Chapter One

The Perfect Companion
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It had been stuck in her head for a week. It was some American pop song that, while catchy, was too repetitive to be considered "good." Donna tapped out a quick beat on the cab seat, shifting anxiously. Cabs, especially in New York, moved much too slowly. Thankfully, they would only be here for another three days. Then…where was it John had said they were going? San Francisco, two days, then Hawaii, six days, then Japan. It was such a whirlwind since she had gotten married. Had it been two years? Two years since she had gone from Donna Temple-Noble to Donna Smith? Well, technically, she was still Donna Temple-Noble; John hadn't wanted her to change her name. She had given up so much for him already, he said. She should at least keep her name.

I'll be your light, your match, your burning Sun

I'll be the bride in black that's making you run

Bride in black…or was it bright and black? She couldn't tell. Americans never spoke clearly, let alone sang clearly. Two marriages, ha! And her mother had said she would never find a man who would stay. To be fair, when she was young, she had gone through relationships like tissue. No one was strong enough to stand up to her. She was her grandfather's Little General, after all. Well, she had found two men, and this second one…he was perfect. The perfect companion. Two marriages…two? Or three…? Hadn't there been…?

The cab jolted to a stop and the driver cursed in a language Donna didn't know.

"Something wrong?"

The man waved ahead at the cluster of traffic. "Fucking Manhattan."

Donna glanced at the meter, leaned to the side to see the traffic, and then rolled her eyes. She pulled out her wallet, tossed two twenties at him, and promptly got out of the cab, ignoring the cabbie's indignant shout. She gave him a tight smile, shifted her bag over her shoulder and began walking with a toss of her fiery hair. She was in a hurry. John had promised a romantic dinner tonight, home-cooked. He was such a peach, John. She had never, never been happier. Who else would be able to take her across the world? Take her to see things she would never have otherwise seen? Every corner of the Earth?

I got my mind made up and I can't let go

I'm killing every second 'til it saves my soul

I'll be running, I'll be running

'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out

And we'll start a fire, and we'll shut it down

'Til the love runs out, 'til the love runs out

Her feet matched the pace of the beat of the song. She tapped her thigh as she walked. "I'll be doing this, if you had a doubt, 'til the love runs out. 'Til the love runs out." She whistled to herself, a skip nearly in her step. Running. Running, always running. "There's a maniac, out in front of me. Got an angel on my shoulder and Mephistopheles." She hummed, shouldering past people as they rushed forward across the sidewalk. Always in a hurry, never getting anywhere. "We all run for something. Run for God, for Fate, for love, for hate, for gold, for rust, for diamonds, for rust. I'll be your light, your match, your burning Sun."

We'll work it out, yes we'll work it out

She missed a step. She stumbled down a curb, auburn hair flying out behind her. A hand, strong and large, caught her, helped her up. Blushing in embarrassment, she glanced up at the man who had helped her. He had the brightest smile and blue eyes she had ever seen, with short brown hair and a strong, handsome jaw.

"Careful, miss. Always have to watch where you're going in these parts."

Stunned, she just smiled at nodded, watched as he disappeared back into the crowd. She shook her head to clear it. Déjà vu, it was. She kept half-remembering things. She had the unmistakable sense that she had seen things, had been places, long before. But this was her first time away from Europe. It was. It…was? It was the strangest thing; when she closed her eyes…she could see the stars. Not just familiar constellations, but ones she shouldn't know, shouldn't have seen. And yet she knew they were real. She just knew it. So many suns—scattered across the heavens. Wouldn't it be something to see them all?

Stars and space were still on Donna's mind, swirling around with the lyrics from that song—that damn song! The key stuck in the door of the apartment, like it always bloody did, and finally gave after the fourth merciless twist.

"This bloody flat!" she seethed, flinging her purse onto the coatrack. It slipped and missed, falling to the floor with a crash and then a cascade of personal effects. She stared at the thing, squinted at it, and wished it nothing but the fleas of a thousand camels. She kicked her belongings back inside of the bag, then she nudged it with her toe onto the bottom of the rack.

She took a deep breath, counted to ten like John always reminded her to do. Ten. Ten.

Ten…

"Donna?"

She snapped her head up, smiling. He always made her smile. Just by being there. He was at once the most frustrating and wonderful person she had ever met.

"John," she said, wiggling her feet out of her flats. "Dinner ready, love? I'm starved."

John, her John, poked his head around the corner. He grinned widely at her, all white teeth and sharp angles. "Just about. C'mere."

"Explains the smoke," she countered, grinning right back at him as she sauntered over. He was wearing his favorite apron: pink frills and white lace. The first time she had seen him in it, she had laughed for over an hour. Even now it made her snort, which only made his smile wider.

"It's not smoke, it's Cajun." He grinned, waving a cookbook at her. "I'm trying to make you the regional cuisine. I want you to experience every bit of this place. I want you to experience everything."

She laughed, eyeing the stove and its smoking contents as she nestled up to her husband. How many years ago had they married? Ten? It could have been a day. Even looking in the mirror, she wouldn't have been able to say time had passed. They looked the same, but she supposed happiness would do that. She had no cares to weigh her down. John's job covered all their bills, and though they fought occasionally, they always came 'round. He almost always would come to see things her way.

"Somehow," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist, "I don't think Cajun cooking is indigenous to New York. I swear," she laughed, pulling out of his arms and slipping over to the stove to inspect the mess there, "you're so thin, I get a paper cut every time I hug you."

She lifted the lid from the pot and made a face as a wall of smoke hit her hard. She coughed, and quickly placed the lid back again. Yes, no. So much no. There was no eating this, whatever it had started out its life as.

"What…what did you just say?"

Donna couldn't fight back a smile as she turned to face him. It quickly slipped though, when she saw her husband's face. His eyes, the clearest brown she had ever seen, were just a little wide, his eyebrows high. She had never seen him shocked before. She surprised him over and over, every day, somehow, just by being herself. Yet…she had never seen him look so absolutely shocked. She could tell that it was not shocked in a happy kind of way. He looked…horrified.

"What did you just say?"

He approached her, gripped her shoulders tightly, his eyes boring into her own.

"I…I what?" He was beginning to scare her. And her mind…it was so fuzzy.

"A paper cut?"

He gave her a little shake. She shoved his hands off, glowering at him.

"Sod off! It was just a joke. You're just so skinny, no matter how much you eat or what you do, you're always so skinny, Martian Boy!"

He looked as if he had been slapped. John took a step back, shaking his head. Donna's knees felt weak. Martian boy…? Why…why had she said that? She placed a hand on her throat and took a step towards him. There it was, that feeling…

"Right. That's how it is then. Faster, each time."

She looked up and John was holding something, like a glowing mechanical wand, and his eyes…even when he smiled, always, his eyes were sad. The only time she could ever get that look, that haunted, lonely look, out of his eyes was when they were alone together, in bed. And right now, she had never seen those brown eyes she loved so much look sadder, more lost.

"John…John, what are you doing? What's going on? What is that?"

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "But it will be okay again very soon."

It flashed blue, the thing in his hand; she heard just a moment of buzzing and then everything went black.