A/N: I actually wrote this a long while ago, but I wrote it in one go late at night and so I completely forgot about it and then just found it again. It's written from the POV of the TARDIS during Death in Heaven, after the Doctor doesn't find Gallifrey and before he meets Clara at the end of the episode. Sorry for the sadness...I had a lot of feels when I was writing this. Enjoy! :)

I watched as the Doctor came walking as slow as death into the console room. My heart squeezed as he stepped into the light. The look on his face matched the thoughts in his mind: defeat. My poor, poor Doctor.

He didn't look at me like he usually did. Instead, he kept his eyes downcast as he made his way down the stairs underneath my console. I could feel his guilt as if it were my own.

I gently nudged his mind, but he promptly pushed me away. I let out a tired whirr, trying to get his attention. He hadn't given me so much as a glance since he had hurt me.

"I know."

It was the first time he had spoken in a long while.

"I know you're hurting and I'm sorry."

I attempted once more to push into his head. I wanted to yell at him and tell him that I wasn't mad. Yet, I was sure he knew what I was going to say, so he pushed me out yet again. My time lord always loved to wallow in self-loathing.

The Doctor's shoes creaked as he walked wearily back up the steps, back hunched and limbs slack as if he carried some heavy weight on his shoulders. A distinct clinking noise sounded from within a large box he grasped in one hand.

If I could purr, I would have done so with delight. He was going to fix me. I always hated being broken, feeling wires and scraps of metal dangling off of me.

With a great sigh, the Doctor set down the toolbox next to my console. He lowered himself to his knees and examined the damage, gently poking and prodding as if he were afraid to hurt me.

Finally, he reached for an item from his toolbox and started working. While he was distracted, I finally pushed myself into his consciousness.

It's not your fault.

He paused and sighed before continuing to set a wire back in place. I knew you would say that.

I sighed, which sounded as a low hum throughout the room. If he were properly angry, he would be talking out loud.

You know I'm right, Doctor. You need to stop hurting yourself.

"Hurting myself?" he murmured, chest rising and falling at a faster rate. His hand clutching the tool began to turn white.

I cringed as I realized my mistake.

"Can't you feel what I've done to you?" he yelled, his voice echoing throughout the room.

It's not bad, I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. I've experienced much worse.

His jaw taut, he continued working silently.

The phone rang.

Neither of us even flinched at the unwelcome noise. I beeped in gratitude and shock as I felt who it was.

It's Clara, I told him.

He paused again, even straightened and set down his tool. He stared at the phone on my console.

Do you want me to pick it up for you?

"No," he answered immediately, his tone sharp. The echoes of "no" around the console seemed to amplify the finality of his single word reply.

I wanted to pick up the phone. As much as I hated that little walking paradox inside of me, the Doctor needed her now. She was probably the only one who could talk any sense into him. But I couldn't disobey him, not now when he was so broken.

The ringing stopped. She would leave a message. She always left a message.

The Doctor never said I couldn't play it.

I turned on the speakers, and Clara's voice filled up the room.

"Hey, Doctor."

He froze. I wondered if he was surprised to hear her voice, or if he was as shocked at the forced cheeriness in her voice as I was.

"I…er…I have some things to tell you. We just need to talk. Coffee sound okay? Just…let me know when."

There was a pause, like she wanted to say more, but then the line went dead.

A wave of sorrow swept through the Doctor's mind. He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the edge of my console. It was moments like these that made me wish I had arms to wrap around him and a real voice to soothe him with.

What's wrong? I asked gently. I had thought that Clara's voice would cheer him up, if only the tiniest bit.

As if he didn't have the strength to even speak, he directed a string of thoughts toward my mind. They were pictures of a scenario that, in his mind, was paired strongly with emotional pain.

No! My exclamation made the Doctor lurch backwards, as if I had hit him with a shockwave. Doctor, I forbid you to do that!

"Who are you, my mum?" he growled.

How does that make any sense at all, Doctor? I shouted. You'd only be hurting yourself!

He was silent for a moment. His face crumpled in sadness, he sat up and placed his head in his hands. But if it means that she's happy, that she has a better life…it's worth it.

My Doctor. Compassionate to a fault. So selfless, sometimes, that it took my (metaphorical) breath away.

You don't have to do it. She would understand. She would help you-

That's the point. He leaned back so that he was lying flat on the ground, hands behind his head. His eyes closed and he let out a long sigh. She'd feel like she had to take care of me when she should be spending time with her no-longer-dead boyfriend. She felt him steel himself against another cloud of gloom. I know there's no place for me in her life with Danny, and I've accepted that now.

Forever? I exclaimed. You want to leave her for good?

Of course I don't want to leave her. I'd find the Fountain of Youth or break the laws of science so that she could stay with me forever. But it never happens, does it? It always ends up with just me and you, old girl. It's time I let Clara Oswald live her own life.

I was seething. How could he do this to himself? to his poor human companion that he loved so dearly? Nothing good could ever come from this lie.

Please, I whispered. Please don't do it, Doctor.

He ignored me. He picked himself off the ground and grabbed his tools again, gently mending me with practiced hands. "You can't go anywhere in this state. I'll have to fix you up before I can meet her."

A pity, really, or else I would have taken him somewhere to bring him to his senses. But now, all I had were my words.

I tried once more. Doctor, please.

He continued working in silence.

My poor, poor time lord. So convinced that others could have their happiness only at the expense of his. How could only two hearts hold all the grief he carried?

If I could shed tears, Doctor, I would shed them for you now. I gave his mind a gentle, affectionate nudge. I just want you to be happy.

He reached up to pat the edge of the console. I know. But I've learned, he said with a heavy mental sigh, that happy is one thing I'll never be.