A/N: If you were avoiding the 'adult' nature of the previous part don't worry, you didn't miss any plot points (I'm pretending here that there is some plot).

A/N2: I needed a reason why Rose wasn't there; and the only one I could justify was an argument.

Part 8

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Wilf carried a cup of tea through to Donna who lay on her bed looking as though she'd just been told off. "You don't have to do that, Gramps!" she softly chided him. "I could easily have come and got it."

"No you couldn't," Andy immediately warned her. "I'm not having you do anything that wears you out."

Wilf couldn't help noticing how right they looked together as Andy half laid on the bed with an arm draped around Donna, tenderly pushing back strands of hair from her face. It was such a loving gesture. There was an in-joke happening judging by the way she flashed a saucy grin at Andy, but Wilf decided not to ask what it was. Couples have to have their privacy after all.

"Seeing as you're still not chipper I'll head off home," Wilf told them with some regret. He didn't like to see his girl unwell, but he knew she was in capable hands. Andy obviously adored her, and Donna idolised him judging by the way she melted into Andy.

"Sorry about that, Gramps," they both said together, and then giggled at the coincidence.

"Yes, I'm sure you are!" Wilf chuckled. Just as Sylvia said; they acted like a pair of puppies. He made his way to the front door. "Anything you want, just give me a bell," he told Andy as he left the flat.

"Will do, Gramps," Andy cheerily agreed, and waved Wilf goodbye. As soon as Wilf was out of sight he hastened back to Donna. He needed some answers from her.

"What was all that hogwash about sensory inputs?" she accused him as soon as he walked back through the bedroom door.

"Oh that!" He rubbed nervously his neck. "It was sort of true… wasn't it?"

"I'd have believed it during our amazing mind-blowing sex time earlier; but afterwards? Seriously? Nah!" she reasoned as she placed her cup down.

"So what was it, because I get the feeling you know full well what the reason was," he countered.

"I might do," she answered as vaguely as she could.

"Donna!" he whined angrily at her.

She deliberately rolled her eyes at him. "Alright, I'll admit that I got an inkling of something that was…" She sat up straighter and took a breath. "Andy, I felt him. It was the Doctor, and I think he knows."

It hit the Doctor with the full force of a cricket bat! Those little voices that had been whispering at him for days, if not weeks, weren't a figment of his imagination. Those voices were real and very insistent. Not with him, or about him, but merely through him.

Now as he sat on his own without the idle chatter of companions and their fancy men (he was sure Rose had done that in an attempt to make him jealous) he could listen; really listen. And now that he had gained the chance he could not only make out certain words, but he could actually recognise who the voices belonged to. One of them seemed to belong to him, even though he didn't remember the conversations. But the other one was very particular and distinctive. It was Donna!

He pleaded with the TARDIS to tell him where she had obtained the voices from, without much luck, as she insisted it was nothing to do with her.

Oh Donna! How he missed her. Why had he been so keen to offload his duplicate onto her? Right now he really needed her advice, her steady view and her sarcasm. Yes, he'd never thought he would miss that aspect of her.

He'd thought that he needed sweetness and unconditional love; and not someone who would tear down his carefully built ideal world. He feared Donna would have done that to him. Instead he had done that himself. All those years of waiting and yearning; and all for nothing. Well, it seemed like nothing now.

He was back on his own. Rose had gone; sick of his half promises. Not gone forever; oh no! Rose wouldn't do that to him. She was having a break from him, reconnecting with family left behind. It was hard for her now that she couldn't go and see Jackie. He thought he could give her what she wanted but he was wrong. He knew more than anyone else that he wasn't a god, that his soul was a dark place inhabited by guilt and regret. He'd fooled and denied himself too often in the past. The last year had made things seem different; lightness had entered his life and he dared to think he could have something elusive. That thing called normality. Alas it was a dream built on shifting sand; and a part of him had realised that as soon as Donna had stepped out of the TARDIS. His conscience had flown.

Jealousy had occasionally poisoned his life after that. Questions like "What did Donna mean to you?", "Why were you constantly mistaken as a couple?", "Why did she kiss you?", "How well did she know you exactly?", on and on relentlessly. No matter how many times he denied any attraction, that they had been just mates, there was no convincing her. "But you keep on about ginger hair," she would argue. "She had your mind in hers" and the one she loved to throw in his face "She died for you in the parallel world" as if it was his fault she'd been so willing to sacrifice herself. It didn't matter how often he answered with "Rose, I chose you" she would still sulk and use her ultimate argument of "What about me?" during an argument; especially if he pointed out Donna had saved the universe so needed some kind thoughts about her. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, in hindsight. Yeah, he was an idiot.

The voices whispered again; their voices, including him and shutting him out at the same time. Each time the subtext subtly changed, becoming increasingly familiar, though he couldn't quite put his finger on the emotion. He didn't, until his body had unexpectedly responded and he was washed by such a powerful emotion his breath was almost snatched from his lungs, and that was saying something! At first he thought it was lust, and then he recognised it for what it truly was: love. Deep romantic love. Who had they fallen in love with?

The thought of Donna being deeply in love almost broke his hearts; she would never want to return to him if she had someone to replace him. Him. Did he have the right to even assume she had loved him? "I'm not having any of THAT nonsense," she had said; and she had kept to her word. She had never broken her promise of avoiding that direction.

He resolved to pay her one last visit. He pretended that it was to make sure she was okay, and give her a parting gift. The truth was that he hoped she would practically fall on him and ask to come back. That truth lay in a deep dark box among many other secrets and truths.

The Doctor woke up in his favourite armchair with a start. All he could feel was pain; deep gut-ripping pain. "Donna!" he cried out as he recognised where the pain was coming from. Every part of him screamed in agony. Was this it? Was she dying; leaving him for the final time? He panted heavily, trying to control the physical onslaught so that he could head for the console room, and that's when he felt the other emotion that had been layered and hidden at first. It was from 'him', and 'he' was absolutely petrified! Not that the Doctor blamed him. He staggered to the controls and managed to tap something in when another, deeper pain rolled through him, and he blacked out.

He came to lying face down on the console floor. The pain had gone; completely gone. There was nothing in its wake. "Donna?" he sobbed. It was over. She was probably dead, but he needed to know for sure. He needed to gaze upon her one more time just in case there was a glimmer of a hope that she was still breathing; could still recognise him. He was determined not to acknowledge any grief until he knew for sure, so with that in mind he opened the TARDIS doors and stepped out.

The Doctor approached the fairly nondescript house wondering if she'd really chosen this modest habitat. There was nothing remarkable about it all, from the terraced position to the bland exterior with its open blue door, privet hedge and wobbly gate. He knew she was there though, because he could quite easily smell her scent. It reminded him of… As he reached the house next-door a familiar ginger head appeared above a set of hands holding a pair of garden shears. 'You're alive!' he thought with absolute relief as he watched her, basking in the knowledge she was well.

"Take that! And that!" she playfully told the privet hedge as she trimmed it and lopped pieces off. "I'll show you, you great big…"

At that point she caught sight of him standing mere feet away, and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen lit up her face. "Hello you!" she greeted him brightly. "You never said you'd be back from Birmingham this early. Am I guessing right that you've got a lovely surprise for me?" Then her expression dropped and changed to thunder. "It's YOU!"

"Hello Donna," he returned her greeting cautiously.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU WANT?" she yelled at him as she stood up, stretching herself to her full height.

His first concern was the set of sharp shears in her hands; that is, it was until he noticed the swell of her stomach as she stood. She was at least six months pregnant. Who the hell had done that to her? Had she gone and got married behind his back? "I came to see you," he replied as calmly as he could; but she wasn't paying him any attention. Instead her head was cocked towards the house.

"Oh for the love of… We've woken him up again and he's not been asleep long!" she remarked crossly. She shot him a glare and made for the door. After a few seconds he followed her in and stood awkwardly in the narrow passageway by a set of equally narrow stairs.

"Donna," he started to say when she reappeared at the living room door, but his words were ripped away by the vision of the young child in her arms. The boy blinked at him with large anxious brown eyes; his little button nose and pale pink cheeks made him look adorable! "Is he yours?" he asked softly.

"Of course he's mine! Did you think I went and stole him from someone? Or did some sort of Madonna job?" she demanded. The child agitatedly fidgeted, but she rested her forehead against his and he instantly quietened.

The Doctor was shocked to hear her quite clearly in his mind humming to the boy; lulling him into a shallow sleep. "He's…," he blurted out.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "So don't go getting me riled or I'll let him throw a hissy fit while I waltz off."

He could feel her tampering down a rage he had only ever known in himself. "I need to apologise."

She snorted like a frenzied horse at him. "And the rest!" It was only then that she thought to peer behind him. "Where's Rose? Where is she then? Why are you here on your own?"

"I... I needed to see you. I… I thought you were dead," he reluctantly admitted.

"Was that wishful thinking?" she immediately shot at him. "You didn't seem all that bothered last time I saw you."

"Donna! That's unfair," he growled at her.

"Cos you're all about being fair, aren't you? How fair was it to chuck us out of the TARDIS? I can understand you wanting to do it to me, but why do that to him? He was so innocent. And you just abandoned him without a backward glance." There was suppressed rage rolling off her now, along with… something else… such utter disappointment. She really wished the tears that threatened to spill would bugger off. Instead, she pressed her lips to her sleeping son's head, grounding herself in the need to keep herself together for him.

Andy knew there was something amiss before he entered the house. Donna rushed to greet him, her need for comfort tangible as they shared a greeting kiss. He's here! He found us about half an hour ago, she informed him.

Where is he? he demanded, feeling protective anger swell in him.

In there! Her mind showed him where the Doctor was standing, watching their son in awe.

"Hello!" the Doctor greeted him as he entered, but Andy wasn't in the mood for civilities; and before the Doctor knew it Andy had landed a punch fair and square on his face.