When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the Winter, far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed
That with the sun's love
In the Spring
Becomes the rose
She wanted to ask him, later after she'd really thought about it, replayed their every moment together over and over in her head, how he knew about human wedding vows.
He hadn't quite recognized her attire as that of a bride's, but the rest of it all- the reception and the cake and the church, the proper finger a wedding ring would slide on- and of course, the vows- he knew all of that right off.
The answer, of course, was obvious when she held up that one piece of purple clothing, that one article that was soft and smelled distantly sweet. He'd taken it from her, ripped it away and hid it God knew where (she noticed it sprawled across the pillow of the sofa down in one of the TARDIS rooms he frequented, a few stray brown hairs on the collar, evidence of how he laid on it, probably slept on it).
It was obvious later, too, when he'd talk about her, even when he thought about her, his brown eyes shining with the most amazing mix of jubilation and misery. He talked about others- Martha Jones and how brilliant she was, Sarah Jane and how much they'd been through together, Jack Harkness and what a bloody show off he was- splendid captain of course, a bit too flirty but then what could one expect from a Time Agent? But none did he speak of in that gentle, caressing way.
When he dreamed, or if he did at all, Donna was sure it was about time spent splayed on apple-scented grass, sun shining through yellow locks, pink lips stretched into amazing smiles that would send any Time Lord's hearts soaring. Domestic was hardly the word she'd associate with her best friend, with the most important man in her life (excepting her grandfather of course), but she'd seen him wash a dish or two, fold a basket of laundry, or offer her the other half of a Christmas cracker with a wistful grin on his face.
These, she knew, were all the influence of the woman that meant the most to the Doctor. She wonders how many nights of laughter and dare she even say it? lust, they had together. How could one person mean so much to somebody so vast, so otherworldly?
She wanted to ask him, but she had no no need to- the answer was one word, one name spoken with reverence through a tightened throat, eyes filled with tears on a Christmas night while snow fell lonely and gently around them.
For the Doctor, the answer had always been and would always be, Rose.
Lyrics used from The Rose by Bette Midler.