So.

I am awash with buckets of tears after the premiere of The Angels Take Manhattan.

And, as always, when I'm in pain: you all must follow me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or anything associated with it. All rights to Doctor Who and affiliated products belong to the BBC and the other proper entities.

Summary: She presses her shaking hand to her mouth and tries not to fall apart. "Never let him see the damage," she'd told her mother.

Rating: G

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Spoilers for The Angels Take Manhattan

Collateral

The warm water washes over her bare skin.

She presses her shaking hand to her mouth and tries not to fall apart. She's deliberately chosen a bathroom deep into the belly of the TARDIS to prevent the Doctor from accidentally stumbling across her, coming back from wherever it was he'd left her mother's afterword. Of course, she has a feeling that the TARDIS will allow her to hide for a little while anyway—she's always protected River in this way.

She tries not to go to pieces. The Doctor, just after losing a companion as beloved as Amy, is a dangerous thing, and she knows it. The stories that he told her of his last incarnation, after losing Donna Noble, had set a chill in her bones. Of course, she's never judged him for such a thing (to do so would be hypocritical, considering some of the things she's done in he lifetime), but she often hopes she never meets him at that stage of his life.

"Never let him see the damage," she'd told her mother, just under an hour ago. A mother that, unless she slips back into the days of his travelling with Amy and Rory for a second time, she can never see again without risking shattering the city.

It helps—it really does help—that she knows that they were alive and together, and that (she hopes) they lived long, full lives. But it still doesn't soften the blow of losing two of the only three people who have ever truly loved her for exactly who and what she is. And the Doctor is in no state to comfort her and they both know it.

So she presses the skin of her bare back against the chilly tiles of the sterile white bathroom stall, her skin erupting in goosebumps as she covers her face with her hands. She hears the sobs echoing around the tiles, but chooses to pretend that the inhuman noises are coming from something outside of herself. That way she can cry for as long and as hard as she likes, without ever acknowledging that it occurred.

She knows that she can't stay in the shower forever, but as long as the only sounds in the world are the echoes of her own misery and the soft patter of the water from the shower, she can pretend for a little longer that she doesn't have to go out there and hold it together. Maybe, if she sees an older Doctor, later on, she will cry with him. Once he's had time to absorb the blow and reduced it to a dull sting in his hearts, she will go to him and he will know exactly what to say to stop her heart twisting in her chest just so.

For now, the Doctor is the one that needs looking after—she'll allow herself this, and then no more. Not until she's alone, or with an older Doctor. Because a grieving Doctor is a dangerous Doctor, and her mother had told her to look after him. That includes protecting him and others from himself—he doesn't need to look back on himself in a few years time and see a gaping trial of devastation in his wake.

"Never let him see the damage," she mutters to herself, a little bitterly, voice thick. "And if you can, don't let him cause it to others."

I propose we start a Doctor Who Trauma Ward. I'll be the first patient.

Thanks for reading, reviews are love.

Sparkly Faerie