Choices Made
Title: Choices Made
Characters: The Doctor and Donna
Summary: Until now he’s managed to convince himself that it won’t happen to her, that she’ll live for years and they’ll have marvelous adventures until she’s old and gray and so cantankerous that he finally might get tired of her company. He can’t fool himself any longer.
Word Count: ~3,500
Rating: PG-13, R if you’re squeamish (see below)
Warnings: Major character death. Repeat, major character death. If you’re concerned about what you’ll find, please feel free to highlight the next line or two to find out more information. A character is crushed by a pillar, and, as people with some medical knowledge know, taking the pressure off wounds like that can actually do more damage than good, especially if (as is in this case) a sharp edge of some sort has penetrated your body. Thus, blood and death.
Notes: Written for Travellers’ Tales Prompt #1 (chosen) at doctor_donna
More Notes: I can’t repeat this enough. There. Is. Character. Death. There is also blood, quite a bit of it, and some graphic(ish) descriptions of said blood and character death. If you’re not comfortable with reading it I won’t be offended; if you are comfortable reading it I’ll appreciate your thoughts. And yes, I do hate myself. :/
Journal Notes: Sorry this whole header is taking up so much space. I'd cut part of it but, given content and what not, I don't want people going all clicky without knowing what's behind the cut. *regurgitates f-list space*
For the first time in their friendship, the Doctor really, really wants to tell Donna she’s an idiot.
She’s not, of course, and he’s sure that at least one of them knows it, but at the same time, this was really stupid of her. If she wasn’t already all too aware of the consequences of her actions, he’d probably tell her exactly how dumb she is, even if it did make her upset.
“Doctor....”
His eyes snap to her face and he smiles warmly, brushing the hair out of her face. She’s warm, but not quite as much as she should be. “All right?” he asks, and she nods. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve had worse,” she replies, and her hand waves from side to side, a substitute for a shrug.
“You, Donna Noble, are such....such a bloody human.” He doesn’t know what else to say, really.
“Yeah,” Donna breathes, “I noticed. But can we talk about it later?”
The Doctor just nods, and Donna smiles at him, though the teasing expression on her face is somewhat diminished by the pain he can tell she’s in. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and Donna just rolls her eyes. “Oi,” he says simply, then he licks the corner of the folded object and presses it to her face, trying to remove the dirt and grime from her cheeks and forehead.
“I don’t look beautiful like this?” Donna says as he continues to clean her face. “I’m insulted.”
The Doctor answers her by placing the hankie over her mouth, swallowing as it comes away not only black, but dark red. “You’re my very best mate, and you’re gorgeous,” he says after a moment. “Stop trying to get me in trouble, Noble.”
“I’m sorry,” Donna murmurs. The Doctor winks at her and she reaches up, gripping his arm as tightly as she can. “No,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”
“Donna, I don’t-”
“It’s my fault,” she says simply. “I wanted to come here. This is my fault.”
He wishes he could argue with that, he really does. But it’s true. After all, she had chosen to come here. He had wanted to go to Halfrax, or perhaps one of the moons of Jupiter, but it was her turn to drive; he curses himself now for betting driving privileges on a hand of Vulmarian poker in the first place. She had wanted to go sight seeing, and she had been the one to insist they investigate the abandoned temple, the floor of which she’s now dying on. He’d wanted to fly off somewhere dangerous and exciting, but she insisted on a quiet trip for a change.
Still, he could have protected her somehow. It should have been him, really; he had been the one reading the symbols on the side of the ancient wall. Donna had just been standing beside him at just the wrong time. She’d teased him about muttering to himself and nudged him with her shoulder like everything was normal. He hadn’t even had time to react, only to feel Donna shove him away from her, then watch as she screamed and disappeared under a pile of stone and metal. She’s not moved much since, neither able nor willing to do so. He wants so badly to move her, to take her back to the TARDIS and tend to her injuries, but he’s known since he uncovered her body: he’s lost her. Now he just has to accept what that really means.
“Doctor, talk to me,” Donna pleads softly. She takes a deep breath and her hand tightens in his at the pain that shoots through her body. “Please don’t be cross with me,” she asks. “I didn’t-”
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor assures her. “It’s no one’s fault, Donna. Just rest now, all right?”
Donna’s silent for a moment, clearly considering something. He’s almost tempted to ask what it is, but then she speaks. “Take it off,” she says simply.
“Donna, I don’t understand.”
“Take it off,” she says again, and lifts her head enough to nod at the weight on her stomach.
The Doctor’s eyes widen and he pulls his hand away, shaking his head. “Donna, I won’t.”
“You’ll have to eventually.”
“No! Donna, do you know what will happen if I move it?”
“Just do it,” Donna snaps. He looks down to see a bit of her normal fire back in her features, her teary eyes narrowed into a glare and her dusty cheeks flushed with anger as much as pain. She stares him down for a moment and does her best to look threatening. “Take it off, now, or I’ll smack you so hard you won’t need the TARDIS to get to next week.”
The Doctor hesitates, torn between taking her hand as she winces again and backing away from her completely, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “Donna, I won’t do it.”
Donna just winces in response, leaning her head back against the floor. “Help me,” she begs.
“I will,” the Doctor soothes. “Donna, you’ll be all right. I just need to sort out how to-”
“Doctor, please.” She looks up at him, struggling to speak clearly. “It hurts so much,” she admits in a whisper. “I’m sorry, but I can’t....I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Doctor, I’m sorry.”
The Doctor stares into her eyes for a moment then slowly nods. “I can take you back to the TARDIS, yeah?” he says. “I’ll get this rubbish off you, and then we can go home. Do you think you can walk?” Donna shakes her head, but before she can say anything he goes on, words pouring from his mouth faster than he can control them. “That’s all right, I can carry you. I know, Donna, you won’t like it, but you’re thin. I’ll be able to support your weight, and I don’t want you to argue with me. When we get back to the TARDIS I’ll do what I can about the-”
“Doctor?”
The Doctor stops babbling long enough to look down and his hearts sink as he sees the resigned look in her eyes. The Donna he travels with, the best mate he loves almost more than he loves his current body, would never be so calm about her death. He instinctively tenses, waiting for her to shout at him, but she just reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently and nodding toward the large object that’s obscuring her view of the rest of her body. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” she says, offering him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but you’re wrong. Again.”
She’s right. Again. He hates it when she does that. He knows that with the damage that has already been done to her organs it’s a miracle she’s still alive, much less conscious; the blood she coughed up a few minutes ago only confirms it. Still, he has to hold onto the hope that he can save her. She’s his companion. He’s never let one go without a fight.
Donna tenses suddenly, her fingers grasping urgently for his hand. “Please,” she gasps.
He feels a little bit of him die at the thought of her lifeless body lying in her bed on the TARDIS. He won’t lose her, he can’t. He leans over the pillar and cups her cheek in his hand. “Donna, I’ll save you. Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll think of something. I always do.”
“You can’t save everyone, Spaceman,” Donna tells him. “You’re the Doctor, you’re not God.”
“But you!” the Doctor argues. “You, I can save you. You’re not everyone, you’re someone. Just someone, Donna, remember? And you’re my best mate. I can’t let you g-”
“Then let me go,” Donna whispers hoarsely. “Doctor, if you love me, you’ll make the pain stop.”
He freezes at the desperation in her voice, and finally makes the choice he’s been dreading ever since the wall of the Arkine temple rained down on Donna just over ten minutes ago. If he’s honest with himself, he’s known he would have to make this choice with her since she stepped onto the TARDIS. Until now he’s managed to convince himself that it won’t happen to her, that she’ll live for years and they’ll have marvelous adventures until she’s old and gray and so cantankerous that he finally might get tired of her company. He can’t fool himself any longer. He starts to get up, and has just put his hands on the pillar when he hears her voice again.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Her eyes meet his for a second and she smiles. “I knew you loved me, you stupid sap.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” the Doctor replies with as much of a grin as he can, then he takes a deep breath and tightens his hold on the large rock resting on top of Donna’s body. “Hold on, Donna,” he pleads softly, then he tugs on the pillar, slowly pulling it off of her. “Donna, I-”
Donna screams, and he moves the large stone as quickly as he can, minding the small jagged edges toward the end, the ones that are now stained a deep red. He drags it away from her and drops it to the ground with a loud thud, ignoring the dust it has left on his suit as he rushes back to Donna’s side. She’s lying in the same position as before, except that her hands are now clenched over her abdomen, the left settled over a huge gash in what he knows is her womb and the right applying as much pressure as it can to a deep hole in her chest. Her mouth is open wide, her hands shaking as blood begins to pour from her injuries much faster than she can control it. She looks at him and sobs his name, and before she can even take another breath he’s kneeling beside her, pushing urgently on the holes in her body.
“Donna, Donna, Donna, Donna,” he murmurs. She’s already starting to fade and he calls her name again, releasing one of her wounds just long enough to shake her shoulder. “You are not dying like this, Donna Noble,” he says sharply. “Don’t you dare leave me like this.” He presses her own hand back against her breast and attempts to lift her into his arms, but she begs him to stop, clutching at his jacket and pleading with him not to move her. Reluctantly he complies, laying her back against the cold floor. She has minutes, if that, and even if she did survive long enough to make it to the TARDIS he knows he couldn’t reverse the damage she’s sustained.
He can feel her life slipping away, each beat of her heart coming slower, and it’s breaking his.
“It’s okay, Doctor,” Donna gasps suddenly. She wheezes, trying to grasp his hand. “It’s okay.”
“I know,” the Doctor replies softly. “Don’t move, Donna, just rest. It’ll be over soon.”
“Doctor....”
He shushes her but she shakes her head, turning her face away and coughing into the cold ground. As she looks back at him he sees that her teeth and lips are stained red, a trail of blood and saliva dripping from her mouth and joining tenuously with a dark spatter on the floor. She tries to say something but every breath is clearly an effort, each intake of air accompanied by a shuddering gasp and the terrible sound that tells him she’s choking on her own blood.
After a moment she clears her throat. “Hey, Spaceman,” she whispers. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” the Doctor replies without a second thought. “Donna, anything you want.”
“Tell Gramps that I-” She suddenly can’t breathe, and she coughs and splutters, inhaling blood and dust but no oxygen, her body convulsing from the lack of air. There’s a tightness in her chest, the lung that isn’t punctured burning with the effort to breathe, and she thinks she’s going to die right then until the Doctor lifts her head slightly, allowing her to take a shallow breath. “Tell him I died doing something stupid and heroic,” she asks as soon as she’s able to speak again. She doesn’t have time to mess around, and she knows it. “Tell him I was brave.” The corner of her mouth rises slightly and she winks at him. “Make sure to include loads of aliens. Ugly aliens with scales and particle guns. Or, of course, some noble race that needed our protection. That’s it,” she says. “Tell him I saved a whole flipping species. He’ll like that.”
“Donna,” the Doctor chides softly, “I think your granddad would be proud of you regardless. And you are brave,” he insists. “You’re so brave, Donna, you are. You’re caring and brilliant and bloody mad, and I....Donna....” He sees blood streaming from the wound in her belly and lifts her hand out of the way, doing his best to cover her with his own fingers. Donna smiles at him, her gaze slowly losing focus but still so very her, and he frowns. “Donna? What is it?”
“I thought,” she begins, trying to wipe the blood from her face but frowning as she realizes her hands are covered in it as well. The Doctor uses his sleeve to help, more smearing the blood than removing it, but she smiles anyway. “I always thought,” she continues, “that I’d fall in love on some stupid backward planet, or somewhere in the past, where the men are actually decent. Assuming decent men exist, of course. My luck....my luck hasn’t been so good.” She smirks, pausing to draw in another labored breath. “And don’t pout,” she scolds. “I wouldn’t have left you.” At his confused expression she just gestures down to her stomach. “I thought....I knew you’d make a bloody good uncle. After....after Jenny....I wanted....” She starts to choke again but recovers, looking back up at him. “I wanted you....to have a family....again,” she tells him. “I knew how much....how much you missed them....and I wanted....I just want you to be happy.”
The Doctor swallows as a far too human lump forms in his throat. “Thank you,” he says simply.
Donna’s eyes are sparkling with tears but she smirks. “Don’t get....so upset, Doctor. It....wasn’t just....just for you, you know.” Her wistful expression returns and she raises her hand, resting it over where his is pressing against her waist. “I....I always wanted....to be....a mum....”
“Donna....” He can barely look at her now. Her breaths are wet and rasping, her words coming with so much difficulty it hurts him to watch her try to say anything. “Donna, you would have been a great mum. I know you would have. I wish you could have proven it to the universe.”
“Me too,” Donna breathes.
The Doctor smiles as he imagines himself and Donna trying to herd her adorable little ginger brats around the TARDIS, Donna’s imaginary dream husband scrambling after them and still marvelling at the TARDIS even after living there for several years. Donna had promised him forever, and he knows she’s one of the few companions that would have given it to him. If she had the choice, she would have been with him until she was wrinkled and crabby, arguing to go out with him even when her arthritis is so bad she can’t walk. They’d have driven each other mad, he’s sure of it. There isn’t anyone else he’d rather have robbing him of his sanity.
“Donna,” he says softly. “Donna, listen to me.”
Donna’s eyes open slightly and even though she’s slipping away far too fast he can still see the determination in her eyes. She’s shivering now, her body so far into shock that she likely can no longer speak, but she’s still his best mate, and she’s not going to leave him until she’s ripped away from him. That time will come all too soon, he thinks, and clears his throat, smiling as her gaze meets his. “Donna, I’m so glad you came with me,” he tells her simply. He wants to say so much more, to thank her for all she’s done for him, but even with their relationship he still can’t bring himself to tell her everything. In the end he just smiles. “It’s been brilliant.”
“Yeah.” Donna tries to say more, but she can’t feel much below her chest, and what little she can feel hurts so badly she can barely keep from screaming. The blood is on her hands and his, running down her face, pooling on the floor, everywhere but still in her body. She sees the Doctor’s hands, the way he’s trying to stop her bleeding, to prolong her life, even though they both know it’s too late. He never could give up. Hopelessly optimistic, that’s what he is, even with his half-drowned kitten exterior. She’s always loved that about her dumb Spaceman.
She used to think she would die doing something important, something heroic. Then again, that’s the Doctor’s job, she muses as she feels her heart beginning to fail. He can still save the world, all on his own, even if it is harder without her nudging him in the right direction. But she helped him. Her, Donna Noble, savior of the bloody universe. “Not bad,” she chokes out with a small smile. She hears the Doctor ask her what she means but she ignores him. She can’t really talk now anyway, not without pain, and she only has one thing left to say to him.
The world is dark now but she smiles, inhaling one last breath and sighing at the familiar smell of her perfume from 26th century Italy and the anti-gravity hair gel the Doctor insists on using ever since she bought it for him on his not-birthday. There’s something else, the overwhelming stench of iron, but she manages to keep her and the Doctor apart from that, focusing on them rather than the pain in her stomach or the fluid building up in her chest, making it impossible to breathe. She knows she isn’t anymore, and she can vaguely hear the Doctor telling her to keep fighting, but he’s just an echo now, blending into memories of tea and snuck cookies with her grandfather and the few times her mother held her as a child and the look on her father’s face when he heard she was getting married. The Doctor’s voice finally breaks through again, though, and just as her heart stops beating she whispers, “Love you, Martian.”
“I love you too, Donna,” the Doctor replies softly. He presses his hands tighter over her wounds, but the blood has stopped flowing, and Donna’s ragged breathing ends with a soft, almost relieved sigh. “Donna? Donna, no. No, no, no!” He lifts his hand from her stomach, cupping her cheek in his hand again and pleading with her to answer, but she’s silent and still, limp and unresponsive and....gone. There’s no pulse in her throat, nor beneath her breasts. “Donna....”
She’s dead. He knows she is. He just can’t bring himself to accept it. Not yet.
“Donna, please,” he whispers, his voice finally cracking and tears beginning to slide down his face. He shakes her but her head just lolls to the side. He leans down and tries to breathe into her mouth, but her skin is too slippery, and there’s no airflow. He presses his ear above her heart, but he only manages to cover his face in her blood. He lifts his head, holding his hands against her instead and pressing down sharply, but the only movement that results from his efforts is his hands shaking against the fabric of her shirt. He calls her name, but she doesn’t answer, and he knows better than to expect a reply. He wants to pull out the sonic, but he knows it will just confirm what he already knows. Finally he lifts her head, her hair sticking to the blood on his hands, and gently presses a kiss to her forehead. As he pulls away he frowns, noticing a dark stain where his lips touched her skin. “Sorry,” he mutters, and wipes it away.
She’s dead. He knows she is. He just can’t bring himself to let her go. Not yet.
Finally, what seems like hours later, he lifts her into his arms and begins to make his way back to the TARDIS. She’s slowly growing cold, and he holds her to his chest, squeezing her arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. He doesn’t care if she’s gone. She’s still Donna, still his best friend, and he won’t let anything happen to her. Mates are like that.
Characters: The Doctor and Donna
Summary: Until now he’s managed to convince himself that it won’t happen to her, that she’ll live for years and they’ll have marvelous adventures until she’s old and gray and so cantankerous that he finally might get tired of her company. He can’t fool himself any longer.
Word Count: ~3,500
Rating: PG-13, R if you’re squeamish (see below)
Warnings: Major character death. Repeat, major character death. If you’re concerned about what you’ll find, please feel free to highlight the next line or two to find out more information. A character is crushed by a pillar, and, as people with some medical knowledge know, taking the pressure off wounds like that can actually do more damage than good, especially if (as is in this case) a sharp edge of some sort has penetrated your body. Thus, blood and death.
Notes: Written for Travellers’ Tales Prompt #1 (chosen) at doctor_donna
More Notes: I can’t repeat this enough. There. Is. Character. Death. There is also blood, quite a bit of it, and some graphic(ish) descriptions of said blood and character death. If you’re not comfortable with reading it I won’t be offended; if you are comfortable reading it I’ll appreciate your thoughts. And yes, I do hate myself. :/
Journal Notes: Sorry this whole header is taking up so much space. I'd cut part of it but, given content and what not, I don't want people going all clicky without knowing what's behind the cut. *regurgitates f-list space*
For the first time in their friendship, the Doctor really, really wants to tell Donna she’s an idiot.
She’s not, of course, and he’s sure that at least one of them knows it, but at the same time, this was really stupid of her. If she wasn’t already all too aware of the consequences of her actions, he’d probably tell her exactly how dumb she is, even if it did make her upset.
“Doctor....”
His eyes snap to her face and he smiles warmly, brushing the hair out of her face. She’s warm, but not quite as much as she should be. “All right?” he asks, and she nods. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve had worse,” she replies, and her hand waves from side to side, a substitute for a shrug.
“You, Donna Noble, are such....such a bloody human.” He doesn’t know what else to say, really.
“Yeah,” Donna breathes, “I noticed. But can we talk about it later?”
The Doctor just nods, and Donna smiles at him, though the teasing expression on her face is somewhat diminished by the pain he can tell she’s in. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and Donna just rolls her eyes. “Oi,” he says simply, then he licks the corner of the folded object and presses it to her face, trying to remove the dirt and grime from her cheeks and forehead.
“I don’t look beautiful like this?” Donna says as he continues to clean her face. “I’m insulted.”
The Doctor answers her by placing the hankie over her mouth, swallowing as it comes away not only black, but dark red. “You’re my very best mate, and you’re gorgeous,” he says after a moment. “Stop trying to get me in trouble, Noble.”
“I’m sorry,” Donna murmurs. The Doctor winks at her and she reaches up, gripping his arm as tightly as she can. “No,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”
“Donna, I don’t-”
“It’s my fault,” she says simply. “I wanted to come here. This is my fault.”
He wishes he could argue with that, he really does. But it’s true. After all, she had chosen to come here. He had wanted to go to Halfrax, or perhaps one of the moons of Jupiter, but it was her turn to drive; he curses himself now for betting driving privileges on a hand of Vulmarian poker in the first place. She had wanted to go sight seeing, and she had been the one to insist they investigate the abandoned temple, the floor of which she’s now dying on. He’d wanted to fly off somewhere dangerous and exciting, but she insisted on a quiet trip for a change.
Still, he could have protected her somehow. It should have been him, really; he had been the one reading the symbols on the side of the ancient wall. Donna had just been standing beside him at just the wrong time. She’d teased him about muttering to himself and nudged him with her shoulder like everything was normal. He hadn’t even had time to react, only to feel Donna shove him away from her, then watch as she screamed and disappeared under a pile of stone and metal. She’s not moved much since, neither able nor willing to do so. He wants so badly to move her, to take her back to the TARDIS and tend to her injuries, but he’s known since he uncovered her body: he’s lost her. Now he just has to accept what that really means.
“Doctor, talk to me,” Donna pleads softly. She takes a deep breath and her hand tightens in his at the pain that shoots through her body. “Please don’t be cross with me,” she asks. “I didn’t-”
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor assures her. “It’s no one’s fault, Donna. Just rest now, all right?”
Donna’s silent for a moment, clearly considering something. He’s almost tempted to ask what it is, but then she speaks. “Take it off,” she says simply.
“Donna, I don’t understand.”
“Take it off,” she says again, and lifts her head enough to nod at the weight on her stomach.
The Doctor’s eyes widen and he pulls his hand away, shaking his head. “Donna, I won’t.”
“You’ll have to eventually.”
“No! Donna, do you know what will happen if I move it?”
“Just do it,” Donna snaps. He looks down to see a bit of her normal fire back in her features, her teary eyes narrowed into a glare and her dusty cheeks flushed with anger as much as pain. She stares him down for a moment and does her best to look threatening. “Take it off, now, or I’ll smack you so hard you won’t need the TARDIS to get to next week.”
The Doctor hesitates, torn between taking her hand as she winces again and backing away from her completely, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “Donna, I won’t do it.”
Donna just winces in response, leaning her head back against the floor. “Help me,” she begs.
“I will,” the Doctor soothes. “Donna, you’ll be all right. I just need to sort out how to-”
“Doctor, please.” She looks up at him, struggling to speak clearly. “It hurts so much,” she admits in a whisper. “I’m sorry, but I can’t....I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Doctor, I’m sorry.”
The Doctor stares into her eyes for a moment then slowly nods. “I can take you back to the TARDIS, yeah?” he says. “I’ll get this rubbish off you, and then we can go home. Do you think you can walk?” Donna shakes her head, but before she can say anything he goes on, words pouring from his mouth faster than he can control them. “That’s all right, I can carry you. I know, Donna, you won’t like it, but you’re thin. I’ll be able to support your weight, and I don’t want you to argue with me. When we get back to the TARDIS I’ll do what I can about the-”
“Doctor?”
The Doctor stops babbling long enough to look down and his hearts sink as he sees the resigned look in her eyes. The Donna he travels with, the best mate he loves almost more than he loves his current body, would never be so calm about her death. He instinctively tenses, waiting for her to shout at him, but she just reaches for his hand, squeezing it gently and nodding toward the large object that’s obscuring her view of the rest of her body. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” she says, offering him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but you’re wrong. Again.”
She’s right. Again. He hates it when she does that. He knows that with the damage that has already been done to her organs it’s a miracle she’s still alive, much less conscious; the blood she coughed up a few minutes ago only confirms it. Still, he has to hold onto the hope that he can save her. She’s his companion. He’s never let one go without a fight.
Donna tenses suddenly, her fingers grasping urgently for his hand. “Please,” she gasps.
He feels a little bit of him die at the thought of her lifeless body lying in her bed on the TARDIS. He won’t lose her, he can’t. He leans over the pillar and cups her cheek in his hand. “Donna, I’ll save you. Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll think of something. I always do.”
“You can’t save everyone, Spaceman,” Donna tells him. “You’re the Doctor, you’re not God.”
“But you!” the Doctor argues. “You, I can save you. You’re not everyone, you’re someone. Just someone, Donna, remember? And you’re my best mate. I can’t let you g-”
“Then let me go,” Donna whispers hoarsely. “Doctor, if you love me, you’ll make the pain stop.”
He freezes at the desperation in her voice, and finally makes the choice he’s been dreading ever since the wall of the Arkine temple rained down on Donna just over ten minutes ago. If he’s honest with himself, he’s known he would have to make this choice with her since she stepped onto the TARDIS. Until now he’s managed to convince himself that it won’t happen to her, that she’ll live for years and they’ll have marvelous adventures until she’s old and gray and so cantankerous that he finally might get tired of her company. He can’t fool himself any longer. He starts to get up, and has just put his hands on the pillar when he hears her voice again.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Her eyes meet his for a second and she smiles. “I knew you loved me, you stupid sap.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” the Doctor replies with as much of a grin as he can, then he takes a deep breath and tightens his hold on the large rock resting on top of Donna’s body. “Hold on, Donna,” he pleads softly, then he tugs on the pillar, slowly pulling it off of her. “Donna, I-”
Donna screams, and he moves the large stone as quickly as he can, minding the small jagged edges toward the end, the ones that are now stained a deep red. He drags it away from her and drops it to the ground with a loud thud, ignoring the dust it has left on his suit as he rushes back to Donna’s side. She’s lying in the same position as before, except that her hands are now clenched over her abdomen, the left settled over a huge gash in what he knows is her womb and the right applying as much pressure as it can to a deep hole in her chest. Her mouth is open wide, her hands shaking as blood begins to pour from her injuries much faster than she can control it. She looks at him and sobs his name, and before she can even take another breath he’s kneeling beside her, pushing urgently on the holes in her body.
“Donna, Donna, Donna, Donna,” he murmurs. She’s already starting to fade and he calls her name again, releasing one of her wounds just long enough to shake her shoulder. “You are not dying like this, Donna Noble,” he says sharply. “Don’t you dare leave me like this.” He presses her own hand back against her breast and attempts to lift her into his arms, but she begs him to stop, clutching at his jacket and pleading with him not to move her. Reluctantly he complies, laying her back against the cold floor. She has minutes, if that, and even if she did survive long enough to make it to the TARDIS he knows he couldn’t reverse the damage she’s sustained.
He can feel her life slipping away, each beat of her heart coming slower, and it’s breaking his.
“It’s okay, Doctor,” Donna gasps suddenly. She wheezes, trying to grasp his hand. “It’s okay.”
“I know,” the Doctor replies softly. “Don’t move, Donna, just rest. It’ll be over soon.”
“Doctor....”
He shushes her but she shakes her head, turning her face away and coughing into the cold ground. As she looks back at him he sees that her teeth and lips are stained red, a trail of blood and saliva dripping from her mouth and joining tenuously with a dark spatter on the floor. She tries to say something but every breath is clearly an effort, each intake of air accompanied by a shuddering gasp and the terrible sound that tells him she’s choking on her own blood.
After a moment she clears her throat. “Hey, Spaceman,” she whispers. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” the Doctor replies without a second thought. “Donna, anything you want.”
“Tell Gramps that I-” She suddenly can’t breathe, and she coughs and splutters, inhaling blood and dust but no oxygen, her body convulsing from the lack of air. There’s a tightness in her chest, the lung that isn’t punctured burning with the effort to breathe, and she thinks she’s going to die right then until the Doctor lifts her head slightly, allowing her to take a shallow breath. “Tell him I died doing something stupid and heroic,” she asks as soon as she’s able to speak again. She doesn’t have time to mess around, and she knows it. “Tell him I was brave.” The corner of her mouth rises slightly and she winks at him. “Make sure to include loads of aliens. Ugly aliens with scales and particle guns. Or, of course, some noble race that needed our protection. That’s it,” she says. “Tell him I saved a whole flipping species. He’ll like that.”
“Donna,” the Doctor chides softly, “I think your granddad would be proud of you regardless. And you are brave,” he insists. “You’re so brave, Donna, you are. You’re caring and brilliant and bloody mad, and I....Donna....” He sees blood streaming from the wound in her belly and lifts her hand out of the way, doing his best to cover her with his own fingers. Donna smiles at him, her gaze slowly losing focus but still so very her, and he frowns. “Donna? What is it?”
“I thought,” she begins, trying to wipe the blood from her face but frowning as she realizes her hands are covered in it as well. The Doctor uses his sleeve to help, more smearing the blood than removing it, but she smiles anyway. “I always thought,” she continues, “that I’d fall in love on some stupid backward planet, or somewhere in the past, where the men are actually decent. Assuming decent men exist, of course. My luck....my luck hasn’t been so good.” She smirks, pausing to draw in another labored breath. “And don’t pout,” she scolds. “I wouldn’t have left you.” At his confused expression she just gestures down to her stomach. “I thought....I knew you’d make a bloody good uncle. After....after Jenny....I wanted....” She starts to choke again but recovers, looking back up at him. “I wanted you....to have a family....again,” she tells him. “I knew how much....how much you missed them....and I wanted....I just want you to be happy.”
The Doctor swallows as a far too human lump forms in his throat. “Thank you,” he says simply.
Donna’s eyes are sparkling with tears but she smirks. “Don’t get....so upset, Doctor. It....wasn’t just....just for you, you know.” Her wistful expression returns and she raises her hand, resting it over where his is pressing against her waist. “I....I always wanted....to be....a mum....”
“Donna....” He can barely look at her now. Her breaths are wet and rasping, her words coming with so much difficulty it hurts him to watch her try to say anything. “Donna, you would have been a great mum. I know you would have. I wish you could have proven it to the universe.”
“Me too,” Donna breathes.
The Doctor smiles as he imagines himself and Donna trying to herd her adorable little ginger brats around the TARDIS, Donna’s imaginary dream husband scrambling after them and still marvelling at the TARDIS even after living there for several years. Donna had promised him forever, and he knows she’s one of the few companions that would have given it to him. If she had the choice, she would have been with him until she was wrinkled and crabby, arguing to go out with him even when her arthritis is so bad she can’t walk. They’d have driven each other mad, he’s sure of it. There isn’t anyone else he’d rather have robbing him of his sanity.
“Donna,” he says softly. “Donna, listen to me.”
Donna’s eyes open slightly and even though she’s slipping away far too fast he can still see the determination in her eyes. She’s shivering now, her body so far into shock that she likely can no longer speak, but she’s still his best mate, and she’s not going to leave him until she’s ripped away from him. That time will come all too soon, he thinks, and clears his throat, smiling as her gaze meets his. “Donna, I’m so glad you came with me,” he tells her simply. He wants to say so much more, to thank her for all she’s done for him, but even with their relationship he still can’t bring himself to tell her everything. In the end he just smiles. “It’s been brilliant.”
“Yeah.” Donna tries to say more, but she can’t feel much below her chest, and what little she can feel hurts so badly she can barely keep from screaming. The blood is on her hands and his, running down her face, pooling on the floor, everywhere but still in her body. She sees the Doctor’s hands, the way he’s trying to stop her bleeding, to prolong her life, even though they both know it’s too late. He never could give up. Hopelessly optimistic, that’s what he is, even with his half-drowned kitten exterior. She’s always loved that about her dumb Spaceman.
She used to think she would die doing something important, something heroic. Then again, that’s the Doctor’s job, she muses as she feels her heart beginning to fail. He can still save the world, all on his own, even if it is harder without her nudging him in the right direction. But she helped him. Her, Donna Noble, savior of the bloody universe. “Not bad,” she chokes out with a small smile. She hears the Doctor ask her what she means but she ignores him. She can’t really talk now anyway, not without pain, and she only has one thing left to say to him.
The world is dark now but she smiles, inhaling one last breath and sighing at the familiar smell of her perfume from 26th century Italy and the anti-gravity hair gel the Doctor insists on using ever since she bought it for him on his not-birthday. There’s something else, the overwhelming stench of iron, but she manages to keep her and the Doctor apart from that, focusing on them rather than the pain in her stomach or the fluid building up in her chest, making it impossible to breathe. She knows she isn’t anymore, and she can vaguely hear the Doctor telling her to keep fighting, but he’s just an echo now, blending into memories of tea and snuck cookies with her grandfather and the few times her mother held her as a child and the look on her father’s face when he heard she was getting married. The Doctor’s voice finally breaks through again, though, and just as her heart stops beating she whispers, “Love you, Martian.”
“I love you too, Donna,” the Doctor replies softly. He presses his hands tighter over her wounds, but the blood has stopped flowing, and Donna’s ragged breathing ends with a soft, almost relieved sigh. “Donna? Donna, no. No, no, no!” He lifts his hand from her stomach, cupping her cheek in his hand again and pleading with her to answer, but she’s silent and still, limp and unresponsive and....gone. There’s no pulse in her throat, nor beneath her breasts. “Donna....”
She’s dead. He knows she is. He just can’t bring himself to accept it. Not yet.
“Donna, please,” he whispers, his voice finally cracking and tears beginning to slide down his face. He shakes her but her head just lolls to the side. He leans down and tries to breathe into her mouth, but her skin is too slippery, and there’s no airflow. He presses his ear above her heart, but he only manages to cover his face in her blood. He lifts his head, holding his hands against her instead and pressing down sharply, but the only movement that results from his efforts is his hands shaking against the fabric of her shirt. He calls her name, but she doesn’t answer, and he knows better than to expect a reply. He wants to pull out the sonic, but he knows it will just confirm what he already knows. Finally he lifts her head, her hair sticking to the blood on his hands, and gently presses a kiss to her forehead. As he pulls away he frowns, noticing a dark stain where his lips touched her skin. “Sorry,” he mutters, and wipes it away.
She’s dead. He knows she is. He just can’t bring himself to let her go. Not yet.
Finally, what seems like hours later, he lifts her into his arms and begins to make his way back to the TARDIS. She’s slowly growing cold, and he holds her to his chest, squeezing her arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. He doesn’t care if she’s gone. She’s still Donna, still his best friend, and he won’t let anything happen to her. Mates are like that.