seriousfic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seriousfic) wrote2010-01-11 02:39 pm
seriousfic) wrote2010-01-11 02:39 pm
Doctor Who fic: Time Changes Nothing
Title: Time Changes Nothing
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,411
Characters/Pairings: Donna, the Doctor, hints of Doctor/Donna
Summary: End of Time AU. Remembering means Donna will die, as surely as the Doctor. But she remembers…
The thing that surprised Donna most about dying was how it felt. She’d expected some pain to be involved, but it just felt real. Like she’d woken from an odd little dream. Seemed odd that reality involved millions upon millions of copies of some blond git, but it really wasn’t.
She woke up to the Doctor’s face, smoother than she’d ever seen it, like he’d gone backwards while she’d gone forward.
“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing her too well to mince words. “You’re dying.”
“Look who’s talking,” she replied.
He smiled and said “My Donna” and she smiled too. She could’ve been angry, at him, at the universe. But the universe was so beautiful and he was her best mate. “How long have I got?”
“A few hours, I expect.”
“And you?”
“I prefer not to think about it. Let it be a surprise.”
She sat up from the couch, letting the blanket fall away. They must’ve taken her inside after she’d fainted. And the Doctor must’ve saved the world, again. All very logical.
Her clothes were strange. Her house was strange. It had all made sense with the dream logic, but now it all seemed random. “Where is everybody?”
“They might have gotten the impression that I needed complete privacy in order to revive you.”
“That why my cheek is so sore?”
“You took a lot of reviving.”
It had never taken much to make him fall from whatever was keeping him up at the moment. It took less now. Solemnity overtook him like a cancer; it looked indecent on his young man’s face. “I just needed a minute to… look at you. No, look at you!” He beamed, a smile that just barely sparked in his eyes. “You’re brilliant! No matter how many times they’ve told you, you haven’t heard it enough and you haven’t heard it from me.”
Donna pounded him lightly on the knee. “Shut it, martian boy, you’ll give yourself a conniption. I know,” she said into his wide, surprised eyes. “Your memories, my head, remember? I can’t make sense of most of it, but I know how you feel, ya big sop.”
“You’re still brilliant and I’m still saying that.”
“And you, you’re not quite daft.” Donna winced as something behind her eyes was jogged. “You’ll change, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you’ll lose… this.”
“I’ve lost more.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, brushed an eyelash from her cheek. He didn’t hold on. Maybe he thought that would make it real. “Would you like me to stay?”
Donna reached over and fixed his tie. “I’d like to go, actually. Out. There.” She jerked her head at the TARDIS, and the Doctor didn’t think about how she knew where he’d left it. “I said I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. This just makes it easier. And I’d like to see how your makeover turns out. And I may have no idea what it’s like to wake up in a new body, but it must be nice to see a familiar face first thing.”
“It’d be fantastic.” He smiled, and this time it shone out his eyes like light off diamonds. “Although, of my memories, of the ones you can make sense of, is there anything about the Master being a snake? Because if there is, you shouldn’t think about it too much. Trust me.”
“No, nothing about that. Though I do seem to recall you gawking at my backside.”
Sylvia Noble would never understand why, when she rushed back to her daughter’s death-bed, she and the Doctor were laughing their fool heads off. But she was glad they were. What did she understand, all too well, was that Donna had to leave. She tried not to be small or petty. She’d given Donna too much of that over her life. But at the end, she could be selfless. Even if it burned like gasoline.
“Go. Go far,” she said. “See everything there is to see.”
They hugged, and Donna didn’t want to let go. But she did. Once she had, Wilf was holding onto her with all the strength his old bones had. “You take good care of him,” her grandfather begged. “Because he’ll be taking great care of you.” Donna cried and nodded and thought that this was magic enough for her. But she couldn’t hold onto it and couldn’t bear to see it turn into pity and recrimination and sorrow. She’d rather her story be a cliffhanger than a tragedy. So she waved goodbye and walked into the TARDIS at the Doctor’s side. The old girl gleefully responded to their joined touch. No mischief, no detours. It would listen to their swansong without interruption.
“Where to first?” the Doctor asked, smiling across the console at her.
“Barcelona.”
“Oh,” he huffed, mock disappointed.
“Six million BC.”
“That’s more like it! I loved the dinosaurs, fantastic conversationalists.” He pulled the lever and the universe got out of their way.
They lived a lifetime in those few hours. 2.3, the Doctor would put it at later. They listened to the singing flowers of Nron, got massages from the five-armed Gelchans of Dafoe’s Planet, protected an Inuit village from a Viking raid, witnessed the last burning of the Firefalls, flew the hover-chariots of Dyy, and stopped the Daleks for old time’s sake. And when Donna got a migraine or the Doctor glowed a golden hue, they let it pass without comment. They had no time for that.
“She’s pretty,” Donna said, after they bought a scarf from Rose in 2002.
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor said after Martha lost a patient in 2014.
“Congratulations,” they told Sarah Jane when she became a grandmother in 2030.
They accidentally inspired Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. They did karaoke at Woodstock. They met JK Rowling and saved her from a crazed Twilight fan. They never looked back.
“Next stop…?” the Doctor asked, his voice cracking like the teenager he was.
“I think I’d better sit.” Donna couldn’t see through the metacrisis. “Have a cuppa.”
The Doctor started the tea brewing and slumped down beside. “Yeah. Let’s save some universe for tomorrow.”
Donna kicked her boots off. “What’s it like to die, Doctor?”
The Doctor thought about it. “Quiet. Maybe that’s why I dislike it.”
“I don’t know. I could do with some quiet. It’s not the worst thing in the universe, is it?”
“No. The worst thing in the universe is being alone. Sugar?”
“What?”
“Tea’s ready. Sugar?”
“Maybe a little milk?”
“Coming right up.” He stood awkwardly, walked over to the stove, poured two cups, then took a pratfall on the first step toward her. Donna laughed and the Doctor joined in. It died away so the only sound was the slow, sodden beat of the TARDIS’s heart.
He rolled onto his back and looked at her. His eyes were full of light. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked, voice little more than a whisper.
“Not at all,” she agreed.
He disappeared in a fountain of golden light.
“Allons-y,” Donna said.
The Doctor got up. He was a new man and the same man. Exactly the same and completely different. As always. “Hand! Look at this hand! Two of them! And two legs!” He felt at his face. “Two eyes! Two ears! Two nostrils! I think I’ve fallen in a bit of a rut.” He pulled at his hair. “I have a mullet!? Wait, no… Donna!” He rushed back to her, lunging over nothing much. “You’re never going to believe this, Donna, but I’m still not ginger!”
She said nothing. He closed her eyes for her.
“I would’ve really liked to be ginger.”
***
He took her home to be buried. He told her family she hadn’t been afraid, not for one moment. They told the world she’d died of brain cancer, that she’d been hiding her sickness. The Doctor didn’t much like that story. At the end, she’d been cured. That was important.
Years later, he’d take a new companion back. He’d be trying to teach her about friendship. He’d visit Donna while her mind was still under lock and key, with a face she didn’t recognize. He’d tell her she was brilliant and she’d tell him he looked good. And when he called her his best friend, his companion would say “Isn’t she dead now?”
“Yes, but what does that change?”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,411
Characters/Pairings: Donna, the Doctor, hints of Doctor/Donna
Summary: End of Time AU. Remembering means Donna will die, as surely as the Doctor. But she remembers…
The thing that surprised Donna most about dying was how it felt. She’d expected some pain to be involved, but it just felt real. Like she’d woken from an odd little dream. Seemed odd that reality involved millions upon millions of copies of some blond git, but it really wasn’t.
She woke up to the Doctor’s face, smoother than she’d ever seen it, like he’d gone backwards while she’d gone forward.
“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing her too well to mince words. “You’re dying.”
“Look who’s talking,” she replied.
He smiled and said “My Donna” and she smiled too. She could’ve been angry, at him, at the universe. But the universe was so beautiful and he was her best mate. “How long have I got?”
“A few hours, I expect.”
“And you?”
“I prefer not to think about it. Let it be a surprise.”
She sat up from the couch, letting the blanket fall away. They must’ve taken her inside after she’d fainted. And the Doctor must’ve saved the world, again. All very logical.
Her clothes were strange. Her house was strange. It had all made sense with the dream logic, but now it all seemed random. “Where is everybody?”
“They might have gotten the impression that I needed complete privacy in order to revive you.”
“That why my cheek is so sore?”
“You took a lot of reviving.”
It had never taken much to make him fall from whatever was keeping him up at the moment. It took less now. Solemnity overtook him like a cancer; it looked indecent on his young man’s face. “I just needed a minute to… look at you. No, look at you!” He beamed, a smile that just barely sparked in his eyes. “You’re brilliant! No matter how many times they’ve told you, you haven’t heard it enough and you haven’t heard it from me.”
Donna pounded him lightly on the knee. “Shut it, martian boy, you’ll give yourself a conniption. I know,” she said into his wide, surprised eyes. “Your memories, my head, remember? I can’t make sense of most of it, but I know how you feel, ya big sop.”
“You’re still brilliant and I’m still saying that.”
“And you, you’re not quite daft.” Donna winced as something behind her eyes was jogged. “You’ll change, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you’ll lose… this.”
“I’ve lost more.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, brushed an eyelash from her cheek. He didn’t hold on. Maybe he thought that would make it real. “Would you like me to stay?”
Donna reached over and fixed his tie. “I’d like to go, actually. Out. There.” She jerked her head at the TARDIS, and the Doctor didn’t think about how she knew where he’d left it. “I said I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. This just makes it easier. And I’d like to see how your makeover turns out. And I may have no idea what it’s like to wake up in a new body, but it must be nice to see a familiar face first thing.”
“It’d be fantastic.” He smiled, and this time it shone out his eyes like light off diamonds. “Although, of my memories, of the ones you can make sense of, is there anything about the Master being a snake? Because if there is, you shouldn’t think about it too much. Trust me.”
“No, nothing about that. Though I do seem to recall you gawking at my backside.”
Sylvia Noble would never understand why, when she rushed back to her daughter’s death-bed, she and the Doctor were laughing their fool heads off. But she was glad they were. What did she understand, all too well, was that Donna had to leave. She tried not to be small or petty. She’d given Donna too much of that over her life. But at the end, she could be selfless. Even if it burned like gasoline.
“Go. Go far,” she said. “See everything there is to see.”
They hugged, and Donna didn’t want to let go. But she did. Once she had, Wilf was holding onto her with all the strength his old bones had. “You take good care of him,” her grandfather begged. “Because he’ll be taking great care of you.” Donna cried and nodded and thought that this was magic enough for her. But she couldn’t hold onto it and couldn’t bear to see it turn into pity and recrimination and sorrow. She’d rather her story be a cliffhanger than a tragedy. So she waved goodbye and walked into the TARDIS at the Doctor’s side. The old girl gleefully responded to their joined touch. No mischief, no detours. It would listen to their swansong without interruption.
“Where to first?” the Doctor asked, smiling across the console at her.
“Barcelona.”
“Oh,” he huffed, mock disappointed.
“Six million BC.”
“That’s more like it! I loved the dinosaurs, fantastic conversationalists.” He pulled the lever and the universe got out of their way.
They lived a lifetime in those few hours. 2.3, the Doctor would put it at later. They listened to the singing flowers of Nron, got massages from the five-armed Gelchans of Dafoe’s Planet, protected an Inuit village from a Viking raid, witnessed the last burning of the Firefalls, flew the hover-chariots of Dyy, and stopped the Daleks for old time’s sake. And when Donna got a migraine or the Doctor glowed a golden hue, they let it pass without comment. They had no time for that.
“She’s pretty,” Donna said, after they bought a scarf from Rose in 2002.
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor said after Martha lost a patient in 2014.
“Congratulations,” they told Sarah Jane when she became a grandmother in 2030.
They accidentally inspired Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. They did karaoke at Woodstock. They met JK Rowling and saved her from a crazed Twilight fan. They never looked back.
“Next stop…?” the Doctor asked, his voice cracking like the teenager he was.
“I think I’d better sit.” Donna couldn’t see through the metacrisis. “Have a cuppa.”
The Doctor started the tea brewing and slumped down beside. “Yeah. Let’s save some universe for tomorrow.”
Donna kicked her boots off. “What’s it like to die, Doctor?”
The Doctor thought about it. “Quiet. Maybe that’s why I dislike it.”
“I don’t know. I could do with some quiet. It’s not the worst thing in the universe, is it?”
“No. The worst thing in the universe is being alone. Sugar?”
“What?”
“Tea’s ready. Sugar?”
“Maybe a little milk?”
“Coming right up.” He stood awkwardly, walked over to the stove, poured two cups, then took a pratfall on the first step toward her. Donna laughed and the Doctor joined in. It died away so the only sound was the slow, sodden beat of the TARDIS’s heart.
He rolled onto his back and looked at her. His eyes were full of light. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked, voice little more than a whisper.
“Not at all,” she agreed.
He disappeared in a fountain of golden light.
“Allons-y,” Donna said.
The Doctor got up. He was a new man and the same man. Exactly the same and completely different. As always. “Hand! Look at this hand! Two of them! And two legs!” He felt at his face. “Two eyes! Two ears! Two nostrils! I think I’ve fallen in a bit of a rut.” He pulled at his hair. “I have a mullet!? Wait, no… Donna!” He rushed back to her, lunging over nothing much. “You’re never going to believe this, Donna, but I’m still not ginger!”
She said nothing. He closed her eyes for her.
“I would’ve really liked to be ginger.”
***
He took her home to be buried. He told her family she hadn’t been afraid, not for one moment. They told the world she’d died of brain cancer, that she’d been hiding her sickness. The Doctor didn’t much like that story. At the end, she’d been cured. That was important.
Years later, he’d take a new companion back. He’d be trying to teach her about friendship. He’d visit Donna while her mind was still under lock and key, with a face she didn’t recognize. He’d tell her she was brilliant and she’d tell him he looked good. And when he called her his best friend, his companion would say “Isn’t she dead now?”
“Yes, but what does that change?”