The Doctor was quickly becoming increasingly bored as the night dragged on, and he waited around for Madame Vastra.

If she didn't have blackmail on him, he would have simply left, or have just not appeared altogether. However, she did, so he had no choice but to wait, as the night droned on and he leaned on a streetlamp, hoping that she would arrive so he could leave and be out of the human world as quickly as possible.

He was sure she was going to ask him questions, and he was planning on asking her questions as well. Hopefully they would come to a mutual agreement that did not involve Jenny or Strax.

He looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes past when the assigned meeting time was. He knew that the time wasn't absurd, but he couldn't help but feel annoyance.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rummaged through them, trying to look for something to fiddle with, but he had nothing interesting.

So he pulled out his screwdriver and calmly started fiddling with it, going through the settings.

That only provided a distraction for a short time though.

He checked his watch again, only to learn that a short period of time had passed. So he put his hands back into his pockets and starts pacing quietly around the area.

The boredom was creeping into his mind, tearing at the edges. He could feel the temptation to search the area for something that would certainly make Madame Vastra be afraid and worry more.

It was bad enough that she worried for him in the first place, enough to follow him and discover his twisted actions and reasoning, and that she was maintaining contact with him.

After all, who would want contact with him?

His mind groaned. Where was she?

At the same time, he felt a hot role of self-directed anger run through him. How dare he complain and be angry at a person?

His mental flagellation didn't go far though, when he heard a voice cut through his thoughts., and made him stop.

"Hello, Doctor," the Madame greeted.

"You're late," he scolded.

"I said around ten," she defended.

He realized quickly that was true, and the role of anger turned to fury.

"Sorry," he muttered.

He couldn't see her yet, even as he looked in all directions.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Above you," she answered calmly.

He took a step forward, then turned and looked up, seeing her calmly on a rooftop.

"What are you doing up there?" he nearly shouted in surprise.

"Watching you," she said, as it were obvious. She then jumped off the building freely, and walked toward him.

He didn't answer, even as she took a step too close into his own personal area, which had extended as his effort to not touch anything became more urgent, and smaller as he realized he had no claim on comfort.

"Take off your jacket," she ordered, her arms folded across her chest.

He was obedient, because she had complete control over him. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

As he carelessly dumped his coat onto the ground, the could see the Madame watch him with critical intensity, as if she was a lioness stalking her prey.

"Put your arms out," she ordered.

Carefully, he rolled his sleeves up, and raised his arms so she could see his arms.

"The scars are fading," she observed. Then she reached out and grabbed both of his wrists, and turned his arms around.

"It doesn't look like you've been doing anything," she praised, as she released his arms. Tentatively, he put his arms down, and looked her in the eye.

"Your TARDIS is still on that cloud, I presume," she asked.

"She doesn't belong to me," he muttered, annoyed.

The Madame rolled her eyes, and smiled. "Rebellious as always. I must say though," she tutted, "That you are more submissive than I expected."

"Is this not to your liking?" he asked. "I am perfectly willing to be more difficult."

"I'm sure you are," she agreed, "However, I do enjoy the fact that you're doing as you're told. It's making things much easier."

"Only for you," he promised. She took as step back and nodded at him.

"Just as well. You haven't answered my question," she accused.

"Yes, she is on the cloud," he said.

"And the cloud is in the same place?" the Madame assumed.

"The cloud drifts," he dismissed.

"How will I be able to find the TARDIS and you, if I need to?" she asked.

"The cloud will always be near that park. The ladder's always tethered to the tree," he claimed.

"How does that work? Can you un-tether it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Naturally," he smirked, enjoying her reaction.

He took a step to the side and started leaning against a wall.

"So do you just stay up there, sulking on your cloud all day?" she questioned.

"You're one to talk," he retorted, "You were just watching me on the roof of somebody's house for who knows how long."

"I was seeing what you would do when you believed I wasn't there," she dismissed easily. "I was also seeing if you would wait."

"I couldn't exactly not be here, now could I?" he asked.

"If you are intent on Jenny and Strax not knowing, then that would factor into my decision," she judged. "Even if it would not be the deciding factor."

"Which brings us to a very important question," he said.

"And that is?" the Madame asked, moving in front of him.

"What are my restrictions?" he asked expectantly.

"What ever do you mean?" she said, surprised.

"You said that I couldn't even consider self-harm or suicide," he pointed out. "What else can't I do?"

"That is your only restriction," she assured. She took a step closer to him, (too close, much too close), and put her hand on his shoulder.

"You've haven't done anything, I don't believe," she said.

"Tell me if you do, please," she then begged.

He looked down, breaking eye contact.

"But then you'll tell them," he said.

"They say suicide is a cry for help," she said. "Self-harm is the same."

"If I was crying for help, you would know," he sighed.

"I do know," she insisted.

"You do not," he replied stubbornly.

"Regardless," she said, "You need help."

"I disagree," he said, wriggling his shoulder from her hand, and stepping away from her.

"That doesn't change the fact that you need help," she said.

She looked at him, and then stepped back.

"When shall we meet next?" she asked.

"Your choice," he decided easily.

"Thursday, at this time, here," she said.

Thursday. That was four days away, a decent amount.

He nodded and turned around, leaving. He could hear her do the same thing, and he then started considering what had just happened.

She had no significant expectations for him. Not that he would be able to meet them anyway.

He couldn't seem to meet any expectations given to him lately. River expected him to find a new companion, to replace her parents. He tried, he looked, but he couldn't find the spark.

An uncountable number of people expected him to move on, to save worlds. The problem was that he never had truly saved anything in his life. He had subjected himself to that and he never had succeeded. He was an utter failure at all things involving good.

Then when he started experimenting with self-harm, River expected him to stop, and he found that he could not. Now the Madame expected him to as well. He still couldn't understand quite why they wanted him to stop, exactly. It was terrible, what he was doing. He would be horrified if he found out someone close to him was doing likewise, but it was different for him.

They were too pure to see that what he was doing was good in many respects. It was keeping him alive (though he really didn't think that was all that good of a thing), it was keeping him sane (as sane as something like him could be), and it was wonderful in the respect of absolution. How else was he to made peace with the souls of those who he had wronged?

As the pressure of the situation reached his mind more steadily, his breath quickened. He was at the tree. He jumped up, not even bothering to look around and see if there was any night-goers spying on him, and climbed the ladder as quickly as he could.

By the time he was half-way up to the TARDIS when he had no doubt that he was not going to be able to succeed.