To the Air and the Dark
Title: To the Air and the Dark
Author: Tess/mihane_echo
Rating: Rated E for everyone; nothing lurking but angst and squishy.
Word Count: 2787
Spoilers: Through 4.10 Midnight
Summary: He just's running his mouth in his typical Time Lord fashion, to no one. To the air.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to the Beeb and I'm borrowing it to play with. I promise I will return them (marginally) unharmed. ;3
Author's Note: Ohmgod, I finally finished something again. Someone please tie my muse up and tell her to work on one bloody thing at a time. I love this story to itty bitty bits, but it was a pain to break. Fortunately for me, SciFi reran Midnight this morning and the ending proceeded to write itself. Yay for being awake at five in the am.
He's been quiet for a long time, Donna notices. She doesn't blame him. After going through what he did, anyone would be inclined to retreat into their mind and just detach for a bit. The problem is that she knows the Doctor, knows that inside he's angry and broken and screaming. His grip on her hand is very tight considering what they're doing --watching telly-- and she knows it's because he wants that connection. He just wants to feel her there.
She needs to get up and move though, stretch her legs before her bottom becomes one with the sofa. As if reading her mind, the program goes to commercial, confirming her notion that it's time to pop to the kitchen for a snack. Donna glances sidelong at the Doctor, gives his hand a wiggle. "I'm gonna go grab something to munch on, would you like me to bring you something?"
"Hm? Oh. No, I'm alright." His voice is strangely bland, absent of all its usual energy and mirth. Reluctantly, he lets her hand loose. Donna tousles his hair as she stands, smiling at him reassuringly before she leaves the room. He returns the gesture, but like his voice, the smile is empty and lacking.
Donna heads down to her own bedroom first, to change into her pajamas, and then to the bathroom, for obvious reasons. She washes and dries her hands after. Her hair feels stiff as she pulls it down from its ponytail; it's been up like that all day so the feel of it curling around her face is a welcome shift. Anxiously she eyes herself in the mirror and decides she can't needle the Doctor any more for looking distraught. She doesn't look all that hot herself, her skin paler than usual and tension forming creases under her eyes that make her look older than she is.
You almost lost me today.
His words, whispered harshly in her ear as he held her to him, had sent cold prickles down her back. Even now, the idea that she could've been lounging by a pool with her passionfruit cocktail while the Doctor... Her chest grows tight and Donna has to wipe away the sudden tears that spill down her cheeks.
She's let him down. Of all the times she could be selfish and leave him on his own, it had to be on the bloody diamond planet with the formless voice-stealing evil.
Oh, he hasn't said anything, but that's because he hasn't said anything. But then, she feels that she's hating herself enough for the both of them anyway.
Donna composes herself and heads to the kitchen for her as-of-yet unknown snack. Before she even rounds the corner, she realizes she can hear the Doctor talking.
"...as much sugar what's in it, I wonder if I'd have a proper sugar rush. Could probably use the boost, bouncing off the walls and dancing and what-- Oh, dancing! I bet Donna would love the water dancing on Triton Thirty-Eight, we ought to head there sooner or later. No, the crash would be too much, shouldn't have that. Maybe just a drink, I'm not really all that hungry anyway..."
Donna peers around the corner first, hoping to observe the Doctor before he sees her. He's standing in front of the larder with both narrow doors open, pulling and pushing on the various articles of food, shifting that box or turning that jar before deciding against them, and all the while talking to himself. Not even just muttering under his breath as one would expect, but speaking out loud, clearly. Running his mouth in his typical Time Lord fashion, to no one.
To the air.
It's the most she's heard him say all evening.
She goes to stand beside him and to her surprise the Doctor jumps, startled by her sudden presence. Donna's breath catches in her throat and she winces apologetically.
"I'm sorry, I thought you heard me."
The Doctor shakes his head, looking humiliated at his reaction and the realization that Donna has heard his odd little conversation with himself. His expression is very much that of a puppy's who knows he isn't to chew Mummy's slippers but just couldn't help himself. But Donna disregards this, instead reaching over to pat his arm encouragingly, and the Doctor switches the look for something in a tight, blank expression.
It doesn't take them long to rifle through their collection of snacks. Arms loaded with hot chocolate, biscuits and banana marmalade, the two of them quietly return to the den and their squashy old sofa. Donna settles the marmalade between them so that she can dunk her biscuits and the Doctor, his fingers. He silently understands this and pokes one long finger in and then pops it, marmalade-covered, into his mouth.
It takes him three seconds to realize that her hand is no longer free to cling to, since it's now filled with biscuits. The Doctor scootches closer, enough to lean himself on his elbow and rest his head on Donna's shoulder.
It takes her three minutes to realize he's not going to talk again. Donna very nearly wants to cry.
She misses the sound of his voice.
.
Over the evening, the programs shift from the prime-time dramas to the late-hour movies; the box of biscuits runs low and the marmalade disappears entirely. Donna is sleepy, incredibly so, but she waits. Waits to see what the Doctor will do. She has a hunch, and Donna Noble is rarely wrong about this sort of thing. She knows that the Doctor isn't much of a sleeper, but as dawn approaches she finally, blessedly, feels the jerking droop of his head as he starts to nod off against her arm. Triumphantly, she flicks off the television.
"That's it, Doctor. Bedtime."
He sits up, blinking rapidly and feigning wide-awakeness as though he wasn't nearly snoring into her shoulder a moment ago. "Alright, you go on. I'm not tired," he says.
Donna chooses not to point out the dark circles under his eyes. "I didn't mean me by myself, I mean you too. You're exhausted, Doctor. Not that it's any wonder." The last she says quietly, more to herself than to him. If he hears her --and she knows he can, he has exceptional hearing-- he doesn't seem to.
She tosses the remote onto the coffee table, next to her empty hot chocolate mug and the half-empty box of biscuits. "C'mon, I'm not asking you to sleep for long. I know you don't need much, being a Time Lord and all. I just want you to get a little."
The Doctor leans forward and snags the remote from where she tossed it, flicks the TV back on. "I'm not going to bed."
She yanks it out of his hand, flicks it off again. "Yes, you are. C'mon, up you get."
He reaches for the remote again, but Donna puts it behind her back. He glares at her. "Donna, I don't want to go to bed. I'm not sleepy."
Donna knows why he's fighting her, and knows he will never say it. She knows she's crossing a line even as the words come out of her mouth, but they have to be said. "Whether you come to bed with me now or nod off of exhaustion another hour from now, you are still going to have nightmares, Doctor."
He stiffens, his eyes blazing. He's angry with her. Angry because she's right, because she touched a nerve. Angry because he hates feeling vulnerable like this and he wants it to be over. Donna tosses the remote once again onto the table, but he doesn't see it or want it anymore. She steps forward, further over the invisible line and offers her hand to him.
"C'mon," she says softly. "I'm going to bed and I'm not going anywhere without you."
There's a moment when she thinks he's going to fight her some more, as he looks from her hand to her face and then her hand again before finally taking it with a resigned sigh. Donna curls her fingers around his, squeezing them gently, and tugs him out of the den and leads him down to his bedroom.
Without a moment's hesitation, Donna enters his room and begins preparing it. She turns down the duvet and then goes about the rest of the room, turning off the Doctor's many lamps, except for the one on the side of his bed she's decided is "her side." She looks up when she hears the Time Lord make an awkward little noise in the back of his throat. He's still standing at the door where she left him. Donna turns to him patiently.
"We're going to... I mean, you're..." He looks a little anxious, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "You're going to sleep in here?"
"Would you rather be alone?"
"No!" He shuts his mouth quickly, feeling reproachful for speaking so quickly, but shakes his head vehemently. He stops, fidgets. Then shakes it again, less frenzied. "No. Please stay."
Donna smiles at him as though everything is fine, as though he didn't just have a tiny panic attack right there in front of her. She crawls up underneath his bedcovers and then lifts it, inviting him in.
"C'mon, Spaceman, I don't kick." Her tone has the tiniest hint of humor, but it falls flat. He's staring at his bed as though it's going to eat him. Finally, he shuffles forward and settles down next to her, lying stiff as a board on his back. He's so tense, Donna can feel it coming off him in waves. She scootches close, close enough to count the freckles on his face, and cradles his hand in both of hers. It's a fist, but when she pokes her fingers in, he relaxes and lets her hold it.
"You just relax, alright?" she urges gently, rubbing her fingers over his hand in small circles. "Don't think about anything, just close your eyes and rest. You'll be fine, I'm right here."
Despite how sleepy she is, Donna keeps herself awake until he starts to drift, slowly, slowly, and then is finally asleep. Only then, when she's satisfied that he's asleep and not faking, does she turn off the lamp and close her eyes.
.
She startles awake when he starts screaming. For a second Donna doesn't know where she is or what the sound she's hearing is. Then she realizes it's the Doctor and she gropes blindly for him in the dark, twice snatching the bedcovers before she finally finds him. He's sitting up in bed with his hands over his face, and tears prickle her eyes when she feels him trembling. Donna hooks her arm around his, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe, Doctor, you're safe! I'm here, we're home, you're safe."
"It was here, I felt it, I felt it in my head, Donna, it's here." He's crying, his voice is thick with it. Donna grabs a fistful of his shirt, gives him a little jerk so that he pays full attentions to her words.
"It's not," she says firmly, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that she's starting to cry now too, and he can probably hear the wobble in her voice. "It's not here, Doctor. We're home, we're in the TARDIS. That damned thing is back there and it can't follow us here. You're safe."
"It took my voice, it had my voice and I couldn't move and I burnt. Donna, I burnt."
She reaches out, grabs his face and turns him towards her even though they can't really see each other in the dark. "Oi, Spaceman," she says, her voice a soothing whisper. "You listen to me. You're here, it's gone and you're you. No one's got your voice but you. You can trust me on that because if anyone knows what you sound like, it's me." Donna runs her fingers through the Doctor's hair, holding him steady as he leans against her, drawing strength from her. He takes a moment to gather himself, little gasps and half-sobs giving way to deep, steady breaths.
Donna bites hard on her tongue, tears slipping down her cheeks now without abandon. That feeling of anger, of disappointment, rises again and she hates herself viciously for a moment. If only she'd been there!
"I'm so sorry," she says to him suddenly, before she even realizes she's thought the words. "I should've been there. I should've gone with you. I should never have let you go by yourself."
"Donna, no." He sounds tired, as though weary of telling her so.
Donna stares intently at where she thinks his face is; when she speaks, it's without anger, without desperation or angst or regret. Just grim certainty. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd gone. If I'd gone, I'dve torn that truck apart to keep them from you. I should've been there, and I wasn't. I'm sorry."
He's silent for a long time, leaving Donna with just the dark and the sound of him breathing. She wonders what he's thinking, and not for the first time tonight, wishes he would speak. Then she feels his hand on her face, his thumb rubbing over the streak of wetness on her cheek. With a sigh, he pulls her forward, dropping his cheek against the top of her head. And then to her surprise and great relief, he chuckles lightly. Sounds almost like himself again, for a moment.
"I know. But even seeing you in a ginger fury wouldn't be worth having you there with me." He swallows, struggling with what to say next. "If you had been there... they'd have just thrown us both out."
"I don't care," she says. "You shouldn't have been alone."
"Don't say that," he says roughly. His grip on her tightens. "Don't put yourself before me."
Donna makes a little groan under her breath, smacks his arm. "Oi, the same to you then. We're partners. What we do, we do together. So don't you ever start thinking of sacrificing yourself for me or going off and dying on your own." She grins, again not caring that he can't see her in the dark. "This is gonna be cheesy, but... you jump, I jump."
He laughs then, and the sound is magnificent. On a sudden whim, Donna throws her other arm around his ribs to give him a proper squeeze, reveling in the feel of him. He's not dead. He's safe. He's here. He's solid in her embrace, solid and real and warm, or at least as warm as the Doctor ever can be with his oddly low body temperature.
He returns the hug, presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I promise," he says. "I won't go off and die without you."
"Yeah, and... I'm not looking to die anytime soon, so..."
"I'm forbidden to die then, is that it?" he asks, his tone light and teasing. Donna nods against his chest.
"No dying."
"Molto bene. I'm not all that eager to die myself."
She smiles. After a moment, she yawns, still aching to sleep. Her body shudders from exhaustion, and the Doctor shifts to look down at her, one hand idly stroking her hair. "Oi, no wonder you're pulling cheesy lines. You're exhausted." He pushes her back onto the pillows, pulls the duvet up to her neck. "Go back to sleep."
"You're not going anywhere, are you?" she asks suddenly, grasping his fingers. He's still for a moment, and Donna has the distinct impression that he's watching her.
"Not if you don't want me to," he replies softly.
"I don't. You hardly slept, and besides, I don't feel like moving to my room when I'm already comfortable here, and I don't want... to kick you out of your own.. bed." Curled on the bed the way she is and already sleepy, Donna's eyes drift closed and her words begin to slur. "If you need me again... wake me... up..."
"I think I'll be all right now," he says, and the bed gives as he settles once more next to her and slides his arm underneath her so that her head rests on his chest. She can instantly tell that he's more relaxed. The tension that had held him so tightly earlier has floated away like dry leaves in an autumn wind and it puts her to ease that, unlike his usual claims, he may actually be okay.
This time Donna drifts first, falling asleep to the gentle rise and fall of the Doctor's chest and the deep double-thump of his hearts.
They sleep through the rest of the night.
end
Followed by Dreaming of the Sky
Author: Tess/mihane_echo
Rating: Rated E for everyone; nothing lurking but angst and squishy.
Word Count: 2787
Spoilers: Through 4.10 Midnight
Summary: He just's running his mouth in his typical Time Lord fashion, to no one. To the air.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to the Beeb and I'm borrowing it to play with. I promise I will return them (marginally) unharmed. ;3
Author's Note: Ohmgod, I finally finished something again. Someone please tie my muse up and tell her to work on one bloody thing at a time. I love this story to itty bitty bits, but it was a pain to break. Fortunately for me, SciFi reran Midnight this morning and the ending proceeded to write itself. Yay for being awake at five in the am.
He's been quiet for a long time, Donna notices. She doesn't blame him. After going through what he did, anyone would be inclined to retreat into their mind and just detach for a bit. The problem is that she knows the Doctor, knows that inside he's angry and broken and screaming. His grip on her hand is very tight considering what they're doing --watching telly-- and she knows it's because he wants that connection. He just wants to feel her there.
She needs to get up and move though, stretch her legs before her bottom becomes one with the sofa. As if reading her mind, the program goes to commercial, confirming her notion that it's time to pop to the kitchen for a snack. Donna glances sidelong at the Doctor, gives his hand a wiggle. "I'm gonna go grab something to munch on, would you like me to bring you something?"
"Hm? Oh. No, I'm alright." His voice is strangely bland, absent of all its usual energy and mirth. Reluctantly, he lets her hand loose. Donna tousles his hair as she stands, smiling at him reassuringly before she leaves the room. He returns the gesture, but like his voice, the smile is empty and lacking.
Donna heads down to her own bedroom first, to change into her pajamas, and then to the bathroom, for obvious reasons. She washes and dries her hands after. Her hair feels stiff as she pulls it down from its ponytail; it's been up like that all day so the feel of it curling around her face is a welcome shift. Anxiously she eyes herself in the mirror and decides she can't needle the Doctor any more for looking distraught. She doesn't look all that hot herself, her skin paler than usual and tension forming creases under her eyes that make her look older than she is.
You almost lost me today.
His words, whispered harshly in her ear as he held her to him, had sent cold prickles down her back. Even now, the idea that she could've been lounging by a pool with her passionfruit cocktail while the Doctor... Her chest grows tight and Donna has to wipe away the sudden tears that spill down her cheeks.
She's let him down. Of all the times she could be selfish and leave him on his own, it had to be on the bloody diamond planet with the formless voice-stealing evil.
Oh, he hasn't said anything, but that's because he hasn't said anything. But then, she feels that she's hating herself enough for the both of them anyway.
Donna composes herself and heads to the kitchen for her as-of-yet unknown snack. Before she even rounds the corner, she realizes she can hear the Doctor talking.
"...as much sugar what's in it, I wonder if I'd have a proper sugar rush. Could probably use the boost, bouncing off the walls and dancing and what-- Oh, dancing! I bet Donna would love the water dancing on Triton Thirty-Eight, we ought to head there sooner or later. No, the crash would be too much, shouldn't have that. Maybe just a drink, I'm not really all that hungry anyway..."
Donna peers around the corner first, hoping to observe the Doctor before he sees her. He's standing in front of the larder with both narrow doors open, pulling and pushing on the various articles of food, shifting that box or turning that jar before deciding against them, and all the while talking to himself. Not even just muttering under his breath as one would expect, but speaking out loud, clearly. Running his mouth in his typical Time Lord fashion, to no one.
To the air.
It's the most she's heard him say all evening.
She goes to stand beside him and to her surprise the Doctor jumps, startled by her sudden presence. Donna's breath catches in her throat and she winces apologetically.
"I'm sorry, I thought you heard me."
The Doctor shakes his head, looking humiliated at his reaction and the realization that Donna has heard his odd little conversation with himself. His expression is very much that of a puppy's who knows he isn't to chew Mummy's slippers but just couldn't help himself. But Donna disregards this, instead reaching over to pat his arm encouragingly, and the Doctor switches the look for something in a tight, blank expression.
It doesn't take them long to rifle through their collection of snacks. Arms loaded with hot chocolate, biscuits and banana marmalade, the two of them quietly return to the den and their squashy old sofa. Donna settles the marmalade between them so that she can dunk her biscuits and the Doctor, his fingers. He silently understands this and pokes one long finger in and then pops it, marmalade-covered, into his mouth.
It takes him three seconds to realize that her hand is no longer free to cling to, since it's now filled with biscuits. The Doctor scootches closer, enough to lean himself on his elbow and rest his head on Donna's shoulder.
It takes her three minutes to realize he's not going to talk again. Donna very nearly wants to cry.
She misses the sound of his voice.
.
Over the evening, the programs shift from the prime-time dramas to the late-hour movies; the box of biscuits runs low and the marmalade disappears entirely. Donna is sleepy, incredibly so, but she waits. Waits to see what the Doctor will do. She has a hunch, and Donna Noble is rarely wrong about this sort of thing. She knows that the Doctor isn't much of a sleeper, but as dawn approaches she finally, blessedly, feels the jerking droop of his head as he starts to nod off against her arm. Triumphantly, she flicks off the television.
"That's it, Doctor. Bedtime."
He sits up, blinking rapidly and feigning wide-awakeness as though he wasn't nearly snoring into her shoulder a moment ago. "Alright, you go on. I'm not tired," he says.
Donna chooses not to point out the dark circles under his eyes. "I didn't mean me by myself, I mean you too. You're exhausted, Doctor. Not that it's any wonder." The last she says quietly, more to herself than to him. If he hears her --and she knows he can, he has exceptional hearing-- he doesn't seem to.
She tosses the remote onto the coffee table, next to her empty hot chocolate mug and the half-empty box of biscuits. "C'mon, I'm not asking you to sleep for long. I know you don't need much, being a Time Lord and all. I just want you to get a little."
The Doctor leans forward and snags the remote from where she tossed it, flicks the TV back on. "I'm not going to bed."
She yanks it out of his hand, flicks it off again. "Yes, you are. C'mon, up you get."
He reaches for the remote again, but Donna puts it behind her back. He glares at her. "Donna, I don't want to go to bed. I'm not sleepy."
Donna knows why he's fighting her, and knows he will never say it. She knows she's crossing a line even as the words come out of her mouth, but they have to be said. "Whether you come to bed with me now or nod off of exhaustion another hour from now, you are still going to have nightmares, Doctor."
He stiffens, his eyes blazing. He's angry with her. Angry because she's right, because she touched a nerve. Angry because he hates feeling vulnerable like this and he wants it to be over. Donna tosses the remote once again onto the table, but he doesn't see it or want it anymore. She steps forward, further over the invisible line and offers her hand to him.
"C'mon," she says softly. "I'm going to bed and I'm not going anywhere without you."
There's a moment when she thinks he's going to fight her some more, as he looks from her hand to her face and then her hand again before finally taking it with a resigned sigh. Donna curls her fingers around his, squeezing them gently, and tugs him out of the den and leads him down to his bedroom.
Without a moment's hesitation, Donna enters his room and begins preparing it. She turns down the duvet and then goes about the rest of the room, turning off the Doctor's many lamps, except for the one on the side of his bed she's decided is "her side." She looks up when she hears the Time Lord make an awkward little noise in the back of his throat. He's still standing at the door where she left him. Donna turns to him patiently.
"We're going to... I mean, you're..." He looks a little anxious, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "You're going to sleep in here?"
"Would you rather be alone?"
"No!" He shuts his mouth quickly, feeling reproachful for speaking so quickly, but shakes his head vehemently. He stops, fidgets. Then shakes it again, less frenzied. "No. Please stay."
Donna smiles at him as though everything is fine, as though he didn't just have a tiny panic attack right there in front of her. She crawls up underneath his bedcovers and then lifts it, inviting him in.
"C'mon, Spaceman, I don't kick." Her tone has the tiniest hint of humor, but it falls flat. He's staring at his bed as though it's going to eat him. Finally, he shuffles forward and settles down next to her, lying stiff as a board on his back. He's so tense, Donna can feel it coming off him in waves. She scootches close, close enough to count the freckles on his face, and cradles his hand in both of hers. It's a fist, but when she pokes her fingers in, he relaxes and lets her hold it.
"You just relax, alright?" she urges gently, rubbing her fingers over his hand in small circles. "Don't think about anything, just close your eyes and rest. You'll be fine, I'm right here."
Despite how sleepy she is, Donna keeps herself awake until he starts to drift, slowly, slowly, and then is finally asleep. Only then, when she's satisfied that he's asleep and not faking, does she turn off the lamp and close her eyes.
.
She startles awake when he starts screaming. For a second Donna doesn't know where she is or what the sound she's hearing is. Then she realizes it's the Doctor and she gropes blindly for him in the dark, twice snatching the bedcovers before she finally finds him. He's sitting up in bed with his hands over his face, and tears prickle her eyes when she feels him trembling. Donna hooks her arm around his, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe, Doctor, you're safe! I'm here, we're home, you're safe."
"It was here, I felt it, I felt it in my head, Donna, it's here." He's crying, his voice is thick with it. Donna grabs a fistful of his shirt, gives him a little jerk so that he pays full attentions to her words.
"It's not," she says firmly, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the fact that she's starting to cry now too, and he can probably hear the wobble in her voice. "It's not here, Doctor. We're home, we're in the TARDIS. That damned thing is back there and it can't follow us here. You're safe."
"It took my voice, it had my voice and I couldn't move and I burnt. Donna, I burnt."
She reaches out, grabs his face and turns him towards her even though they can't really see each other in the dark. "Oi, Spaceman," she says, her voice a soothing whisper. "You listen to me. You're here, it's gone and you're you. No one's got your voice but you. You can trust me on that because if anyone knows what you sound like, it's me." Donna runs her fingers through the Doctor's hair, holding him steady as he leans against her, drawing strength from her. He takes a moment to gather himself, little gasps and half-sobs giving way to deep, steady breaths.
Donna bites hard on her tongue, tears slipping down her cheeks now without abandon. That feeling of anger, of disappointment, rises again and she hates herself viciously for a moment. If only she'd been there!
"I'm so sorry," she says to him suddenly, before she even realizes she's thought the words. "I should've been there. I should've gone with you. I should never have let you go by yourself."
"Donna, no." He sounds tired, as though weary of telling her so.
Donna stares intently at where she thinks his face is; when she speaks, it's without anger, without desperation or angst or regret. Just grim certainty. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd gone. If I'd gone, I'dve torn that truck apart to keep them from you. I should've been there, and I wasn't. I'm sorry."
He's silent for a long time, leaving Donna with just the dark and the sound of him breathing. She wonders what he's thinking, and not for the first time tonight, wishes he would speak. Then she feels his hand on her face, his thumb rubbing over the streak of wetness on her cheek. With a sigh, he pulls her forward, dropping his cheek against the top of her head. And then to her surprise and great relief, he chuckles lightly. Sounds almost like himself again, for a moment.
"I know. But even seeing you in a ginger fury wouldn't be worth having you there with me." He swallows, struggling with what to say next. "If you had been there... they'd have just thrown us both out."
"I don't care," she says. "You shouldn't have been alone."
"Don't say that," he says roughly. His grip on her tightens. "Don't put yourself before me."
Donna makes a little groan under her breath, smacks his arm. "Oi, the same to you then. We're partners. What we do, we do together. So don't you ever start thinking of sacrificing yourself for me or going off and dying on your own." She grins, again not caring that he can't see her in the dark. "This is gonna be cheesy, but... you jump, I jump."
He laughs then, and the sound is magnificent. On a sudden whim, Donna throws her other arm around his ribs to give him a proper squeeze, reveling in the feel of him. He's not dead. He's safe. He's here. He's solid in her embrace, solid and real and warm, or at least as warm as the Doctor ever can be with his oddly low body temperature.
He returns the hug, presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I promise," he says. "I won't go off and die without you."
"Yeah, and... I'm not looking to die anytime soon, so..."
"I'm forbidden to die then, is that it?" he asks, his tone light and teasing. Donna nods against his chest.
"No dying."
"Molto bene. I'm not all that eager to die myself."
She smiles. After a moment, she yawns, still aching to sleep. Her body shudders from exhaustion, and the Doctor shifts to look down at her, one hand idly stroking her hair. "Oi, no wonder you're pulling cheesy lines. You're exhausted." He pushes her back onto the pillows, pulls the duvet up to her neck. "Go back to sleep."
"You're not going anywhere, are you?" she asks suddenly, grasping his fingers. He's still for a moment, and Donna has the distinct impression that he's watching her.
"Not if you don't want me to," he replies softly.
"I don't. You hardly slept, and besides, I don't feel like moving to my room when I'm already comfortable here, and I don't want... to kick you out of your own.. bed." Curled on the bed the way she is and already sleepy, Donna's eyes drift closed and her words begin to slur. "If you need me again... wake me... up..."
"I think I'll be all right now," he says, and the bed gives as he settles once more next to her and slides his arm underneath her so that her head rests on his chest. She can instantly tell that he's more relaxed. The tension that had held him so tightly earlier has floated away like dry leaves in an autumn wind and it puts her to ease that, unlike his usual claims, he may actually be okay.
This time Donna drifts first, falling asleep to the gentle rise and fall of the Doctor's chest and the deep double-thump of his hearts.
They sleep through the rest of the night.
end
Followed by Dreaming of the Sky