He had been back on the hill, beside his telescope, for nearly three hours. Wilfred had tried to sip some tea from his Thermos, but his left hand shook too badly. He had only succeeded in spilling the hot liquid over his legs.
He managed to keep his right hand steady enough to continue sending out the signal. A few times his fingers faltered, but he would not stop until his body betrayed him completely.
Donna had gone to bed early; she had switched off her light over an hour ago. Sylvia was still up, but he could see that she had turned on the bathroom light. She would retire soon. He sighed and turned back to the device.
Its small lights blinked at him. In another circumstance he might have found the little green and yellow twinkles cheering, but tonight they seemed to mock him. They told him that his machine was functioning, was powered up and sending out the signal. But it was not enough; it could not possibly reach its intended destination.
Wilfred looked up at the sky again. The night was cloudy, and he could see only the faint glow of the moon. Still, that sense of space, of infinity so great that it defies the imagination, swept over him for a few minutes. One day soon he would be a part of that, of the vastness that stretched on forever…
"Wilfred."
The voice was so soft that he thought he had imagined it at first. For a few moments he didn't dare turn around in case it wasn't real. Finally he forced himself to look back. In the dimness he could just make out the long coat and tall, lean frame.
"Doctor," he said, his voice hoarse with relief. "You came."
The Doctor walked toward him slowly, his gaze sweeping the immediate vicinity, clearly searching for any sign of Donna. "Yes."
"She's inside, asleep," Wilfred informed the Time Lord.
The Doctor waited, remaining silent and grim but offering his hand as the older man pushed himself to his feet. Wilfred extended his own hand.
The Time Lord did not grasp it immediately. His eyes moved down, studying the shaking appendage, before he finally took it firmly in both of his hands.
"What's the matter?" he asked, his expression softening.
Overcome with emotion, Wilfred could not speak immediately. He swallowed and took a deep breath, hoping to chase away the vague dizziness gnawing at him. Instead he stumbled, his footing suddenly unsure.
The Doctor took his arm and eased him down into his chair, crouching beside him. The Time Lord's eyes were sharp and his gaze intensely appraising for a few seconds. He reached inside his pocket and withdrew the sonic screwdriver.
Wilfred held up a trembling hand to ward off the small instrument as the Doctor attempted to scan him.
The Doctor paused. "You already know what's wrong," he said with sudden comprehension.
Wilfred nodded. "Yeah."
"You're ill. What is it?"
"Brain tumor. They call it a glioblastoma."
The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "Inoperable?"
Wilfred nodded.
"Is that why you called me here?" Abruptly his expression shifted from one of compassion to one of ire.
Wilfred blinked in surprise as the implication slowly sank in. "That's what started it, but—"
"Because you shouldn't have," the Doctor interjected. "You can't take a risk like that. I told you what would happen if she started to remember, if she saw or heard anything, anything at all that could spark her memories. And you told me you understood, that you'd keep her safe. But now you call me, you risk her seeing the TARDIS and me and undoing it all. Shattering her mind—" He raked a hand through his hair.
"Doctor, that's not—" Wilfred began.
But the Time Lord was far from finished. "Did I fail to make myself completely clear? Was there any doubt in your mind that I was serious? Because I was, utterly and completely serious." He stood and turned away, hands balling into fists at his side.
With considerable effort, Wilfred pushed himself to his feet. He needed to explain, to tell the Doctor that he would never do something so selfish, that it was all for Donna. But his throat was suddenly very tight, and the sky was darkening to near oblivion. He felt himself falling but was powerless to prevent it.
He heard the soft thud as his body hit the ground. Strangely, he felt little pain, though he was vaguely aware that his shoulders and head were trying to hurt. He closed his eyes and drew a breath.
"Wilfred!" The Doctor was beside him again.
Gentle hands moved over his head and neck, and this time when he saw the small, blue glow of the sonic screwdriver, Wilfred did not attempt to stop it. He lay quietly for a minute or so, gathering his strength and waiting for his vision to clear. When he could finally perceive the Doctor's concerned face, Wilfred offered him a pallid smile.
The Doctor helped him to sit up slowly. "I'm sorry," the Time Lord said, his voice gentle with sympathy and remorse.
"Please," said Wilfred softly, "let me explain."
The Doctor nodded, keeping a steadying hand upon the elderly man's shoulder.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," Wilfred began. "I was careful. I kept things from her, shielded her from everything I could. But then when she found out I was sick, she came out here to sit with me." He smiled sadly at the memory. "She was that girl you knew again, just for a few minutes. I never intended to make her remember; I didn't even think it could happen that way. But we were sitting here, looking up at the stars, and she said she thought I should find another doctor, and that's when it started to come back to her." He shook his head regretfully. "I shouldn't have had her out here with me like that. I should've realized it might be enough to remind her—"
The Doctor's hand tightened fractionally around Wilfred's shoulder. "I know."
"That night she started having dreams, little bits of memories of the places you went. And the next morning, she was saying things about genes and DNA, things she'd never have known on her own. I was hoping it was just some small fragment, some tiny speck that'd come through and didn't mean anything, but I was wrong. Suppose I'm just an old fool—"
"How bad is it?" the Doctor interjected mildly.
"She's remembering more, things about maths and science, and the dreams've continued."
The Time Lord nodded. "And physically?"
"Headaches, looking peaky, sometimes repeating words and stuttering."
"But she's still coherent, still able to function?"
"Yes. I'm not even sure she's aware of what's happening to her. Sometimes she says something, then she doesn't seem to remember what it was."
"All right. I may have got here in time, then." His hand dropped to his side.
"Can you fix this?"
The Doctor regarded him silently for several seconds. "I hope so."
"What can I do to help?"
"Make sure she's sleeping. I need to have a look at her, but she can't know. Now she's starting to remember, seeing me could be disastrous for her."
"But she didn't recognize you before, just after you brought her home."
"No; the memory fragments that remained were completely suppressed. But they're beginning to resurface, so it'll be different for her now."
Wilfred nodded. "Come on, then."
He began walking back to the house. His legs remained rather unsteady, however, and he did not protest when the Doctor took his arm.
They entered the house quietly. The Doctor waited in the hallway while Wilfred shuffled softly toward Donna's door, keeping a hand upon the wall to steady himself. He found his granddaughter sleeping soundly. He whispered her name but received no response.
He gestured for the Doctor to enter.
The Time Lord's footfalls were nearly silent as he moved into the bedroom. He stood just inside the doorway for a few seconds, his gaze falling upon the slumbering woman. His expression was redolent of deep sorrow.
Soft steps carried him to the bed. He watched Donna for several moments, then he knelt beside her and gently placed his hands upon her head. Wilfred saw his fingers splay over her cheeks and temples. She twitched, her eyelids fluttering for an instant while the Doctor's closed.
"Sshh," he soothed in a whisper.
She stilled, and her features relaxed. The Doctor's face, however, reflected intense concentration; his brow was tight, and his lips compressed. Suddenly Donna jerked as a strange sort of groan escaped her gaping mouth. The Doctor's eyes shot open. He shifted his hands quickly to press two fingers over her forehead.
His granddaughter's sudden pallor and the shaking in her limbs alarmed Wilfred considerably, but he remained motionless. The Doctor's lips moved soundlessly, then he pulled his hands away and rocked back on his heels.
Though Donna's body stilled, her complexion remained ashen. The Time Lord rested his fingertips against her throat for a moment then tucked the blanket around her shoulders. With a silent sigh, he stood and beckoned for Wilfred to follow him out of the room.
To be continued…