Thank you for all the comments, favorites, and alerts! I've been super busy this week, so I'll try to respond to y'all this weekend. Until then, enjoy!
k.
Trafalgar Seven is pleasant enough. The TARDIS lands them in a forest, tall trees offering shade from twin suns.
"They match the twin moons. Makes for a bright night," the Doctor explains.
"How does anyone get any sleep?" asks Donna.
The forest floor is covered in fallen leaves, but not many plants; in fact, most of the ground has been stomped clear of anything as though elephants have run through. There aren't any sounds of civilization, at least how she recognizes it - cars, horns, traffic.
She notices the Doctor hasn't answered her, and sighs. "Right. Look who I'm asking. Do you ever sleep?"
"I sleep! Granted, nowhere near as much as you," and he glances at her, smile reaching his eyes, "but I do. A few hours a night and I'm set."
"Bloody Martian. I'd love to be cheery after three hours."
"And that's not every night," he winks.
Donna resists the urge to smack him in the arm.
As they walk, the Doctor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, head tilted back. "Gotta love that fresh air. This planet hasn't hit an industrial age, at least not when compared to Earth. They actually take care of their home, though I'm not sure," - he opens his eyes, frowning, and scratches his chin - "no, they're not terribly smart, the natives of Trafalgar Seven."
He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes another breath. "Then again, nothing wrong with that. They're good natured enough, but I've never spent all that much time here, not really. Just a little longer, and we'll be off to the lovely ships of Trafalgar Three."
"The forest is beautiful," Donna remarks softly. This far from where they landed, the trees have thinned a bit and a sliver of purple-blue sky peeks through the canopy, colored with a few wispy white clouds. She has to admit the air is cleaner, smelling of musty leaves and grass, and Donna stops to close her eyes herself and take a few deep breaths of her own. It's a moment of quiet that's rare in her life these days, and even though the TARDIS scrubs the air and keeps it at room temperature for her, it still feels closed-in and stagnant without the passage of time in the vortex. Here, she remembers the holidays she took with her family up the coast, back to where Gramps was from, and those unending miles of pure, shining green.
She can feel the Doctor standing next to her in the way the fabric of his sleeve catches against hers, a small measure of contact that has her reflexively reaching out for his hand. His fingers thread through hers easily, and she can't help but think of how perfectly they fit together, how natural it feels. For awhile, Donna was convinced his alien-ness would upset her, or be felt in other ways — he may look human (or she may look Time Lord, as he likes to explain it), but she knows he's not, knows that, under his skin, he's different from her. Even now, with his hand in hers, she feels the coolness of his skin, how it begins to warm where she grasps it. And if that bothers him, if he's affected by her touch, he's never said anything.
"Finally," she breathes, opening her eyes and turning to find his inches away, "someplace qui — "
He puts a finger up to her lips and shakes his head. "Don't jinx it, Donna."
She smiles against his finger, loves how there's energy thrumming through it, and nods, ponytail bouncing as she does.
And all the sudden, in this forest on an alien world, she has the urge to kiss that finger and see what happens next. The thought scares her just enough that she's ready to go for it when a cacophony of sound erupts around them, so loud and sudden, she swears her ear drums must be bruised.
Rough hands grab her from behind, loop through her arms, and effectively restrain her. A shout from her right tells her the same thing has happened to the Doctor, and when she takes in the scene in front of her, she spies several humanoids dressed in white, with bright blue hair and eyes so devoid of color, they are nearly as white as their clothing. Her hand tingles from the loss of connection with the Doctor, and she finds he's frowning and…is he listening?
Because besides the initial barrage of sound, no one is saying anything.
Lost, Donna feels tears well up in her eyes. She hates not knowing what's going on, and when the arms holding her tighten, the Doctor actually shouts out loud, calling her name and asking them to please let them leave.
It's when they're being dragged away, the Doctor kicking his feet against his captor, shouting not words but just shouting, his face screwed up in pain, that Donna really begins to panic.
—
The doors open with a hiss.
She's standing in the middle of the doorway, red hair framing her face, as she faces whatever is on the other side.
Which is nothing.
Not a single being. Nothing. No furniture, no secretary's desk, nada.
At first, Donna thinks she's got the wrong room. There must be some kind of mistake. Another missed turn or door obscured from her view by the group of Trafalgarians. She doesn't know what to do with nothing to shout at, and lets her hands fall limply to her sides as she steps across the threshold and the doors slide shut behind her.
Her trainers are filthy, smeared with dirt and mud from her cell, and they leave track marks along the polished floor as she moves further into the room. She hopes she's missed something, but finds the walls are just as empty here as they seemed from the door. Confused, she keeps walking until she's at the other end of the large room. With a sigh, Donna leans her forehead against the wall —
— and a shock runs through her.
Literally runs through her. Her knees wobble and she falls to the floor in a heap, tingles still running up and down her spine. The world grays out for a moment, and she shouts at herself to stay awake. Donna pants on the floor for a minute, maybe two, before arms are grabbing at her, dragging her along through a door that opened in that electrified wall, her shoes leaves long, brown streaks as she disappears through to the other side.
Everything runs together, blurry, and she hopes that's from the shock she just got and not a lost contact lens. The room here is large and full of activity, sound coming from people walking and grabbing things and this and that, but there are no voices. It creeps her out, this lack of speech, because she doesn't know how to handle it. She's human. They gab. Talk. Yell. Whisper. They communicate with words she can hear, not words thought through the air, and Donna feels herself beginning to panic again, that heavy feeling settling into her stomach, pushing against her sternum, until it wells up into her throat and she lets out the loudest yell she can.
And is dropped, then and there.
The room is silent, a few of the people holding their heads, hands over their ears. Others simply stare at her with those horrible pale eyes. Lying on the ground, Donna lifts her head and shrieks, a loud, wordless yell that takes all that panic and frustration and vents it on this wordless population of aliens, and grins as it bounces off the walls and back at her, an endless loop of sound.
"Loudest woman I've ever met," comes a low, pained panting of words, a laboured breath taken between each one.
Her grin grows. "Never used it as a weapon before," she nearly whispers in response.
—
The forest ends after ten minutes of being hauled through the woods, her feet tripping over one another from the odd pacing of the person holding her. After thirteen, the man leans back and lifts her from the ground. Donna takes advantage of her new position and kicks at his knees with wild abandon, landing a few hits before she's slammed back to her feet and marched even faster.
She's no better off, but let it never be said Donna Noble went without a fight.
The Doctor went quiet five minutes in. She's been counting the seconds in her head, a silent mantra that regulates her breathing lest she says anything to get them into even more trouble. And normally, she wouldn't even care — never has, really — but she's never been faced with the Doctor as pained as she sees him right now. He's walking alongside her, being dragged is more like it, not even making an effort once he went quiet. By the way his chin's hitting his chest and lolling with every step, she's pretty sure he's unconscious, and that is not a good sign. In fact, she's petrified by the fear that things might not work out this time.
And then wonders what possessed the TARDIS to put them down here instead of the third planet in this damn system.
Trafalgar was definitely a battle, now that she thinks about it.
—
Donna takes advantage of the stunned room to gather her feet under her and run towards his voice. She's panting and trembling all over, but doesn't let that stop her as she pushes through a swinging door into the next room. A chair sits in the middle, brown hair sticking up over the back. Rounding it, she's ready to release any restraints, and wonders, for a split second, if she should take her belt off now so she can whip it around her head and knock a few of these wankers out. For posterity, of course.
The Doctor is smiling, but she ignores him. His face is drenched in sweat, red and bruised, lower lip sporting a cut, dried blood dotting his abnormally pale skin. Despite the smile, he looks as though staying awake is a struggle, eyelids drooping only to snap open again. A sob escapes Donna's lips as she works at the restraint on his right hand, fingers fumbling for a catch that isn't there.
"Where is…how do I get this, this bloody thing open?" she growls, finding it hard to get her thoughts out in the proper order, everything jumbled up and muted. He takes her hand and has to say her name a few times before it breaks through the fog. Her eyes meet his, ancient and tired and oh-so-large, and she finds she can breathe again.
"Under the armrest," he says slowly. Like she's a child, except that works — she gets it, nods, and finds the small button that's flush with the armrest. Presses it, then rushes to press the other — the sound of moving beings is starting up again, and she has seconds to get this done before they're on them.
His arms free, Donna takes a moment to glance up. They're moving towards her — oh, fuck, they're coming at them! — but seem frightened, maybe. Weary. She smiles, knowing she still has a few tricks up her sleeves, and crouches to find the release for the Doctor's legs. His trainers are nearly as dirty as hers, and she lets out a wet laugh that borders on hysterical as the restraints snap open.
They're standing, Donna and the Doctor, her taking his hand when he seems to crumble at her side, her arm the only thing keeping him up. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't care how they're doing what they're doing, just goes to put an arm around his waist when she's hit with that sizzling electricity again and finds her knees have turned to jelly.
They're going down, down, and she does the only thing she can — Donna yells at the top of her lungs, and with the dirtiest language she can think of.
