A/N: Set post-Angels Take Manhattan for the Doctor. I promise the next one is fluffy!

When she returned to Stormcage after her latest escapade, a familiar blue box was waiting just outside her cell.

Silly old man, she grinned to herself. How long had he been waiting for her? She slipped inside, unstrapping her holster from around her hips and tossing it aside. "Sweetie?"

The only response was a faint hum from the TARDIS. Hello, Child. Thief is in your room.

"...my room?"

No, YOUR room.

Ah. Their room. She smiled and patted the console. "Thank you."

Their door swung open silently, which was a surprise. He must have finally oiled it like she suggested after the last time he left to get a snack and the great shrieking of the hinges woke up Amy and Rory. She bit back the cheeky comment about it when she saw him.

The Doctor, in all of his ageless glory, was sitting on their bed with his head in his hands. She couldn't see by his face from where she stood, but by the quiet sounds of sniffing, it wasn't hard to guess he was probably crying. River started towards him, stopping again when he looked up with red eyes. His gaze locked on her, and a heart-wrenching sob tore from his throat. "I'm sorry," he choked, "I'm so sorry, River -"

"What ever for?" She came to sit beside him, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her curls without answering. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

He still didn't respond, just held her a little closer. After a while he spoke, voice low and gravelly from however long he'd been crying. "Stay with me." She tried to look up, to ask him what he meant, but he pressed on. "Whenever and wherever I want, right? So why not right now? Right here?"

"Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Sweetie." She squirmed a little, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You said -" He stopped, let go of her, grabbed her right hand. His long fingers ghosted over her skin, tracing lines only he could see along her wrist and up over the back of her hand, and then he exhaled. "Timelines," he mumbled vaguely.

River stared at him, even more lost now. "What are you doing?"

He shook his head and let go. "I need to get you back -"

"Doctor! You're upset about something; you need someone with you at least. If you don't want me, then get Amy and Rory."

The Doctor tensed, his jaw set and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Of course I want you," he muttered.

"But not this me," she challenged. "Am I right? Not old enough yet? Haven't heard that in a while." When he didn't respond, she moved closer, voice quiet. "I'll have you know I'm plenty old enough to take care of my husband when he's hurting, love. Now come on." She took his hand and stood without offering an explanation.

He let her pull him to his feet and sit him down in the bathroom, his eyes vacant. Whatever had happened to him must have affected him more deeply than most of his adventures.

River Song was smart enough to put the pieces together. She would not ask where her parents were. If she was right, she didn't want to know yet.

The water ran warm over her fingers, so she let it go and dried her hands to help him. He caught her wrist as she untied his bowtie, looking at her with a sudden, helpless sense of urgency. "River," he whispered, "don't ever hurt yourself for me. Do you understand? I'm a rubbish old man. Don't hurt yourself for me." He squeezed his eyes shut and held her palm to his lips, shoulders shaking.

She pulled him close, her other hand rubbing his back as she shook her head. "Okay, Sweetie. I won't."

"And you have to tell me if you do." He let go of her hand and buried his face in her hair. "I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong, River; you have to tell me -!" The frustration in his voice gave way to another choked sob. "Tell me you hate me," he mumbled.

"I don't." She kissed his cheek softly. "You know I don't."

He slowly let go of her, letting her help him into the bath. "Why not? Why does no one listen to me when I tell them they should? If you all love me so much then why don't you ever listen to me?"

She scooped up some water and poured it over his head, leaning on the side of the tub. "Honestly? Because most of your advice is terrible," she told him lightly. She ran her fingers through his hair to wet it down. "Do you love me?"

He looked up and blinked in surprise. "Of course."

"Then if I asked you to hate me, could you do it?"

"I..." The Doctor stared at her for a moment, then slowly dropped his gaze. "No. No, I don't believe I could."

"Then," she said gently, "how could I do what you can't?"

His eyes were growing shiny with tears again, flicking up to her and down with trembling irregularity. He could not say anything.

She leaned over the side of the tub and kissed him, because it was alright. The words would come when he was ready. Right now, he simply needed to cry.