Echoes (Doctor Who fic)
Title: Echoes
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna (with discussion of Jenny)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Only if you've never seen The Doctor's Daughter.
Summary: Donna and the Doctor contemplate what happened on Messaline.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters are the property of the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
Note: Dialogue in italics is taken directly from The Doctor's Daughter.
Donna had been rather dreading this moment.
Part of her wished Martha had chosen to stay a bit longer. She liked the younger woman, and she had the feeling that the Doctor found her easier to be around now than he had when she had traveled with him before. Probably because he could see for himself that, contrary to his belief that he'd "destroyed half her life", Martha seemed fine now, and that little unrequited love issue was well and truly resolved. Donna hadn't seen any signs indicating otherwise, and she had been watching.
Now she was alone with the Doctor again, and for the first time she wasn't quite sure what to say to him. He seemed to have recovered his spirits, more or less, by the time they had landed back in 2008 and he had delivered Martha home with a hug and a smile, albeit a rather muted one.
Yet Donna couldn't get the vision of him cradling his daughter's body out of her mind. The tenderness with which he had kissed Jenny's forehead as he laid her on the ground... the teary, wild-eyed fury on his face as he'd actually pointed a gun at General Cobb. Hadn't he been declaring his contempt for guns to anyone who would listen, in front of platoons of UNIT soldiers, no less, only a day before?
He had scared her. That hadn't happened since the first day she had met him. She thought of how he had looked as he was drowning the Racnoss -- cold and calm, like an executioner, or a god exacting retribution. Today, however, although he arguably would have had much clearer justification for killing, instead he had backed down, had chosen mercy over justice. Or perhaps a glimmer of rationality had penetrated that mighty brain of his and he had recognized the futility of such an act. Whatever the reason, she was relieved that he hadn't killed Cobb. The burden of guilt she visualized him donning as easily as his long brown coat was probably heavy enough already.
The coat was now draped, as usual, over the crook of one of the huge, gracefully curved support struts of the TARDIS control room, which had always looked vaguely like trees to her. She watched him circle the console, checking this screen, flipping that switch, preparing to take off again. As if nothing had happened.
"Where do you fancy? There's a planet in the Elysian Spiral I've been to once, not far from the Medusa Cascade -- well, I say not far, it's actually about ten thousand light years -- bit unstable geologically, but the scenery is molto bene. Called Coromandel. I could land us sometime in between the quakier eras and we could have a look. What do you say?"
Donna stepped up beside him and looked into his face. Despite his chatter, he looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him. When had he last slept? She knew he did sleep, although not as frequently or as long as humans. It had to have been sometime before he had been called back to Earth to deal with the Sontarans.
At her close approach, he turned his head inquiringly, and she could see the slight tracing of red around the deep brown irises of his eyes.
"I say you should get some rest," she said bluntly.
Predictably, he brushed it off. "Nah, I'm fine." He darted to another section of the console.
She followed him, watching silently for a moment as he completed the dematerialization routine.
"Doctor," she said, her voice as gentle as she could make it. He didn't reply, but pulled the handbrake, sending the ship into the vortex. "Doctor, it's okay to mourn her."
"Donna." His voice was sharp, warning. "I'd rather not talk about it just now."
"Then when? Shall I get a calendar, pencil it in? How does next Tuesday sound?"
His mouth hardened into a thin line, and instantly she regretted her flippant words.
"Sorry," she offered lamely. "I didn't mean it like -- "
Without a word, he turned to the console again, twisted a dial or two, pushed a button, then started for the door leading to the interior of the ship.
"What are you doing? Doctor?"
"I'm taking your advice," he flung over his shoulder as he disappeared.
***
There was nothing to do but take a shower and go to bed. She hadn't realized until now just how tired she was. Yet two hours later she was still awake, staring up at the darkened ceiling of her room.
What had she been thinking? How could she even imagine that she had the slightest inkling of what he had been through today?
All right, process them! Him first.
She didn't know how Time Lords normally reproduced, but she would guess it wasn't through a machine that instantly created an adult offspring with a full if rather specialized array of pre-downloaded skills and knowledge. And surely they usually at least had a say in the matter. That was a basic right of any sentient being, wasn't it? Yet his choice had been taken away from him, by soldiers who only cared about using his DNA to replenish their forces for their pointless war.
Where did she come from?
From me.
From you? How? Who is she?
Well... she's... well... she's my daughter.
Hello, Dad!
Afterward, she had alternated between exasperation and amusement at the Doctor's ambivalence toward his soldier-daughter, the way he had kept her at arm's length. Part of her could see why, or thought she could, but mostly she had looked at it only from Jenny's side, without considering how weird and confused and violated he must be feeling. She'd watched him flounder in his sudden new role, and she'd thought it was funny. She'd teased him about child support agencies and "dad shock". As if he were some chav who'd had a bit of fun, got stuck with the bill, and was surprised about it. (It certainly hadn't looked or sounded like it had been any fun for him.) As if she and Martha wouldn't have had their hands shoved into that machine right after him and got generated anomalies of their own, if the Hath hadn't chosen that moment to attack.
Donna, I've been a father before.
What?
I lost all that a long time ago. Along with everything else.
That had brought her up short. He'd had children once? Of course, he hadn't said how they'd died, or even how many he'd had, though since he did say "they", she inferred that there'd been at least two. And since they had to come from somewhere, presumably he'd had a wife as well, or whatever the Time Lord equivalent was, a wife who was no longer part of his existence, whether through death or divorce. She'd been too shocked to press him for more information, and anyway it wasn't the time or place. Obviously it was a private and painful memory for him, an ancient sorrow that he didn't share easily. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that she already knew more of the matter than anyone else in the universe, apart from the Doctor himself.
The Doctor, as a dad. She tried to picture it, and failed. Him, changing their nappies. Sending them to their rooms when they were naughty. Nagging them to do their homework. Disapproving of their dates. Reluctantly lending them the key to the TARDIS and telling them to be home by midnight. Then losing them.
When I look at her now, I can see them. The hole they left, all the pain that filled it. I just don't know if I can face that every day.
It won't stay like that. She'll help you. We both will.
But when they died, that part of me died with them. It'll never come back. Not now.
I'll tell you something, Doctor, something I've never told you before. I think you're wrong.
Easy for her to say. She'd never lost a child. She'd never even had a child. It had always been one of those "sometime" things, along with "get a permanent job", "move out of my mum's", and "get married to a man who isn't trying to feed me to a giant spider".
She remembered how Jenny had flipped her way down a corridor full of deadly laser beams to rejoin them after being separated during their journey to find the Source and stop Cobb. Donna had seen the Doctor pull off some frankly stunning feats of hand-eye coordination, yet apparently Jenny had not only inherited his dexterity but taken it to a whole new level. Even more stunning was his reaction. He had spontaneously hugged her, declaring her "brilliant", and when she'd told him about choosing not to kill Cobb, his proud grin had lit up that dank corridor.
You mean... you mean you'll take me with you?
We can't leave you here, can we?
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!
The Doctor was possibly -- no, make that definitely -- the maddest, the most aggravating, the most arrogant and stubborn person Donna had ever met. But she wouldn't trade traveling with him for anything, and these unguarded moments, that gave her hope that he could be taught, were part of why. He had begun to soften, to realize that maybe he could get back what he had lost so long ago, to dare to let himself envision a future for them. He could show Jenny the wonders of time and space, teach her her heritage, watch her grow and become something much more than a soldier bred from a patch of skin to fight a petty war on an insignificant planet.
And Donna, naturally, had no intention of not being a part of that. She and the Doctor were only mates, not mates, but she could see herself becoming a mum to Jenny. A real, proper mum, only skipping the messes and the tantrums and going straight to the sort of loving, knowing camaraderie she had often wished for with her own mother. She could give Jenny the benefit of her wisdom, take her shopping, chat with her for hours about all the female stuff that the Doctor, bless him, couldn't possibly have a clue about. He wouldn't know what hit him. She could hardly wait.
You're my daughter and we've only just got started. You're gonna be great. You're gonna be more than great. You're gonna be amazing! You hear me? Jenny?... Two hearts. Two hearts. Just like me. If we wait... If we just wait...
There's no sign, Doctor. There's no regeneration. She's like you, but... maybe not enough.
No. Too much. That's the truth of it. She was too much like me.
Donna sat up. It was no use. Hopefully there was something in the TARDIS' vast supply of teas from myriad worlds that would help her get to sleep and forget this awful day for just a while.
***
"Couldn't sleep either, eh?"
She was only mildly surprised to find him in the kitchen, a little more so at the way he looked. She almost didn't recognize him; she'd never caught him in his sleepwear before. At least, she was fairly sure it was sleepwear. It certainly looked like an ordinary pair of striped pajamas and a dark blue dressing gown. Apparently he'd showered at some point. His hair looked as if it had dried into soft, tamed natural waves. It was actually rather a nice look on him. Why did he feel the need to gel it to within an inch of its life?
He glanced up, peering at her above the frames of his glasses, which were perched on his nose. In front of him on the table were the remains of the toaster. She devoutly hoped he was only fixing it and not "improving" it. "Actually, I did sleep. I only need an hour and a half."
Donna grunted at him and shuffled over to the tea cabinet. There was a blend from Ganamon Six she'd become fond of. Hopefully there was some left.
The Doctor watched her curiously. "Don't humans need around eight hours, give or take, depending on the individual? It's only been two hours, forty-five minutes, and thirty-three seconds since I left the control room, and you were awake then. Unless you were sleepwalking, but that seems hardly likely, I'd think I'd have known by now if you were a somnambulist. That means sleepwalker, by the way -- "
"I know what somnambulist means," she interrupted him. He would be in a babbling mood.
"Right, sorry." He lowered his head as if to resume doing whatever it was he was doing to the toaster.
"I'm the one who couldn't sleep. Thinking about... you know."
He didn't take the opening, and after a moment she shrugged and began searching the shelves. There was a long silence, punctuated by the slight clicks and clangs of tools against parts, while she found her tea and prepared it.
"Well?"
She turned, to see him regarding her with a raised eyebrow. The toaster was mostly together again, thankfully still looking like a toaster. "Well what?"
"Aren't you going to try to get me to talk about what happened? Perhaps hug and cry a bit? I assume that's what you were thinking about. While you were tossing and turning." His tone was light, but there was a bitter twist to his mouth, and he cast his eyes downward to the toaster.
"That's not fair, Doctor."
He sighed. "Suppose not. Sorry. Blimey." He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "It's just -- "
"Yeah." She stirred in the milk, and sat down across from him. "Don't worry about it."
"I didn't mean to go off like that. Before. In the control room. You were right, I was knackered, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
She smiled ruefully. "And I shouldn't have been pushing you. You may not have noticed, but I do get pushy at times."
"Nooo! Really?" He ducked as she aimed a swat at his head. Another silence while she sipped her tea, watching him finish the toaster and test it by dropping in two slices of bread.
"I was thinking about today," she said at last, shifting her gaze to stare into her cup. "Mainly about how horrible I was through most of it. Baiting you about suddenly being a dad and all. It wasn't funny to you, though, was it? If I'd known -- you know, about you having had kids before -- "
"It's all right, Donna," he interrupted. "It's not something I tell a lot of people. Usually doesn't come up, to be honest. I've had companions who traveled with me for years and never found out. Most of them, in fact." He rubbed at one eye. "And since I never told you, why should I expect you to be sensitive about it?" The toast popped up, and he rose to fetch the butter and a knife.
"Yeah, but you don't owe me your life story, either."
He offered her a slice, she accepted, and they were silent while they ate. The toast was perfect. After they finished, he put the butter away, and went to sit on the low couch nearby. Donna joined him. The tea was starting to do its job; she was getting a bit sleepy at last, but she didn't want to go back to bed just yet. She'd never tell him, but these were the moments with him that she treasured most -- the quiet times, just talking, or even not talking. She couldn't remember when she'd last had a friend she could just be with, who she didn't feel she had to constantly impress or entertain or advise.
On impulse, she laid down beside him with her head on his lap. She couldn't see his face, but she was pretty sure he was raising an eyebrow again. After a moment, she reached for a cushion and put it under her head. God, his legs were bony. She closed her eyes.
"Comfy?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Yeah."
Another long stretch of silence passed before he finally spoke again, his voice hushed.
"She brought them back to me. Their faces. I shut those faces away in my head long ago. I didn't forget, but I made it so that I had to concentrate to see them. I had to want to. Really want to. But when I saw Jenny, I didn't need to call up the memories. They just came. I saw them. All the time while we were there. Now she's with them. One more face, sleeping in my mind."
She felt his hand stroke her hair.
"I think about how she died, without ever even knowing any more about what she was than the name 'Time Lord'. And then I think it's almost good that she did. Because if she'd lived, if she'd come with me, and something happened to me, then she'd be the last. I couldn't bear the thought of her facing that. It's horrible, being the last. And I feel like a monster for thinking that."
"You're not a monster," she murmured, and felt him start. He'd obviously thought she was asleep. She reached for his hand, and threaded her fingers through his. "You're a dad."
If he replied, she didn't hear it.
~end
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna (with discussion of Jenny)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Only if you've never seen The Doctor's Daughter.
Summary: Donna and the Doctor contemplate what happened on Messaline.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters are the property of the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
Note: Dialogue in italics is taken directly from The Doctor's Daughter.
Donna had been rather dreading this moment.
Part of her wished Martha had chosen to stay a bit longer. She liked the younger woman, and she had the feeling that the Doctor found her easier to be around now than he had when she had traveled with him before. Probably because he could see for himself that, contrary to his belief that he'd "destroyed half her life", Martha seemed fine now, and that little unrequited love issue was well and truly resolved. Donna hadn't seen any signs indicating otherwise, and she had been watching.
Now she was alone with the Doctor again, and for the first time she wasn't quite sure what to say to him. He seemed to have recovered his spirits, more or less, by the time they had landed back in 2008 and he had delivered Martha home with a hug and a smile, albeit a rather muted one.
Yet Donna couldn't get the vision of him cradling his daughter's body out of her mind. The tenderness with which he had kissed Jenny's forehead as he laid her on the ground... the teary, wild-eyed fury on his face as he'd actually pointed a gun at General Cobb. Hadn't he been declaring his contempt for guns to anyone who would listen, in front of platoons of UNIT soldiers, no less, only a day before?
He had scared her. That hadn't happened since the first day she had met him. She thought of how he had looked as he was drowning the Racnoss -- cold and calm, like an executioner, or a god exacting retribution. Today, however, although he arguably would have had much clearer justification for killing, instead he had backed down, had chosen mercy over justice. Or perhaps a glimmer of rationality had penetrated that mighty brain of his and he had recognized the futility of such an act. Whatever the reason, she was relieved that he hadn't killed Cobb. The burden of guilt she visualized him donning as easily as his long brown coat was probably heavy enough already.
The coat was now draped, as usual, over the crook of one of the huge, gracefully curved support struts of the TARDIS control room, which had always looked vaguely like trees to her. She watched him circle the console, checking this screen, flipping that switch, preparing to take off again. As if nothing had happened.
"Where do you fancy? There's a planet in the Elysian Spiral I've been to once, not far from the Medusa Cascade -- well, I say not far, it's actually about ten thousand light years -- bit unstable geologically, but the scenery is molto bene. Called Coromandel. I could land us sometime in between the quakier eras and we could have a look. What do you say?"
Donna stepped up beside him and looked into his face. Despite his chatter, he looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him. When had he last slept? She knew he did sleep, although not as frequently or as long as humans. It had to have been sometime before he had been called back to Earth to deal with the Sontarans.
At her close approach, he turned his head inquiringly, and she could see the slight tracing of red around the deep brown irises of his eyes.
"I say you should get some rest," she said bluntly.
Predictably, he brushed it off. "Nah, I'm fine." He darted to another section of the console.
She followed him, watching silently for a moment as he completed the dematerialization routine.
"Doctor," she said, her voice as gentle as she could make it. He didn't reply, but pulled the handbrake, sending the ship into the vortex. "Doctor, it's okay to mourn her."
"Donna." His voice was sharp, warning. "I'd rather not talk about it just now."
"Then when? Shall I get a calendar, pencil it in? How does next Tuesday sound?"
His mouth hardened into a thin line, and instantly she regretted her flippant words.
"Sorry," she offered lamely. "I didn't mean it like -- "
Without a word, he turned to the console again, twisted a dial or two, pushed a button, then started for the door leading to the interior of the ship.
"What are you doing? Doctor?"
"I'm taking your advice," he flung over his shoulder as he disappeared.
***
There was nothing to do but take a shower and go to bed. She hadn't realized until now just how tired she was. Yet two hours later she was still awake, staring up at the darkened ceiling of her room.
What had she been thinking? How could she even imagine that she had the slightest inkling of what he had been through today?
All right, process them! Him first.
She didn't know how Time Lords normally reproduced, but she would guess it wasn't through a machine that instantly created an adult offspring with a full if rather specialized array of pre-downloaded skills and knowledge. And surely they usually at least had a say in the matter. That was a basic right of any sentient being, wasn't it? Yet his choice had been taken away from him, by soldiers who only cared about using his DNA to replenish their forces for their pointless war.
Where did she come from?
From me.
From you? How? Who is she?
Well... she's... well... she's my daughter.
Hello, Dad!
Afterward, she had alternated between exasperation and amusement at the Doctor's ambivalence toward his soldier-daughter, the way he had kept her at arm's length. Part of her could see why, or thought she could, but mostly she had looked at it only from Jenny's side, without considering how weird and confused and violated he must be feeling. She'd watched him flounder in his sudden new role, and she'd thought it was funny. She'd teased him about child support agencies and "dad shock". As if he were some chav who'd had a bit of fun, got stuck with the bill, and was surprised about it. (It certainly hadn't looked or sounded like it had been any fun for him.) As if she and Martha wouldn't have had their hands shoved into that machine right after him and got generated anomalies of their own, if the Hath hadn't chosen that moment to attack.
Donna, I've been a father before.
What?
I lost all that a long time ago. Along with everything else.
That had brought her up short. He'd had children once? Of course, he hadn't said how they'd died, or even how many he'd had, though since he did say "they", she inferred that there'd been at least two. And since they had to come from somewhere, presumably he'd had a wife as well, or whatever the Time Lord equivalent was, a wife who was no longer part of his existence, whether through death or divorce. She'd been too shocked to press him for more information, and anyway it wasn't the time or place. Obviously it was a private and painful memory for him, an ancient sorrow that he didn't share easily. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that she already knew more of the matter than anyone else in the universe, apart from the Doctor himself.
The Doctor, as a dad. She tried to picture it, and failed. Him, changing their nappies. Sending them to their rooms when they were naughty. Nagging them to do their homework. Disapproving of their dates. Reluctantly lending them the key to the TARDIS and telling them to be home by midnight. Then losing them.
When I look at her now, I can see them. The hole they left, all the pain that filled it. I just don't know if I can face that every day.
It won't stay like that. She'll help you. We both will.
But when they died, that part of me died with them. It'll never come back. Not now.
I'll tell you something, Doctor, something I've never told you before. I think you're wrong.
Easy for her to say. She'd never lost a child. She'd never even had a child. It had always been one of those "sometime" things, along with "get a permanent job", "move out of my mum's", and "get married to a man who isn't trying to feed me to a giant spider".
She remembered how Jenny had flipped her way down a corridor full of deadly laser beams to rejoin them after being separated during their journey to find the Source and stop Cobb. Donna had seen the Doctor pull off some frankly stunning feats of hand-eye coordination, yet apparently Jenny had not only inherited his dexterity but taken it to a whole new level. Even more stunning was his reaction. He had spontaneously hugged her, declaring her "brilliant", and when she'd told him about choosing not to kill Cobb, his proud grin had lit up that dank corridor.
You mean... you mean you'll take me with you?
We can't leave you here, can we?
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!
The Doctor was possibly -- no, make that definitely -- the maddest, the most aggravating, the most arrogant and stubborn person Donna had ever met. But she wouldn't trade traveling with him for anything, and these unguarded moments, that gave her hope that he could be taught, were part of why. He had begun to soften, to realize that maybe he could get back what he had lost so long ago, to dare to let himself envision a future for them. He could show Jenny the wonders of time and space, teach her her heritage, watch her grow and become something much more than a soldier bred from a patch of skin to fight a petty war on an insignificant planet.
And Donna, naturally, had no intention of not being a part of that. She and the Doctor were only mates, not mates, but she could see herself becoming a mum to Jenny. A real, proper mum, only skipping the messes and the tantrums and going straight to the sort of loving, knowing camaraderie she had often wished for with her own mother. She could give Jenny the benefit of her wisdom, take her shopping, chat with her for hours about all the female stuff that the Doctor, bless him, couldn't possibly have a clue about. He wouldn't know what hit him. She could hardly wait.
You're my daughter and we've only just got started. You're gonna be great. You're gonna be more than great. You're gonna be amazing! You hear me? Jenny?... Two hearts. Two hearts. Just like me. If we wait... If we just wait...
There's no sign, Doctor. There's no regeneration. She's like you, but... maybe not enough.
No. Too much. That's the truth of it. She was too much like me.
Donna sat up. It was no use. Hopefully there was something in the TARDIS' vast supply of teas from myriad worlds that would help her get to sleep and forget this awful day for just a while.
***
"Couldn't sleep either, eh?"
She was only mildly surprised to find him in the kitchen, a little more so at the way he looked. She almost didn't recognize him; she'd never caught him in his sleepwear before. At least, she was fairly sure it was sleepwear. It certainly looked like an ordinary pair of striped pajamas and a dark blue dressing gown. Apparently he'd showered at some point. His hair looked as if it had dried into soft, tamed natural waves. It was actually rather a nice look on him. Why did he feel the need to gel it to within an inch of its life?
He glanced up, peering at her above the frames of his glasses, which were perched on his nose. In front of him on the table were the remains of the toaster. She devoutly hoped he was only fixing it and not "improving" it. "Actually, I did sleep. I only need an hour and a half."
Donna grunted at him and shuffled over to the tea cabinet. There was a blend from Ganamon Six she'd become fond of. Hopefully there was some left.
The Doctor watched her curiously. "Don't humans need around eight hours, give or take, depending on the individual? It's only been two hours, forty-five minutes, and thirty-three seconds since I left the control room, and you were awake then. Unless you were sleepwalking, but that seems hardly likely, I'd think I'd have known by now if you were a somnambulist. That means sleepwalker, by the way -- "
"I know what somnambulist means," she interrupted him. He would be in a babbling mood.
"Right, sorry." He lowered his head as if to resume doing whatever it was he was doing to the toaster.
"I'm the one who couldn't sleep. Thinking about... you know."
He didn't take the opening, and after a moment she shrugged and began searching the shelves. There was a long silence, punctuated by the slight clicks and clangs of tools against parts, while she found her tea and prepared it.
"Well?"
She turned, to see him regarding her with a raised eyebrow. The toaster was mostly together again, thankfully still looking like a toaster. "Well what?"
"Aren't you going to try to get me to talk about what happened? Perhaps hug and cry a bit? I assume that's what you were thinking about. While you were tossing and turning." His tone was light, but there was a bitter twist to his mouth, and he cast his eyes downward to the toaster.
"That's not fair, Doctor."
He sighed. "Suppose not. Sorry. Blimey." He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "It's just -- "
"Yeah." She stirred in the milk, and sat down across from him. "Don't worry about it."
"I didn't mean to go off like that. Before. In the control room. You were right, I was knackered, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
She smiled ruefully. "And I shouldn't have been pushing you. You may not have noticed, but I do get pushy at times."
"Nooo! Really?" He ducked as she aimed a swat at his head. Another silence while she sipped her tea, watching him finish the toaster and test it by dropping in two slices of bread.
"I was thinking about today," she said at last, shifting her gaze to stare into her cup. "Mainly about how horrible I was through most of it. Baiting you about suddenly being a dad and all. It wasn't funny to you, though, was it? If I'd known -- you know, about you having had kids before -- "
"It's all right, Donna," he interrupted. "It's not something I tell a lot of people. Usually doesn't come up, to be honest. I've had companions who traveled with me for years and never found out. Most of them, in fact." He rubbed at one eye. "And since I never told you, why should I expect you to be sensitive about it?" The toast popped up, and he rose to fetch the butter and a knife.
"Yeah, but you don't owe me your life story, either."
He offered her a slice, she accepted, and they were silent while they ate. The toast was perfect. After they finished, he put the butter away, and went to sit on the low couch nearby. Donna joined him. The tea was starting to do its job; she was getting a bit sleepy at last, but she didn't want to go back to bed just yet. She'd never tell him, but these were the moments with him that she treasured most -- the quiet times, just talking, or even not talking. She couldn't remember when she'd last had a friend she could just be with, who she didn't feel she had to constantly impress or entertain or advise.
On impulse, she laid down beside him with her head on his lap. She couldn't see his face, but she was pretty sure he was raising an eyebrow again. After a moment, she reached for a cushion and put it under her head. God, his legs were bony. She closed her eyes.
"Comfy?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Yeah."
Another long stretch of silence passed before he finally spoke again, his voice hushed.
"She brought them back to me. Their faces. I shut those faces away in my head long ago. I didn't forget, but I made it so that I had to concentrate to see them. I had to want to. Really want to. But when I saw Jenny, I didn't need to call up the memories. They just came. I saw them. All the time while we were there. Now she's with them. One more face, sleeping in my mind."
She felt his hand stroke her hair.
"I think about how she died, without ever even knowing any more about what she was than the name 'Time Lord'. And then I think it's almost good that she did. Because if she'd lived, if she'd come with me, and something happened to me, then she'd be the last. I couldn't bear the thought of her facing that. It's horrible, being the last. And I feel like a monster for thinking that."
"You're not a monster," she murmured, and felt him start. He'd obviously thought she was asleep. She reached for his hand, and threaded her fingers through his. "You're a dad."
If he replied, she didn't hear it.
~end