A/N: This was done for renegadeartist on AO3. Feel free to send me more prompts!
It was awfully late when Donna finally managed to locate the Doctor, holed up in a study that the TARDIS had hidden away for him.
"There you are, you prawn," she said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed testily. He started, straightening up so fast he nearly fell off his stool.
"Oh. It's you," he said, after a moment. "What is it?"
Donna frowned but chose to ignore his lack of tact, pushing off the wall and wandering over to his desk. "It's really late," she remarked. "Thought you'd be asleep."
"Thought you'd be asleep," he countered, returning his attention to his work. He had a pair of pliers in one hand and some sort of circuit in the other, and he seemed to be trying to get a little pile of components onto it.
"Are you going to sleep?" she asked.
"Time Lord, Donna," mumbled the Doctor, biting his tongue as he carefully joined two tiny wires. "I don't need to sleep every night."
"Sure," she allowed. "But you didn't sleep last night. And I'm pretty sure you didn't sleep the night before either—don't give me that look, I heard you banging around in the garage."
"Oh." He spared a sheepish glance up. "Sorry."
Donna sighed. "It's okay, just– please go rest. I don't want you working alone while you're all tired and jumpy."
Something dark flickered over his expression—what little of it she could see, at least, because he kept his head ducked low over his work. His hands, she noticed suddenly, were shaking.
"I'm not tired, or jumpy," he said. "And I can't rest right now."
"Doctor," she implored, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't react. "C'mon. You need your sleep too."
"I have to finish this," he muttered, without an upwards glance.
"You can do it later."
"No."
She bit her lip to stop herself from snapping at him. She knew he didn't mean to be difficult; he'd had a rough time of it lately, what with his nightmares and his insomnia, and if he insisted on staying up then it was out of fear, not malice. But she could feel the tremors running through his body, and see him struggle to line up the components with trembling hands. Despite his efforts to hide it, she caught sight of the dark circles under his eyes, the gaunt exhaustion in his face. He leaned on his desk as if he would collapse without its support. He couldn't keep going like this.
With a final pat on his shoulder, Donna went to grab another stool from a different bench. She pulled it up beside his and sat, resting her elbow on the desk and her chin in her hand, peering at him.
"How long have you been up?" she asked.
"Not long," mumbled the Doctor.
"You sure?"
"I'm fine, Donna."
"You're shaking."
He drew a deep breath. "Go to sleep."
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Not 'till you call it quits."
"I–" He set his jaw, gritting his teeth against a sharp retort. "Donna, please," he said quietly. "Let me work. I'm alright, I don't need to rest."
Seeing him get frustrated made her own temper flare—he was the one working himself half to death, for God's sake!
"You can't do this," she said firmly. "It's not good for you."
"Do what?" the Doctor asked.
"Doctor!" she exclaimed. He didn't acknowledge her, just kept fiddling with the leads in his hands. His brow was furrowed deeply, his eyes dark. Anyone else might've thought him angry, left him alone; she saw utter exhaustion behind the flimsy mask, and her heart ached.
She reached out and tucked a wild piece of hair behind his ear. "Look at me?" she murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair again.
Slowly, as if unsure of her intentions, he glanced to her, then turned to face her. She cupped his cheek in her hand as she got her first proper look at him, pity tugging in her chest.
"Oh, Spaceman," she whispered. "What've you done to yourself?"
The Doctor flinched, ever so slightly, and pulled away. "I'm not going to sleep."
"Look at you," she said desperately. "You're dead on your feet, you can't keep doing this."
"I'm alright," he muttered.
"You're not! This isn't working!"
"I don't know, seems to be working for me," he retorted, voice cracking.
Donna was quiet for a moment, just looking at him in dismay. "Why would you think that, Doctor?" she said softly.
His lip trembled. "It's better," he mumbled. "I don't–" he sniffed– "I can't sleep, I can't do it, and I– I'd rather just work, please…" He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked, one more time.
There was a pause. "Few days." He sniffled. "Nine."
"Oh, Spaceman," she murmured. "No…"
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm s–" He broke off and turned away, leaning his elbows on the table and burying his head in his hands. He tugged hard on his hair, drawing a quiet whimper of pain from his throat.
"Hey–" Donna reached out and took his hands away, holding them tightly in hers. "C'mon, don't– don't do that."
"Donna, I…" The Doctor looked to her, his eyes wide and desperate. "Don't make me sleep," he said quietly. "Please."
Her heart clenched painfully. "You have to, Spaceman," she murmured. She squeezed his hands in reassurance. "You can't keep doing this. You're going to make yourself really sick."
He opened his mouth, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to form an argument, drawing away from her and shaking his head. "No, no," he rasped. "No, I–" He broke off in a sob, his shoulders shaking as he directed his gaze up away from her, a futile attempt to disguise his crying.
Donna hesitated a moment, reaching out towards him, before she stood and guided him into a tight embrace. He all but collapsed into her arms, all the built-up tension in his wiry body giving out as he leaned against her and cried. His head came right to her shoulder, courtesy of his tall workbench stool, and she cradled the back of his head with one hand, gently playing her fingers through his hair. He hardly made a sound the whole time they stayed like that, just sobbed silently into the fabric of her nightshirt. She found she could hardly tell the jump of his broken breaths from the tremors in his overtired muscles.
"Hey. Hey, Martian Boy," she mumbled, ducking her head so her lips brushed his forehead as she spoke. "It'll be okay. I promise, you'll be alright. We're gonna calm you down, and you'll have a good night's sleep. You'll feel so much better in the morning." He gasped in a shuddering breath, pressing himself closer to her as he broke down all over again at her reassurances.
"It's okay, it's okay," she repeated, unconsciously tightening her arms around him. "I've got you. Hey, listen, I– I'll stay with you. Alright? Would that help? I'll be right there with you, if you have a nightmare you can wake me up, I'll help you. Okay?"
The Doctor nodded, clearly lacking the energy and presence to protest, and she felt a great rush of relief. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, rubbing his back as he gradually calmed and quieted.
After a while, she reluctantly released him, letting him pull away and dry his eyes with his sleeves. She reached out to fix his hair where it had been flattened, rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone and offered him a fond smile.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked softly.
Sniffling, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"'Kay." Taking his hand, she helped him up, noticing how he swayed on his feet and grabbed at his desk for support. She linked their arms together, hoping he wouldn't pass out before they got to her room.
The Doctor, predictably, was still in his pinstripe trousers and oxford—he'd rolled up the sleeves but hadn't removed the tie looped loosely around his neck. With an exasperated tsk, Donna tossed him the set of pyjamas that had appeared on her bed, at some point or another, and he reluctantly changed into them. He was barely able to do up the buttons on his shirt, his hands shaking too hard to align them. She made a note to herself not to let him run off in the morning until he ate something.
Pulling back the covers, she climbed into her bed and situated herself against the pillows, propped up just slightly. Head lowered—in deference or embarrassment, she wasn't quite sure—the Doctor slid in beside her and curled up on his own side, well away from her, his gaze fixed resolutely down and his hands clenched around the bedclothes. He looked terrified. Donna didn't like it.
"Oh, c'mon," she said. He blinked, and she reached out invitingly. "C'mere."
A little smile played across his lips, and he shifted closer, allowing her to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. He rested his head on her shoulder, one leg twining with hers, and let his eyes fall closed with a quiet sigh.
Stupid Martian, she thought fondly, fixing the blankets around his shoulders. You never learn, do you?
"Hey Donna?" mumbled the Doctor after a minute, his words already slurred with exhaustion.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"Thanks."
"Any time, Spaceman," she murmured. "Sleep well."
He gave a little snuffling noise that might've been a reply, and she smiled. He looked terribly peaceful like this, he always did. And she knew she probably wouldn't get much sleep; he would inevitably wake up in a panic, she knew he knew that, and she felt so sorry for him. But if she could buy him even a few hours of this…
Well. She could bear it for a night or two.