This is based partially on one of my favorite Tumblr posts of all time. Someone was asked what each Doctor would say to someone who was suicidal, and the response was phenomenal. Unfortunately, all we'd seen of Twelve at the time was his regeneration scene. After an incident where the Twelfth Doctor helped pull me out of a very dark place, I went back to that post and decided to take the challenge of writing a suicide-prevention Twelve fic myself. I only hope I did the concept justice. Thanks to LizaWithAZed for beta reading.

24-year-old Meg Child had decided that this was the day she was going to die. December 26th, the day after an empty Christmas, street lights casting a sickly yellow glow on the white snow, biting cold from a passing nor'easter. Sitting there with no coat, she hoped it would numb the pain, if there was any. Maybe it would be over quickly. Maybe it would just be a simple thump from the oncoming train and that would be it. It had better be. Still, whatever lay ahead couldn't possibly be worse than what she felt already…or more, what she didn't feel. When you feel like there's nothing left, it's hard to look anywhere other than down. It was certainly all Meg could see. Oblivion seemed so vast and welcoming that it took her a moment to notice the strains of music coming from somewhere else on the platform. It sounded like a slowly approaching guitar. If it was another panhandling musician, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to avoid them. There was no one else there, no one else for them to bother. Well, Meg didn't have any money on her anyway. It took her longer than she expected to place the song, probably because it was a tune she was used to hearing on piano instead. When the music was close enough that a low accompaniment of footsteps could be heard with it, she turned her head ever so slightly to address the player.

"'Don't Stop Believing'? Really?"

"Seemed appropriate, no?" Replied a voice that could only have come over on a trans-Atlantic flight. "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, taking the midnight train going anywhere?"

"Actually, it's the 12:23 to Grand Central. And there's a difference between 'small town' and 'suburbia'."

"Well, aren't you an expert."

"I've lived here my whole life, I'd better be. You sure don't sound like it, though. British?"

"Not exactly, but might s'well be at this point." The stranger played a few more chords from the chorus of the song as Meg took a better look at him. He didn't look terribly different from any other panhandler she saw on the subway. Graying hair, loose-fitting clothes, calloused fingers, a sweater full of holes, and an air of sadness. The only thing that made him stand out, aside from the rather sleek instrument, was the red lining of his jacket. He was close enough now that she could almost smell him, and thank god he didn't stink. In fact, for lack of a better description, she'd even say he smelled…warm. He stopped just behind the bench.

"Your music's nice, but I don't have any money," said Meg.

"Wasn't going to ask for any," said the man. "Just this: why on earth would you want to kill yourself?"

Meg was torn between replying with "how did you know" and "don't you dare…", which came out as "how dare you…"

"How dare I? How dare you! Snuffing yourself out in the prime of your life? Smothering decades of potential? You humans are so fragile and breakable and you don't realize that no one's going to put you back together when it's all over. So why end it now?"

"None of your business," Meg scowled. She wanted to just walk away from this guy, but she couldn't feel her legs too well. The thin yoga pants that covered them just weren't built for post-blizzard weather.

"I'm the Doctor," the man declared, with a curious blend of insistence and reassurance, "life is my business."

A doctor? Meg shivered, but she wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the possibility of being saved…no, she couldn't be saved. Not at this point. She'd already made up her mind. Still, she could feel the tension in her legs begin to lessen.

"Alright," she mumbled, "how did you know?" The Doctor leaned over the bench, resting his elbows on the space next to her.

"Not that hard to figure out, really," he said. "Out here alone with no jacket, no purse, no personal affects but the clothes on your back. Not even pockets for a train ticket. Why do you want to do it?" His voice had gradually softened, but Meg still didn't want to look him in the eye.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"Alright, then what are you a doctor of?"

"Damn near everything," the Doctor stated, matter-of-factly.

"Then you know about clinical depression," said Meg. "Then you know about people like me. We've been on more medications and seen more therapists than we can count, and nothing works. We are the lost. We are the ones who go by unnoticed. The 'quiet ones.' The ones who seem to have everything. I have a loving family who will miss me, and I don't care. I should, and I want to but…I can't. I'm psychologically incapable of seeing a future. Do you have any idea what it's like to look up and see nothing ahead?

The Doctor paused. "I've seen a lot of darkness, and I've felt a lot of despair, and I almost never know my future. But it sounds magnificent, not knowing, doesn't it? Because just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there."

"But how do you know?" asked Meg. "How do you know that something's coming next?"

"Because there's no such thing as nothing until the end of the universe," said the Doctor. "Between now and then, there'll always be something. An egg hatches, a tree falls in a forest, a star dies or is born, light travels billions and billions of light-years across space, never stopping until it hits…something."

"A train blows its horn in the distance," Meg quipped right on cue. A light shone out from an approaching Metro-North far down the southbound track, and Meg stood up.

"…Are you sure?" said the Doctor. Again, Meg refused to face him. Instead, she stepped shakily towards the edge of the platform, suddenly very conscious of her breathing.

"I…just want to go…"

"What's your name?"

"…Meg Child."

"Well then, Meg Child, I'd like to make one last request. I don't know if it takes incredible courage or incredible fear to take one's own life, but I do know that it takes incredible courage to live. I ask you, please, even though it may seem impossible, I ask you to feel something. And, if I may coin a phrase, hold on to that feeling."

Meg didn't turn around to see the Doctor cross over to stand in front of the bench, holding out his hand. She just stood there on the yellow raised bumps that warned passengers they were too close to the edge of the platform. The horn blew again, louder and closer this time, as the light grew brighter and brighter and Meg's mind raced as she grasped for something but she didn't know why because she had already made up her mind to die and the Doctor was begging for something from her after all but it wasn't for him it was for her…

The train barreled past at thunderous speed, spraying Meg with bits of snow from its roof, whipping up a small storm of its own. And then it was gone. The silence was broken by the crunch of footsteps in the snow.

"What did you feel?" the Doctor asked.

"I…" stammered Meg, "I felt…I felt the wind…and I felt the snow. And I felt metal zooming past. Cold…unfeeling…oh god…oh god am I metal?"

"Good!" the Doctor interjected. "Yes, this is excellent! Fear, panic, confusion, they're all feelings! See? You're not as cold and empty as you think, Meg Child!"

"SHUT UP!" Meg exploded. "Just…shut up! Why are you happy that I'm afraid? How is that a good thing? I never even asked for your help! This feeling is…is…"

"…It's something," said the Doctor. Meg just stood there and finally, somehow, she looked the Doctor straight in the eyes. They seemed to have more feeling in them than she had felt herself in the whole past two years of her life. "Meg Child, I'm going to give you advice I barely give myself, but…when was the last time you had a proper catharsis? A chance not just to feel, but to let yourself feel?" He took a few steps closer to her until she could smell that warmth from him again. "Because everyone should have a chance to feel."

Meg felt something rolling down her face, warm until it was chilled by the wintry night air. Then again, more of it. A tiny flood. Her lip trembled violently as she tried to speak again, but all that came out was a mighty wail. In the twinge of dizziness that came in the aftermath of such a burst of emotion, she found herself stumbling forward slightly and burying her face in the Doctor's chest. She heard him mutter something between her sobs about being thankful that he had plenty of clean shirts in the…"TARDIS"? That couldn't be a real word, he must have mean his "car." The Doctor let her empty her anguish onto him for a minute before opting to put a single arm around her shoulders, giving her the briefest of comforting squeezes.

"Doctor…" said Meg, many minutes later when her weeping began to subside, "…can you take me to a hospital?"

"In this century?" said the Doctor. "The American health care system is absolute trash now!"

"I have insurance, I'll be fine…" Meg insisted. "I just…anywhere's better than here."

The Doctor nodded before pulling back to take off his guitar and jacket. "Right, first off, put this on so you don't freeze to death before we get there." He handed Meg the red-lined garment which she wrapped around her shoulders as the Doctor slung his guitar back on. "Have you got a ride? Afraid I don't let just anyone in mine."

They drove to the nearest hospital and got Meg checked in, the young woman too tired, cold, and mentally exhausted to wonder what was on that ID card the Doctor showed to the receptionist to convince her that he was Meg's uncle. In fact, she didn't have time to ask later, or at all. The Doctor was long gone by the next morning, leaving only a note that read, "Hold on to that feeling" with that day's date: December 27th.

She'd made it to another day. And that was something.

The Doctor strolled back inside the TARDIS and paused as the doors closed behind him. Reaching around for his guitar, he played the opening strains of Don't Stop Believing, wondering where to go next.

When was the last time he'd had a proper catharsis?

The End