From the Ashes (1/1)
Title: From the Ashes (1/1)
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna (friendship)
Rating: PG to R-ish
Spoilers: The Fires of Pompeii
Word count: 1451
Summary: Donna struggles with the aftermath of the eruption of Vesuvius. The Doctor helps in his own inimitable fashion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
My fanfic master list
A/N: This is for caz963. I know things have been tough for you lately, Caz, so I hope this helps a bit. *hugs*
She sputters awake, choking on nonexistent fumes. Her mouth, full of ash a moment ago, is now empty, but she coughs anyway, unable to rid herself of the sensation. She lies panting in the dark, her heart pounding, disorientated, clutching the sides of her bed as if it might buck her off. She feels ill.
It takes her a long moment to remember where she is. The TARDIS. That's right, she's in the TARDIS, and this is her room. Pompeii is behind her, far behind, just a dot on the vast map of time. Just like it always was, a name from a history book. Its people are no deader now than they were before she saw their faces. Saw them shopping and eating and arguing and laughing.
At least Evelina and her parents and brother are safe. Were safe. They got to last a little longer than their neighbours, thanks to the Doctor. But they're gone now as well, gone to dust long before her time, as they would have been whether she'd met them or not.
She remembers Evelina chuckling at her as she posed in the purple gown, and she chokes. It's not because of the memory of ash in her throat.
The soft knock on the door makes her jump.
"Donna?" The Doctor's voice is muted enough not to have woken her if she'd been asleep.
Hurriedly she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, clears her throat, and answers. "Yeah?" Her voice sounds somewhat croaky to her ears, and she clears her throat again. There might not be any actual ash in there, but it still feels as if there is.
"Can I come in?"
Donna checks her pyjamas to make sure nothing's showing that shouldn't, and brushes a hand over her hair. "Yeah," she calls, more clearly this time, clicking on the light.
There is a pause, then the door opens and the Doctor slips in. The hand not busy turning the doorknob is clutching the handles of two mugs which clink together as he moves. Bemusedly, she notes that he's completely dressed, still in that brown suit with the pinstripes. Apparently he really does wear it all the time. Even to sleep in. If he sleeps.
"Thought you might like some tea," he says, transferring one mug to his free hand and holding it out to her.
She takes it. "Thanks," she says shortly, and sips, leaning back against the headboard and letting the heat and the milky sweetness of the tea smooth away the grit of phantom ashes. She'd had no idea how much she had needed it until now.
The Doctor stands there, watching her silently. Funny, he's never seemed like the hesitant type, but then again, he is in her bedroom, and it's just possible that even he might have the sensitivity to feel at least a little awkward, what with her still being practically a stranger to him, really. Well, only one way to remedy that. She gestures at the end of the bed, and he finally sits and takes a sip of his own... tea? Does he drink tea?
"You all right?" he asks.
"Yeah, I just -- " Donna cuts herself off. "Wait a minute. How'd you know I was awake?"
"The TARDIS told me."
"It what? It told you? It talks to you?"
"Wellll..." The Doctor tilts his head, as if considering. "Not exactly. Not in words. I mean, we don't have conversations or anything."
"But -- you're telling me your ship is alive?"
"Yeah."
"We're inside something that's alive? That has a mind?"
"Well, it's actually a bit more complicated than that. I mean, the TARDIS is a machine, but she's also alive, sort of. She's sentient and can communicate -- not in words, like I said, but she does have ways of letting me know things."
"But how does it -- sorry -- she? How does she know if I'm awake or not?"
"Mm." The Doctor finishes taking another sip. "She's telepathic. That's how she translates languages. I'm telepathic, too. But I won't read your mind. Not without permission, that is," he adds hastily.
"You'd better not, spaceman," she growls, only half-jokingly, and sets her tea on the nightstand. "So, let me get this straight. The TARDIS knew I was having a nightmare, and she 'sort of' told you, so you decided to bring me tea?" Not just tea, she realises, but tea with just the right amount of cream and sweetening. She's never mentioned to him how she likes her tea, or even whether she likes tea at all. Is this something else the TARDIS "told" him? Should she be creeped out? Alarmed, maybe?
"Pretty much," he nods in answer to her question. "Nothing about a nightmare, though, just that your sleep was disturbed." He pauses, his eyebrows going up. "Want to tell me about it?"
Donna sighs. "It's nothing, I just... Okay. It's faded a bit now, but -- there were fumes, and the air was full of ash, raining down. It was just falling and falling. My mouth and lungs were full of it. And I saw people all around me, screaming, choking, dying, being buried in it. Then there was this --- wall of lava coming at me, and I tried to run but I couldn't make my legs move. Just when it was about to swallow me, I woke up."
The Doctor regards her sombrely. "I'm sorry."
"'S not your fault."
He nods, but stays silent, and it suddenly occurs to her that this is probably far from the first time he's ever brought tea to one of his travelling companions after a particularly harrowing trip. He must have done the same thing for Rose, and Martha, and God knows how many others. Likely all of them have been through this, or something like this. Like an initiation, a trial by fire -- literally, in this case.
That might even explain why he's awake and still dressed. He's been expecting this. Maybe he's even had the water on the boil ever since she went to bed.
The fact that he obviously cares enough to make sure she's all right, even try to take care of her, in his own way -- it's... well, it's kind of sweet, actually. She's surprised to feel a rush of affection toward the silly sod.
Taking his mug, she sets it on the nightstand beside hers, before "walking" over on her knees to hug him. "Thanks," she whispers.
When she pulls back, those ever-expressive eyebrows of his are nearly at the level of his hairline. "What for?"
"Letting me come with you. Saving Evelina and her family. The tea. Everything."
"That's funny. I've been wanting to say the same thing to you." Then he pulls a face. "Well, not exactly the same thing. But -- anyway, thank you. For coming along. And for the... you know... the lever."
She remembers the look of near-wonder in his eyes as she placed her hands on his, fingers tightening, pushing down, together. It must really have meant a lot to him, having some of the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, even for a moment. To know that she can do that is almost -- no, definitely -- worth the nightmare.
"Any time, spaceman," she says, and smiles at him.
He smiles back, a tiny but genuine grin. "So, I reckon after today, you deserve a bit of a treat. How does 1935 New York sound? The Cotton Club, headlined by none other than Louis Armstrong himself! Only Earth's greatest trumpet and cornet player of all time! Then off to Broadway. Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hart, Irving Berlin..."
"Sounds perfect," she agrees, as much to shut him up as because she actually wants to go there. And who knows, it might be a bit fun.
"All right then, first thing in the morning, we'll be off!" The Doctor fairly bounces to his feet, beaming. "Come to think of it, I might get old Satchmo to give me a few more pointers. Remind me to bring my horn."
"You have a horn?"
"Oh yes!" he enthuses. "Been ages since I've played with my old horn."
She bursts out laughing, in the middle of a yawn.
"About time I had it out. It'll feel good to hold it again."
She laughs even harder.
"Donna? What's so funny? Donna?"
~end
My fanfic master list
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna (friendship)
Rating: PG to R-ish
Spoilers: The Fires of Pompeii
Word count: 1451
Summary: Donna struggles with the aftermath of the eruption of Vesuvius. The Doctor helps in his own inimitable fashion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
My fanfic master list
A/N: This is for caz963. I know things have been tough for you lately, Caz, so I hope this helps a bit. *hugs*
She sputters awake, choking on nonexistent fumes. Her mouth, full of ash a moment ago, is now empty, but she coughs anyway, unable to rid herself of the sensation. She lies panting in the dark, her heart pounding, disorientated, clutching the sides of her bed as if it might buck her off. She feels ill.
It takes her a long moment to remember where she is. The TARDIS. That's right, she's in the TARDIS, and this is her room. Pompeii is behind her, far behind, just a dot on the vast map of time. Just like it always was, a name from a history book. Its people are no deader now than they were before she saw their faces. Saw them shopping and eating and arguing and laughing.
At least Evelina and her parents and brother are safe. Were safe. They got to last a little longer than their neighbours, thanks to the Doctor. But they're gone now as well, gone to dust long before her time, as they would have been whether she'd met them or not.
She remembers Evelina chuckling at her as she posed in the purple gown, and she chokes. It's not because of the memory of ash in her throat.
The soft knock on the door makes her jump.
"Donna?" The Doctor's voice is muted enough not to have woken her if she'd been asleep.
Hurriedly she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, clears her throat, and answers. "Yeah?" Her voice sounds somewhat croaky to her ears, and she clears her throat again. There might not be any actual ash in there, but it still feels as if there is.
"Can I come in?"
Donna checks her pyjamas to make sure nothing's showing that shouldn't, and brushes a hand over her hair. "Yeah," she calls, more clearly this time, clicking on the light.
There is a pause, then the door opens and the Doctor slips in. The hand not busy turning the doorknob is clutching the handles of two mugs which clink together as he moves. Bemusedly, she notes that he's completely dressed, still in that brown suit with the pinstripes. Apparently he really does wear it all the time. Even to sleep in. If he sleeps.
"Thought you might like some tea," he says, transferring one mug to his free hand and holding it out to her.
She takes it. "Thanks," she says shortly, and sips, leaning back against the headboard and letting the heat and the milky sweetness of the tea smooth away the grit of phantom ashes. She'd had no idea how much she had needed it until now.
The Doctor stands there, watching her silently. Funny, he's never seemed like the hesitant type, but then again, he is in her bedroom, and it's just possible that even he might have the sensitivity to feel at least a little awkward, what with her still being practically a stranger to him, really. Well, only one way to remedy that. She gestures at the end of the bed, and he finally sits and takes a sip of his own... tea? Does he drink tea?
"You all right?" he asks.
"Yeah, I just -- " Donna cuts herself off. "Wait a minute. How'd you know I was awake?"
"The TARDIS told me."
"It what? It told you? It talks to you?"
"Wellll..." The Doctor tilts his head, as if considering. "Not exactly. Not in words. I mean, we don't have conversations or anything."
"But -- you're telling me your ship is alive?"
"Yeah."
"We're inside something that's alive? That has a mind?"
"Well, it's actually a bit more complicated than that. I mean, the TARDIS is a machine, but she's also alive, sort of. She's sentient and can communicate -- not in words, like I said, but she does have ways of letting me know things."
"But how does it -- sorry -- she? How does she know if I'm awake or not?"
"Mm." The Doctor finishes taking another sip. "She's telepathic. That's how she translates languages. I'm telepathic, too. But I won't read your mind. Not without permission, that is," he adds hastily.
"You'd better not, spaceman," she growls, only half-jokingly, and sets her tea on the nightstand. "So, let me get this straight. The TARDIS knew I was having a nightmare, and she 'sort of' told you, so you decided to bring me tea?" Not just tea, she realises, but tea with just the right amount of cream and sweetening. She's never mentioned to him how she likes her tea, or even whether she likes tea at all. Is this something else the TARDIS "told" him? Should she be creeped out? Alarmed, maybe?
"Pretty much," he nods in answer to her question. "Nothing about a nightmare, though, just that your sleep was disturbed." He pauses, his eyebrows going up. "Want to tell me about it?"
Donna sighs. "It's nothing, I just... Okay. It's faded a bit now, but -- there were fumes, and the air was full of ash, raining down. It was just falling and falling. My mouth and lungs were full of it. And I saw people all around me, screaming, choking, dying, being buried in it. Then there was this --- wall of lava coming at me, and I tried to run but I couldn't make my legs move. Just when it was about to swallow me, I woke up."
The Doctor regards her sombrely. "I'm sorry."
"'S not your fault."
He nods, but stays silent, and it suddenly occurs to her that this is probably far from the first time he's ever brought tea to one of his travelling companions after a particularly harrowing trip. He must have done the same thing for Rose, and Martha, and God knows how many others. Likely all of them have been through this, or something like this. Like an initiation, a trial by fire -- literally, in this case.
That might even explain why he's awake and still dressed. He's been expecting this. Maybe he's even had the water on the boil ever since she went to bed.
The fact that he obviously cares enough to make sure she's all right, even try to take care of her, in his own way -- it's... well, it's kind of sweet, actually. She's surprised to feel a rush of affection toward the silly sod.
Taking his mug, she sets it on the nightstand beside hers, before "walking" over on her knees to hug him. "Thanks," she whispers.
When she pulls back, those ever-expressive eyebrows of his are nearly at the level of his hairline. "What for?"
"Letting me come with you. Saving Evelina and her family. The tea. Everything."
"That's funny. I've been wanting to say the same thing to you." Then he pulls a face. "Well, not exactly the same thing. But -- anyway, thank you. For coming along. And for the... you know... the lever."
She remembers the look of near-wonder in his eyes as she placed her hands on his, fingers tightening, pushing down, together. It must really have meant a lot to him, having some of the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, even for a moment. To know that she can do that is almost -- no, definitely -- worth the nightmare.
"Any time, spaceman," she says, and smiles at him.
He smiles back, a tiny but genuine grin. "So, I reckon after today, you deserve a bit of a treat. How does 1935 New York sound? The Cotton Club, headlined by none other than Louis Armstrong himself! Only Earth's greatest trumpet and cornet player of all time! Then off to Broadway. Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hart, Irving Berlin..."
"Sounds perfect," she agrees, as much to shut him up as because she actually wants to go there. And who knows, it might be a bit fun.
"All right then, first thing in the morning, we'll be off!" The Doctor fairly bounces to his feet, beaming. "Come to think of it, I might get old Satchmo to give me a few more pointers. Remind me to bring my horn."
"You have a horn?"
"Oh yes!" he enthuses. "Been ages since I've played with my old horn."
She bursts out laughing, in the middle of a yawn.
"About time I had it out. It'll feel good to hold it again."
She laughs even harder.
"Donna? What's so funny? Donna?"
~end
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