If It's Gotta End, Then Let It End in Flames
"Can I just have a few minutes to myself, just to think, before you…" Donna mimed pressing her fingers to the edges of her temple. The Doctor nodded mutely. She wrenched herself away from the center of the TARDIS and retreated to her room. "Stupid Earthgirl," Donna's inner voice ripped out savagely at her. "You know you can't outrun this."
But she wasn't planning on running for much longer. She retrieved a shot glass and a mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels from her cabinet, nearly bringing down several tea mugs in her haste. She fumbled with the top of the bottle and breathed a sigh of relief: She had gained a steady grip on the portal that would save her from Chiswick, from her bloody insufferable mother, from her existence that only served as a flawless definition of insignificance. To ensure she'd enter that portal, she ran to her bathroom, plucked her razor off the sink, and slashed three lines just above her wrist. She'd suffered worse injuries than that during her time with the Doctor-Heck, running into an ill tempered cat could cause the same effect. While she still had time, she needed to get closer to her life. She felt her pulse, and cherished its stolen value. The Doctor's value.
…
"Well, I've given her a few minutes now…" the Doctor groaned inwardly. His hearts, beating for Donna, kept him anchored. Then the moment was swept away like a house in a hurricane. Rose, Martha, now Donna…Jay Gatsby was right, you could repeat the past. For the Doctor, it wasn't worth repeating.