Circadian Rhythms 2/?
Title: Circadian Rhythms
Rating: PG-ish? IDK as of yet.
Pairing: Ten, Donna
Summary: The Doctor rarely sleeps. Donna demands to know why.
Chapter: 2/?
Teaspoon: Gimme a minute to post it there.
A/N: Was gonna post this yesterday, but two chapters were a lot for one day. Also, this (and especially the following) chapter were inspired greatly by this song. Still dedicated to
babitzka
“I ought to just sit alone,” Donna thinks, more often than not, and most times, resentfully. There are days (and she isn’t always convinced they are days; timelines here are indistinct- on top of everything else) where the psychological strain gets to be too much.
After months of traveling, Donna begins to withstand emotions she has never, ever experienced prior to meeting the Doctor.
It is an intrusive feeling, to say the very least, but Donna is not even sure the sensation is that easy to pin down, because it is not exclusively negative. It’s a separate idiosyncrasy- an extension of the norm- something she sensed she should’ve been capable of feeling back on Earth, a feeling she never got around to embracing, or perhaps, had been too naïve, subdued, or even hesitant to comprehend.
So, she pegs it as a betrayal of her own thoughts. Donna had always been self-assured and strong-willed (just not always capable of obtaining what she wanted) so when she sought a life with the Doctor, it was all according to plan. Her plan.
…The stars in her eyes were beginning to fade.
Perhaps then, as a necessity in her line of thinking, she considers how much she’d disregarded. The Doctor had shown her the birth of her galaxy- too breathtaking for words- and only months later had it hit her: how very trifling and tiny and…trapped her galaxy was in context to everything else.
To organize and isolate her thoughts, she tries explaining this to the Doctor.
He seems to already know what she is going to describe, and in turn, already knows how to answer for her.
“It’s all too wonderful, maybe that’s my problem…” she starts. “But- no, that can’t be it Doctor, because some of the things you’ve shown me…I wish you’d never had.”
She grimaces apologetically, though she wasn’t going to deny herself the confession. The Doctor doesn’t seem to take offense, and briefly, he even looks grateful for her honesty.
“Well,” he stops. “It’s…it’s seductive, isn’t it?”
She asks him to clarify.
“…That feeling you’re getting. Pulls you in. Quickly- intensely- before you can even justify where it’s coming from. All directions at once. And it’s elusive, but oh, it’s alluring, and you just want it to stop.” He narrows his eyes.
“Yes! Yes. Doctor, I’m so glad you know what I’m trying to say. I thought I was going-”
“It’s guilt,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“…That feeling. It’s guilt.”
“What?” she says again, brushing her hair out of her face and shaking her head. She can’t help but snicker a little, “I’m pretty sure you’ve just misunderstood me completely.”
The Doctor shrugs.
“Were you even paying attention?”
“Yeah, I was listening.” he says. “It makes sense to me.”
And he walks away.
******
Thus generates Donna’s desire for some solitude.
She is uncomfortable, even embarrassed to think so selfishly, but especially after futile trips where they fail to rectify or rescue, Donna does not- cannot- connect with the Doctor.
She catches on to a pattern: Once they are out of harm’s way, Donna is emotionally fatigued, pale-faced and palpitating, and she needs to get a hold on herself, some kind of internal reassurance- she needs to sob unabashedly, at least, if she cannot guarantee their next attempt at deliverance will spare lives. She grows distrustful of herself, is flooded with grief and doubt, and she demands to know if this life is worth what she gave up to be here. She wants to go to sleep, to curl up, to hide- all clichés, all childlike, frightened reactions that she thought she would be stronger than, but sometimes, they are just too impossible to forbear.
The Doctor, on the other hand, simply flies them off to somewhere new- to try again, to forget. He keeps quiet and stays away from Donna, though he does not disappear completely.
Withdrawn but not absent.
He needs her, but she does not know why. When he is feeling guilty about a mission in vain, he has that same desire for solitude, she can tell. He does not talk to her, does not expect her to say anything, does not react at all, yet he will not leave her alone.
She wonders about the duties of a companion- all the people he has ever asked to come along with him. She has never considered herself a “companion” in that sense before, because she was the one who had asked. ‘Companion’, to Donna, had the subtext of ‘job’- a catering to the Doctor, a satisfying of needs, a filling of emptiness, someone to bounce ideas off of and to laugh with (cry with?)- a coworker, but a subordinate in a hierarchy nonetheless.
It is Donna’s ‘job’ to tell him where to draw the line. To remind him that frailty is inevitable. She caters to him by giving praise where praise was due. She satisfies him by sharing his fascination. She fills his emptiness with her own laughter and tears. And they worked together. They had been called “partners in crime”.
But to what extent were their lives criminal, and to what extent were they partners?
…On days of misfortune, as he tags at her heels, she second-guesses the hierarchy.
******
A few days after the Doctor’s recovery from his concussion, he is thrown into the line of fire yet again. En route to somewhere new, the TARDIS falls under siege.
“Donna they’ve found us!” he cries, almost thrilled.
“Who?!” she shrieks, bucking forward as the Doctor burdens the accelerator and the TARDIS whines explosively.
“Our friends from Balxara, hostile as ever, here they come, and wow, are they gaining- grab something- Donna-!”
Donna, of course, does not have time to, and she shreds her arms over the flooring in her attempt to break her fall. She yelps in pain and rolls.
The Doctor remains upright, miraculously, legs splayed, teeth gritted, digging his elbows into the console, grappling several levers at once, and seething. He does not take his eyes from the screen but yells anxiously, “Donna?! Alright?!”
“Yes,” Donna hisses through stinging pain. She blinks back tears. “I fell- okay though.”
“They’re powering up, dunno with what-” the Doctor pants.
From far off, and barreling closer within an instant, a noise like a vacuum in stereo fluctuates in irregular flares, low and hollow, popping Donna’s eardrums and ricocheting off every surface of the ship. Donna clamps her hands over her ears. The Doctor grabs the monitor. “No, can’t- cold fusion- it’s big- DONNA here it comes again!”
There is a flash, white and blinding. It swallows the TARDIS, and everything is silent for seconds, minutes, hours…
Donna blinks, trembling, and watches the Doctor hold fast to the controls. Something shatters outside. The Doctor snaps his head up, eyes wide and wild. “Hold on,” he mouths.
Donna shoves her fingers between the grates and clings tightly as something hits.
The Doctor loses his grip on the gearshift and is thrown back into a wall.
The console sparkles and sputters and catches fire where he was standing seconds before.
Something that sounds like crackling electricity spins around the exterior, and heat from the projectile sears into the console room.
The fluid links lock, the engines stammer, and the TARDIS falls mute.
“No!” the Doctor screams, and they are plummeting.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Rating: PG-ish? IDK as of yet.
Pairing: Ten, Donna
Summary: The Doctor rarely sleeps. Donna demands to know why.
Chapter: 2/?
Teaspoon: Gimme a minute to post it there.
A/N: Was gonna post this yesterday, but two chapters were a lot for one day. Also, this (and especially the following) chapter were inspired greatly by this song. Still dedicated to
babitzka
“I ought to just sit alone,” Donna thinks, more often than not, and most times, resentfully. There are days (and she isn’t always convinced they are days; timelines here are indistinct- on top of everything else) where the psychological strain gets to be too much.
After months of traveling, Donna begins to withstand emotions she has never, ever experienced prior to meeting the Doctor.
It is an intrusive feeling, to say the very least, but Donna is not even sure the sensation is that easy to pin down, because it is not exclusively negative. It’s a separate idiosyncrasy- an extension of the norm- something she sensed she should’ve been capable of feeling back on Earth, a feeling she never got around to embracing, or perhaps, had been too naïve, subdued, or even hesitant to comprehend.
So, she pegs it as a betrayal of her own thoughts. Donna had always been self-assured and strong-willed (just not always capable of obtaining what she wanted) so when she sought a life with the Doctor, it was all according to plan. Her plan.
…The stars in her eyes were beginning to fade.
Perhaps then, as a necessity in her line of thinking, she considers how much she’d disregarded. The Doctor had shown her the birth of her galaxy- too breathtaking for words- and only months later had it hit her: how very trifling and tiny and…trapped her galaxy was in context to everything else.
To organize and isolate her thoughts, she tries explaining this to the Doctor.
He seems to already know what she is going to describe, and in turn, already knows how to answer for her.
“It’s all too wonderful, maybe that’s my problem…” she starts. “But- no, that can’t be it Doctor, because some of the things you’ve shown me…I wish you’d never had.”
She grimaces apologetically, though she wasn’t going to deny herself the confession. The Doctor doesn’t seem to take offense, and briefly, he even looks grateful for her honesty.
“Well,” he stops. “It’s…it’s seductive, isn’t it?”
She asks him to clarify.
“…That feeling you’re getting. Pulls you in. Quickly- intensely- before you can even justify where it’s coming from. All directions at once. And it’s elusive, but oh, it’s alluring, and you just want it to stop.” He narrows his eyes.
“Yes! Yes. Doctor, I’m so glad you know what I’m trying to say. I thought I was going-”
“It’s guilt,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“…That feeling. It’s guilt.”
“What?” she says again, brushing her hair out of her face and shaking her head. She can’t help but snicker a little, “I’m pretty sure you’ve just misunderstood me completely.”
The Doctor shrugs.
“Were you even paying attention?”
“Yeah, I was listening.” he says. “It makes sense to me.”
And he walks away.
******
Thus generates Donna’s desire for some solitude.
She is uncomfortable, even embarrassed to think so selfishly, but especially after futile trips where they fail to rectify or rescue, Donna does not- cannot- connect with the Doctor.
She catches on to a pattern: Once they are out of harm’s way, Donna is emotionally fatigued, pale-faced and palpitating, and she needs to get a hold on herself, some kind of internal reassurance- she needs to sob unabashedly, at least, if she cannot guarantee their next attempt at deliverance will spare lives. She grows distrustful of herself, is flooded with grief and doubt, and she demands to know if this life is worth what she gave up to be here. She wants to go to sleep, to curl up, to hide- all clichés, all childlike, frightened reactions that she thought she would be stronger than, but sometimes, they are just too impossible to forbear.
The Doctor, on the other hand, simply flies them off to somewhere new- to try again, to forget. He keeps quiet and stays away from Donna, though he does not disappear completely.
Withdrawn but not absent.
He needs her, but she does not know why. When he is feeling guilty about a mission in vain, he has that same desire for solitude, she can tell. He does not talk to her, does not expect her to say anything, does not react at all, yet he will not leave her alone.
She wonders about the duties of a companion- all the people he has ever asked to come along with him. She has never considered herself a “companion” in that sense before, because she was the one who had asked. ‘Companion’, to Donna, had the subtext of ‘job’- a catering to the Doctor, a satisfying of needs, a filling of emptiness, someone to bounce ideas off of and to laugh with (cry with?)- a coworker, but a subordinate in a hierarchy nonetheless.
It is Donna’s ‘job’ to tell him where to draw the line. To remind him that frailty is inevitable. She caters to him by giving praise where praise was due. She satisfies him by sharing his fascination. She fills his emptiness with her own laughter and tears. And they worked together. They had been called “partners in crime”.
But to what extent were their lives criminal, and to what extent were they partners?
…On days of misfortune, as he tags at her heels, she second-guesses the hierarchy.
******
A few days after the Doctor’s recovery from his concussion, he is thrown into the line of fire yet again. En route to somewhere new, the TARDIS falls under siege.
“Donna they’ve found us!” he cries, almost thrilled.
“Who?!” she shrieks, bucking forward as the Doctor burdens the accelerator and the TARDIS whines explosively.
“Our friends from Balxara, hostile as ever, here they come, and wow, are they gaining- grab something- Donna-!”
Donna, of course, does not have time to, and she shreds her arms over the flooring in her attempt to break her fall. She yelps in pain and rolls.
The Doctor remains upright, miraculously, legs splayed, teeth gritted, digging his elbows into the console, grappling several levers at once, and seething. He does not take his eyes from the screen but yells anxiously, “Donna?! Alright?!”
“Yes,” Donna hisses through stinging pain. She blinks back tears. “I fell- okay though.”
“They’re powering up, dunno with what-” the Doctor pants.
From far off, and barreling closer within an instant, a noise like a vacuum in stereo fluctuates in irregular flares, low and hollow, popping Donna’s eardrums and ricocheting off every surface of the ship. Donna clamps her hands over her ears. The Doctor grabs the monitor. “No, can’t- cold fusion- it’s big- DONNA here it comes again!”
There is a flash, white and blinding. It swallows the TARDIS, and everything is silent for seconds, minutes, hours…
Donna blinks, trembling, and watches the Doctor hold fast to the controls. Something shatters outside. The Doctor snaps his head up, eyes wide and wild. “Hold on,” he mouths.
Donna shoves her fingers between the grates and clings tightly as something hits.
The Doctor loses his grip on the gearshift and is thrown back into a wall.
The console sparkles and sputters and catches fire where he was standing seconds before.
Something that sounds like crackling electricity spins around the exterior, and heat from the projectile sears into the console room.
The fluid links lock, the engines stammer, and the TARDIS falls mute.
“No!” the Doctor screams, and they are plummeting.
TO BE CONTINUED...