The console was dark. Clara had traipsed back to her room saying that it was 'evening' by her standards and she deserved a bit of shuteye, and the Doctor wasn't about to argue with her. When he was sure that she was safe and sound, he made his way through the hallways, stroking the walls and supports, murmuring sweet nothings at his lovely old girl. She was still riled from earlier and he was sure that there was a lingering pain from all the mess that had happened. He remembered bits and pieces of what had occurred (or rather, had not occurred) and over time, he was sure that it would all come filtering back to him, some lonely night or another. But Clara had said she was afraid of him. And he had remembered that, so of course he had to check to make sure she felt safe, to make sure that she hadn't remembered anything she shouldn't have.
He halted at the entry way to a large room. His feet felt like lead, and before him stood the Library. Shelves and shelves of books and memories and recordings from every culture and every time. It was magnificent, this go around, and beautiful, with rich dark woods and three stories to boot. The Doctor stepped forward, and the TARDIS hummed low, in a warning tone.
Before him, in the centre of the room was a light. It spot lit a grand looking volume, not a small tome by any means, but even then, it was bigger on the inside. Had to be.
The History of the Time War.
He'd written it himself, and then hidden it, deep within the Library.
"So what on earth is it doing ON DISPLAY!" he yelled, jarring the deep, still silence in the grandiose chamber.
The cloister bell gonged once.
He stepped forwards again and again until he stood before it, an arm's length away. If he reached out his hand, his fingers would brush the embossed leather for the first time since he'd written it, bound it, cut the pages and stretched the leather. Pain uncoiled in his gut and he clenched his jaw shut tight. His eyes stung, but he didn't blink and he didn't move.
"Why? Why would you do this? Why would you let her come in here and open that, that…that horrid book" he spat the words out in distaste. "Why would you let her? WHY?"
The TARDIS didn't answer, and he put out his hand, fingers a hairsbreadth away from the cover, before pulling back, and running both hands over his face with a tired, dry sob. He sank to the floor and nothing made a sound.
"Get rid of it. Please, please, get rid of it, Old Girl. She can't see it again. No one can ever see it. You know that. Not ever, in the history of everything. She saw it. She saw my name. Nearly spoke it! That can't happen, do you hear me? It CAN'T HAPPEN," The Doctor stood as he bellowed out the last words, an angry clanging from the TARDIS echoing in his ears. He stalked towards the door way, screwdriver out.
"Fine. Have it your way then. No one is ever coming in this Library, ever again!" He slammed the doors shut and soniced the lock, which gave a satisfying click, before turning on heel and walking quickly back towards the console, ignoring the persistent chiming and whirring that the TARDIS was making at him.
He never wanted to see the door to the Library again.