Disclaimer: Unfortunately, wishing the Doctor and Donna are mine (and each others) doesn't turn me into the BBC.
Running back to you
Just like any woman, Donna had dreams. Normal dreams, normal desires – to be loved, to be understood, to be happy.
As the years had passed, though, bringing with them the harsh reality of rejection and scorn and betrayal and heavy, crushing disappointment, she had learned to be, well, practical about all that, developing a grim, glass-half-empty way of looking at her aspirations.
Things had been starting to change, though, getbetter, as the Doctor's relentless faith and belief in her – Brilliant! Genius! Donna, that's it!...Sometimes I do need someone – had started to restore her downtrodden confidence.
And when he had started spending every night in her arms, she felt the long-dampened flame of romantic hope flicker back to life, growing stronger with every night that he chose to spend with her.
Then she came back and Donna felt it all fall to pieces.
And the mask of detached, disaffected doesn's worry me that she had honed over so many years slid easily into place.
Why don't you ask her yourself?
It was almost masochistic, really, for her to say that, but what else could she have done? She knew how he felt about her, she knew about their history together, and she knew that that this day had to come at some point.
She just wished it had been before she had finally given her heart to him.
She felt a heartbreaking inevitability as she watched him run faster than she had ever seen him run. She could see the utter joy in his face because it was reflected in hers.
True, she had wept with relief when he had survived being shot, but there was sadness there as well, because she knew it was over now, they were over, their little piece of paradise finished. Seeing her and how she was with him, and he was with her…well, there was just no way she could compete, no way she could stop it.
She reflexively fell into her protective cocoon of self-condemnation, her old insecurities re-emerging with a merciless vengeance, the decades of beratement and put-downs piling up again to smother the tiny plant of self-worth and confidence that had been nurtured during her time with the Doctor. I should have known better, she thought bitterly.
So she was more than a little astonished when, as usual, he crept softly into her bedroom that night, through an internal door between their rooms that she couldn't remember seeing before.
Why wasn't he with her?
She was too terrified to breath, let alone speak, in case it turned out to be just a dream. When he moved immediately with uncharacteristic boldness to kiss her, it was almost as if he had read her mind, knowing her need for some tangible sign that this was real, that he was actually here with her.
Even as her bewilderment lingered, the tears fell and he kissed every single one of them dry with murmurs of unending devotion.
Her head , swimming in disbelief, could pick up only snippets of what he was saying in whispered explanation – I'm so sorry…..still love her but….can't lose you….TARDIS knows…you're beautiful….need you – each utterance punctuated by an urgent kiss of reassurance.
This was not what she had been expecting at all. Hadn't expected to fall for him. Definitely hadn't expected him to fall for her in return. Hadn't expected him to stay when she came back. It was too overwhelming and confusing, too much to even hope for, and a sob broke out as she wondered what would happen now.
"Donna, look at me."
Through the cacophony in her mind, she heard his firm and even request, and opened her tear stained eyes.
"Donna, I'm here. With you."
"Yeah, but why?"
She could almost see his heart break.
"Oh Donna" he said sadly, but with such…oh my gosh, LOVE….in his voice, "Don't you know how much you are? How much you are to me?"
All she could think about was how not enough she was. Not cute enough. Adoring enough. Thin enough. Young enough.
"I can't compete with her".
"I don't want you to".
But I don't want to lose you.
"You don't have to".
He reached out to grasp her hand, and placed it on his chest.
"Don't you remember? You're inhere. I mean, really in here. Inside of me. Part of me."
"But she's in there too".
"Donna, a lot of people have a place in my hearts".
Her face fell and she felt the tears welling up again.
"But feel them. Who are they beating for now?"
She was too afraid to answer.
"Donna, they're beating for you. God help me, they're beating for you."
"But what about Rose?"
He took in a breath, paused a beat, closing his eyes, seemingly to compose himself as well as prepare her for what he was about to say.
"Donna, I still love Rose. And when I saw her again, I reacted on reflex. This was what I'd been waiting for, what I thought I'd been wanting for so long, so I just ran to her. And it felt good. But when I came back, didn't regenerate, I realised that time had moved on. I had moved on. I can't go back anymore. I've got to keep moving forward. You taught me that".
She closed her eyes as she felt his long, cool fingers stroke the side of her face and then slide gently down her bare arm.
"I don't want to live in the past anymore. I want to, I need to, keep going, into the future. With you, if you'll let me".
This was way, way too much for her to take in. She was speechless.
He attempted to lighten the mood.
"Come on, even the TARDIS is pulling for us, where do you think that instant home renovation came from?" he said, his eyes gesturing to the new doorway between their rooms.
She smiled slightly, but then resumed the serious tone.
"What are you going to tell her? How are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know yet. Think of something I guess. Don't want to hurt her" he sighed.
She squeezed his hand.
"But I don't want you to think about that. I just want you know that there is nothingfor you to worry about. Because I know how I feel about you."
He kissed her again then, moving his body flush against her, and she felt her mind flood with warmth and love as he silently reassured her of the promises they had whispered to each other in the night.
He had come back, run back, into her arms.
Of course, the truth was that he had never, ever left.