And there it was, the word the Doctor could never refuse. Donna sat back in her chair and resigned herself to the cause, watching as he took a deep breath and nodded his agreement.

"My ship fell into the chasm in the square, if this is an attack we have a vested interest in helping you so we can get my TARDIS back. You say there is no other way of communicating with the enemy except through dreams?"

Hadiya nodded, "This is the truth, as we see it."

"Then we need somewhere to stay."

Ngozi beckoned to the bartender who approached with a rigid spine and at a stilted pace.

"You have room for guests, Ebun?"

Ebun spoke in a clipped tone, direct and to the point. "There is the attic."

"We'll take it," Donna said with a gracious smile. "Thank you."

The bartender's nod was less sharp and the curt edge to her voice softened, "I will have a meal and a bed prepared for you."

Ebun turned on her heal and stalked back to the safety of the bar. The Ngozi, Hadiya double act had everyone on edge.

Hadiya rose from her seat, levering herself up from the table with an abrupt thrust of her arms. "We will convene when the sun is at its highest at the council of elders. Anton will show you the way."

Donna gave a broad smile to them both and wished them goodnight with more cheer than the moment required.

The Doctor nodded to each of them but only Ngozi returned the compliment.

They waited until the elders had left the building before speaking. Donna let go a long breath, and the Doctor shook his head, still staring at the door through which they had exited.

"I don't like it," the Doctor admitted, swirling the contents of his mug and watching it spin to the rim in a miniature whirlpool, "There's something off about this whole place."

"Let's eat and go upstairs," his companion suggested. "I don't think we can have a private conversation down here."

As good as her word Ebun provided a hearty meal, a vegetable stew with a crisp suet crust served as a biscuit. Without Ngozi and Hadiya present it seemed the bartender was much more friendly. With a warm and genuine smile she offered second helpings and provided something far less bitter for them to drink. Donna, feeling guilty for having nothing to offer in payment, struck up a deal with Ebun which involved sharing her grandmother's recipes which the bar keeper accepted with enthusiasm. As the drink flowed and night descended the atmosphere in the inn lightened and one or two of the locals even offered to buy them drinks.

After they had eaten Ebun showed them to their room. She apologised several times for the lack of a second bed and placed extra blankets by the door and two jugs of warmed water beside a large bowl on an improvised washstand made from bottle crates and an unpatterned cloth. There was an earthen closet in the garden which terrified Donna. As a child her grandfather's house had an outside toilet and the small room had been teaming with spiders and earwigs. It was not an experience Donna was keen to revisit.

The attic was large, running the full length of the inn below. The sloped ceiling allowed enough space to stand at full height only in the centre. Used for storage more than as guest accommodation crates of good surrounded the doorway and empty glass bottles rattled when anyone walked up the final flight of narrow stairs outside. At the far end was a small window that looked over the street and into a garden with neat rows of vegetables interspersed with flower beds. Ebun kept a tidy, practical house.

Like the washstand the bed was constructed of old crates, upturned and screwed together. The mattress was a large rectangular sack six inches deep filled with straw, the sheets were a rough weave. Several heavy blankets covered the bed and four fat pillows leant against a slatted headboard.

"You're very kind," Donna told Ebun as she bid the woman goodnight and closed the door behind her.

Turning she saw the Doctor sitting on the edge of the bed smiling at her.

"You're good at that," he said with admiration.

"Don't be stupid," Donna retorted, her face flushing. "I haven't done anything."

He shook his head, "You put people at their ease, you made her feel valued."

Donna waved his compliment away with a dismissive flick of her hand. "Years of being a PA will do that for you."

The Doctor restrained a sigh. "Are you okay with this?"

His companion frowned in confusion.

He gestured towards the bed, "I can take the floor if you like."

Donna rolled her eyes at him, "And listen to you tossing and turning on the hard wooden boards? Don't be ridiculous. But if you nick all the blankets, I will kick you out of bed myself!"

He grinned and patted the bed beside him. She walked over and dropped onto the straw mattress with a heavy thud.

"Are you sure we'll get the TARDIS back?" she asked, her voice refusing to give away her fears.

If there was no TARDIS how would she get home? Would she ever see Gramps, or her mum, again? Worse than that, would the collapsing earth swallow them and wipe them out of existence alongside Ebun, Ngozi and Hadiya?

If the Doctor doubted it for a moment he gave no sign at all.

"I can't count how many times I have 'lost' the TARDIS," he said with a shrug, "She always turns up."

"Don't you have a remote control or something? A homing beacon? Surely a race of people clever enough to have time machines can install an automated recovery system."

The Doctor looked a little sheepish, "There is, it's just I never remember to set it."

Shaking her head Donna stood up and disrobed, throwing her coat, boots, belt and sweater into a pile on the floor. She washed her face in the warm water and tried to ignore the Doctor's eyes which followed her every move. When she had finished her ablutions, she turned back to him and glared.

"What?"

He looked embarrassed for a moment, "It's nothing."

"Spit it out, Spaceman."

"I was admiring how practical you are," he said after a long pause. "I've travelled with loads of people but you, you get on with it. Whatever the task, whatever the challenge."

"I get it from my Gramps," she said, lifting the blanket and climbing into bed, throwing her trousers into the pile with the rest of her clothes. "It's the war-time spirit. He passed it down the line. Skipped a generation with my mother."

"I shared a bed with Martha once," he said, "She didn't even take her shoes off."

A laughed erupted from Donna's lips and she clamped her hand over her mouth trying to hold back more merriment.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt your ego?"

"I thought it was a bit odd." Then he confessed, "Of course, I think I mentioned Rose while we were lying there. Maybe that had something to do with it."

"For a 900-year-old you have precious few social skills," Donna told him, "Is it something your people excel at? It's one of your least endearing features."

He sniffed at the insult but took it on the chin. Donna, as usual, had a point.

"I take it there's a plan," she said as he slumped back on the bed next to her.

"If I said there was a plan would it help you sleep?"

"After saying that? No."

They rolled over, so they were both facing the centre of the bed meeting eye to eye a few inches apart. His respect for his new companion was growing by day. Donna was not a person he could placate with half truths and broad smiles. She acted on instinct and her instincts generally good. Lying to Donna was hard, in fact it was becoming almost impossible to lie to her even to save her feelings.

"Ok, no plan," he admitted, looking her in the eye when he spoke, "But in my defence I do work well without one."

Donna could not help herself and a huge smile cracked her serious face.

"You're so funny when you're trying to be sincere," she told him.

"Talk about hitting a man when he's down," the Doctor retorted and he rolled on his back to look at the ceiling, but he knew she was only teasing him. That was something else he liked about Donna.

They led in silence for a while each lost in their own thoughts. Donna tried to get warm but the sound of rain on the roof tiles just a few feet above sent shivers down her spin.

"Is there a connection between rain and things going horribly wrong?" she said aloud breaking his concentration.

He did not turn but a soft sigh preceded his words. "I don't know. You humans seem to get a lot of rain. In my experience I find it often snows when the world is about to end."

"There's something about rain," Donna curled up in a ball turning to face the wall, "It sums up how you're feeling."

The Doctor frowned, lifted himself up and placed a comforting hand on Donna's shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

"I'm travelling through space and time with an alien who gate crashed my wedding to save the earth from giant spiders. I spent 12 months trying to find you. Of course I bloody trust you," her voice cracked a little. "I'm just tired, that's all. And I miss Gramps. I even miss my Mum."

"I'm sorry," sincerity made his tongue thick.

Donna reached up and took his hand in hers. "Come on, time boy, get your kecks off and get to sleep. You need to commune with the aliens in your dreams. You never know, they might be pretty and blonde."

The Doctor flinched and Donna twisted herself around catching a pained look in his eyes before he blinked it away.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry."

A half smile creased his lips, "At least it would be a nice dream."

The Doctor squeezed Donna's hand then clambered off the bed to remove his boots and jacket. Without another word he slipped under the covers and they both lay in silence listening to the rain.

Dreaming was one experience the Doctor avoided wherever possible. In the last twenty years there had been little to make the process of sleep an enjoyable one. The time war was a frequent player in his sleeping mind and the night terrors that accompanied it left him shaking in his bed. One the nights when those dreams chose not to surface other losses nagged at his sleeping guilty conscience. He had not slept with anyone, in any context of the term, in centuries. Even when he had shared a bed with Martha, he had not entered the realms of sleep. That had been an awkward night.

He felt Donna relax into slumber beside him, her breath becoming quiet, muscles losing their tightness. Lying on his back he stared at the ceiling, tracking the patterns in the tiles and plotting the course of the trickles of water that seeped through the odd crack. Against the pillow his head felt heavy and a band of tension gripped him behind the ears. With every blink he slipped further towards sleep until each time he closed his eyes the world around him cracked like an ancient painting. As sleep claimed him his drowsy eyes pictured the roof crumpling out of existence and a million stars shone over his head.

There was blackness at first and he realised that he had entered the realm of dreams. His body was non-existent and his consciousness floated in the darkness, peaceful, content. Without a body there was no weight, the pressure of his worries lifted and he felt his spirit draw strength from the emptiness. The dark was not something to fear, it was something to embrace. Here there was nothing but space. Here he was free.

Gradually other senses returned to him. Light, sick and green filled his vision and his body became present in the dream. His hearts came first, their steady beat anchoring him to conscious thought. He could feel his chest rising and falling with calm breath. Head, arms, legs, fingers and toes came into his awareness he found himself stood on a platform, only two feet square. The platform hung in the air, suspended by an invisible force over a great chasm from which the strange light emanated. He observed the pit with mild indifference, it was a dream, nothing more.

Nothing happened. The Doctor scanned the world around him for any sign of movement but there was none. He could not pace so drummed his fingers on his legs, stuffed his hands into his pockets, huffed at increasing levels of loudness and eventually threw his hands up in the air in impatience.

"Well come on then!" he shouted, "I haven't got all night you know. You wanted to talk, so talk!"

No answer came. He ran his fingers through his hair, clicked his neck around in a circle and scowled.

"Who are you?" he called out. "I'm the Doctor. My friends out there want me to help sort out whatever disagreement you have going on between you. I want to help. No-one else has to die, no-one else has to get hurt."

Silence.

"Well you're not very conversational are you?" he gave up and sat down on the platform, his legs hanging over the edge swinging in open space beneath. "Okay, this is how it is. I'm here to help you and… well I don't know what they call themselves, the others, I'm here to help you and the others work out a truce. I like truces, much better than war. Less death, more trade, great stories. I'm an expert in these things. I guess that's why they asked me. Now, here's the thing. If you want to work towards peace, the first thing you have to do is talk. I know you're out there listening. How about you pop out and say hello?"

Silence greeted him again.

"You're a tough audience," he muttered.

The light was changing, the platform was moving, descending. Peering over the edge the Doctor could make out the outlines of shapes below. An unsettling sensation gnawed at his stomach though he could not make out what he was descending into it felt familiar. He licked his lips and found his mouth was dry and a pricking sensation stung his armpits. Swallowing he got back to his feet.

"Okay, we're getting somewhere now. Not sure where but it's a start. Are you going to tell me your name? We don't have to be on first name terms, it is the first date and…. aargh!"

A sharp pain pierced him behind the right ear striking through his occipital lobe. Vision flashed with stars he fought to keep his footing as he gasped for breath. Both hand flew to his temples, pulling his chin to his chest as he tried to force the pain and the presence from his mind. His eyes swam with tears and he sucked air in through his teeth.

"Not like that!" The words spat from his lips. "You speak to me, you don't steal my thoughts!"

Another bolt of pain shot through him and he was on his knees. All around him images spun like he was at the centre of kaleidoscope spun by a bored child. It was hard to focus as the patterns shifted, aligned and moved on. Fragments of images, images he should recognise but could not see long enough to identify.

There was pressure on him now, pushing down, gripping his shoulders and shaking him. He fought the urge to cry out again, forcing the pain away. The images were important, he had to know why. He wiped his eyes and stared at the images that whipped in and out of his vision. One fell into focus and he clung to it, drinking in the image of his Rose, her face tear stained as he had left her on that beach. Guilt welled inside him but a spark in his brain fired. They were trying to read his mind but they couldn't, his thoughts were too rapid and they were trying to slow them down.

"Oh no you don't!" he forced himself back to his feet and looked straight above him, he had to look anywhere other than the wall of memories that was circling slower and slower. "You forget, this is a dream and there is one sure way of waking up. All I have to do is jump. I'll be awake before I hit the bottom."

The only response was another strike of pain through his skull and he roared in agony, throwing himself over the platform's edge.

"Doctor!"

Donna's hands gripped his shoulders so tight her knuckles were white. Panic filled her eyes as she stared down into his pain contorted face. She was kneeling beside him, he realised, still in the bed they were sharing.

Under her grip Donna could feel the coldness of his skin and the dampness of the sweat that drenched his body. He gasped and struggled for air his hands still clasping his head. Seeing his eyes open and focusing, with surprising strength she heaved him from the pillow and into a tight embrace. He stared at the roof tiles behind her, dragging breath back into his lungs and concentrating on the sensation of her arms around his back, the warmth of her body against his, the smell of shampoo in her hair. She was real. This was real. There was no more dream. The roof tiles spun in front of his eyes and he willed himself not to vomit. Donna would never forgive him for that. As the dream faded, he lifted his arms and returned the hug pulling her against his chest until she thought a rib might break.

"I'm all right," he said, his voice husky as he sat back and leant against the bed head. His face was pale in the moonlight and there was a sheen of sweat still sitting on his forehead. His hair, damp with perspiration, stuck up at odd angles. With his crumpled shirt and youthful face he looked so much like a schoolboy Donna fell into silence.

"Really," he patted her hand. "It was just a dream."

"Pull the other one," Donna countered. "Your conversation with the aliens didn't go so well?"

He shook his head and found the world to be still spinning.

"It was one sided," he managed, before closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the nausea.

Donna slid out of bed and he remained motionless with his eyes screwed shut. Why did it hurt so much? He ached into his core, his hearts wallowing in fresh grief, drowning in emotions he could not quite control. He forced his breathing to become steady while his hearts pounded. Something cold touched his forehead and his eyes snapped open. Donna was pressing a cold flannel against his skin and holding a mug of water in the other hand. He drank greedily and shivered.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

She smiled and let him hold her hand for a second before putting the flannel and mug back on the chest at the end of the bed.

"Go back to sleep," she said, climbing back in to bed next to him, "You can tell me about it in the morning. You look exhausted."

When he did not move Donna sat up and leant against the bed head, her shoulder brushing his. He leaned into her and she swallowed her own nerves, holding back a complaint about his breaching of personal boundaries. She had seen the Doctor angry, dangerous, full of sorrow even, but never quite so shattered.

"Tell me about it?" Donna asked, her voice calm and soothing.

"They were scanning my mind," his said, coughing a little to clear the tightness from his throat. "I didn't realise at first. They left in me in darkness for ages and I thought they were trying to figure me out, but they slipped into my memories. It was like they were fishing for something, panning my brain for gold and seeing what dropped out. When they couldn't find what they were looking for they used pain to slow my thoughts, tried to make me focus on something. I only realised what they were doing when they… they pulled out a memory designed to stimulate emotion."

The look on his face told Donna all she needed to know about that memory, his eyes were cold and dark, brow furrowed, lips a thin down-turned line. It was the face of the man who had left her standing in a Chiswick street in her wedding dress 12 months ago. She said nothing and let her neck relax so that her head rested against his. A wave of emotion rose in her and she blinked away a tear before the Doctor could see it. Strange that someone else's pain could be so real.

"What do you think they were looking for?" Donna moved the conversation on.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Maybe they were trying to work out if I was a neutral party in this negotiation, but I don't think so. They were testing me. Maybe they were looking for something I should know, or something I would have witnessed here but that doesn't feel right."

"Do you think Ngozi and Hadiya know more than they are letting on?"

He nodded. "They were pretty cagey this evening. We'll talk to them in the morning."

He shifted in the bed and turned his head so that they were nose to nose again.

"You go to sleep," he whispered, seeing her eyes struggling to stay open, "We can work this out tomorrow."

Donna wriggled back down under the blankets and curled up into a ball and with her back pressed against the Doctor's side she fell asleep almost at once.

The Doctor hugged his arms across his own chest and laid silently beside her, waiting for the dawn.

When Donna awoke the Doctor was already up and dressed. He was sitting, cross legged, on the end of the bed watching the sun peaking over the roofs of the houses. He looked tired, Donna doubted he had got any sleep, but when he felt her stir he turned and beamed at her with his usual enthusiasm. Donna rubbed her eyes and grumbled at him.

"Are you always insufferably cheerful in the morning?"

"Always," he chirped and handed her a mug of something steaming. "It's not coffee. I'm not sure what it is, but it's fresh and warm."

Donna smiled and took the mug from him, sipping the liquid. He was right, it was nothing like coffee.

"Is there breakfast?" she asked, swinging herself out of bed.

"On the side," he pointed to a plate of sliced bread and sundry items, his nose wrinkling a little. "I wouldn't touch the pink stuff. Tastes like old shoes. Well I say old shoes, I mean old shoes worn by old people, well old shoes worn by old people with verrucas."

Donna rolled her eyes, "I am not even going to ask how you would know what that tastes like."

His grin grew wider and Donna laughed at him. At least he seemed to be more like himself in the cold light of day.

"Any sign of a plan?" she asked as she bit into a chunk of bread and butter.

"Not as such," he replied, "More a loose collection of ideas at this stage. Hadiya wanted us at the Elder's council at noon, you would think if they were desperate for peace, they would be more keen than that. I think we should pop along to the earlier session an have a little listen to what's going on."

"How do you know there's an earlier session?"

"Ebun," he said, lifting a piece of bread from the plate. "She's very helpful. I get the impression she doesn't like the Elders much."

A snort shot down Donna's nose, "I got the impression no-one likes the Elders much."

"Yeah," the Doctor agreed, "I got that too."

"Do you mind if I try to find out how Gudrun is while you're poking about?" Donna asked.

He shook his head, "No, in fact it's better that way. I'm not feeling very charitable, the Elders may be less pleased to see me today. Maybe Gudrun will tell you more about this place. There is something strange about it and no-one I speak to wants to say very much at all."

He bounced to his feet and picked up his jacket from the floor where he had left it, "Righty ho then, meet me at the Elder's place before noon. And don't wander too far. This town is hanging on the edge of an abyss, I don't want you tumbling over the edge with it."

The Doctor took off down the stairs with a leap in his step. He called his goodbye to Ebun who was busy cleaning the tankards behind the bar. Out onto the street he hoped the place of the Elders was easy to locate as Anton was nowhere in sight. It was still early in the morning and the sun was big, yellow and cool in the sky. There were no clouds but a thin silvery haze rested on the rooftops absorbing any fragments of heat the star expelled. The streets were dusty and quiet, the occasional person walked by giving a brief nod of a greeting, but the hustle and bustle of the previous day was no longer evident. He wondered where they would put the stalls that had once stood on the square and how many traders would risk the collapsing streets.

In the tranquillity of the morning the beautiful simplicity of the town became more clear. Every building had been built to a plan, each house or shop made to be the same as the next but they flowed into one another like a painting. The dirt tracks was clean, no refuse littered any of the alleys, not even the darkest, narrowest passageways that slipped between properties and in to back doors.

The Elder's Chambers were on one of the main streets, set back from the road by a long flight of steps that had an air of pretentiousness about them. A worn path cut into the steps and lead to the front door which was propped open by a carved wooden block, a giant door wedge shaped as a tree. Stylized flowers were carved into the dark wood and there was a mechanical latch, something the Doctor had not seen on any other building he had passed. He walked passed the open door without hesitating and peered into the darkness of the interior. There was no one about, but a broom leant against the far wall and a dustpan sat next to it. The cleaner was up, even if the Elders were having a lie in.

The long corridor unlike most places of power had no paintings on the wall. There were no trophy cupboards, no coats of arms, no list of exalted members carved on wooden plinths. The walls were bare save for a coat of whitewash that had been applied without care some time ago and was yellowing at the edges. A narrow door half way down one side of the corridor was closed tight. The Doctor opened the door a crack and peered around the edge. Two rows of beds lined the walls and soft snoring rose from the bed at the far end. The Elders lived and worked in the council chambers.

He closed the door without a sound and strode on to the big doors at the end of the hall. These were partially open, a large seal across the two split in the middle and an orange glow slipped through the gap in the doors. Inside there were four long benches facing the far wall against which six sturdy but plain wooden chairs lined up opposite them. Great bookcases lined the walls each one packed with hundred books, great tomes bound in leather and filled with the accounts and records of the town for centuries. The Doctor scoured the shelves wishing Donna was there to make sense of categorisation. He had always been a bit vague when it came to organisation and record keeping. Opting for the shelves furthest from the door where the books were most wrinkled he took one large tome from the shelf. This would take a while.

Donna had lingered in the room after the Doctor had left enjoying a slower start to the day. She ate, enjoying the bread very much, sniffed the strange pink substance and decided to take the Doctor's word it was best avoided, and drank a mug full of water from a new pitcher which had been placed in the room. Opening the window she had shaken off the worst of the dust from her clothes and freshened up before heading downstairs.

With Ebun's help she located Anton who was propped up in a high backed chair in the furthest corner of the bar, hidden by the chairs position and the dim light. In his hand was an almost empty silver tankard, the contents of which dribbled lazily over the rim and on to his crotch. Ebun shook her head in disgust and marched off muttering under her breath. Left alone with the sleeping, snoring, man Donna caste a more critical eye over him. In the darkness of the previous evening she had not noticed but in daylight - as dim as it may be - Donna could see hygiene was not one of Anton's priorities. Dust and grime clung to his trousers and there were grubby fingers marks on his thighs where food grease had been wiped on numerous occasions. A loose fitting shirt hung out at the waistband and looked like it might have been white, at some distant time in the past.

His sleep his face was taught. Thick lines dug in around his eyes and his jaw was rigid. Donna would have been willing to bet he was grinding his teeth even as he slept. Though Ebun's frustration was understandable Donna couldn't help but feel sorry for him, he looked like a man who gained no satisfaction from sleep and drank to find restful repose. She was about to shake his shoulder when Ebun returned with a pail of water, the contents of which she dumped over Anton's bald head in a hail of wild, furious words.

Hung-over, drenched and surprised Anton lurched to his feet and hurled the tankard in Ebun's direction uttering curses before realising that Donna bore witness to the entire proceedings. He flushed and made a vague attempt at straightening his wet clothes, drawing himself up to his full height, which was no more than five and a half foot. His mouth bobbed open like a goldfish as he fumbled for more appropriate words that his still intoxicated brain failed to produce.

Donna smiled at him, "It's all right Anton, you're not the first man I've seen fall asleep with a beer in his hand."

He managed a mute nod and kept one eye on Ebun who, having said her piece, was back cleaning up the bar for tonight's customers.

"I want to visit Gudrun," Donna said, taking advantage of Anton's awkward silence and half functioning brain, "Where will I find her?"

Anton squinted at her, having difficulty focusing his brain or his eyes on anything a all. He found coherent words on his third attempt to speak.

"She returned to her home above the emporium," he stammered, his gravelly voice far more rough than it had been the previous day. "You may find her attended by one of our brethren."

It was a strange choice of word, Donna thought and she recalled that Anton had used a similar term yesterday when escorting her from the store.

"Are you a religious order?" Donna asked, "You say brethren, sister, brother… where I'm from that would mean you were part of a church or a cult."

Anton blinked in confusion and said nothing.

"I don't know of churches or cults, they are foreign words," Ebun called making Donna turn to face her, "We are all of this place, we are sisters and brothers to one another. We are all that survive. It makes us kin. Bound tighter than blood will ever manage. We are one."

With that Ebun stepped through the back door and Anton slunk after her, placing his tankard on the bar as he went. Lovers, thought Donna with a smirk, and set off into the street.