The Dispossessed
Chapter 3
I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.
Sleep. Needing so much of it was an adjustment. Not sleeping at the moment, but staring up at the ceiling. And the dreams. . .dreams of darkness, burning, being lost. Not his own dreams, but Donna's. John knew she was lost, didn't remember. Shouldn't be, but it was, across dimensions. Separating them was the catalyst for her condition, why the Doctor had to wipe her mind. If only he'd left them together. . .one mind, two bodies. He rolled over on his side, shuddering as the memory of what happened filled his mind, hugging his pillow.
The beach in Norway, Bad Wolf Bay. Standing there with Rose and her family, waiting for the breach between worlds to close, still touching Donna's mind. Hearing his other self telling her she would die if she continued on with a Time Lord consciousness, trying to reach out, falling as he burned with her. Then nothing. Nothing for months and months. More than a year of trying to learn to live without the Void, the other half of himself. If only the Doctor hadn't been so hasty to dump him in Pete's world and make his retreat away from Rose, he could've explained that he and Donna shouldn't have been separated. A Time Lord mind split between the two of them worked. Separating them nearly killed them both.
She needed him and he needed her. John had yet to work out how to make her remember, but he would. He believed that. He held onto that, because he had nothing else to hold on to. Not anymore. That's what made it so easy to leave Rose. He loved her, but not like she needed and deserved. And she'd moved on, in the end, finding someone else. She was happy, that was all he needed to know, but that didn't matter anymore. Only the here and now did.
-----
Donna tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She sighed, sitting up, glancing at the clock on her night stand. 3 a.m. She dropped back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Strange dreams. Always strange. Not frightening, just unusual, of things not remembered, like she was seeing something out of the corner of her eye, but if she looked dead on, nothing was there.
She tossed off the covers, standing, padding down to her grandfather's room. Donna didn't knock, just let herself in. She sat down on the side of the bed.
Wilf was waiting. Every night for the past year, about the same time, Donna would come in, sit down, and they'd talk. Most nights. Some nights he would sit there and hold his granddaughter's hand, until she got up and went back to her own room.
"Sweetheart, you all right?" Wilf asked.
"Yeah, granddad, fine. Just. . .you know. . .those dreams again," Donna said. "You'd think they'd be going away by now, but doctors. I guess they're never right."
"Not all of them get things wrong," Wilf said, rolling his eyes at the irony.
Donna snorted. "Five doctors in 12 months and none of them can tell me why I have holes in my memories," she said. "Sometimes I think if I think hard enough, it will all come back. . ."
"It might, sweetheart. Don't dwell on it. It will be all right," Wilf said. "It's all right, isn't it? Life, I mean, for you. Better, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I guess. I like my new job, and I even found someone who wants to take me out," Donna said.
"Nice man?" Wilf said.
"Seems like it. Bit skinny though," Donna said.
Wilf smiled. "Well, if you do decide to go out with this new man, bring him around so I can tell him what's what," he said.
"Sure thing," Donna said, reaching over, giving Wilf a quick peck on the cheek. "'Night, granddad."