Notes: As a general warning, this chapter describes a panic attack in detail.

2: so i stayed in the darkness with you; It's so easy to let those walls slip when he's with her. Or, the Doctor experiences a bout of claustrophobia and River is there to get him through it.

He didn't mean to. He should have been controlling himself, watching his own actions, but it was so easy to let those walls slip when he was with her. He balked at the small vent opening, alarm flashing through him, and River saw, in the split second before he covered it up. She always saw.

She didn't say anything about it, however. There was no time – angry shouts could be heard in the distance, drawing nearer, and the two of them were so close to escaping. Only one obstacle remained, and the Doctor eyed it warily. He could do it, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He waved away River's concern, indicating that he was fine.

"I'll go first," River said instead, shoving her gun into its holster. "Just follow closely and keep listening to my voice."

"View should be nice," he said lightly, opting for humor to further bury his irrational fear.

She grinned back at him before climbing into the vent. "I hate you," she said lovingly.

"No, you don't," the Doctor replied.

But his smile faded as he climbed in after her. The vent was just big enough to fit an adult of his size, crawling on hands and knees. There was no light further in – just pitch darkness, a yawning hole that threatened to engulf him. The very air was oppressive, hot and stuffy and suffocating – clearly there was no money being wasted on ventilation bills. For once, the Doctor did exactly as ordered and stayed right on River's heels, letting his hands brush her ankles and shoes as often as possible to reassure himself that she was still there. That the sounds of her huffing breath, her voice, were not products of the kind of madness that could be produced by a place like this.

Because it did indeed feel like he could so easily slip into madness from this. He couldn't see anything, he couldn't hear right – sounds were oddly muffled, reverberating strangely in such a small space. The walls threatened to cave in on him, and he couldn't even see them. But they were there, a menacing presence that closed in all around him, and they weren't the only things threatening to collapse. The Doctor's breathing quickened steadily, and a heaviness sat on his chest that made him feel as if his lungs would contract and stay contracted at any given moment, cutting off his air. Respiratory bypass or not, he would die if that happened. He would die, and there would be no regeneration, and...

"Stay with me, sweetie," River's voice said, hushed but firm, slicing through his jumbled thoughts. The Doctor's breath wheezed out, shaky, and he swallowed with some difficulty, focusing on her voice. She'd told him to listen, and he did. River knew what she was doing. She was the one who'd gotten a good look at the building's blueprints, and it didn't matter that they couldn't see a damn thing down here – she'd navigate the twists and turns and get to them the TARDIS. The "floor" of the vent was cold under the Doctor's fingers, despite the warmth of the air, and he focused on that too. One shuffle forward at a time, listening to River's words of encouragement and directions to turn when needed. A few more meters and they'd be out, that was all. Just a few more...

But it wasn't a few more. It was a lot more, and the Doctor was getting dizzier with every movement. Memories were assaulting his senses now – fractured images of an enclosed box, his limbs restrained, consumed with the awful horrible fear that he would never get out. The Doctor's breathing had once again become rapid and uneven, and he wanted to yell, to throw his arms out and force the unseen walls to expand. It wasn't until River's tone grew sharper that he realized he'd lost track of her voice again.

"Doctor!" she said, pitching her voice to catch his attention. "It's going to be fine. You can do this. It's not much farther now."

"River," he breathed. Somewhere in his panic he wanted to feel embarrassed – it was such a stupid reaction, there was nothing wrong, it was all in his head, what would River think of him – but he didn't have the strength. Instead, he just listened, and this time he clung to her voice like a drowning man.

And then there was light – harsh light that momentarily blinded him, and he faltered, but River's strong arms were pulling him forward. They collapsed into the storage room, limbs tangled together, and instead of his breath slowing down like he thought it would, the Doctor found that it was speeding up. He was laughing – it had a hysterical edge, more like wheezing, like he wanted to cry.

Now that would be embarrassing.

River was helping him up, helping him to find his feet, and then she was drawing him in. Her arms wrapped around him – tenderly, gently, but the Doctor could feel the fierce protectiveness behind the gesture, restrained for his sake. His head tilted forward into her neck, and he leaned into her embrace as if she was the only real thing in the world. She was so wonderfully solid, and the Doctor realized that he was crying. Not real, proper tears, but his eyes were wet, and he was still choking on his own breath, still laughing so horribly.

"Shhh," River said soothingly. "It's going to pass. I know it feels overwhelming right now, but it will pass, and then you'll be fine. Trust me."

The Doctor listened to her words and to her heartbeats, and at last he felt the panic level out. It didn't ebb, not right away, but River kept talking, and he trusted her. Her low, melodic voice kept him sane, as they waited it out – because of her voice, he knew that it wouldn't last forever.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't gone, but it had become manageable. The time that had passed felt like an age, but rationally he knew it had only been about a minute.

"River," the Doctor said, into her neck. "We're still here."

"Mmm-hmm," she said.

"The TARDIS is right there."

"Mmm-hmm."

"What if they find us?"

"We'll move when you're ready," River said. "And if anyone shows up, they'll regret it."

The Doctor had no doubt.

The TARDIS floated within empty space – glorious empty space, so open, so free. There was nothing, nothing here – except for photons springing into existence before obliterating themselves, perhaps. But they were invisible to the naked eye, and so the Doctor could pretend that he sat in the midst of a truly empty and infinite expanse, legs dangling, with only the ever so distant stars for company.

Well, the stars, and the TARDIS humming in his head, and River. Always River.

She sat beside him in the TARDIS's open doorway. Her shoulder was pressed against his, warm and comforting, and she didn't speak. She wouldn't speak until he was ready, because she was River and she knew. He didn't have to hold himself together for her, though he often tried nonetheless. But with her, it could all come spilling out, and that was okay, because she looked at him and saw him exactly for what he was – not an alien, not a hero, not a god, not even a Time Lord. Just him.

And that was the really comforting thing about her.

"River," he murmured, and she looked at him. "Thank you for... for understanding." It had been so stupid, and yet it wasn't something that he could control when it happened, and River still knew. She always knew.

River smiled sadly, and her eyes were inquisitive. "Does that happen a lot?" she asked. It wasn't a prying question, however. He was free to answer as he wished.

The Doctor looked down into the blackness of space. "Ah, no," he said, clearing his throat. "Recent development. Bit annoying, really." He couldn't explain to her how it had started, not really, because she hadn't reached the Pandorica yet, and he could still hear her words so clearly. Not one line. Don't you dare.

River's hand entered his vision and wrapped around his own; her thumb commenced rhythmic stroking of the back of his hand. "It's not stupid, you know."

The Doctor sighed petulantly. She'd read him like an open book, of course. "Can't I have any private thoughts?" he asked with a dramatic sigh, and River grinned.

"Absolutely not," she said, and then she became earnest, her eyes searching his, making him hold her gaze. "But I mean it, sweetie. Don't beat yourself up over something like this."

The Doctor shrugged, finally looking away. "You have to admit, it is a bit silly..."

"Phobias are by nature silly," River replied. "Doesn't mean they're any less real."

A lump formed in the Doctor's throat, and once again he found himself swallowing with difficulty. But he was no longer choking on his own fear. He was just awed by his River.

"Thank you," he said again, so sincerely that River rolled her eyes with a crooked half-smile.

"You could show your gratitude in other ways," she said.

The Doctor beamed at her. "Oh, is than an order, dear?"

"Very much so," River answered, and she didn't wait for him to comply. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, and the Doctor returned it happily, cupping her face with his hands just so he could feel her – his River, so solid and real and incredible. The lingering uneasiness in his stomach, which had remained since the panic had finally abated, vanished.

Fear didn't stand half a chance when River was around.

Notes: This one is a bit personal for me. Claustrophobia is something I've had to deal with since I was young (can't even sleep in the dark because it's too suffocating and enclosing), but it's not necessarily something I think the Doctor might actually have – it's just a kind of potential headcanon that I wanted to explore from a personal standpoint.