The road less travelled...

Title: Dona nobis beatitas Part II
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: The Doctor still has a lot to learn.

Chapter 4

It’s impossible to measure how long it is for the Doctor between that meeting of himself, Martha and Jack, and when it all changes forever.

But when the moment finally arrives, the Doctor knows what’s coming from the very first sound that reverberates in his mind, as strongly as if he was hearing it with his ears instead. Swallowing a huge lump in his throat, he leaps for the controls, fighting the TARDIS, who clearly wants all the credit for arriving safely at their destination.

He almost breaks a switch, having to repeatedly cancel the co-ordinates so they don’t materialise in the room. He wants to be a short distance away, just in case he’s wrong.

As they approach, though, he can almost feel the letters spelled out, writ large across time and space, summoning him, just as he has always known she would. It’s like he told Jack, he thinks with a smile. Human telecommunication is so primitive compared to what two people with Time Lord knowledge can achieve.

He wonders if she’ll even hear the TARDIS, or if her ears are still temporarily deaf to the sound, at least until he can open her mind to it again. As he heads for the door, he knows that his blue box has never quite forgiven him for ensuring that her perception field was particularly strong where Donna Noble was concerned, just in case that latent consciousness was somehow sparked, accidentally or otherwise.

He wouldn’t put it past the TARDIS to find a way around something like that.

He knows she’s missed Donna almost as much as he has.

Opening the door, he peeps outside and then steps over the threshold, finding himself in a hallway with doors opening off on each side. He already knows which apartment is Donna's, having been told her address by Martha during one of her attempts to get him to visit her.

Only he knows how much of a struggle it’s been not to come here before.

Rather than rattle the doorknob or knock and alert her to his presence, he takes out the sonic screwdriver, unable to help wondering if she’ll hear the buzz. A quick zap on the hinges before he opens the door more than an inch or two silences them as well.

Pushing the door wide, he finds her immediately.

She’s standing with her back to him, which means he has the liberty of time to examine her surroundings before he can feast his eyes on his best friend.

Self-control, like he told Jack.

And maybe just a hint of punishing himself for what he did to her.

He leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest, letting his eyes roam over the space in front of him.

This room has light and life and so much energy that he can almost feel it buzzing around him. His eyes fall on painting after painting and he can see how Donna’s returning memories are echoed in the way the brushstrokes become more definite, more sure. He’s intrigued at the fact that he can spot the TARDIS in every single picture, sometimes nothing more than a vague spot of blue, but slowly taking on a more definite shape. In the images of the Library, she’s all too recognisable.

The rest of the room echoes the Donna Noble he knows best so much that it makes him smile. The bed in the corner is a little rumpled, as if she could hardly stand still long enough to make it smooth before she attacked that day’s project. Clean dishes are draining on the sink – one glass, one plate, one set of cutlery, one saucepan.

It’s a reflection of his own situation – his own loneliness – on the TARDIS.

He can’t help wondering if things are about to change for both of them.

She straightens and he can hear how the echoes of that name are finally falling silent, having done their duty. They’ve called him here, to her, and as his eyes light on the letters, slashed boldly across the background of blue and brown, he knows she’s ready for him.

“Names are amazing things,” Donna says quietly.

He’s been waiting so long to hear her voice that the sound of it can’t startle him, although it does encourage him to use the reflective windows to examine her features and admit to himself again how much he’s missed her.

“Yes,” he agrees, “they are. But,” he adds, before she can interrupt, “the power of the human mind is even more amazing. Your mind in particular.”

She laughs, a sound he’s missed so much he could hardly bear it, and turns towards him, wiping her hands on her apron, which is covered in paint smears.

“Are you patronising me, Doctor?” she asks.

He eases himself away from the wall and begins crossing the floor towards her. “I don’t have to,” he assures her. “Do you know how many people in the history of time have survived the recovery of their memories from a human-Time Lord metacrisis?”

“Not very many,” she suggests in a tone that suggests she still lacks a certain degree of self-confidence. A habit he will have to help her break.

“None,” he corrects as he finally stops in front of her, immediately reaching for her hand. “None before you,” he adds as his fingers curl around hers, filling the void, “before now.”

“I’m covered in paint,” she protests, trying to pull away.

He can’t help his response, which slips out almost before he’s aware of it. “You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he assures her, and sees as a becoming blush creeps over her face.

“Look at, you, Donna Noble,” he says softly, his eyes travelling over her face. “Confident. Sure of yourself. Happy!”

“I’ve been happy before!” she says almost indignantly, but then she hesitates. “But,” she’s forced to admit, “happiest with you.”

“I’m glad,” he assures her, unable to help smiling at the shy look on her face at this obviously reluctant admission. Then he raises his eyes to the paintings around them and waves a hand in a gesture of demonstration. “And it’s not hard to see that,” he adds to give her a moment to recover from her blushes. “I can almost feel the moods you were in when you painted all of these.”

She turns a little, following the direction of his hand, her shoulder brushing his arm as she gazes at her work. He spares her pictures only a quick glance, however, before looking down at her again, wondering what she’s thinking, whether she’s settled here.

What her future holds.

“I wish I hadn’t sold them now,” she says suddenly, and he’s quick to pick up on the regret in her tones.

“Never mind,” he assures her, although he’s a little hesitant about his next words. “You can paint them again,” he says at last, adding bravely, “Paint them for me.”

“I’ve already painted one thing for you,” Donna admits almost shyly.

“This,” he agrees, turning back to the painting she was working on when he entered the room, releasing his hold on her hand as he does so. His eyes trace the lines of the name that he so rarely acknowledges for his safety and those around him. “My summons.”

“No,” Donna replies, and he looks at her in confusion.

She moves away and he watches her go, wondering what she means. He knows he shouldn’t be astonished – she’s always managed to surprise him. Still, something in her tones suggests she has something for him personally and, as so often happens with her, he’s intrigued.

Donna stops in front of a corner where something has been covered with an old cloth. She reaches out and flicks a switch that turns on a spotlight before gently removing the cover.

“This,” she tells him and then steps away.

The scale and subject of the image takes his breath away and he can’t help gasping.

It’s Gallifrey as he sees it in his mind, as he sees it in his dreams, as he longs to see it again, even though he knows it’s impossible. It’s the Citadel with its gleaming spires, and the mountains and hills in all of their amber glory, and – his eyes widen at the realisation of what the small dots of colour must be – even the people.

“Donna,” he gets out at last, almost struck dumb by the beauty of what she’s created. Of what she’s done for him. “It’s incredible!”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” she says as he moves over to where she’s standing, fishing in his pocket. “The only piece I’ve ever been completely and utterly happy with.”

“I’m not surprised,” he replies as he dons his glasses and leans over to look at the picture, seeing that she’s even managed to add tiny collars and even minute seals of Rassilon to the various Time Lords.

It’s an extraordinary achievement.

Then he leans back and takes in the wider scope of the image.

“It’s – it’s almost as if everything’s moving,” he says, amazed by the sense of motion. “I could believe they were alive. It’s as if I can feel the wind sweeping down from Solace and Solitude and rustling through the grass.”

“Ah.” She laughs a little, sounding rather disappointed. “Unfortunately I’m not quite capable of that.”

He turns to face her, removing his glasses and taking a step closer, needing to touch her again, to feel her, to have her close to him. He cups her face in his hands so that he can gaze into her glorious eyes. “Donna Noble,” he says softly. “The most important – and incredible! – woman in the whole of creation.”

“Oi!” she protests, although he can hear she’s not actually upset by the tone of her voice. She reaches up to take his hands, lowering them to a comfortable level. “You’ll cause my head to swell if you carry on like that,” she scolds lightly.

He gazes at her, studying her features, seeing how the tiny lines of tension around her mouth and eyes have faded. He was right in what he said before – she does look happy. Happier than he knows she was when they first met, not that that would be hard, but even happier than when they reunited at Adipose Industries.

The thing he notices most of all, though, is the uncertainty in her eyes. He understands her thoughts. She’s worried that he might have moved on, that he no longer wants her to travel with him. And perhaps she no longer feels the need of him in her life either.

So he waits, letting her make the decision, wanting her to speak first.

“The rest of my life,” she says at last, and he lets himself relax at the words, already ready with his answer, but he lets her finish, “travelling in the TARDIS? The DoctorDonna?”

He can’t help the grin that streaks across his face as he frees a hand to gesture at the window behind them and the worlds beyond it. “The Universe is waiting,” he reminds her.

“Then,” she says with an answering smile, “why are we?”

They continue to grin at each other rather inanely before Donna, clearly more impatient, breaks the silence.

“Where is it then?” Donna demands.

“The TARDIS?” he asks, understanding. “Right outside the door.”

There’s a faint frown on her face as she glances in the direction of the open door. The Doctor can catch a glimpse of his blue box from where he’s standing, but he knows that Donna won’t be able to see it.

Yet.

He can feel the TARDIS straining against the restrictions of the perception filter, and at last, with a thought, he is merciful enough to release her.

Donna sighs in what he guesses is relief and perhaps happiness as the blue box at last flickers into view. She gives his fingers a gentle squeeze and steps forward, and as she does so, the doors of the TARDIS open inwards with the familiar creak, as if the ship is welcoming Donna in.

She takes another eager step forward before pulling up short and looking around the room at everything she’s collected here. The Doctor can’t help wondering – worrying – if the sight of them is making her reconsider.

But when she turns her gaze on him and he sees the teasing light in her eyes, he knows he’s not about to lose her again. Instead he waits, curiosity growing in leaps and bounds, until she finally speaks.

“Well,” she tells him, “at least this time you’ll be able to help me pack!”

Next Part