The ground beneath our feet is spinning at 1,000 miles an hour and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, and I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go …He remembers Rose – how could he ever not?
He remembers Rose and her amazement, which later proved to be her typical reaction to mostly anything he found grand, her amazement and astonishment and perhaps there had been a little fear of a concept too hard to grasp for a human insensitive to all the turning.
So he remembers Rose, and in this manner, he looks at Donna, perhaps even to catch a glimpse of the girl he is been missing so.
But the look she gives him is wrong, and he loses her brown eyes in those smaller greener ones that tell him they're close to crying. His mind takes a different bend, as he does ever so often, and he softly curses he has to – even now – leave the blonde behind.
" Is that why you forget? "
Maybe, he ponders between two uncomprehending stares, Rose had been confused. It was very likely: confusion was usually a mix between a lack of understanding and the fear stemming therefrom. He has noticed, however, the image in his mind, the image of her face, is starting to become unclear. There are too many flashes and noises and memories and as much as he wants to hold on to all and everything he has left of her ( he would even if it weren't all that was left, even ), his head and mind are full, and she is drowning.
Donna's eyes are just as wet.
" What do you mean? "
The line of thought on confusion came from his own being confounded, for once, or maybe twice, but often it does not happen. It does not change the fact still that he had not thought, planned, or intended to be on this side of the two to – be – produced expressions he had imagined.
She looks much too knowing, and he doesn't understand – and if there is anything that irks him, it's when he doesn't understand.
" Donna, what do you mean?! "
" People! "
The word spills out like the tears do down her cheeks, and he knows this is the moment where she would slap him in the face again if she wasn't more occupied with the sad part of being upset than with the part where she is angry.
He knows that much about her, but he still doesn't know what it means. He doesn't have to ask for explanations, though: Donna's anger does not come in one word.
It comes in streams in tenfold.
" Didn't I tell you already?! You just don't know when to stop, don't you?! Is that it?! Is that it?! Because you're turning and you're spinning, because everything is blurred, that we just look like blobs to you, blobs in your greater picture where just the world needs saving, but not the people in it?! "
He knows she'd like to say more ( Donna always says a lot more than he thinks she can ), but she's out of breath in all the water he previously referred to metaphorically, so she just pants a bit and sniffs and then forgets to dry her eyes before she continues in a voice like cracking ice. " And then what about me?! If everyone is vague, if everyone is just wiped out against that turning of your precious world, then why take me with you?! Why be with a blob?! I'm not different from anybody else, am I?! So if there is no stopping, won't you just explain that already?! "
I think sometimes you need somebody to stop you.
He stares at her, clear against the fading background, before he takes her in his arms, eyes closed against her silent sobbing.
" Not you, Donna Noble. Not ever you. "
