After everything… I deserve it."
He laid the slender blade on his wrist, closing his eyes as he prepared for the release that would come when he drew it over his flesh.

"You better not be about to do what I think you're about to do."

His eyes flew open and he guiltily hid the knife behind his back as he looked up at Amy. She looked furious and terrified, standing at the top of the stairs in her nightgown. The Doctor tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come and he looked away, unable to meet her flashing eyes. She marched down the stairs, her flaming hair billowing in her wake, and came to a stop in front of him.

"Give it to me."

She said the words quietly, but they rang in his ears. Hesitantly, still unable to meet her gaze, he withdrew his hand from behind himself and opened it. She took the blade gently and looked at it for a moment before throwing it behind her. The Doctor winced as it bounced against the wall with a sharp clang. Amy looked at him, her expression gentler this time.

"Why?"

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain he heard in her voice.

"Answer me, Doctor. Why?"

"Because I deserve it." He spat bitterly, self-loathing rising within him like bile. "Because I'm a failure and a monster and I can't even protect my friends. I'm weak, Amy."

Amy knelt down next to him. He could feel her eyes searching his face but he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, knowing that if he looked at her the wall he had built around his emotions would shatter. There was a pain in his chest; sharp and poignant as his own words repeated themselves in his mind.

"Weak... Failure...Monster."

"What's the point of you?"

"Look at me." Amy said softly. The Doctor didn't respond. Warm fingers touched his chin, gently turning his head to face her. A thumb caressed his cheek.

"Doctor, look at me. Please."

He opened his eyes and met hers. The fear and compassion in her eyes was too much for him. He blinked and tried to turn away from her again, but she held him in place.

"You are not weak." She said. He chuckled bitterly and his eyes dropped. "No, listen to me," She continued, shaking him slightly. "You are not weak. You are not a failure. And you, Doctor, are not a monster. Daleks are monsters. Weeping Angels are monsters, those things that trapped us and hurt us back there are monsters, but you—you are the furthest thing from a monster I've ever met."

"I wish I could believe you, Amy." He said in a hollow voice, "But I can't. I've done too many terrible things. I've hurt too many people. Let too many people down."

"What could you have done that was so terrible?" She asked incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief. He reached up and took one of her hands from his face, gesturing to the bandages that now covered the ugly burns on her arm. "Well this, for starters." He said bitterly before brushing her other hand off and standing up.

She laughed.

"Doctor, you don't actually think I blame you for what happened back there, do you?"

"It was my fault, wasn't it?" He muttered darkly as he leaned over the TARDIS console, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the edge.

"It most certainly was NOT your fault!" Amy said forcefully. "You weren't the one who captured us—you weren't the one who hurt us."

"Well I might as well have been." He snapped, turning back to face her. "I'm the one who dragged you both along with me, I'm the one that stuck my nose where it didn't belong, and I'm the one who got you captured and almost didn't save you in time. You could have died, Amy!" He was practically shouting now.

"But I didn't."

"Beside the point." He muttered, staring at his hands. "Just… give the knife to me and go back to sleep, Pond."

She laughed bitterly and crossed her arms over her chest. "You think I'm stupid? You think I'd just hand that evil thing back to you and then be able to sleep? I'm not ever letting you touch it again."

"But I want it!" He bellowed. "I deserve it! Pain is a fitting reward for everything I've done! You've never had to experience all the things I've experienced. You've never had to destroy and entire race—your entire race! And you, Amelia Pond, have nothing you can say to me. You don't understand. You're only human, after all."

Amy blanched at the unbridled venom in his voice before steeling herself and answering him, keeping her voice calm. "Doctor not every little bit of pain in this universe is your fault—"

"But that is." He said in a low, shaky voice as he pointed to her bandaged limbs.

"I told you, Doctor, I'm fine. We're both fine. You saved us just like you always do."

He winced. There it was again. Why did they all trust him so completely?

He turned away from her, his shoulders sagging as he gazed out the TARDIS window, his anger spent. "You shouldn't do that." He said softly.

"Shouldn't do what?"

"Trust me. Admire me… " His voice sank to a whisper, "Love me."

He heard the soft shuffle of her bare feet over the floor and felt a warm hand touch his shoulder. He looked at her, and the sadness in her eyes made his hearts ache.

"Oh Doctor. Oh my sweet, fantastic, brilliant, beautiful raggedy Doctor, you are an idiot."

He blinked. And then she pulled him towards her and wrapped her arms around him. He felt the wall within him crack, and hot tears stung his eyes as she stroked the back of his head softly. He relaxed into her, gripping her shoulders as the tears spilled out, cascading down his cheeks unchecked.

"Everything is going to be alright," She murmured into his ear as he shoulders shook. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither is Rory. Nothing you could do or say would make us love you any less, because you are amazing and incredible and fantastic and my best friend—my Raggedy Doctor."

She held him as he cried, the tears bringing a release that pain never could. Only after his silent sobs had stopped did Amy release him, gently brushing the last of the droplets from his cheek.

"Better?" she whispered, a small smiling lighting her face.

"Thanks to you." The Doctor said.

"Good." She sighed, relief appearing in her eyes.

He kissed the top of her head softly. "You should get some sleep, Pond."

"Only if you'll be here when I wake up."

He chuckled. "I will."

"Promise?" her green eyes were serious as she searched his face.

He smiled. "On fish fingers and custard."

She smiled back and gave him one last quick hug before climbing the stairs. Pausing at the top, she looked back down at him. "Goodnight, Doctor. I'm always here for you—remember that."

"Goodnight, Amy. Thank you for… for everything."

She nodded once and walked away.

When she had gone, the Doctor turned towards the console. He strode to the wall and stopped next to the small object that lay there. Picking it up, he examined the small knife for the second time that night. Clenching it in his fist, he crossed to the TARDIS door and opened it.

The coolness of space rushed into the room and he looked out for a moment before returning his gaze to his closed hand. Releasing his fingers, he idly bounced the blade up and down a few times. Disjointed temptations touching his mind, and suddenly he stopped the movement in his hand. Drawing his arm back, he threw the knife as hard as he could, watching it float away through the emptiness for a moment before closing the wooden door.

He felt light. Happy, even, as he walked over to his crumpled jacket and picked it up off the floor. Slinging it over his shoulder, he looked around at the dark control room of his ship; the TARDIS quiet once again. He laid his hand gently on the console. "Her room is all the way down the corridor. There's no way she could've heard me." He murmured, looking up at the glass cylinder with a gentle smile. After a moment of silence, he patted the surface lovingly.

"Thanks, dear."

The TARDIS hummed softly and the Doctor's smile deepened. He gave the console one last pat and took a deep breath before leaping up the stairs.

He wasn't perfect. Not even close. Sure he had made mistakes, sure he had hurt people. But ultimately he had been there for his friends when they needed him most, and that would never change. They hadn't ever given up on him, and he would never give up on them.

Because they deserved that much, at least.