Am I in heaven here or am I...

at the crossroads I am standing

So now you're sleeping peaceful

I lie awake and pray

that you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll

see another day and we will praise it

and love the light that brings a smile

across your face

Hold On to Yourself

Sarah McLachlan

His hearts broke with each tear that glimmered in the dim light as it slid down her abused face and a gamut of emotions played through his mind. He had never felt so happy and scared at the same time.

It felt like he had searched lifetimes for her, spending months going from one planet to another, following any lead or hunch no matter how insubstantial. He rejected every informant who scoffed at the idea that she could survive this kind of indentured servitude. The last one had told him, "She'd be dead by now if they took her to Brust, she's only a human, right, this slave you are looking for?"

The Doctor had given him a look, one that had silenced him. "She is human, yes, but no 'only' about it. iYou don't know my Donna."/i

In the back of his mind he could sense her, he was certain of it. In the quiet of the TARDIS he could hear her in his mind calling his name; the possibility that she was dead was not an answer he would accept. His manic desperation finally eased when he heard there was a red headed slave on this planet. With the high security there was only one way to gain access, only one service for purchase that allowed the buyer immediate and exclusive physical access to the slave. With strong use of psychic paper in one hand and coin in the other he was granted passage finally, and his stomach had churned as he had paced their heavily guarded transport ship.

The appalling conditions made his blood boil, starvation and torment evident in every face he passed. Although he desperately needed this to be the end of his search he could not bear the thought of his beloved companion enduring this environment.

When she was brought out on the floor for his inspection he was both devastated and overcome with joy, hoping his eyes were deceiving him, and yet praying that they weren't. A thin sickly hunched woman stood wavering between two large guards. It was only the smoldering fire of her hair that let him accept that he had finally found her.

The relief of finally seeing her did nothing to temper his fury, even though he had to repress the desire for revenge until he had taken her to safety. When asked if he would like to sample the wares before purchasing the look he gave them sent the staff scurrying away from him. He was assured that this slave just needed to be cleaned up and would be willing for his every desire.

And now here she was. He opened his eyes to reassure himself it wasn't just a dream and looked across at her, barely a ripple under the blanket she looked so small and frail in the bed. With a start he realized she was still holding his handkerchief balled up in her palm, as if it was a small tangible piece of hope.

Her hair so long and wavy now was a blaze on the pillow, belying her fragility and in stark contrast to the paleness of her face. Anger swept through him as he saw the trauma evidenced by her body, sleeping fitfully under his watchful gaze. This was his Donna, the fiery woman who could move mountains with her brilliance. She had survived this ordeal against all odds, she was so strong, and now he had her back and vowed to himself he would never lose her again.

He wished she would trust him, that she would let him take care of her, but he knew she was in shock. He could only imagine what he would find if he could examine her more closely. He wanted to scan her with the sonic screwdriver but was afraid it would wake her, and he knew that right now gaining her trust was paramount.

Just from what he could see she was dehydrated, malnourished, drastically underweight and going by the working conditions, heat exhaustion could be added to the growing list. The wounds on her hands and arm were raw and infected, and judging by her glassy eyes and how easily she flushed with fear at his approach earlier, she was running a fever. But her rapid heart rate scared him the most, fluttery tachycardia with a definite murmur. The stress to a human heart under these conditions would probably have ended her life not long from now if he hadn't found her when he did.

Right now he didn't want to think about the impact of the trauma to her mental condition, but he knew it wasn't a good sign that she didn't believe he was real.

Her eyes opened suddenly and fixed on him, then apparently satisfied that he hadn't moved she tucked the blanket under her chin and drifted back to sleep.

The Doctor leaned his head back against the wall, his eyelids heavy, but he couldn't close his eyes again, he was transfixed on the woman on the bed. He felt like if he took his eyes off her she might disappear, she wasn't the only one afraid to accept that the other was real. So long he had been searching for her, every dead end making him even more frantic. He never should have left her alone in such a dangerous place, and he would never make that mistake again.

As the hours passed she tossed and turned even more. Now that the edge was taken off her exhaustion the dreams had obviously begun. His eyebrows knitted together as he watched her, her slumber disturbed by whatever images haunted her. He longed to touch her temples and soothe away her nightmares but he kept still, knowing she was close to trusting him, to believing him, as long as he kept his word not to put his hands on her.

Then she woke up with a scream, a short shrill peal of alarm that caused his hearts to thud painfully in his chest. She was tangled in the blanket and fought her way out of it as she sat up abruptly, panting, her eyes wild.

He twitched in his corner, every fiber of his being longing to run to her side, to hold her close and stroke her hair and whisper that she was safe, that everything would be all right, that it was just a dream, and do all the things to calm and comfort her that he had done for her so many times before he had lost her, things that he suspected made himself feel at least as much better as they did her.

But he held still, albeit trembling from the effort, and called out to her softly, calling her name, telling her she was okay now and hoping that it was the truth. Eventually, at a loss for what to do and his own tears threatening to spill over from the frustration of helplessness, he started to hum again, the low tune vibrating in his chest.

The song had the instant effect of quieting her struggles. She stared at him balefully for a moment before pushing the blanket aside completely, stumbling out of the bed and all but running out of the room. He held his breath, listening desperately to work out what she was doing and readying himself to spring to her side if she caught the attention of guards in the hallway outside by trying to escape.

He heard her in the bathroom and then there was silence until she slowly shuffled back into the room, her hands wrapped around another water pitcher, and without looking at him directly she bit her lip then tossed out, "are you just going to sit in that corner all night then, Romeo, or can we get off this godforsaken hellhole sometime this century?"

He grinned despite all his fears and fretting, she could always have that effect on him, cutting right through the circumstances and just being herself, centering him and making him feel like no matter what, they would be all right.

He rose to his feet, still smiling, but moving smoothly and not taking so much as a step toward her. She was holding the heavy pitcher in front of her like a shield. Or possibly a weapon.

"Do you have a plan then?" She blew out a breath and still avoided his eyes. Was she embarrassed about waking up so violently? She sounded composed but he knew her well enough to catch the tremor in her sigh, and observe the nervous set of her shoulders.

"We can go anytime you are ready, Donna. I just have to give the word to the guards and they will lead us to your boss," he paused when he saw her shiver and he felt dark anger toward the men in charge of this place seethe in his blood. "Then I will pay him their asking price and they will put us on the next shuttle out of here."

She looked at him, her eyes unreadable.

"Donna? Will you… will you come with me willingly?"

"As your sex slave? Do I have a choice?" She was trying to sound indignant he knew, but it wasn't convincing.

"It will make things easier, please, I promise I won't hurt you."

There was a silence then she dropped her head and shrugged. "Guess I'm not going to last much longer here anyway." Then she looked up at him sharply as he finally dared to walk over to her. She swung the pitcher up higher, water sloshing around.

"But I won't share your bed. I'm not up for that, you may as well dump me back in the factory if you think I will go along with … ithat/i. You hear me?"

He nodded quickly. "I wouldn't expect anything like that, I promise, Donna. I just want to get you out of here and back to the TARDIS. If you still want me to let you go after that then I will take you home, if you like."

He trailed off, fear clutching at his chest at the idea of losing her again, but then, he reasoned, he hadn't said he'd leave her there, just that they could go there, not that he would leave her behind. If he had to he would move into her mother's house until he found a way to make her remember him, whatever it took he would get her back.

"Home?" Her voice was quiet now, cutting through his mental ramble with its poignancy. She set the pitcher down clumsily at her feet.

He didn't know how to answer that. The TARDIS was her home, with him.

"Let's go," he stepped closer and held out his hand. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Please, Donna, I don't want to risk losing you, if you'll just hold my hand out there until we are safe I would feel so much better. You agreed to come with me, yes?"

She frowned and turned away from him, heading to the door and ignoring his proffered hand. He sighed inwardly, not wanting to push her, but terrified of walking her out there without holding on to her.

He came to her side again and they both stood in front of the door.

"You're a ladybird," she blurted out, and crossed her arms over her chest.

He blinked.

"Ladybirds, they are all cute and shiny and people let them crawl on their hands because they don't look like what they are. But really, if you think about it, no matter what color their wings it's just a disguise, they are still creepy crawly things."

She swallowed and looking miserably at the door.

"I'm not a ladybird," he breathed, his hearts breaking a little for her. "This is real, Donna. I am me, I am him. No disguise, no dream. I am the Doctor, and I am going to get you out of here."

She whirled on him and jabbed a finger in his chest. He stood his ground, expecting a slap or a lecture but instead she just rubbed away tears from her cheeks and looked so lost.

"I'm not normally this much of a crybaby," she sniffed.

"I know. It's okay, it's me. You never let anyone but me see you cry."

"I just… I don't know… I imagined you for so long… if this isn't real, I—"

When she didn't say anything more he offered her another handkerchief and waited until she composed herself again.

"I'm ready."

He looked her over one more time, noting how her shoulders were hunching in at the prospect of facing the guards and he slipped out of his jacket. He wanted to place it around her shoulders but stopped just short of so intimate a gesture and simply handed it to her instead. She took it and shrugged it on with a grateful glance at him.

"Wouldn't fit a rat," he whispered, and felt his hearts soar at the spark of recognition in her eyes. Then he leaned forward and knocked on the door, hearing an answering rattle of keys from the other side. As the door began to swing open he felt her reach for his hand without looking at him and he grasped her trembling fingers in his palm, the warmth in his chest spreading all throughout his body.

Close your eyes and trust it

Just trust it…

Have you ever looked fear in the face and said I just don't care?

It's only half past the point of no return

The tip of the iceberg

The sun before the burn

The thunder before lightning

And the breath before the phrase, "Have you ever felt this way?"

Glitter in the Air

Pink

The feeling of his hand closing around hers was at once comforting and terrifying. Even though she had been the one to initiate the contact she still felt herself tense up and had to resist the urge to pull away from him, letting any man touch her was foreign territory these days; contact from the guards was only ever punitive or a prelude to groping. She shivered.

He turned to her as the door creaked open and murmured comfortingly in her ear. "Don't look at them, you will be okay, I'm going to get you out of here."

Donna took his advice and averted her eyes from the guards as he exchanged words with them. Instead she stared at his long fingers, studying the light cluster of freckles on the back of his hand, so familiar. They stepped into the narrow hallway and she bumped into him a little when the guards circled around them. The contact with him combined with the hand-holding reminded her of times long ago, times too painful to let herself remember in any detail.

Then they were being led down the hallway, the guards moving sluggishly, and she remembered what he had said about them leaving in the early morning hours while people were mostly asleep. Two of the guards came alongside her and she felt herself tugged closer to the man holding her hand. He hissed at the goons, causing them to back off again with a grunt. She could only imagine what they were thinking, and when one of them said something in a leering tone she could feel the man she was with as he bristled and she knew she wouldn't want the translation.

She leaned into him a little bit when they all crowded around her in the elevator and his thumb smoothed reassuringly over the back of her hand. She closed her eyes as the violent swinging motioning of the lift threatened her equilibrium and shrugged deeper into the jacket as if it could shield her from the men's eyes, letting its achingly familiar scent wash over her. Was it her mind supplying these details that made this man seem like someone she knew painfully well?

By the time the nausea-inducing swaying of the elevator finally came to a halt her legs felt like jelly again and she gripped his hand tighter, a feeling of safety coming over her when he squeezed her hand in return. Again, the frightening familiarity rocked her certainty that this was a trick, but then, if the point of her hallucinating was to make her feel okay with what was happening to her, Donna supposed it made sense that her mind was dredging up all these long-forgotten feelings, like his hand on hers, warm and strong and not letting go while they were walking through dangerous places.

Unsteady now, she stumbled as they exited the elevator and his other arm came around her elbow in support until he had completely encircled her and she finally looked up at him.

"Are your legs feeling weak, Donna?"

She swallowed and nodded.

"I'm going to help you walk, okay?" As he spoke he let go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist instead and she gulped at the intimacy of the contact.

"I'm sorry," he soothed, but didn't let her go, and in truth she was glad of the support. He helped her along another grey corridor to a stern looking office door. It opened before they could knock and one of the gangbosses looked down at her as she stood, huddled in a man's brown jacket and barely able to stand on her own.

She held the man's gaze defiantly until his eyes flicked to the owner of the jacket, still holding her to him possessively. Then they were ushered inside.

Finding her feet at last as the men started bartering back and forth (at least that was what it sounded like) Donna wobbled away from them all, ignoring the sharp look from the tall man, until she stood at the huge glass window that overlooked the factory floor. It was empty now but she could nonetheless see her fellow workers as the boss must see them, ghosts bent over the shelling tables, the nut crackers, the juicing machines.

She vowed to herself and them that if she really did somehow miraculously get out of here she would find a way to end this, to end their suffering and make the slave traders pay for their ruthless exploitation.

When she closed her eyes she could hear the rat-a-tat of the machinery, the sighs of the women, the barking of the guards, she could taste the sweat running into her mouth, could smell the acrid burning juices of the fruits, could feel her skin tingle and burn.

Her eyes snapped open and she gave herself a little shake. The man who had stood here last night at dusk and watched her, had selected her when guards had pulled her forward for his inspection, was now at her side and taking her shaking hand gently between his own. She could see the concern in his deep eyes as he looked down at her.

"It's done, Donna. There's a carrier about to leave, they will grant us passage back to that moon I told you about."

"Done? You paid them?"

"Everything they wanted. They are satisfied."

Holding onto his hands for balance she looked past him at the boss, now seated behind a bulging desk, looking smug. He gawked at her insolently.

"You shouldn't have paid them too much you know, I wouldn't have lasted more than a week tops out there, so whatever you gave them, you got ripped off."

"Donna," he began, but she pulled away from him and stalked up to the gangboss, falling on her hands on the desktop before her knees could give out of their own accord and ruin her dramatic gesture.

"Hey! Jackass! Get your pound of flesh did you?" She rattled his desk and some papers slid to the floor but no one so much as moved to catch them or censure her.

The slave trader merely smirked languidly. Something wasn't right about this transaction, she thought suddenly, unease turning over in the pit of her stomach.

Gentle hands settled on her shoulders and warm lips brushed her ear as she felt the man who had just bought her try to hush her. She froze for a moment and he pulled back a little, drawing her back with him carefully. She let herself be pulled away, issuing further angry exhortations at the unperturbed monster at the desk, while the man holding her moved around her protectively in anticipation of any retaliation even as he held her up.

She let him lead her from the room, throwing a final kick at the desk as she passed, knowing her muscles were too weak to resist anyway.

"You shouldn't have paid him. I'm next to useless to you anyway."

"You don't make rescuing you easy, do you, Earthgirl?" His eyes twinkled at her even through the tension in his frame. "Just let me get you out of here, okay?"

She grumbled a little but succumbed to his leading as he wrapped a strong arm around her body again and bore her out into the hallway. This time the guards parted to let them pass, their conversation trailing off as Donna neared, and their beady eyes tracking her every move. Her feet faltered a little and she caught herself leaning into the tall human-looking man more and more until they reached the elevator.

Once they were some distance away she could hear the guards' laughter following them, their jarring speech seeming to echo in the small space as the elevator doors closed, cutting off the sounds. Donna frowned at some of the words they were using. She couldn't translate directly but feelings of fear stirred in the back of her brain as she tried to figure out which phrases were familiar.

Now they were alone in the elevator and she pushed away from the man before she could become any more comfortable in his arms, and crouched in the corner as they were swept upwards then sideways at great speed. She groaned with the inertia but waved him away when he knelt beside her, asking her if she was all right.

This was the man who now thought he owned her, she reminded herself. Yes, so far he had treated her well, and been incredibly gentle with her, but she had seen enough cop shows growing up to know what was happening here. What did they call it, Sweden something? No, Stockholm, Stockholm syndrome, that was it, when a captive starts falling for their kidnapper.

Or maybe that wasn't right, where had that come from anyway?

Donna frowned at herself. iNo way I am falling for this bloke with his sad eyes and his floppy hair and his big careful hands. No,/i she mused, i it must just be sympathizing with the kidnapper, cause your mind gets all confused, yes that sounded more like it./I

She glanced over at him then away again. IAnd he was a bit of a sad case this one,/i she decided resolutely, trying desperately to tell herself he was to be pitied so that she could stop being quite so afraid of what he was taking her to do with her.

She shook herself a little, refusing to give into those kind of thoughts, she would deal with whatever he wanted to do with her when it happened. No matter what kind of charade he was playing getting her addled brain to believe he was some fantasy man she had created to survive this hellhole, the truth was he was just another slave trader, a man who paid money to other men to take a woman and do with her what he will.

She put her hands over her ears and scrunched down further against the wall, shaking her head against the thoughts of him touching her, and at the same time having trouble believing he would ever hurt her. That chilled her to the bone, that she would be taken by surprise, drawn in by his familiar face and gentle manner. Why was she starting to think of him as her Doctor? It was stupid, she couldn't afford to let her guard down.

She peeked up at him as the lift slowed down and he tentatively extended a hand to help her up. She looked at his hand. Was he going to spirit her off to a ship where no one would help her, no one would hear when he made her scream? Really? When he had kept his word and only touched her with her permission since promising to keep his hands to himself? And even then, his hands had only been on her body to help and protect her.

She reached up and let him pull her to her feet. The elevator doors swished open and murky purplish sunlight illuminated the shadows, followed by dust and the sound of an energetic breeze.

"Come on," he encouraged her gently but she found her feet wouldn't move. She trembled and frowned at her uncooperative legs.

"Donna?"

"Wh- where are you taking me?" she blurted out.

He didn't answer for a moment and she looked up at him, seeing the tension standing out as cords in his neck, and the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"Away from here. Away from anyone who can hurt you. After that, it's up to you."

"And you're not… you won't…"

His eyes and tone softened and he knelt down to her eye level. "I won't hurt you."

She regarded him for a moment, relieved when her legs finally started responding.

As a slave she was not allowed shoes, and when they stepped together out of the lift the dry cracked earth crunched beneath her aching feet. Then as they moved out of the alcove of the elevator exit blinding violet streaming rays from more than one sun assaulted her eyes before they could adapt. She cried out and spun to bury her face in his chest before she could stop herself.

"Its alright," he crooned into her hair, delicately encircling her with his arms, loosely enough that she felt safe but not trapped. "The dawn here is blinding I know, but it is just a few hundred feet to the transport. I could carry you?"

She shook her head but didn't move, too lost in his closeness and the smell of him that railed against her common sense, screaming to her that this was ihim/i this was the Doctor, her Doctor. When she finally pulled away she was surprised to find she was panting and light-headed.

"The air is thin too, for a human." He sounded apologetic. The strong wind ruffled his hair into whorls and almost stole his words from his mouth.

Donna drew a deep breath as she straightened, still squinting. "I can manage."

She took a few uncertain steps with him, wincing at the small sharp pebbles that dug into her feet. Even the ground here felt like it had been exploited until it was scorched dry.

"Oh! Oh!" He threw a hand into the air and straightened up. "Wait… I have your shoes."

He started digging around in his pockets and she stared at him, incredulous.

"Slaves… can't wear shoes…" she stammered, her eyes widening when, impossibly, he pulled out a pair of converse from his trouser pocket. She looked at them and her chest felt tight suddenly.

"You aren't a slave," he said conversationally, casually even, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Donna's heart thudded in her ears she reached out her hand as if on autopilot, her vision narrowing dizzyingly until there was nothing existing but the purple shoe in her hand. Dimly she felt him drop to his knees and start to slide the other shoe onto her foot. It fitted perfectly. Of course.

She just stood there, staring at it. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Finally, as if in slow motion, she turned the shoe she was holding over in her hand. It was scuffed, and on the sole was the sap from a Hager vole plant that she had stepped on one day on their way to a picnic by a magnificent waterfall. It formed a blotch of neon yellow that had persisted despite all her scrubbing, despite all the running she had done in these shoes since then.

Feeling on the edge of something, she didn't know what: sanity or reason or even hope, Donna fingered the laces. One end was singed badly from slime that had nearly dissolved her, had the Doctor not swooped down in the nick of time and pulled her to safety out of the maugan pit.

These were her shoes. In his pocket. Pockets with relative dimensions in time and space.

Swallowing hard Donna suddenly sat down, fell down, really. The man looked up from tying her laces, surprise and worry on his face. IHis/I face. iThe Doctor's/i face.

"Are you okay? Did you lose your footing? Donna?"

She tried to speak but her breath hitched in her throat and her voice only croaked in reply.

He crouched down beside her and held out his hand to her hesitantly. She focused on his outstretched fingers, his open palm, like he was offering peace to frightened animal.

"It's okay," she tried to say, but her words were lost in the wind that was whippng around them.

"Donna?"

"It's you," she whispered, knowing he wasn't able to hear her.

He leaned forward slowly, moving his body to act as a windbreak for her, and brushed stray hairs from her eyes very gently.

That did it. Tears overspilled and ran down her face, unbidden.

"Donna?" His eyes went very wide and his voice sounded panicky. "Please, tell me what's wrong, are you hurting? Is it me? Did I scare you?"

She gazed into his eyes, relief and hope and exhaustion crashing down on her all at once.

She grabbed for his hand even as he retracted it, ignoring the edges of her vision as they greyed in and out, trying to remind herself to breathe, to take it slow. She held onto his fingers for dear life while she clumsily dumped the shoe she was holding upside down, and just as she knew would happen, tiny grains of pink sand emptied into his palm.

Sand from a beach with seven suns.

Her trembling became uncontrolled shudders as she felt her heart gallop, felt her vice grip on disillusionment start to weaken, felt her guard slip and oblivion beckon her down. She felt like she was sliding off a precipice and nothing could stop her falling, it was too late.

She had forgotten so much but now, seeing the tiny grains of physical evidence, that day came flooding back to her with sharp flashes of clarity, from seven sunrises to seven sunsets.

She remembered the taste of orange and lemon triangles of shaved ice, melting down his fingers as he fed her, his eyes on hers, sparking with fun yet also so very dark and intense.

She remembered the look in his eyes when they walked down to the shore hand in hand. They found a place to drop their stuff, she had shyly dropped her wrap on her beach towel and he had seen her in her bikini for the first time, right before embarrassment overtook her and she had turned and ran into the surf, and he had chased her until they crashed into the waves together, laughing like children.

She remembered how he had teased her about nonexistent sea monsters and even though she knew it was a ploy to get her into his arms once they were out in deep water, she hadn't exactly minded too much, because this was the Doctor.

This was the Doctor.

The man with her shoes in his pocket. Her friend. Her best mate.

Her so much more.