"Is it time for my pills?" a dry, harsh voice rasped at the nurse, who had approached her bedside.
"Not yet, I'm just taking your blood pressure, alright?" she shope in a voice that most used to talk to children, and the woman huffed and turned away;
"Not bloody likely," she snatched her arm away and looked out of the window, the spring flowers giving her a sense of nostalgia. The nurse sighed; this was not the first time she had struggled to get co-operation from this patient. She was not at fault for this; she wasn't well, and she was eighty-eight; and she had regrets. Or so she rambled, day in day out, to the day staff, and the night staff; everybody knew her by name. Despite her belligerent nature, they had become very fond of her.
She had several pictures, scattered on her bedside cabinet, the frayed edges fondly worn from handling, slightly damp from tears. The nurse tried once again, to roll up the sleeve of her patient, and after an exchange of stubborn glares and tutting, she relented. Once the nurse had obtained her readings, she left the old woman to her thoughts, closing the door gingerly behind her.
Outside, in the main reception, the winsome, blonde receptionist was staring, shamelessly at a tall, slender man. His frame was bent over, as he tied his white Converse, and once he was satisfied, he rose to his full height. He approached the desk and smiled at the woman who sat behind it; her eyes glimmered with a flirtatious charm.
"The patient in room 108, is there any chance I can see her?" he clutched a generous bouquet of vibrant blue forget-me-nots, their petals almost gleamed in the florescent lighting of the hospice. The receptionist frowned;
"No one's ever visited her; her husband died a few years ago, and her daughter moved away," she spoke with a tone that implied her unease of the man's presence. He swallowed thickly, the thought of such a spirited, and brilliant woman, sitting alone in a place that was no more than a mere last-stop for the old and infirm. He hadn't anticipated such a development, and his eyes slid closed for a second, as he rode out the conflicting emotion.
"Please," he uttered mournfully, and though he spoke only one word, it was as if he had embodied the most fragile spirit of a butterfly. The nurse eyed him up for a moment and shrugged her shoulders;
"She won't know who you are. Be prepared for that; her mind is pretty much gone," the woman appeared weary, no doubt from a long shift, her long, blonde hair pulled back into a plait, which was now somewhat dishevelled.
"Oh I know...her memory is...right, yes," the man's words were cracked like broken glass, they cascaded tiny shards of misery with every syllable. She pointed a manicured French-polished nail towards a small corridor, that seemed to wind round to the right. He thanked her for her discretion, and her help, and approached the corridor. His brown eyes flitted between door to door, and when he finally saw the number '108' he clenched his jaw. His slender fingers wrapped around the metal door handle, and after a sharp exhale of breath, he pushed it down. The room was not as he had pictured; the walls were palish apple green, the furniture was rustic oak, and the room was light and warm. His eyes eventually settled on the small, and unmoving figure that was obscured by blankets of pastel pink and white. He took a few further steps towards the bed, and he laid the flowers upon the tray table at the end of her bed.
She had not yet noticed his presence, and he took the opportunity to look at her; really look at her, and see if he could recognise his old friend. Her hair had once been red, and it was now a greyish white, and she possessed wrinkles and sallowed patches of skin. The one thing that remained completely unchanged, was her eyes; they were still as piercing, sharp and alert as he'd always remembered. It was as if a light had switched on inside her head, and she turned quickly.
"Oi! Who the hell do you think you are?" she bit out, pulling the covers up closer to her chin. He smiled as warmly as he could manage, with the lump in his throat feeling like lead;
"Donna," his voice sounded thick with a morose and plaintive veil.
"Yeah, what of it? I said who are you?" her voice became more belligerent, her volume suitably increased.
"You won't remember me, Donna. You can't, not unless I-" he paused, cautious in his words, as a small child upon ice. He tried again;
"I don't want to leave you, like this. I want you to know what you've done," his words fought against his closing throat, to make themselves be heard.
"What I've done? I haven't bloody done anything, now get out before I press this call button," she warned, a shaky hand lifting the emergency call button from the bed.
"I can help you, but it's...it's complicated. I need you to trust me," Donna scoffed at the very notion;
"Trust you? I don't even know you! Tall, skinny thing, if I was going to hug you, I'd be scared of getting a paper cut!" she bit out a mirthful scoff. He sat down on the wooden chair beside her bed, and reached out for her hands;
"How long is it?" he spoke in a hushed, and plaintive tone.
"How long is what?" she snapped, pulling herself away from a man she felt compelled by, but no idea why; this caused her the greatest unease.
"Since you saw your daughter," he replied, and her mouthed opened, gaping like a fish out of water;
"You can't know that. Who are you?" she demanded.
"Do you really want me to show you who I am?" he looked up to hold her gaze, and she frowned defiantly.
"I asked you, didn't I?" she bit back, her eyes narrowing in a painted glower. The Time-Lord rubbed his face, keeping it there for a few seconds, moist tracks running across his cheeks.
"Oh Donna Noble," he sighed and took her hand in his;
"Do you trust me?" he repeated his earlier question, his voice more desperate and earnest.
"I already told you, I don't know who you are!" her voice had heightened in pitch, but the scratchy rasp did not dissipate.
"I can leave, and you can fall asleep, peacefully, or I can show you, something so inherently beautiful...I can show you your life," his eyes glistened with the hopeless tears that gathered in his solemn eyes.
"I remember my life just fine thank you very much," she huffed and sighed, coughing, and rasping in her old age. The Time-Lord reached out to the plastic jug beside her, and poured her a small glass of water. He held the straw gently between his forefinger and thumb, and guided it to her cracked, dry lips. She sipped it gently, and licked her lips, as he returned the cup to the side.
"Oh Donna Noble...you were brilliant. There was so much more to your life, than you ever knew. Like I said, I can walk out that door right now, and let you go, peacefully or," his voice trailed off, and the only sound that pervaded the air, was the monotonous tick of the clock to the right of the bed. Though she never would have admitted it to this stranger, she felt as if something was not right; something had been missing for a long time. She had merely hours left, and she knew it. She could feel in her brittle bones, and languid heart, that all she had left was one hundred and eight minutes, give or take, to spend staring at the empty room where the world had left her.
She turned to him, slowly, and in an out-of-character gesture, she whimpered softly;
"Will it hurt?" she asked, meekly. The Time-Lord's face was grave and unrelenting. He nodded, and stroked her fragile hand; the skin like that of parchment paper.
"Your mind will be restored, completely, you'll know everything you ever knew, but it comes at a price; your mind will burn. You'll die," he clamped his other hand to the bed, to try and stop the shaking, the latent misery bubbling up to the surface. She swallowed hard, and nodded faintly;
"How long will I have? After..." she indicated with her hand, the words which she had left unsaid.
"About four minutes, give or take," she maintained eye contact with him, and once again, she nodded stiffly, and then she said the words, he'd wanted to hear, yet at the same time, scared him beyond belief;
"Alright. What do I have to lose? I've lived my life. Do...whatever it is, you have to do," she nodded again and opened her hand to reciprocate his grasp. He choked down his anguish, and withdrew his hands from hers;
"Do you trust me?" he said one last time, before he raised his hands t her temples;
"I...yes," she replied gently, her eyes wild and fearful. He nodded and placed his fingers on either side of her head, and allowed his eyes to slip closed. Donna emanated a gasp as she felt the intensity of the energy flow between them; her face contorted into a grimace, the force of it billowing her hair back a little. He gently released her face from his hold, and he watched her. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. His hearts leaped as he saw a look in her eye, a glint of remembrance, of familiarity, of love.
"Doctor?" she murmured, her eyes becoming moist with tears. The word shattered all he had left, and he stifled a sob with his hand. She pulled him to her and she held him, his arms gripped her as tightly as he felt her body could tolerate.
"Doctor, I've missed you," she mumbled into his beige overcoat.
"Oh Donna Noble, I've missed you too," he grinned, his eyes shiny and his cheeks blooming a rosy colour. Donna's hand raised to her head and she winced, a shaky moan falling from her lips; her head was burning and he knew it wouldn't be long.
"Doctor, it hurts, so much," she cried, her breaths becoming little ragged hiccups, melded with pained whines. The Doctor stroked her cheek;
"I know, I know it does," he whispered, keeping his voice low, not wishing to cause her any further distress.
"Did you...find someone else, Doctor?" she spoke through gritted teeth. Half of him wanted to lie, leave her with a small solace before she passed, but he knew he owed her what she had always given him; honesty.
"No, I never did. I travelled alone, ever since I lost you," he bit his lip, in a bid to keep his resolve.
"You...you need someone...to stop...you," she panted, her voice barely carrying through the air. She gripped his wrists as hard as she was able, the pain intensifying, her skull felt like it was melting, her brain was spasming against the consciousness she could never handle.
"Help...me," her strangled, yet whispery cry severed his hearts in two, and he shuddered a small sob from his lungs and he lifted the covers from her. He pulled himself between them, and pulled her into his chest. There was nothing he could do now, but hold her, until the end.
"All the things...we did...I was the most important...woman in all...of creation," through her pain, she somehow smiled a little, and the Doctor forced himself to smile too.
"Are," he added simply, his hands stroking her hair, her brown now drenched with sweat, the heat from her head warming his chest.
"Hmmm?" she mumbled, her brain now no more than a mess of heat and fever and everything; the entire universe coursed through her blood.
"You are, and always will be, the most important woman in all of creation," he affirmed, and tightened his grip around her. He felt her body spasming beneath him, and he fought wrap her in his arms, impossibly close. He kissed her forehead gently, and she smiled, her voice becoming softer, as her heart and lungs quickened.
"Oi, watch it, Spaceman," she murmured, her mouth painted with the tiniest ghost of a smile.
"Oi, watch it, Earth Girl," he replied, smiling through his agony. Her breathing rasped in her chest, each one becoming longer, slower, scratching against her rib cage.
"Spaceman, my Spaceman; never...forget," she took in one last agonised breath, and as it faltered out of her lips, the gentle, continuous beep of the heart monitor, became the only sound. The Doctor looked up at the clock; it too, had stopped. The Doctor climbed out from under the covers, and swept Donna's fringe out of her eyes, his thumbs graced over her eyelids, pulling them down, and into everlasting slumber.
He layed her carefully down, and placed her hands clasped together over the crumped sheets. He plucked a single blue flower from the bouquet, and placed it between her cooling fingers. The forget-me-not caught the spring sunlight from the window, casting a bluish blow upon the Doctor's cheek. He pulled the covers neatly around her, wrapping her up; his way of keeping her safe, for the last time. He switched off the heart monitor, and plunged his hands into his suit jacket pockets. He took one last look at her, and made his way out of the room, closing the door lightly.
As he stepped out into the crisp, spring breeze, he looked up at the sky. The world was surely a darker place, now that the girl whose hair shone like the sun had left it. He felt his left hand tingle, and he pulled it slowly out of his jacket. He looked at it, turning it over and over, his eyes fearful and morose. The yellow glow of imminent regeneration radiated from his hand, and he watched it, as he made his way to the TARDIS. He pulled open the door, and hastily slung his jacket across the nearest pillar. He grabbed and pulled at some levers, and walked away from the had said his goodbyes, he had visited every one of his companions, even if it was before they'd ever met, and he knew it was time.
He had granted his best friend in all of the universe the greatest gift he could have given, and now he could not hold on any longer. He had spared Donna the fact that he was dying, not because he'd wanted to, but because the selfless heart of Donna Noble, would have called out to him, and cared only for him. He had spared her the truth he could not spare himself. His whole body began to glow, his cells tearing away to make new tissues and sinews, he choked out to an empty room;
"I don't want to go," the energy grappled him, forcing him to scream in primal force, the sheer magnitude of which shattered the windows of the TARDIS; the flames roared from every part of the machine, they licked at the wiring and the paint work. His screams took the air from the room almost, and then he was gone.