It was quiet. The only sound filling the air was the soft humming of the TARDIS as she drifted lazily through the stars. The Doctor stood silently at the central console, gazing sadly at his wife. She was sat at the open doors of the TARDIS, her legs dangling out over the edge, her head leaning heavily against the doorframe, looking out at the stars and planets around them. She was crying. He couldn't hear her, she had mastered the art of hiding her emotions, especially when she was hurt, but he could feel it. He could feel her grief taring at his own breast, and he hated it. He hated to see her like this, she who was so strong, now so broken. And what he hated even more was that she felt she had to hide it from him.
He walked up behind her and sat, wrapping his long arms around her drawing her into his embrace. She let him, resting her head against his chest, closing her eyes against a fresh bout of tears.
"I'm so sorry River," he said quietly. "I should have tried harder. I should have found a way to save them."
"There was nothing you could do," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "They saw the grave stone. It became a fixed point in time."
"We've changed fixed points before," he said. "I should have changed this one."
"Oh stop it! Stop telling me you could have changed things. It only makes it worse." He sighed heavily and River turned so that she was looking into his old eyes.
"I can't console you any more," she said, her voice shaking with the effort of maintaining her composure. "I can't keep telling you that it's okay because it isn't." Despite her best efforts tears were rolling freely down her face, her bright green eyes swimming in sorrow. "I don't blame you my love," she said. "But I can't always be the strong one. Doctor I don't think I can do it any more." He pulled her into his arms once more and she wrapped her own around him, sobbing into his chest as her last defences came crashing down, and three days worth of mourning came tumbling out at once.
"Then don't," he whispered. "Let me." He held her as she cried, his two hearts crying with her to see her so defeated. But wrapped in his long protective arms she felt safe. Eventually, the sound of her crying subsided until, finally, it was replaced by the soft sound of her deep rhythmic breathing as, exhausted, she fell asleep.
Carefully he scooped her up into his arms and (after closing the Tardis doors with a snap of his fingers) he carried her down the hall way to their bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed, pulling a blanket over her and brushing aside a run away curl. He settled him self besides her, silently studying her sad sleeping face. Tear tracks still marked her cheeks, and her long black eyelashes were wet with tiny water droplets waiting to be freed. It broke both his hearts. Silently, he vowed never to give her cause to feel this kind of sorrow again. He would protect her with everything he had. After all, he had to protect what little time they had together.
