AN: I woke up this morning with this fully formed in my head. I own nothing but the writing.

"Wait!" Wilf calls out as the Doctor turns to go. There is something in his voice; something forceful that makes the Time Lord pause, even as Donna turns to look at her grandfather in shock. "Wait," he says again, looking between the two confused pairs of eyes. Sylvia, hearing his raised voice, hurries in from the kitchen, her eyes once again dry and curious, as they always are when her father commands. Wilf meets her eyes solemnly, the grief in him clear on his face. The Doctor seems hesitant, but walks into the room, stands carefully a few feet away from Donna, his face tense and barely hiding his heartache.

Donna senses the weight of the situation, even as she wonders what is going on, her face an open book to her grandfather. She absently hangs up on Nerrys, cutting off the chatter mid-sentence. "Gramps?" she asks when he just stands there for a moment, paralysed by what needs to be done. His eyes, barely dry from the Doctor's explanations, water again as he turns a quick look towards his daughter. He sees the moment she understands his intention, sees her hard mask slam into place to cover her grief and denial. He steels himself and turns to the two who are watching him with some trepidation.

"I need you to wait, Doctor," he says, and ignored the harsh look on his face at the use of his name, "Just a moment; I've something to show the two of you." His voice is more serious than it has ever been. Sylvia whimpers, a desperate sound full of fear and regret, but she doesn't protest. Instead she turns and walks stiffly to the kitchen table, never meeting her daughter's eyes. Wilf gestures for the two to join her.

Both the Doctor and Donna have sensed that there is something happening that they don't know about. He gestures silently, again encouraging them to join his daughter. The pair exchanges a baffled glance in perfect synchrony, but do as they are bid. Wilf draws a sigh of relief, hope starting to dig its treacherous claws into his heart, a painful thing bubbling around in his mind. He nods encouragingly at the people seated at the table, then turns swiftly. That glance puts a certainty in his steps, and he hurries as fast as his old legs can carry him, up the stairs and farther, into the tiny attic.

In the far corner, a box rests. It's a simple box, somewhat smaller than the others. The cardboard is still stiff and uncreased, and shows no signs of ever having been opened since it were packed. It isn't heavy; Wilf feels not a twinge in his old back as he lifts it. He hurries down again, towards the kitchen, ignoring how the cardboard leaves visible patches of dust on his jumper, how the dust of the attic clings to him.

The three are still sitting as he left them, an awkward silence, tinged with bitter regret, heartache, and confusion filling the space between them. Donna keeps shooting concerned glances between a man she doesn't remember and her mother. Sylvia is crying, Wilf notes in dismay, silent tears flowing down weathered cheeks, her delicate hands folded on the table, eyes focused on the middle distance.

The Doctor's gaze lingers, as it always does, on Donna. Wilf can tell that he is unaware of how much his broken heart is on display.

They all turn and follow his progress as he walks in, eyes turning curious as they notice the box he is carrying. Sylvia gives a strangled sob as she finally recognises it. Wilf places a gentling hand on her shoulder as he passes, then gently places the box on the table.

"I'm sorry, Sylvia, but I made a promise to Donna." The words are quiet but firm as steel. She nods brokenly, a hand wiping at her tears as she pulls herself together.

Wilf can tell that it is the seriousness of his interaction with his daughter that keeps Donna from asking. She has always had good instincts like that, he thinks fondly, even as he opens the box and unpacks the contents. First several albums, each stuffed full of memories he has tried hard to suppress for his family's sake, then a small jewellers box, of the kind that might hold a bracelet. He solemnly places each item on the table, then moves the box out of the way, a wave of melancholy gripping his old heart, mingling with hope.

He looks up and smiles shakily at his granddaughter and the Doctor, then gently reaches for the first album and opens it. His hand, and eyes, lingers for a moment, before he straightens his back and flips the album to face Donna and the Doctor. The album itself is old and worn, the pages stiff and dusty, but the pictures themselves are vibrant, unfaded.

The first page is just one portrait-sized picture.

The sky is a brilliant cyan behind the mountains in the background, all purple and silver. There are trees in the foreground, framing a couple of people. Their branches are blue, and in decidedly alien forms.

Wilf watches confusion flow across both of their faces when they recognise one of the people as Donna, her long fiery hair in a perky pony tail, and dressed in what might be called a frock-coat in dark brown, over a decidedly Victorian looking ensemble. It takes a while before they recognise the other person, almost minute if Wilf had to guess. The young features are split by a wide grin, one arm slug around Donna's shoulders.

Donna looks up first, eyes flicking between the photo and Wilf, comparing features. He meets her eyes with a small but growing smile. The Doctor seems frozen, eyes fixed on the picture as if it holds the keys to the universe.

"That was our first trip. Feldspoon, you called it." Wilf says to Donna. A deep crease appears between her eyebrows. The Doctor is focused on him now, a heavy confusion mingled with disbelief on his features.

Wilf gestures mildly to the album, and then gently flips a page to the next picture, eyes catching Donna's. "There were many others, following that." Donna grabs the album, and flicks through it with increasing agitation. "I don't.." She starts, meeting Wilf eyes, hers full of fear and a glimmer of dawning recognition.

He sees her fight it.

"I don't understand, Gramps." Wilfs heart near breaks at her tone. Sylvia whimpers softly, cupping her face in her hands to hide her reaction, then swiftly gathers her dignity around her Ike a cloak. Wilf breaks eye-contacts and picks up the small case, flipping the lid and pensively staring at the contents. He looks up and meets her eyes again, this time with a sad smile, before he gently extricates a fob-watch from the jeweller's case.

The Doctor is the one who makes a strangled noise this time, his expressive face awash with shock and the beginnings of hope. Donna flicks her gaze towards him at the sound, but quickly refocuses on the watch as if drawn by a magnet. "Gramps?" she asks quietly, her hands reaching for the watch. He hands it over silently, watches her gaze at it, her mind visibly trying to work it all out.

"You chose 'Donna' as your name as a sort of joke. Means 'Lady'" Wilf says, emotion choking his voice. He's not sure if he is ready for this loss, but the alternative is unthinkable. She looks at him questioningly over the watch. "I never knew your real name, of course I didn't. When we were travelling together," Wilf pauses and gently strokes at the albums, the memory of mountains gently swaying in the breeze flashing behind his eyes.

He smiles at her, humour finding his eyes. "You used to call yourself The Tinker, Tink for short. Laughed yourself sick when you took us to see Peter Pan in the cinema." Sylvia snorts just slightly, a fond smile forcing its way onto her face. She grabs one of the albums, flips through it until she finds what she is looking for.

There is another old picture. Wilf is older in this one, a grown man, with his arms wrapped around a beaming Eileen. Donna is standing on the other side of Eileen, and has an arm casually slung across Eileen's shoulders. In front of the trio stands a small girl of perhaps nine, blond hair full of curls and a large smile on her face. Sylvia looks up from the picture, tears slipping from her eyes as she meets Donna's blue. "That was a great day," she chokes out, "travelling with Aunt Tink." She stops and doesn't continue, one hand absently stroking the picture.

Wilf looks at the Doctor. He is still frozen in his seat. "It was the Time War, you see," he tries to explain, "they were using her inventions for weapons. They wanted her to make more." He continues. "It was my idea for her to hide here, as long as she needed."

Donna stares at the photos, mesmerised.

The Doctor stands abruptly, and then paces the length of the kitchen twice. He sits down heavily in the chair he had just vacated, and slumps foreword to rest his head in his hands. Wilf doesn't comment, pretends that he can't hear the stifled sob that escapes.

Donna looks up from the pictures and glances between her remaining family. "I don't understand," she says, but Wilf can hear the uncertainty of it; can hear the barely concealed fear. Parts of her understand.

"You will, sweetheart." He says gently. She had been his best friend, and his granddaughter. Her hands are gripping the watch tightly, her knuckles white with the strain. He grasps them, gently holding them between his own.

"Open the watch, Sweetheart." He says, and she does.