Doctor Who: For Her
Title: For Her
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Doctor/Donna
Summary: She'd got his memories, and the only way to save her was to take hers.
Category: Angst/Romance
Word Count: 507
Prompt: #54 - flashback [from the Weekly Drabble Challenge at doctor_donna]
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC.
Author's Note: Many thanks to caz963, lumalit , and bas_math_girl for their wonderful beta services.
Spoilers and typical angst for Journey's End.
Also including a reference to the deleted scene from The Doctor's Daughter which is a bit integral to the story, but it still makes sense without having seen that.
For Her
He took it all. Everything.
He saw it briefly, felt it; snatches and snippets and moments and feelings and pieces of a life.
His voice. Her laughter. The colour of his eyes. Her hand in his.
The racing of her heart as she stepped out into the snow of her first alien world, the excitement and the wonder and the sheer madness of it all.
The trembling of her hands as she turned around on her wedding day to find herself in a strange place with a strange man-and she shouted and snapped and snarled, and she was scared, she was so scared.
Standing in the shower after Pompeii, warm water coming down on her hair, vision blurred with tears, thoughts blurred with guilt and sorrow and disbelief.
Listening to him babble on about some complicated way he'd thought of to fix some complicated problem with the TARDIS, and not understanding a word he was saying, but he was so excited and it was so hard not to smile.
Watching him from the corner of her eye as he's waiting for the kettle; he was impossible, and he irritated her, and he drove her mad sometimes, but... There was almost- And he looks over and he grins and... she can't... What was she... She just smiles.
His hands against her skin, cool and soft and gentle and careful and his mouth against hers and there was nothing else in the universe except him. And he's kissing her forehead and her nose and her shoulder and trailing his tongue across the freckles on her collarbone one by one.
His arm draped across her in the dark and his breath against her neck and the way she knew he could never love her as much as she loved him, because she was plain and ordinary and he deserved so much more. But she'd stay with him forever. Until he told her he'd found someone better. And she knew it was stupid but she hoped to God that never happened.
He had no right to be seeing this, but there was no other way.
She'd got his memories, and the only way to save her was to take hers.
What are we if not the sum of our memories.
And then it was gone.
She collapsed against him and he held on to her for a long time in the silent console room. For the last time.
He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in and out until he was sure he would remember her. Remember her warmth. Remember her scent.
He'd remember what he could. What she'd shown him. What he'd taken.
For her.
Words she'd said to him when he couldn't focus on anything but the pain and the loss and the darkness. And then her hand was on his arm, and he was looking into her eyes, and she always knew the right thing to say.
We go on. We live. We remember.
What else can we do?
Let's find a new world.
For her.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Doctor/Donna
Summary: She'd got his memories, and the only way to save her was to take hers.
Category: Angst/Romance
Word Count: 507
Prompt: #54 - flashback [from the Weekly Drabble Challenge at doctor_donna]
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC.
Author's Note: Many thanks to caz963, lumalit , and bas_math_girl for their wonderful beta services.
Spoilers and typical angst for Journey's End.
Also including a reference to the deleted scene from The Doctor's Daughter which is a bit integral to the story, but it still makes sense without having seen that.
For Her
He took it all. Everything.
He saw it briefly, felt it; snatches and snippets and moments and feelings and pieces of a life.
His voice. Her laughter. The colour of his eyes. Her hand in his.
The racing of her heart as she stepped out into the snow of her first alien world, the excitement and the wonder and the sheer madness of it all.
The trembling of her hands as she turned around on her wedding day to find herself in a strange place with a strange man-and she shouted and snapped and snarled, and she was scared, she was so scared.
Standing in the shower after Pompeii, warm water coming down on her hair, vision blurred with tears, thoughts blurred with guilt and sorrow and disbelief.
Listening to him babble on about some complicated way he'd thought of to fix some complicated problem with the TARDIS, and not understanding a word he was saying, but he was so excited and it was so hard not to smile.
Watching him from the corner of her eye as he's waiting for the kettle; he was impossible, and he irritated her, and he drove her mad sometimes, but... There was almost- And he looks over and he grins and... she can't... What was she... She just smiles.
His hands against her skin, cool and soft and gentle and careful and his mouth against hers and there was nothing else in the universe except him. And he's kissing her forehead and her nose and her shoulder and trailing his tongue across the freckles on her collarbone one by one.
His arm draped across her in the dark and his breath against her neck and the way she knew he could never love her as much as she loved him, because she was plain and ordinary and he deserved so much more. But she'd stay with him forever. Until he told her he'd found someone better. And she knew it was stupid but she hoped to God that never happened.
He had no right to be seeing this, but there was no other way.
She'd got his memories, and the only way to save her was to take hers.
What are we if not the sum of our memories.
And then it was gone.
She collapsed against him and he held on to her for a long time in the silent console room. For the last time.
He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in and out until he was sure he would remember her. Remember her warmth. Remember her scent.
He'd remember what he could. What she'd shown him. What he'd taken.
For her.
Words she'd said to him when he couldn't focus on anything but the pain and the loss and the darkness. And then her hand was on his arm, and he was looking into her eyes, and she always knew the right thing to say.
We go on. We live. We remember.
What else can we do?
Let's find a new world.
For her.