The road less travelled...

Title: Finding A Way Home – A Bitter Blow Part 4
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: There’s nothing to do but wait.

Part IV

The Doctor makes his way down the ramp and opens the TARDIS doors to reveal the late evening sky in Chiswick.

Donna is sitting on a bench close to where the blue box has landed, her mother and Wilf on either side. She is staring intently in the direction of the TARDIS, but when the Doctor steps out onto the grass and pulls the door closed behind him, her face crumples and tears begin to pour down her cheeks.

The man moves quickly to kneel in front of her, entwining her fingers in his and giving a reassuring squeeze. “Donna,” he says softly, but with a tone in his voice that will force her to pay attention, “he's not dead. I promised you that, and he isn't.”

“Then where is he?” she demands, her voice shaking.

“He's in there.” He nods back at the TARDIS. “Right now, he's asleep.”

“But why isn't he here?!” Her voice is rising, approaching hysteria, and Wilf slips an arm around her shoulders with a reassuring squeeze.

“Doctor,” prompts Sylvia, her voice revealing her own tension, “what happened? What's wrong?”

“The fall brought on retrograde amnesia,” he admits. “His memory of names and faces and places – it’s gone. And,” he is forced to add, “so far nothing that I or the TARDIS can do has made any impact in bringing it back.”

Donna sobs, burying her face in her hands and turning so that her head rests against Wilf's chest. The Doctor begins to straighten, only to catch Sylvia's eye. That woman rises and the Doctor follows her a short distance away from the TARDIS, leaving Donna sobbing heartbrokenly into her grandfather's chest.

“Will he - I mean,” begins Sylvia rather uncertainly, “is it permanent?”

“I don't know yet,” admits the Doctor.

“Then why come back?” She looks him up and down and the angry light in her eyes, just visible in the dim light, fades. “It's clearly been some time since the accident for you. Longer than for us.”

“How long has it been for Donna?” he demands, too tired to try and work it out himself. “When did I leave her here?”

“Five minutes ago. Maybe ten at the most,” she assures him. “Has it been long on the TARDIS?”

“Hours,” he confesses wearily, running his fingers through his hair. “Days! He only woke up three hours ago. I've been trying every trick I know to bring back his memories, but nothing's working. I suppose I'm hoping Donna might be able to manage something I can't, or that his feelings for her might break through when he sees her.”

“Will he know anything about her?” demands Sylvia, adding, with a threatening tone in her voice. “I won't have my daughter hurt, Doctor! Not any more than she already is!”

“Sylvia,” the ice-cold tone of his voice actually brings her up short and she stares at him, wide-eyed, as he continues, “on not one single occasion has the Doctor – either one of us – intentionally caused your daughter any harm. All I'm doing now is attempting to give her back her husband. The Doctor is aware that he has a wife and that she is carrying his children. He might not be able to remember about her or his own feelings for her, beyond what I've told him, but right now he wants to see her. He believes she might somehow be able to help him to remember. Maybe that's just a fantasy in his mixed-up brain, but frankly I'm willing to try anything now, because nothing I can do is helping!”

He is on the verge of tears, exhausted and famished, and having to admit to this failure is nearly killing him. His voice increases in volume without him being aware of it, until he is almost shouting the final words. Sylvia actually flinches away as he looms over her, but not even the fear on her face can stop him.

Two gentle hands take hold of his arm and lightly pull him back. He looks down into Donna's eyes and feels as she draws him against her, away from her mother. It's impossible to have a proper hug due to her pregnant belly, but her hands rub lightly across his back, the gesture infinitely soothing, as her head rests against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, rubbing his fingers well into his eyes, his voice gravelly. “I just...”

“No, it’s fine.” Sylvia’s voice is surprisingly gentle, almost guilty, in response. “I shouldn’t – I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.”

He nods blindly, and then feels Donna’s fingers slip between his with a firm, reassuring hold.

“We’ll call you,” Donna’s voice contains a treacherous wobble, and he gives her fingers a comforting squeeze in return, “as soon as anything changes.”

“Yeah, well, go on then,” says Wilf rather gruffly, moving to Sylvia’s side. “Just mind you let us know.”

“’Course we will,” Donna retorts almost dismissively, tugging the Doctor gently in the direction of the TARDIS

Her show of strength lasts until they get the doors of the TARDIS closed behind them, and the Doctor grabs hold of her just in time as she begins to wilt on the ramp leading up to the console.

“Hey, none of that, not after you’ve just stood up to your Mum to save my scrawny hide,” he teases, his own moment of weakness abating with the need to be strong for someone else. “Let’s get the old girl into the vortex before we start worrying them with the fact that we’re still here and they break the doors down or something.”

Donna manages a feeble smile as he supports her to the jumpseat. “I thought nothing could get through those doors,” she retorts rather feebly. “I’m sure that’s what Rose said.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t put anything past your mother,” he fires back as he sends the TARDIS on its way. A painful silence greets his attempts to act as if nothing is wrong and he turns to face her, his voice gentle as he suggests, “Come on, cup of tea.”

He settles her in the living room and goes to make tea, thankful for the fresh burst of energy that allows him to think clearly again. The scent of the tea helps, too, and as he carries everything they will need back into the living room, he is already talking and thinking at the same time, considering new approaches and possible means of success. He refuses to consider the possibility of having to give up.

“You know,” he begins as he nudges the door open with his shoulder, “I’ve been wondering if there isn’t something I could create – an artificial substance that won’t cause any problems as a result of any lingering after-effects from the fall – that might help to stimulate the various parts of his brain that might have been damaged...”

As his eyes fall on Donna, the words dry up. She is sitting on the couch, a picture frame held in her hands, onto which her tears are dripping in a steady stream. It doesn’t take any time at all for the Doctor to realise what she’s looking at, particularly as he has already noticed the gap on the mantelpiece where the image of the wedding party from the marriage of Donna and the Time Lord usually stands.

It is a picture he likes very much. The newlyweds are locked in an embrace, mid-kiss, the Doctor himself and Martha on either side, and a cheering, applauding crowd in the background.

Clearly it is the worst possible picture for Donna to have to see at this moment.

The Doctor places the laden tray carefully on the coffee table and takes a seat on the couch beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulders and letting her rest her head against his neck. She drops the picture on her lap and flings her arms around him, sobbing bitterly – and at that moment the Doctor looks up to find the Time Lord standing silently in the doorway, taking in the scene.

It’s clear, both from the expression on his face and from his lack of response, that his memories have not returned. Not that the Doctor expected that would happen as a result of natural sleep, but he had had to admit to a tiny flickering hope.

It seems quite apparent, too, that the Time Lord recognises the woman from the pictures he has seen, because there is a silent apology writ large on his features as he studies his forgotten wife.

Acting on instinct and absolutely nothing else, the Doctor waves him in and gestures at a chair beside the end of the couch where Donna is sitting. There is a faint frown on the Time Lord’s face, but he sits down in the seat that has been indicated. The Doctor turns back to the woman in his arms, lightly resting his head against hers. He sits patiently, rubbing her back and murmuring comfortingly as the tears begin to run out.

“Is,” the word is a harsh whisper against his chest, although it dissolves into a hiccup before she tries again, “isn’t there anything else you can do?”

“I don’t know,” he admits reluctantly. “I’ve done what I can for now. But after an injury like that, I can’t give him drugs for another twenty hours or so in case they produce complications. And even when I can try something like that,” he gestures randomly with one hand, the other wrapped firmly around her shoulders, “I don’t know if they’ll do any good.”

“But you have to try!” she begs, one arm around his back while the other tightens around her belly. “Doctor, please!” She stares up at him, wild-eyed. “I – I can’t do this! I can’t be mother to his children if he’s not there!”

“Donna,” he tilts her head up slightly so that she has to look at him, “he will be there. Even if we can’t find a way to bring his memories back, he can learn it again. Learn how to feel. Learn how to love you.”

She shakes her head, her eyes filling once more. “It won’t be the same.”

“No,” he agrees softly, “it won’t. But,” he adds, “that doesn’t mean it can’t be good in other ways.”

He sits in silence as she consider his words, unable to help glancing at the other man, wondering what thoughts are going through his head as he listens to all this.

Then Donna inhales a deep breath and straightens, gently easing out of his arms and sitting back against the couch. She studies the picture in her lap for a moment before looking up at him.

“Right,” she says in would-be efficient tones, “I’m ready now. Ready to see him. To meet him.”

“Good,” he replies evenly, meeting the gaze of his doppelganger over her head, “because he’s here.”

At this clearly unforseen response, Donna stiffens, her hands convulsively clutching each other, before she takes another deep breath and resettles herself on the couch. Hurriedly wiping the tears off her cheeks, keeping her eyes averted from his face, she turns to face the husband who doesn’t remember her.

His dark eyes study her features, a tiny smile appearing as he gazes at her hair so that it’s not difficult to guess the thoughts in his mind. But that fades as he takes in her posture, the obvious tension in her frame, the way she is still turned partially away from him. Her fear of the unknown, of this strange man who wears the face and form of her love, and of how he will react to her, could not be more obvious.

It takes time, but finally Donna raises her eyes, studying his features in her turn. She lingers longest at his eyes, which is where the strangeness is most visible. Clearly he can guess at her thoughts, because his expression changes almost instantly to one of sadness. He edges forward slightly on the seat, almost as if he is trying to get closer to her. The Doctor feels Donna cringe back against his arm. She is clearly afraid of what this man might be going to say or do.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her softly. “So sorry. I wish I could do something that would – not make you so upset.” He sighs a little, the regret so plain. “I wish I could remember you.”

There is a heart-stopping pause, which neither of the others dares to break, and then he adds in a half-whisper, “I wish I could love you.”

Next Part