A/N: Once again, my reviewers rock. I love you, too. As for the story, I know, I know. It's dark and angsty. Persevere, dear reader. Persevere. If you've made it this far, you can see the light at the end of the angst tunnel. Probably. Mwahahaha... This is the end of the mega block of posts. It might slow down just a touch after this one.

Assumptions are the termites of relationships. ~Henry Winkler

Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endureth his torments willingly. ~Proverb

I.

She was waiting for an answer. It wasn't what he'd expected. To be honest, he hadn't had any expectations or firm plans when he'd shown up outside her door still feeling the after-effects of her dream racing through him. He didn't have to be a Time Lord to understand that this was one of those moments where everything hung in the balance, where everything turned, a pivotal incident.

Almost think I'd rather have a blaring klaxon in the background, some sort of doomsday countdown rattling on, you know, or be chained to something about to explode with some evil madman laughing in glee, he thought desperately. That sort of thing I'm used to. This, though, this...now I'm in unfamiliar territory... Yet there she sat, so obviously waiting for the right words. He took a deep breath and began.

"Yesterday, when Rory showed up and you pushed me away, I saw how... uncertain... you were about us. And I understand that, Amy. I want you to know that. I do understand how you could be uncertain about it. I mean, this thing we have is a bit unusual to say the least, complicated, and you've been with Rory for a long time, after all..." No, I don't. Okay? I don't see how you could be uncertain about anything that involves comparing what you have with me to what you have with...the Nose. That, that was a whopping great lie. But I'm going to tell it anyway because it seems appropriate at this juncture. Graceful and gentlemanly and noble and appropriate. See how good I am today? How sweet and tame? I'm practically made of spun sugar... Rassilon.

She stirred. "That's what all this is about? You've been in a black funk because you think I chose Rory over you? And you've based this on, what, then? My pulling away from you in the hall?" He nodded, a little uncertain now himself. She looked at him in muted fury. "For someone who is supposed to be so remarkably clever, you are the thickest person I know sometimes, you know that?" And she picked up the pillow next to her on the bed and she hit him with it as a vent for her overwhelming frustration.

II.

He sat in stunned disbelief.

"I'm sorry. Did you just hit me with...a pillow?"

"See how thick you are?" And she hit him again, rising up on her knees to smack the soft instrument with surprising force straight down on top of his head. "Don't even know a pillow when you somebody hits you with one..." She tagged him sideways once more, just for the satisfying feel of it, and sat back again. She was panting slightly from the effort, her eyes slightly wild. His hair stood out at an odd angle and his eyes were wide.

"Feel better?" he asked lightly.

"Some. Might have to do that again in a minute, though."

"Ah. Well, just so I know it's coming, I suppose..." A little grin cracked his serious expression. She felt her own lips curve reluctantly in answer.

"Just before you...ahm...had that moment of catharsis...somewhere along in there did I understand you to imply that you were no longer engaged to young Rory?"

Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened on the pillow again.

"No, Amelia, this is serious to me. Please."

"That's what I came to tell you last night, but you were all busy being Mr. Scary Sword and threatening me."

He winced as though struck again. "Well," he said, holding the lapels of the robe open and peering inside theatrically to reveal nothing more dangerous than oddly-patterned pajamas. "I don't seem to have any weapons on me at the moment...so..." He looked up at her, waited.

She sighed, pulled the pillow into her lap, began to fiddle with the stitching on the edge of the case.

"I took him to the kitchen, made him some tea, and told him...told him...that I didn't want to marry him anymore. He didn't take it very well. I mean, I guess I never expected that conversation to be easy, but the things he said..." Tears shone in her eyes, and she blinked them back, refused them release. No use in crying. No use in crying over any of it. Her fingertips worried the threads of the pillowcase frantically.

The Doctor didn't say anything, but he reached across the small distance and he captured her fidgeting hand in his. He fully expected her to pull away and was deeply gratified when her fingers twined together with his instead.

"What bothered you most about it?" he asked gently.

"That he made assumptions...just like you... only about us. His mighty male logic told him that the reason I was leaving him was because we...because you and I..." She didn't finish the sentence. A tear escaped, and she pulled her hand from his to rub it away angrily.

"I'm tired of that, you know."

"Sure you are. You've every right to be." A pause. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of you two, of the two of you deciding you know exactly what I'm thinking or feeling or wanting or whatever and then going off on dramatic tangents over it. Do neither of you ever think just ask me? You know, open your mouth and put it to the question? Would that be so bloody difficult? Rory sure that I want marriage and babies right away and that tiny village for the rest of my life..."

Here, it must be admitted, the Doctor smirked. Amy saw it unfortunately, and her venting spilled over onto him. She rose up on her knees and she edged closer to him, pushing her finger into his chest.

"...and you every bit as smug, sitting there, every bit as bad, trying to decide my future for me, walking away from me with a bow and a kiss in the hall, giving up on me, on us, on whatever this thing we have is instead of staying to see what might happen next, making me so mad at you I could just spit. And if you ever, ever, ever pull that 'Run' stuff on me again, by all that's holy, I will pick up the first heavy object I can find, and I'll...I'll... bash you with it!"

With her last statement, she shoved him hard, and with a little hiss of pain, he fell over on the bed, his hand coming up to his chest protectively.

Instantly, her anger dissipated, and she scooted over to peer down into his face, holding her long hair back out of her way.

"Doctor? What is it? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to push you quite that hard...I was just so mad..."

"Next time," he panted, "won't complain about the pillow..." He managed a little smile, but it faded.

"I hurt you. Let me see."

"No. Wasn't you. It's fine, Amy. Just leave it. I'm fine now." His voice did sound stronger, but she remained unconvinced. Something wasn't right. He tried to sit up, and she put her hand lightly on his shoulder. For a moment, they had a silent battle of the wills, eyes clashing. Finally he relaxed back against the mattress.

"Fine. But you're worrying over nothing, I assure you."

She poked him lightly in the center of his chest and when he flinched, she gave him a level look. "Oh sure. Nothing. Right."

She began opening buttons on his pajama top and had only undone the first two when she began to see the livid marks on his chest.

"Doctor..."

He was staring up at the ceiling with a stoic expression. She undid the rest of the buttons and found that his torso was covered by several shallow cuts and a couple of deeper gouges all with seared edges as though an extremely sharp hot blade had cut him and cauterized its own wounds at the same time. She knew immediately what had caused the lacerations. For a moment, she just looked at the damage he'd allowed to be done to his body, and she shivered slightly.

"Sit up."

For the first time, he looked at her.

"Amelia," he began.

"You heard me."

He pushed himself into a seated position again with some difficulty, and she slipped the robe and his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders gently. She remembered his ragged and burned shirt from the battle the day before, and she had a theory she wanted to prove... Sure enough, as the clothing slid from his body, more of the burn/cuts were exposed to her view. There were none on his shoulders, but there was a long one on the arm that had held the blade, and one slight one on the off arm as well. His back was free of them, she was pleased to note.

"Are they on your legs as well?" Her eyes met his, and for a moment he just gazed back at her. Then he looked away. She thought for a moment he would not answer.

"No. In the form of swordplay I favor for sport, the legs, the head, and the back are not legal targets. I left those safeties on and didn't let it cheat too much."

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to pull him to her, but to do that would undoubtedly cause him pain. She wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled in that stubborn Time Lord head. He watched the emotions flowing over her face, sensed them from the close proximity they shared.

"All this, all this you did to yourself, all this you allowed to be done, because you thought I'd picked Rory. What did this even accomplish? What good was this even going to do?" She traced her finger near one of the worst, a circular wound the size of a large coin over one of his hearts. She shivered, able to imagine all too well the white fencer's blade thrusting straight in to create it. It must have hurt so badly...

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to him, directly over the slow steady beat of his heart, directly over the gash she knew had to cause him pain. "What good was this going to do? You still don't understand, do you? You want to know why I walked away from you when Rory appeared, why I didn't stay and fight for you or cause some other kind of scene? You don't understand why I went into that room and fought something else instead, gave as good as I got believe it or not, allowed my body to come to physical harm? I did all this because it was the only safe thing, the only good thing I could do then. Because I could destroy myself a little, slowly, cut by cut, and not destroy any-bloody-thing else. And, oh, Amy, I wanted to destroy something else. Someone else. I wanted to." He laughed a little, bitterly. "I could destroy some of the darkness inside myself, some of the monster," she pulled against him, murmured a negation, and he squeezed her hand with his own. "No, Amelia, you know it's here. Didn't you see it? Didn't you have to run from it, just a few hours ago? I could destroy some of that howling worthless beast instead of destroying something more precious, more valuable." He reached out his hand and stroked her hair gently, allowed his fingers to graze her cheek just for a moment before pulling his hand away again. "Because if you'd chosen him, Amy, then that was your rightful choice, and maybe, truly, that was the right choice, too. The one the universe was going to rain down its capricious blessing on. Who am I to stand in the way of that? No matter how much I might want you, need you. So I chose to turn and walk away. It was the one good thing I could do, the only unselfish thing I could figure out how to do, even though it hurt every bit as much as these..."

Tears were running down her cheeks and she pressed her fingers over his mouth. "Stop. Stop it." She could still feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the counterpoint of the other on the other side, under her other hand.

He kissed her fingertips gently, took that hand in his as well and he pulled her down to lay beside him "And now I've made you cry as well. That's the trifecta, isn't it? Come here."

At first she resisted, murmuring, "No, your arms..."

He only smiled and shook his head. "Ah, well... Gingers are a panacea. Didn't you know? Thought everybody knew that... Best medicine in the world." She rested her head lightly on his shoulder, carefully trying not to touch any part of him that might cause him pain. He wound an arm around her loosely. He felt the dampness of her tears continue to touch his skin periodically. For long moments they lay in silence. She gently traced the cut across his heart again.

"Isn't there something you can do for yourself in the TARDIS medi-bay to ease some of the pain or heal it more quickly? It must hurt terribly."

He shook his head. "Type of weapon. The blades are forged with raw psychic power, fueled by emotions. They pack one hell of a wallop with all that behind them. They can cut through almost anything with the right emotion behind them and the right amount of control shaping that feeling. The making of them is, mercifully, a lost art. Only a few races could ever wield them, anyway, and they, for the most part, are long-gone, now, too. Anyway, the damage they do to living flesh doesn't repair easily, even with the technology I have on-hand here. I have a salve I'll put on again later that will help somewhat, but there is no quick fix for this. Fortunately, though, I do tend to heal fairly quickly. The small cuts should be gone pretty fast, probably by this afternoon."

"And the larger ones? This one?"

"It will take me a little time to heal them. Maybe two days. And, of course, should it happen to scar, it will serve as a visible reminder for me to be faster on my feet next time." He smiled, gently.

She looked up at his eyes. "Let's not have a next time."

His smile disappeared, and he looked away. "Ah, Pond. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

III.

They lay together on the bed face-to-face. She'd forced him to get up and turn to lie on the bed properly so their legs weren't hanging off awkwardly. He'd slipped his pajama top back on and left it unbuttoned. She'd shrugged out of her robe before pulling the coverlet over them both.

"I had such a nightmare before you came. It had to be about that place from last night," she told him.

"Will you get angry and try to hit me with something if I tell you that I know about that?" he asked.

She grinned. "Maybe. Try it and see."

He smirked. "Violent to the core, you are sometimes...That's why I came knocking so early this morning, actually."

"Did you really see it, then?"

He nodded solemnly. "Frightful place. Definitely not a holiday spot."

"It really was." She shivered. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him under the covers. She carefully slid her hand around him to hold him in return, grateful for the contact.

"I have to apologize for that as well, I suppose."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, because everything in it was so clearly a product of your run-in with me. The menacing fencer in white with the blazing sword? The wolfish creature in the shadows stalking you? The room with columns where there is no safety and where nothing makes any sense at all? Any of this sounding familiar?"

She snorted. "And don't we have an overinflated sense of self-worth today?" Then she yawned before continuing, turning her face against his shoulder sleepily when it was done before she answered. "No. Really. I'd actually figured out all that for myself, pretty much. But you're wrong about something. You weren't really the wolf in the darkness or the masked figure with the sword. You weren't the scary things in the dream because I'm not afraid of you. Even though you like to think I am and play the heavy at times." Her voice was getting drowsy. Lack of sleep and some mild resolution to the turmoil that had plagued her, even if there was more to discuss later on, was catching up with her.

"Wasn't I? Didn't I appear in this dream at all then? Careful how you answer. You're going to damage my precious ego, Pond." He watched her eyelids droop, flutter, open again.

"Ha. Two armored divisions couldn't damage your precious ego. You were there, actually. You were the thing I was looking for, but I could never find. You were the goal of my quest, the only good thing in all that nightmare."

Their heads were so close together. He looked at her sleepy green eyes and at the earnestness he saw in them. He looked down for a moment at the lips that were so near his own. He thought about it for long moments, saw her bite her full bottom lip gently and release it, and he sighed softly, decision made. He leaned across the scant few inches separating them and he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Sleep, Pond. You're almost gone now, anyway. I'll be right here to keep the other monsters away. Should they drop in again while you're dozing, I'll tell them they're poaching my private reserves."

She snorted and snuggled against him. "Silly Doctor. Don't you know you're supposed to be the hero of this bit?"

He stroked her hair back from her forehead gently, tucking it behind her ear, listening to the sound of her breathing falling into slumber and simply choosing to call the little touches of pain from where she was pressed against his wounded body too tightly another kind of happiness. Because at least we're together. Some things are all in how you see them after all. What's that line from Hamlet? There's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so? I guess I'll take that as my new motto... If you believe that, then pain can be a blessing sometimes, I suppose. Much in the same way a selfish old monster can be a hero if you look at him in the right way. And I'll be one for you, Amy. No matter what it costs me. I'll be one for you...

And yes. I know you're thinking, "four chapters of update and NO PIE!" Look. I've gotten them through a major fight, back in a bed and in their pajamas. I'm getting there. I'm getting there. These things have to happen slowly... You've had swords, nightmares, monsters, breakups, fear, humor, and pillow fighting. What else do you want? (yeah. I know. I know...)