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The Doctor had moved to the chair right next to the bed when Donna had left to find Jack. And as much as he didn't want to let her go, to lose sight of her for even a second, he knew that it was needed. He had wanted to check on him also, but found himself pouring juice for Donna. She needed it, but it was just a reason to avoid the look in Jack's eyes, and have to know that his child was the love that caused the pain. He couldn't see such desperation, even avoiding too much eye contact with Donna. He didn't think he could convince his hearts to beat, if he felt even another drop of pain. He had lost children before, and this wasn't something he could do again.

His little girl had died, and though she wasn't little, his adult now, really. She would always, even when she was nine hundred years old herself, be his little girl. The child, the miracle as Donna had always told him, which had changed the way he looked at the universe. She had taken all the hurt and anger he had stored up and made him look at things through innocent eyes. The way he had always wanted to see it all. She had changed him, and he would never take that back. Had he told her that he had loved her before she walked away, had she known?

He had caught her body when she had fallen; the heat was gone in the instant that she fell. She hadn't regenerated, though he wasn't surprised that the trauma had been too much, forcing the body past the point that cheating death was possible. But that hadn't been enough to stop him from breathing air into her lungs, leaning over to pump above one still heart and then the other, as he murmured what could only be called a prayer. And when she had sucked in a breath on her own, he didn't forget a thank you. He thought that she would wake, but even though her chest rose and fell, even though under his hand he could feel the presence of life, she didn't move.

When he had been certain that she was going to remain breathing on her own, he had taken her back to the TARDIS. The trip to the med-bay had only been to confirm what he knew. That there was nothing he could do to help her out of this, that this wasn't a break that he could run a machine over and fix. And he was powerless, and he hated it more than he could ever describe.

And sitting at her bedside he lowered his head against the cool sheets that covered her, and let the tears fall again. He knew, better than Donna, and better than Jack, what was going to happen here. He had climbed into her mind, a gray that had wiped out the light and colors that it was normally decorated with, as if it was a wall painting. And the worst part, more than the gray, was the fact that no matter how hard he tried there was nothing there that he could reach. It was just deep and empty, a tingle of what could still be, but too far away to coax out again.

He had tried to find her in there, as often as he checked her pulse and respiration. If she didn't find her way out then she would simply fade. There was nothing else. Raising his head, he knew that he couldn't give up. If something worked, if she came back, he wouldn't care how many attempts had been made in vain.

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, brushing hair away, wishing and praying and dying inside. He didn't care what he had believed before now, if there was something out there that could see this situation and help her, he would try for her. She looked so peaceful, as if she was asleep. After a few comforting, if only to him, brushes over her hair he moved his hands to her temples. She was too far gone for there to be any kind of resistance, and he moved into it easily.

It was still gray, still empty, and still made him want to vomit. But he pushed past the discomfort, reaching farther and farther until he thought that he would break with the effort. Human minds, though they could be complicated, had an obvious end, but not a Time-Lord brain. It weaved and climbed and dropped and turned every little bit, which he knew was why they could do everything that they could. And the very thing that made her, well her, was what was separating them now.

When he was as far as he could possibly push he saw a faint shimmer in front of him, almost a ribbon dancing in the wind, flashing through colors almost too quickly to identify them. That little ribbon, that too far away glimmer, that he had been searching for every time he looked for the last 36 hours, was the link to his Grace. If he could calm it first, and then pull it from the dark with the mental hand, then he stood a chance of bringing her back.

"Shhh…it's okay." The thought and the words were simultaneous.

He waited to see if the ribbon responded, and thought, though it could just be a wish, that the flashing slowed. He took it as a sign to continue, and though she was very much an adult, that ribbon was his scared little girl and she needed her daddy.

"It's me, Grace. I'm here; can you calm down a little? Just listen to my voice."

And this time he knew that he didn't imagine it, the colors slowing though they still were pulsing. "That's so good, honey. I'm so sorry this happened. Show me green, huh, like on Aberton."

He waited, unsure if she would be able to comply but he was pleased when she paused on the very green he was looking for. "Still there, good. Too strong, aren't you? Can you come and take my hand, Grace?"

And he made the mental offering reaching out the last little bit he could, she was too far to reach so she would have to come to him. When nothing happen he tried again, "I know it's hard, but please Grace. I'll be here. I'll help you, you're not alone, and I'll never leave you."

The color shifted, which was the only indication that she was listening, it turned to a deep blue, TARDIS blue, and flashed the same color. He knew that this couldn't be easy for her to do, even without the fear. It was possible that she was just too far gone, and even that listening little ribbon couldn't make it to him.

"I'm scared too, Grace. Please come back to us."

The flashing stopped though the blue remained. He wondered if she was trying to say good bye. When there was no more movement, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead he knew he had to withdraw. But not without telling her, if this was the very last thing that she every heard, that she was loved. "We love you, Grace. I can't imagine this world without you in it, and I just want you to know that you are loved so completely. More than anything else in this universe, your mother and I and Jack love you more."

And he pulled back, too weak to rise he pulled her into his arms, her head resting on his chest and he closed his eyes.