Nightmares clawed their way back to him, clinging to the weak parts of his mind that had already suffered too much to find the strength to throw them back off into the abyss. The Doctor could only escape them, fingers gripped the couch tightly, when he pulled his eyes open at last. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to form images in the paint, as he breath came in quick pants- shedding the past on every exhale, only to scramble to draw it back inside himself.
He knew he'd never be free of it all. He was still running, always had been running. And this all, the pain without measure and the loss, it was both his poison and his treatment, and the agony was sharp and kept him alive.
The Doctor often thought about a way to forget, to wipe away his memories and start fresh. But that would never do, not when he was the only one to remember. But now, he was regretting what he did have, this millionth chance not to make a mess of himself. And he didn't know how to stop falling.
But that was why Donna was coming- if she was still coming. He had risen before the sun but he didn't need light to know that the weather outside wasn't worth venturing into. The wind was throwing a tantrum, tossing falling leaves against the house, scrapping against the windows.
He couldn't blame her for not coming, not really.
He slowly sat up, using the sonic to turn on the light, and then off the television. The sound was overwhelming and made his head pound. He glanced over at the window, before climbing to his feet and shuffling over to look out.
He could see the closest trees, bending to the will of the wind, and thought of Donna. There was no snow, no white paths to ease the sting that would cover her cheeks and bare skin. There was no beauty to spare out there this morning and he knew at once that he needed to act.
He turned, moving over to the heat and turning it up higher than he normally would have tolerated. He could make himself comfortable, but it would be much harder for her. And then he looked at the TARDIS. He needed a fresh set of clothes and a shower more than he cared to admit. But first, he needed to clean.
It took some effort, but the thought of Donna coming into the room looking like that made him start on the piles. When he was done, it was still a mess. But it was less chaotic, more like his normal sort of organization.
The Doctor thought Donna was the sort who would like a nice coffee, and he thought she'd be less likely to slap him if he didn't expect her to make it the moment that she arrived.
With the sun slipping up over the horizon, he moved on to the TARDIS. He stopped, his hearts beating too fast. Better to do this now, since he had told Donna they would be entering later, because she would notice his reluctance.
The Doctor pushed the door open slowly and stepped in. It closed softly behind him, the click a reminder of all that had happened to him. This place had become a tomb, and a place for new life. He had died and been reborn, and lost and cried.
The TARDIS hummed gently, but he couldn't bear to accept her comfort.
The wardrobe was close, and he shuffled over, pushing it open. He stepped into the lowest level, and slowly made his way up the stairs. This place was insistent on the men he had been. The mirrors had seen all new faces, and new hands had spent hours looking through these clothes.
He'd be standing there, studying himself, trying to erase the look of betrayal that they'd often carried on their faces. And he'd long to show them how much he was the same, while he secretly tried to figure out how much he was different.
The Doctor slowly slid to the floor. Tears flowed freely, and after a few moments, he stopped trying to wipe them. He leaned back, against the soft padding of the clothes behind him, and tried hard to let go, because this holding on was slowly killing him
He needed Donna, because he had forgotten how to save himself. He wasn't sure he could anymore.
DW
Donna awoke in the early light, a dark feeling crowding around her shoulders.
She had drank too much last night, trying to drown everything she couldn't bear to look in the eye. After she had left the Doctor's she had bought the bottle, and snuck up to her room. She felt like a teenager, but also with the crushing weight of her current situation. The bottle lay half empty on the nightstand, reminding her of the ache that filled her head and heart.
She had awoke with the Doctor's face in her mind, with Lance's words still lashing at her, making the inflicted wounds feel fresh once more.
And now her head was full, pounding with every movement. Today would have been a perfect day to stay in bed, to stay under the covers in the protection of the silent room.
But the Doctor was counting on her, and her mother would never stand for her giving up, and this would be giving up. Never had it sounded like such an option, forgetting the world, letting it go on without her. She'd hardly be missed.
She sighed softly, throwing the covers off. A cold chill swept over her, but she quickly rose, dressing in the silence. She pulled on her coat, zipping it and looking herself over once in the mirror. Her eyes were red, dark circles under them. He'd surely know she'd had another rough night, but she couldn't bring herself to find the supplies to hide it.
Her mother was already awake, the smell of coffee and something warm and sweet reaching her nose as she opened up her bedroom door. It was tempting to stop, her stomach growling, and then rolling. She didn't need a lecture and the act of kindness had all the makings of a trap. So, she bypassed her mother, and slipped out the door. She thought she heard her mother's voice call out behind her, but she pressed on.
The air outside was frigid, the wind making the steps in the direction of the Doctor's house slow and laborious. It slapped against her cheeks and she shoved her hands into her pockets. She glanced back at her parent's house, light and warmth seeming to seep from it. The temptation to turn back was quickly overruled, and she stomped forward, resolved to see this through.
His porch was bare, the inside of his house dim, though the blind she had opened, remained opened. She knocked on the door, softly, looking up and down the street. When he didn't answer, she let out a small sigh, knocking louder. This time, though, the door opened beneath her hand.
Donna pushed it open a little farther, peeking into the hallway. She glanced at the street once more, before stepping in.
"Well, " she muttered to herself. "That's not creepy at all."
She closed the door behind her, flipping on the lamp in the entryway. There didn't seem to be any noise, and she heard no sign of life.
"Doctor?" she called out. "Are you in here?"
The only response came in the form of a loud hum, that reached her even out into the hall. She followed it down, noting that he had done some cleaning before he had done his disappearing, and stopped right at the TARDIS.
She turned, studying the room, but it was only her and this blue box in here. After a moment, she gently pressed her hand against the TARDIS, feeling foolish but then she had been there before.
"What is it?" she asked. "Where'd he run off to?"
The intensity of the humming only seemed to increase, and she felt the vibrations against her palm. She lowered it, pushing the TARDIS door open. It gave at once, revealing a dim TARDIS console room, but once more the Doctor didn't seem to be present.
Something had to be wrong, but she refused to give into fear. She was going to find him, and he was going to be fine. He had to be fine.
"Doctor?" she called out once more. "Where are you, you silly Martian?"
Soft images formed in her mind, cloudy all around the edges, but she knew it was clothes. It took a moment, a brief flash of anger realizing that the TARDIS was in her mind, before she could get her feet moving.
She moved slowly, unsure of her step, though the ground was steady beneath her feet. When she came to a large door, she slowly pushed it open.
The air in here seemed cooler, and when she stepped inside, she saw levels of clothes. Mirrors were scattered around her current level, clothes from what seemed to be countless years of fashion from Earth, and even beyond filled the walls.
She blinked, slowly, and then carefully made her way to the stairs.
"Doctor?" she called out again, moving up slowly. "Come on, Doctor. Are you in here?"
She heard the soft sound of shuffling, and she hurried up the last of the steps. She found him, sitting up, shoulders slumped. He was looking at the ground at first, but when she looked up his dark eyes were red-rimmed.
"Oh, Doctor," she said, softly, coming over and sitting down beside him. "What happened?"
He leaned against her after a moment, and she turned, hugging him.
"I don't know," he said. "I was just going to go get some coffee, and then...it was all too much."
She nodded, and pressed a quick to his head. It felt like her world was falling apart, and she knew that it was nothing compared to what he had seen, and had done to him. So, she kept silent. If there was time for her, if she ever felt like falling apart, and trusted him enough to bear witness, then that time would wait.
"What can I do to help?" she asked, pulling back to look up at him.
"What do I do now?" he asked, sounding like a child.
She let out a slow breath, and climbed to her feet. She held out a hand down to him, and his was cool and wet when he took hers.
"Come on," she said. "I'll show you."