the most faithful companion

“An offer?” she flashed her own cheeky grin right back at Donna, resisting the urge to hop on her heels, excitable and wild as she was. This body had so much energy, always needing to move, almost fizzing with it. She could never focus except for the times where she couldn’t stop focusing - 

“One trip?” she offered, grin widening, “Just for fun, somewhere … exciting.”

How different the Doctor was now, compared to the slinking form that had first come back to her doorstep. It was a relief to see her happier, even if it was only at the prospect of an adventure and nothing philosophical. That had never hindered them before, rather it was what made them work. The reminder settled warmly in her chest as the Doctor questioned outloud. It was a new habit that Donna would have to get used to, hold herself back from shooting her equally as quick answers.

She wasn’t complaining. Not really. Not when now she would have more than memories to smile about.

To ask if he recalled a paradox he’d encountered was asking him to remember more times than he would have liked, but he remembered this. Remembered everything, and he remembered the paradox in which it was everything. He didn’t think that that was supposed to be remembered by anyone but him. But clearly, whatever lived inside of Donna, whatever remained from the connection between them, it protected her from forgetting. (Or perhaps everyone remembered, and he’d simply never asked.) “I remember,” he reassured.

He let her speak, let her explain. His own composure was strikingly in contrast to the way she struggled to gather her words. He felt that perhaps he should be more like her, more outwardly emotional in this moment, but all there was to do right now as she answered his question was listen. After all, the explanation made as much sense to him as anything else. Whether it was her own DNA or that of the Time Lord, something in her stopped allowing itself to be torn apart, and it patched itself up. “You were spending all that time…” Over and over, dying. He had never thought that that would happen, never thought that anything more would come from what he had done to her. He thought it would help, keep her save, and that would be the end of that. 

She turned, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he was supposed to reach out to her, or if he was to give her her space. From what he remembered of her, he suspected she would prefer the latter, and he couldn’t say he wouldn’t prefer the same. He gave her her space, trusting that she would return to him when it was necessary. He was silent for a moment, watching her, not sure what to say, not sure what to do. “What have you been doing? Have you had any…side effects?” 

Donna scoffed. “I dunno, would you say that growing a second heart counts as a side effect?” She was being catty, and he didn’t deserve that. Not now. Now when he seemed to actually be caring about the consequences. He wasn’t pushing past the subject, using neither maudlin or perky humor to move along. She owed him as much as he was giving her.

She took in a deep breath, straightened out her blouse and faced him again. “I uh, own a business, it’s doin’ alright and well, side-effects, I suppose,” she waved a hand as she thinks out loud, “turning more Timelord? I can’t really go to normal healthcare, it’s actually Martha. D’you remember her? Martha Jones?” She doesn’t let him answer, gathering speed and confidence as she continued. “Course you do, she saved your skin— and if you don’t, it’d do you best not to tell me. But Martha, she’s my doctor, only doctor I’d trust to poke around and know what she’s doing.”

It’s not really an answer, and Donna knows it. There have been side-effects, continuous and sporadic ever since the mindblock left. It’s in the way her voice gets away from her, in how her thoughts race too fast for her to breathe sometimes, and how feeling and focusing on time makes her feel ready to expire on the spot. She should tell him that, any of that, as she’s been wanting to for years. But he’s keeping himself far enough that while it’s civil, it’s concerned— it’s clinical.

It could just all be her paranoia. That was a side effect. She was always a little on the anxious side, worried about others opinions and expectations before worrying about herself. But she knew… It was more than that now.

         she  visibly  deflates,  all  the  hope  she  had  had  of  escaping  unquestioned  bleeding  from  her  body  as  donna  continues  to  push  for  her  to  talk.  and  martha  knows  she  means  well  :  donna  has  always  been  so  conscious  of  martha’s  feelings  and  opinions  since  she  joined  them  after  what  happened  with  lazarus.  it  had  been  just  the  two  of  them  :  martha  and  the  doctor,  for  a  short  amount  of  time  but  it  had  become  clear  in  that  time  together  that  she  just  wasn’t  enough  for  him.  or  at  least,  that’s  what  martha  was  lead  to  believe.  and  she  had  been  more  than  happy  for  donna  to  travel  with  them.  martha  had  been  told  only  one  trip  to  begin  with  so  anything  after  that  was  a  bonus.  but  at  a  time  like  this,  sometimes,  loathe  she  was  to  admit  it,  martha  resented  that  it  wasn’t  just  the  two  of  them  anymore.

            because  the  doctor  didn’t  notice  martha’s  turmoil,  he  hadn’t  thought  to  ask  her  if  she  was  okay,  or  even  question  how  quiet  she  had  become  since  they  returned  to  the  tardis.  if  it  had  been  just  the  two  of  them,  she  could  have  pushed  it  all  aside,  pretended  that  nothing  was  wrong,  that  nothing  had  changed.  she  could  have  thrown  herself  in  to  whatever  the  doctor  had  planned  next  and  not  thought  about  what  had  happened  in  nineteen  thirteen  until  she  was  alone  in  her  room,  far  away  from  the  doctor.  she  can’t  do  that  with  donna.  and  that  brief  moment  of  resentment  disappears  as  suddenly  as  it  had  arrived,  because  how  could  she  be  anything  but  grateful  to  have  donna  there  by  her  side  ?

still.  despite  knowing  that  donna  is  persistent  and  adamant  where  martha  is  concerned,  she  can’t  help  but  try  and  dissuade  her  anyway.          ❝     i  know,     ❞          she  stresses  quietly,  arms  crossing  over  her  chest.          ❝     i  know  you  didn’t  ask  about  him.     ❞          lower  lip  is  gently  tugged  between  her  teeth  as  she  stares  at  donna,  being  extra  conscious  of  not  turning  her  head  to  look  at  the  doctor  over  her  shoulder.  the  offer  of  leaving,  of  going  to  the  library  :  a  room  on  the  tardis  that  martha  finds  particular  comfort  in  secluding  herself  within  for  hours  on  end  (  when  they  aren’t  running  for  their  lives,  of  course  )  is  tempting.  and  it  shows  in  the  way  she  releases  her  lower  lip  and  her  head  turns  slightly  towards  the  doorway,  contemplating  the  offer  before  she  nods  imperceptibly  and  offers  her  friend  a  small  if  strained  smile.          ❝     yeah,  alrigh’         tea  sounds  good.     ❞          but  she  doesn’t  want  to  talk  about  this.  she  really  doesn’t.  maybe  it  would  be  good  for  her,  sure.  but  truthfully,  martha  thinks  it  might  be  donna  who  needs  this  more  than  she  does.  and  that’s  the  only  reason  why  she  gives  in,  albeit  reluctantly.

   martha  turns  when  the  doctor  speaks,  startling  her  slightly  and  she  smiles  up  at  him  standing  by  the  tardis  console.  she  hadn’t  noticed  him  behind  her,  the  way  he  may  have  listened  in,  so  as  far  as  she’s  concerned,  he  has  no  idea  that  anything  is  wrong  anyway.  nothing  is  wrong,  she  thinks  stubbornly.  but  she  shrugs  at  the  doctor  as  donna  interrupts  him,  realising  that  she  has  already  started  to  walk  away  and  she  hurries  to  catch  up,  avoiding  the  doctor’s  eyes  as  donna  turns  back  to  him  and  she  sighs  heavily,  her  exhaustion  catching  up  with  her  now  that  she  knows  they  won’t  be  thrown  head  first  in  to  another  situation.  she  keeps  walking  as  donna  threatens  him,  her  smile  softening  in  amusement  as  she  rolls  her  eyes.          ❝     anyone  ever  tell  you  you’re  a  little  bit  scary  ?     ❞          martha  asks  of  donna  with  a  lightly  teasing  tone  of  voice.  she’s  delaying  the  inevitable,  she  knows  that,  but  donna  could  at  least  give  her  this.  the  walk  to  the  library,  before  she  has  to  talk  about  the  past  two  months  and  how  absolutely  miserable  it  had  been  for  her.  her  throat  closes  up  slightly  at  the  reminder,  her  teeth  biting  in  to  the  inside  of  her  cheek.  she  would  never  hold  it  against  either  donna  or  the  doctor,  but  they  really  don’t  have  a  clue  about  what  it  was  like  for  her  there.  her  hands  move  to  rub  at  her  shoulders  for  warmth,  already  thinking  about  the  throw  blanket  she  had  left  in  the  library  before  the  family  had  started  hunting  them.  her  pace  quickens  a  step  or  two.

“i haven’t been a little scary since primary. the words you’re lookin’ for,” there’s a haughtiness to her words, to the rise of her chin that’s unexpected given the conversation, “is that i’m a right bitch.” donna smiles easily at that, her typical short and loud laugh bursting through shortly after. with martha there’s no anxiety over her pushy personality or having to shuffle for a simpering-enough facade.

smoothly, she wraps her left arm around the younger woman’s shoulder while keeping them moving. donna had noticed the twitch in her expression, not to mention her arms holding herself tightly. the instinct to hug martha close isn’t one that she double-thinks, rather it’s a missed connection. just like donna hadn’t hidden her true traits from martha, she had been open in her inclination for tight embraces, shoulder bumps, side pokes, and all the little touches that too many of her acquaintances ( she knew what true friends were now, and she’d be damned if she was going to let them slip away ) considered too much.

for a moment, they walked together in companionable silence. the tardis didn’t even try any foolery in changing their path, likely being able to tell that both were more tightly wound than obvious. the old girl was intuitive like that, or it might be better to say that as a telepathic ship she knew her inhabitants well. as well as she can for a mere human, donna sends a mental thanks for making their walk smooth and a request to not help the doctor find his way to them just yet. there’s no way for her to know if her message got across, not even a morse-code flicker of the hallway lights, but having thought it calms her own anxiety. for all her posturing, she was well-aware that the doctor had the final say — she was just endlessly lucky that the doctor was more socially-inept than overbearing.

donna pats martha’s shoulder, still not releasing her hold. it’s not a vice grip, almost resembling more of a casually slung guiding hold. she keeps her gaze on their path as they walk, knowing that she still had to go make the tea and hoping the tardis gives her a fork close to the library, “you know, my mother always told me i should listen to the lil’ voice tellin’ me t’stop. never listened, especially when my grandma said the opposite. drove mum crazy. that was more a plus than not though, an’ i’d end up sneakin’ out the window e’en when she got all splotchy red.” her free hand comes up in an empty shrug, “she’d say it’s a mystery where i ‘get the gall,’” her voice takes on a shrill and mocking pitch before dropping back to her drawling register, “but lookin’ back now, s’pretty clear i had a good source.”

they turn a corner and find the library doors opened before them. she lets go of martha as she steps forward to the fireplace, letting out a delighted sound as it starts on its own. “brilliant, now i’ve got to get the kettle goin’. i’ll just be a tick.” she spins on her heel, ready to keep going when a clatter sounds outside the door. she goes to check it, returning to the couch with a large grin, two mugs, and a teapot steaming ready. “even better! guess the tardis still’s got surprises for us.” donna gives them an additional moment of respite as she serves the tea and gets comfortably seated, but when she looks at martha again, there’s a perceivable expression of patience on her face.

                            “ a social reject? “    she’ll have to forgive you for scoffing,      you really can’t help it.   “ that’s very rich coming from a woman who finds herself travelling the world with some lanky  alien boy as opposed t o making her own  relationships in a life that is  better suited to her. “  human beings didn’t need to travel in time,    it wasn’t meant for them.   this is a world that is much too dangerous,   much too complex for them to ever get their small and simple minds around.       “ if either of us are to be considered a reject of society,  might i hand the baton over to you. “    and you mimic it with your hand,  gesturing towards her as if you were a participant in a relay race.  

you can appreciate her sharp mouth but the way she defends the doctor does make you feel just a little  queasy and the mere  idea of being the one to create homemade valentines cards for the doctor  has your features  physically  changing into  an expression of disgust.       “  don’t be so stupid. “  such a strong word to throw around,  you expect some backlash for that.  “ he isn’t my type. “   and  this  isn’t  coming  from  a  place  of  bitterness,    he truly isn’t.        “ we’re from a completely different planet so the idea of  us sharing schools is impossible.   “      ever so cocky,  you tilt your head as you watch her.     “ the doctor and i aren’t the same, despite our ability to manipulate time.   we’re a different species,    on completely different levels. the history merely lies in the fact that he keeps showing up and messing up my plans. “    as in,    you’re wanting to create some  chaos and the doctor  comes to piss all over that.   he’s too much of a goody goody.       “ don’t act like you know him,     miss noble.  i can assure you there’s lots the doctor hasn’t told you.  does he call you his best friend?  i’ve seen more before you.  “ 

she looks at the extended hand as if it were diseased, unmoving as the nightingale retracts it at finishing her mockery. a year ago, the words would have burned into the back of her throat. they don’t completely miss the mark, lifelong insecurities still finding a home within her but she’s better now. the doctor, martha, and so many people that had crossed their paths had shown her that. the world was more than what used to worry her - hairstyles, and gossip, and hireable skills, and weight, and so on and so on - that the knowledge of time and space is more than sufficient balm in the absence of the doctor.

She straightened her spine with Donna’s help, but all her energy feels sapped as she finally allows Donna to know what’s happening. Only a taste, of course, of the trauma in her brain, the near impossible to explain pain that thunders through her skull, too many memories to fit in too small a space, no protection from an influx of - so many years. Fragments drifting, sharp edged, scraping their way into other memories, turning her own thoughts into a kaleidoscope of enimosity.

She almost allows herself to feel - safe, here. With strong Donna, always the campaigner for the little man, be it herself or the Ood, and how proud he had been of her back in the day. How strong, how so very strong to overcome every obstacle in her way. Never the coward, not like the Doctor. She groaned again, another spike of agony, her eye blurring and static and refusing to see in front of her, forcing her to press a hand hard against it again.

“I don’t think there is anything.” she said, voice scraping in her throat. “The damage he’s done, it’s … like overstuffing a sausage casing. It’s all spilling out and there’s no way to keep it in there.” she swallowed hard again, forcing down bile, breathign sharply through her nose.

“I think I just wanted … a mate.” she smiled, shakily, but the memory she called back to caused her shoulders to hunch again as the pain daggered.

The last time she'd seen the Doctor in so much pain was... Had she ever seen her like this before? The only time that comes close to it was when he'd been poisoned at the dinner with Agatha Christie. But he'd known what to do then. He had gone straight into action once he'd known what was happening to himself and she, no questions and all action, had followed his lead. This was not even remotely similar to a simple poisoning.

"There has to be something." Donna's voice is resolute. This sort of deadlocked acceptance wasn't something that Donna liked to dwaddle in. "And as your best mate, I'm not gonna let you expire in my house, of all places." She knows she's a touch telepath, knows that she's not the same person but-- Donna gently combs her fingers through the blonde locks, pushing the hair to one side so she can have an unobstructed view of her face, pained as it is.