Doctor Who - Dreaming of the Next Apocalypse
Now for something a little different...
Title: Dreaming of the Next Apocalypse
Genre: Doctor Who, Gen
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Donna’s thoughts, post series 4.
Spoilers: Major spoilers for the end of series 4.
Author’s Notes: Written for kepp0xy for oxoniensis’s Fall Fandom Free for All, who wanted a Donna-centric character piece. I hope this suffices.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any character in this, or implied to be in this, people with a lot of money do. I am just doing this for fun and making no profit from this.
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Daft, she heard them call her. They no longer even pretended to do so behind her back. Spoke right up front, right next to her, figuring if she heard, she either would not care or not understand anyway. They mocked her for supposedly sleeping through one of the greatest light shows in history, though most were torn as to whether it was all a hoax, or if the world, if the entire planet, had been moved through the stars.
She acted like she didn’t care, played the role of the non-believer, of the absent-minded woman too obsessed with her next phone call or telly series to bother with anything else. But she saw, she heard, she comprehended far more than they would ever understand.
She watched as her Mum would try to laugh along, saw the sadness in the lines about her face, the way she looked away just that bit too soon. She watched as her Grandad would throw down whatever he had been working on and storm out, pretending she didn’t see the tears in his eyes, didn’t notice the way he never invited her to his hilltop observatory anymore. She heard their whispered conversations about risk and loss and guilt and love, felt the way they would grow suspiciously too quiet when they heard her approach.
She saw people who never used to be there, men in black with ramrod straight posture, just happening to need to be wherever she was going. She saw the way they would stare without ever looking right at her, biting her tongue to stop herself from lashing out at them, giving them a good what for, slapping them across the cheek and running away to try to find some peace. She saw the way they fell to the background when another appeared, a disheveled bloke in a pinstripe suite with trainers and a haunted look in his eyes. She saw faces that tickled the back of her memories, just for a second, before fading away as if they had never been there in the first place.
Still, she laughed through it all, played the forgetful, flighty redhead, floating from temp job to temp job, paying her bills, buying a pint at the pub with her coworkers, toasting the mundane while never appearing to strive for anything other than what was handed to her, never appearing to dream.
She did dream, not that she told anyone. She dreamt of places built of light and crystal, of shelves upon shelves of any and all books she could ever want, of an alien song so beautiful and heartbreaking she could weep, of fire and brimstone, of the most wondrous things should could ever imagine and the most terrifying things that could ever haunt her worst nightmares. She saw those faces again, not blinking away, but laughing, and joking, and running and doing all the daring deeds even her favorite characters in her shows would be afraid to go after and inviting her to join them right along.
Sometimes, she would lie in bed, head on her pillow, blanket pulled up tight, and remember those dreams. Remember those pictures, hear the words, feel the heat and the cold and the pain of loss and the elation of winning. Those times, she would wait until the house was quiet, until she was certain no one would hear her, and whisper, ever so softly, “My name is Donna Noble, and I’m a bloody Time Lord.”
End.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Dreaming of the Next Apocalypse
Genre: Doctor Who, Gen
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Donna’s thoughts, post series 4.
Spoilers: Major spoilers for the end of series 4.
Author’s Notes: Written for kepp0xy for oxoniensis’s Fall Fandom Free for All, who wanted a Donna-centric character piece. I hope this suffices.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any character in this, or implied to be in this, people with a lot of money do. I am just doing this for fun and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Daft, she heard them call her. They no longer even pretended to do so behind her back. Spoke right up front, right next to her, figuring if she heard, she either would not care or not understand anyway. They mocked her for supposedly sleeping through one of the greatest light shows in history, though most were torn as to whether it was all a hoax, or if the world, if the entire planet, had been moved through the stars.
She acted like she didn’t care, played the role of the non-believer, of the absent-minded woman too obsessed with her next phone call or telly series to bother with anything else. But she saw, she heard, she comprehended far more than they would ever understand.
She watched as her Mum would try to laugh along, saw the sadness in the lines about her face, the way she looked away just that bit too soon. She watched as her Grandad would throw down whatever he had been working on and storm out, pretending she didn’t see the tears in his eyes, didn’t notice the way he never invited her to his hilltop observatory anymore. She heard their whispered conversations about risk and loss and guilt and love, felt the way they would grow suspiciously too quiet when they heard her approach.
She saw people who never used to be there, men in black with ramrod straight posture, just happening to need to be wherever she was going. She saw the way they would stare without ever looking right at her, biting her tongue to stop herself from lashing out at them, giving them a good what for, slapping them across the cheek and running away to try to find some peace. She saw the way they fell to the background when another appeared, a disheveled bloke in a pinstripe suite with trainers and a haunted look in his eyes. She saw faces that tickled the back of her memories, just for a second, before fading away as if they had never been there in the first place.
Still, she laughed through it all, played the forgetful, flighty redhead, floating from temp job to temp job, paying her bills, buying a pint at the pub with her coworkers, toasting the mundane while never appearing to strive for anything other than what was handed to her, never appearing to dream.
She did dream, not that she told anyone. She dreamt of places built of light and crystal, of shelves upon shelves of any and all books she could ever want, of an alien song so beautiful and heartbreaking she could weep, of fire and brimstone, of the most wondrous things should could ever imagine and the most terrifying things that could ever haunt her worst nightmares. She saw those faces again, not blinking away, but laughing, and joking, and running and doing all the daring deeds even her favorite characters in her shows would be afraid to go after and inviting her to join them right along.
Sometimes, she would lie in bed, head on her pillow, blanket pulled up tight, and remember those dreams. Remember those pictures, hear the words, feel the heat and the cold and the pain of loss and the elation of winning. Those times, she would wait until the house was quiet, until she was certain no one would hear her, and whisper, ever so softly, “My name is Donna Noble, and I’m a bloody Time Lord.”
End.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.