Chapter Text
Sitting on the floor in his room, The Doctor kept his left arm propped up on his knee. He leaned his head against the bed behind him as he fiddled with the box cutter in his right hand, and stared at the dry blood that stuck to his left arm. It was getting itchy now as it dried. The fact that he was disappointed that the bleeding had stopped made him feel sick. He knew that the joy his own pain and blood brought him was disturbing. No one should think like that. But so many did, including himself.
"How could I have come back to this?" he whispered as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling. Tears began to slip down his cheeks as he thought of the time he had been cutting himself regularly.
It was on Christmas Eve of all days, just after Adelaide Brooke's suicide. The woman he had met on Mars who was supposed to die. It was a fixed point in time. He wasn't allowed to change it, but he did. He decided that the rules of the Time Lords no longer applied to him and saved three lived that should have ended that day.
It was worse then torture for him to stand back and allow people to die when he knew he could save them. He had seen enough death in his life. Maybe history would change, but perhaps in a good way, he thought. He was so wrong. Adelaide berated him for interfering with history before stepping into her house and killing herself. He heard the gun fire from outside and knew what happened instantly.
Suicide is a cruelest cause of death. The most horrendous of murders. And The Doctor was guilty of causing it. He had gone too far. Adelaide Brooke had killed herself on Christmas, when she could have died a hero, stopping the water on Mars from invading Earth. And it was his fault. Always his fault!
He had to resist lashing out at his arm again as the rage he felt towards himself as the emotions of that moment resurfaced. But the memories kept coming...
The events that followed were too hectic for The Doctor to have time to harm himself again, but it had crossed his mind on a few occasions. After all, he had made quite a habit out of it over the years whenever he journeyed alone, which was more often then he would have liked.
Then the day he dreaded came, and he regenerated to what he called "Eleven". His eleventh regeneration, (not counting The War Doctor or his second regeneration as "Ten"). His current body.
He made a friend as soon as he crash landed, named Amy, and watched her grow up in a single day due to some time travel complications. They caught prisoner Zero together, and before he knew it, he had a new companion. That was when he made the decision. He liked to call it a New Body Resolution. This eleventh body would not suffer from self inflicted wounds.
A resolution he kept for so long... until the suicide of Rosanna the Saturnyn he met in Venice triggered it once again. From a certain point of view, her actions were far from selfish, albeit unethical. She only wished to preserve her race, a motive he could understand. And The Doctor had hoped he could help her with her predicament once he had stopped her from genetically transforming human girls into Saturnyn as wives for her sons. But he never got the chance as she plunged to her death, devoured by her own children. But not before placing the weight of the extinction of her entire species on his shoulders. A weight that he couldn't bare.
He broke his resolution that night, and he hadn't stopped since. Now here he was, years later, slicing up his wrists, and he wasn't even alone on the TARDIS at the moment. He had picked up Amy and Rory a few days ago and they had been on several fairly successful adventures already. Minimal casualties. But that wasn't enough. There were casualties, regardless of the number. People died, and it ate holes in his hearts everyday. Every moment, every second, images of those who he should have been able to save flashed in his mind. Only the sight of his own blood could ease the burden.
His punishment... His escape...
It was what he knew he deserved and hated. But still wanted and loved.
Pushing himself off the floor, The Doctor walked into his bathroom and washed the blood off. It stung as he rubbed his forearm to remove his dried blood, a feeling he learned to appreciate. Still he hurriedly washed it away, knowing it wouldn't be long before the Ponds woke and went looking for him. After he was clean, he pulled on his shirt, jacket, and bow tie, then strolled out into the control room, forcing a smile onto his face.
~:~/p>
"Ah, there you are, Doctor," Amy greeted him as he entered the control room. She was sitting in the jump seat with a cup of tea in her lap. "I was surprised when I woke up and you weren't here. Where were you?"
"I was in my room," The Doctor replied stepping over to the council and turning on the computer screen. "I figured I could use some rest while the computer ran a diagnostic on the TARDIS," he said skimming through the results. He lied allot, but he hated the way that one tasted as it left his mouth.
"So you do have a room!" Rory exclaimed as he hopped down the stairs. "And here I thought Time Lords just never slept." He sat beside Amy on the jump seat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
"Don't be ridiculous. Time Lords need rest just like any other race... Just not for as long."
"Well, I've yet to see it," Amy laughed.
"Of course you have!" The Doctor said taking his eyes of the screen to look at them. "You didn't actually see me sleeping, but you saw the evidence of it in that dream we all shared. Remember?"
Amy's eyes lit up as she remembered. "Yes! That's right. Of, course. Well, Rory, I guess we have our answer."
"He couldn't have been there if he wasn't sleeping," Rory nodded as he thought back to that totally messed up dream. His eyes then became distant as the memories came flooding back. 'So what do you do to stave off the self harm?'
"Why didn't we think of that. It was staring us in the face," Amy laughed at herself before taking a sip of her tea. "And here we were, staying up late, discussing the biological technicalities of an alien that never slept. Observant lot, we are."
"Oh, don't beat yourself up about it," The Doctor waved dismissively. "People make mistakes, miss the obvious--You're only human."
"Oi! Only human? What's that supposed to mean?" Amy asked defensively, but the playful grin on her face implied she wasn't too offended.
The Doctor smiled back, "Nothing. Nothing at all. All I'm saying is humans have a tendency to be a bit... thick! Not very observant. Dull... What's another word for stupid?" He asked with a smirk.
As The Doctor made his way below the control room to do some repairs, Amy rolled her eyes not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer. In doing so, she caught sight of her husbands distant and thoughtful face.
"What's wrong with you?" She asked nudging his side a bit to get his attention.
Rory snapped out of his trance. "Nothing. I was just thinking, but it's nothing."
"Don't lie to me."
Rory met her stern eyes, then bit his lower lip and glanced around. The Doctor had just vanished to the floor below, and could be seen through the transparent portions of the flooring, sitting in his little swing and making repairs.
"It's about The Doctor," he whispered. "And something I noticed awhile back. It's been bothering for awhile, and the more I think about it, the more I think it's true."
"What's true?" Amy whispered back, feeling anxious.
"Not here, not now," Rory shook his head. "He's too close."
"Then come with me," Amy stood impatiently and pulled Rory up beside her.
"We can't just leave. The Doctor will wonder where we're going," Rory reminded her.
"I'll take care of that," she said confidently.
Rory squinted at her. "How-OW!" He yelled as she threw her tea at his shirt.
"Is everything all right up there?" The Doctor called.
"Yes!" Amy answered. "I just spilt my tea on Rory. That's all. I'll go help him clean up. We'll be right back."
"Alright, I'll be here," he called as the couple went upstairs to the halls.
"Why did you do that?" Rory asked as they made it out of The Doctor's earshot.
"It wasn't that hot! You said you couldn't say it in front of The Doctor, so I gave us an excuse to leave. So, tell me: What's wrong?"
Rory was quiet as they walked quickly down the halls. Once they reached their bedroom, he pulled her inside and closed the door.
"Right now? I'm soaked in tea, that's what's wrong. Just give me a second," he said opening his drawers and pulling out a clean shirt. Amy tapped her foot impatiently as he took off the wet shirt and put a dry one on.
When he was finished, Amy asked again. "Okay, so what did you notice awhile back that you can't say in front of The Doctor?"
Rory sighed as he tossed his shirt over a chair. "Remember when The Doctor said he hated himself more then anyone else in the universe?"
"Uh... no," Amy answered knitting her eyebrows together. "When did he say that? I wasn't there."
"Actually, you were. It's just not something you would have noticed if you weren't already thinking about it, like I was," Rory explained. "It was when he was talking to The Dream Lord and The Doctor said he knew who he was because no one hated him as much as The Dream Lord did."
"And?"
"And later who did The Doctor say The Dream Lord was?"
"Himself," Amy replied as she considered his behavior as both Doctor and Dream Lord. "I had put together that The Dream Lord had said some harsh things, but when I asked him about it... He sorta distracted me."
"Yeah, he does that a lot. But there's more," Rory said nervously. "And it's not easy to talk about..."
"What?"
"I wouldn't have thought to look for the signs if he hadn't have said anything in that dream," Rory explained wringing his hands. "And I didn't say anything before because I was hoping I was wrong. I wanted to be certain because I didn't want to worry you."
"Rory, tell me!"
"Have you ever thought it was strange that he always wears the same outfit when he has all that clothes? Always the same shirt with the same jacket, even when it's hot out. And do you ever wonder what The Doctor does after we go to bed? I know he can't possibly be sleeping the whole time! He never looks rested enough." Then Rory started listing off particular days when The Doctor kept to himself for long periods at a time, then other times when he seemed just a bit secretive, distant, or not quite himself.
"What are you trying to say?" Amy interrupted before it went on for too long. She wanted an answer now.
"What I'm saying is... He's--It looks like--I think......I know the signs of self-harm when I see them!" Rory finally blurted after a great deal of difficulty.
Amy blinked at her husband, unsure of what to make of his deduction. She pictured a person holding a blade to their skin, the stereotypical scene that most had ingrained in their heads, then she pictured The Doctor. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't combined the two. She couldn't actually imagine The Doctor doing that to himself. She couldn't imagine scars running like zebra print over his body. She couldn't, and she didn't want to. Still, Rory was a nurse, who was always very intuitive when in came to others emotional state. A rare trait for a guy that had Amy convinced he was gay during their teen years. If he truly believed The Doctor was hurting himself enough to tell her, maybe he was right.
"I-I don't know what to say," Amy admitted after a long silence. "Have you actually seen these injuries?"
Rory nodded solemnly. "I caught a glimpse under his sleeve while I was helping him with repairs under the TARDIS. I saw at least three parallel cuts in a row."
"Did you ask him about it? He must have had some explanation," Amy insisted hoping Rory was wrong.
"Well, I didn't exactly strait up ask him if he cut himself. I just asked if he was hurt and wanted me to take a look, but it was just after we got attacked by those man eating rose bushes," Rory shrugged. "He said it was from the thorns, and insisted he'd be fine. I tried to believe him, but--It's like I said before: The more I think about it, the harder it gets to believe."
"Maybe he was telling the truth," Amy tried to reassure Rory and herself. "I mean, why would he lie to us? We're his friends."
Rory raised his eyebrows at her. "Like our daughter said, The Doctor lies. You know that. And why wouldn't he? It's not something people would like to admit to."
Amy tried her best to think up another possible explanation. The Doctor couldn't possibly be doing this. He just couldn't. But the more she searched for a reasonable excuse to his strange behavior, the more she realized their was none. Rory was right. The Doctor was in pain, too much pain for him to handle mentally, so he made it physical. As much as she loathed the thought of it, it really did sound like something he would do.
She could picture it now. Fuzzy, but growing clearer. The Doctor... blood flowing down the cuts on his arms... a blade in his hand... lying on the bathroom floor.... dead.
Her tears blurred her view of the room she was in, abandoning her to suffer with the image in her mind. "Rory! We can't let this happen. We have to do something. We have to make him stop!"
"We can't just make him stop. He has to want to stop," Rory said resting a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into his arms.
She sobbed into his clean shirt. Locking her arms around his body as if for her life. "How could we have let this happen? He's been h-hurting himself while we've been living here and we haven't even noticed!"
Rory rubbed her back and rested his chin on her head. He tried to fight his own tears that came as an automatic response to Amy's pain and The Doctors. "Don't worry. We're going to help him. Now that I'm certain, we can talk to him and we can help him."
"How?" Amy choked on her tears.
Rory pulled Amy back to look into her eyes. "In my experience showing someone you care is the first step to helping them."
"Do you really believe we can help him?" Amy asked wiping the tears from her face.
"Yes. Yes, absolutely," Rory nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Can we talk to him now?" she practically begged. "I can't--I can't let this go on without trying to help him. Without at least telling him that I'm here for him if he needs someone to talk to."
"Okay," Rory nodded. "Yeah, we can talk to him now." He kissed Amy's forehead, and gave her a few minutes to regain her composure before leading her out of the bedroom for perhaps the most unpleasant talk the three had ever had. And that was saying quite a lot.