Your hands, my hands, his hands.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dr who. This work is made for entertainment and I make no profit off it.

Warnings: Abuse, depression, nightmares, PTSD, eating disorder, self harm.

Pairings: Amy/Rory. Rory/11 friendship, Doctor/Master.

AN: This follows a format where I state a rule and then go on with the scene related. The story flashes back to his childhood and to the present.

START

Trust was precious. That was what he had learned.

Trust was innocent and foolhardy, like the trust the child had in a parent. A parent that would end up beating him to a pulp every night for even the slightest fault.

Trust was life. Like the trust in his friend that gave him school lunches among other things. A safe place to hide. A comforting hug.

Trust was never empty. Never meaningless. Even when lost.

He wasn't sure he trusted anyone now. Sure he trusted his friends but just how much? Was that even real trust? Or was that an illusion that kept him safe from having to invest real trust and get hurt again?

The Doctor was sitting in his bed, legs drawn to his chest and face buried in his knees. He didn't know how he should feel. Or how he felt…he was sad but couldn't seem to cry. He was angry at himself for questioning his friends loyalty. Their precious trust. He was tired. Oh so tired of it all. He was upset. This made no logical sense.

He instantly thought of his trusty blade. The one that had comforted him and made everything better. But was that an option any more? But if that was the case, what was his options at all?

He instantly remembered being against Rory's warmth. The touch he so yearned, in his grasp. He wanted that. But would the human even understand? Or comply?

His legs seemed to have a mind of their own, forcing himself out of the bed and in search. The pair were in their room but Amy was long asleep. Rory looked uneasy and tired. Should he disturb the human who so desperately needed his sleep? He hesitated at the door...then it opened to reveal Rory looking concerned.

The Doctor practically whined "Rory!" and that was all that was needed. Rory looked alert again, taking the older man and half guiding him back to his bedroom. Rory knew better than to ask, the timelord was beyond words, feeling without boat and without anchor. He merely pulled the timelord against him, murmuring comforts.

This time there were no tears to mark a beginning or end, just an iron tight grip and uneven breathing. But by the end of it, both males slept deeply.

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Amy was not concerned when she woke up alone. She knew her husband was needed by her imaginary friend. The man who had seemed to carefree and wise to her child self...now she saw past that. And it killed her.

She had wanted a fairy tale ending for her fairy tale name. She had found a prince...and then a nurse. When she had grown up a bit more, she realised that maybe her prince was as she imagined. Not some white knight on a horse that fought off enemies with a sword and saved her. After all, not even her parents were around to save her, why would a mad stranger?

Now she was wiser. He had come to save her. He had played the knight and she had played the damsel, but the truth was much more. He was the damsel in desperate need of her. And her true knight. She should have seen all along that her prince was really Rory. That her knight...or rather centurion, was really Rory.

Now she wished that she could believe as a child again, so naively.

Seeing her former prince so...vulnerable...was difficult.

Still...he husband had enough to deal with.

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The Doctor woke first. He felt calm...Rory always seemed to do that...how could a simple human make him feel so calm?

He wanted to stay but he felt uneasy. He knew he could trust the human but couldn't help his inherit wariness. He untangled himself. What a horrid thought?! To distrust a man who had been giving him so much help...that just would not do. He did not deserve this kindness.

Damn his emotions...just what was happening! He pushed away the urge to cry. No that was not an option!

He found Amy already in the kitchen making tea. He frowned, picking up her hurt telepathically. His Amelia did not deserve to cry!

They made their tea and sat. "Whats wrong Pond?" he asked, clearly not taking no as an answer.

Amy looked up, surprise in her vulnerable eyes, lips parted slightly. Before the emotions disappeared from her face. She sniffed but shook her head. "Couldn't tell you even if I wanted. You'd feel bad." she said quietly.

How could she think that? Feel guilt over feeling natural emotions? Over what, hurting him? Making more work for her husband? Didn't she see that this was what her husband was good at? What he was driven to do? "No. Amelia...don't pretend what I am...going through...is more important that you. Don't. Just...just tell me. It doesn't matter if it hurts me." he spoke, voice breaking but remaining steady and determined.

She cast him an uncertain look but spoke anyway. "Your such a girl!" she accused softly, with undertones of anger. Pausing she realised she had not explained so clearly as it had seemed in her head. "I mean...I guess I'm used to you doing the saving. Not needing the saving." she spoke softly, sounding resigned.

He laughed. "Me too, Pond. Me too. You think I'm any better at this?" he replied honestly.

She smiled. "Nah, your rubbish at playing the damsel. And you would look terrible in a dress! Not to mention you would go mad spending forever in a tower." she joked.

He pretended to be offended. "I'll have you know that I look wonderful in a dress! You just have no imagination!" he joked back.

She just smiled back. "Seriously though, if you want someone to talk to..."she offered.

He nodded back.

The moment was interrupted when Rory entered. "I hope its Amy in the dress." he joked.

The pair just grinned at him.

AN: Reviews most welcome. More coming soon.