[ 1O / ? ] prompt: " and then sometimes I see this look on her face, like she's so sad, but she can't remember why "

hey 1O fics time to throw a party?
anyway, I honestly doubt it, but I apologize in case anyone missed me updating this thing the past few days. I was busy being consumed by feelings over Beautiful Chaos ( one of the DW books featuring Tenth / Donna YOU HAVE TO READ THIS I SWEAR ) and The End of Time because god was nearly everything there horribly sob - worthy.
in all honestly, I personally find this fic rather bland, but I was at 8k and I need to be at 11 today ... so I can't start throwing things out now since I have wordcount to catch up to. sorry if any of the upcoming ones aren't that great either. I can smell that happening. orz ;

DREAMBOY
[ wilfred / donna / sylvia / shaun / mentions of tenth ]

It's the day after the wedding – the morning still, even – and when it's six am and Wilfred Mott wobbles down the stairs, barely covering up his yawn, she's already on the couch somehow – Donna Temple – Noble, that is.
There's nothing more worrying than a fresh bride up and about ( or perhaps more sitting and staring ) at an hour like this without her new husband.
He makes a worried little noise and moves over as quickly as he can with his old bones and muscles always being stiff until half an hour after waking, and starts with a ' sweetheart ' to ask her what is wrong, until he sees her look.
He knows that look.
So he doesn't ask anything, because he might want to tell then, and just sits next to her to take her hand. She barely reacts at first, then suddenly grips back and turns to him, sad and lost and so confused. " Gramps, I … "
And then he has to. " What's wrong, Donna, sweetheart? "
Her eyes flash about, as if there's a better answer in thin air than the one she's trying to formulate for him, and then she grabs her outgrown bangs with her free hand, pulls at them, chokes a sob, and tries to look at him but doesn't. " I don't know, Gramps! I don't know! I wish I knew because it's just a dream but I don't know why I'm upset! "
She can't remember. She can't ever. He already found out, over phone, that one instance, what would happen if she did.
But on the other hand, she has to. She was so much better off. And perhaps this is their way around it – not forcefully remembering, not burning all at once, but slowly, slowly, a degree at the time, so she can get used to the heat and eventually bear it.
He doesn't want to hurt her but he has to. She was so much better off.
And so he pushes on. " What sort of dream was that, then? Did you have a nightmare, Donna? Come on, I won't be laughing at you, you know that. "
" I know! " She blurts. She shakes her head, inhales too sharp, and then almost flops against him. " But I don't understand! It's not even a nightmare! It's nothing to be upset about! So then why - … why - ?! … "
" Donna. " He clasps both his hands over hers as she tries to hide her face with the one untaken. " It's not gonna go away if you just yell about it, love. Tell me what. We can work it out, eh? "
And she sniffs and she shivers and shifts around the couch and then she finally sobs, really crying, on what should have been a happy day, like her first marriage she can't even remember should have been a happy day as well but wasn't. She tells him her dream, of the wedding, again, this one, the one where he was present, and about the lottery ticker laying in her drawer now. And she tells him how she got it, not from him, or from her mother – not in the dream at least – but from a man she didn't know but maybe should have, in a suit without a face because that spot was just a blur, and how he scared her, at first, walking up to her, in a place he did not belong, until he held out a paper slip and spoke in a voice as familiar as that childhood song you forgot the lyrics of.
" I'll look after you, Donna, " He said. " I promise. Forever. This time. Me. "
And then she'd gone downstairs, not in the dream, but here, ticket in hand and clenched to her chest before throwing it down on the table, because she is to love Shaun now and by god does she love him but it scares her that the shapeless stilt induced so much affection – like her knows her, like she knows him, like they know each other better than anyone before and were to stay together just that way, knowing how to care about each other, knowing how to care for, and yet now it's only him who cares for her and it's like she has somehow forgotten.
She tells him this and makes such a sobbing ruckus doing so that halfway Sylvia comes down the stairs and freezes there, so Shaun nearly bumps her off when he comes rushing out since he's awake and hears his wife cry.
And he really wants to help, since the scene is nothing short of horrible, but he can't do anything at all because he doesn't understand what or what is going on. All he can do is see that he is standing among Motts, that he is standing among Nobles, and that all of them are crying, the eldest like they know, the youngest like she doesn't. He really can't do anything, but he wants to, so he still tries – he slips past Sylvia and sits next to Donna, and she buries down in him and weeps like he's never seen her do before.
When she's finally done, she falls asleep, again, Wilfred and his child are in the back, still wiping at their eyes, sneaking her glances and mumbling something about what he makes out to be a ' self – defense device again ' . He puts her down, the gentlest he can, and then quietly goes over, hoping for some or any explanation to them and her at all.
Yet they are simply sad, and both of them shake their heads, Wilf with his hands upon the poor husband's shoulders. " One day, " He says. " One day, maybe, I guess. "
It's hard telling him about his almost son – in – law, or grandson, for technicalities.
It's too hard telling him that, in the end, should she know him, there's a man out there in the big wide universe that Donna Noble will always love a tenfold times more than she loves him.