An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 35.1
An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 35.1
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
First Mate: The lovely serenityslady has officially joined the crew. Thanks for the support and suggestions!
Rating: PG for Plot Galore and A for Angst
Word Count: 2,545
Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind. I like my posts to be around the 5,000 word mark, so this is a bit thin, but as I'll be out of town at convention for a long weekend, I thought I'd put up what I already have.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25 | Part 30
June 17, 2012 2:10 AM
Donna sat bolt upright in Peter's bed, hair flying, and unable to catch her breath. She’d been dreaming and she hated this kind of dream, hated it with a passion. She rarely, if ever, remembered much of her mind’s nighttime meanderings, and when she did, it was usually nothing more than insubstantial snatches, images that melted away as soon as she woke up properly and tried to examine them. She might remember a familiar face or place if her dream had been drawn from her day to day life, but those weren’t the kind of dreams she hated. In retrospect, she thought, maybe she should call them nightmares, except she had the distinct impression that in at least some of them, she was actually happy. She always knew when she’d been lost in nightmares, though: she’d wake in a bed soaked with sweat and her hair would be plastered to her face as if she’d been running in a hot rain. But this? This was new and entirely unwelcome, because this time, her nightmare had a new resident. This time, she could clearly see the face of the man she loved, the man whose bed she shared tonight. This time, she had been lost in a nightmare with Peter Carlisle and it horrified her.
Donna scrubbed her face with both hands, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace as she carefully crawled out of bed, thankful her bad dream hadn’t woken the man beside her. He had turned over in the night and looked so beautiful bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window that it was all she could do not to touch him to make sure she wasn’t still asleep and dreaming. His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm and she could hear the faint whisper of his breath on his pillow. One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other was flung out behind him as if he were searching for her fingers even in his sleep. Looking at him, she felt the prickle of hot tears and a familiar ache in her chest, and she silently crept out of the room before she began to cry.
**********
Peter awoke with a start, groggy and disoriented. A glance at the clock stood on his bedside table told him it was nearly 3:00 AM, and he knew something was amiss. He reached out a hand and fumbled about on Donna’s side of his bed but he found it cold and empty. He forced himself upright and sat in the silence for a moment, looking about curiously, blinking and straining to hear some sign of life. Something was wrong. Something had woken him, but he couldn’t immediately tell what it had been. He rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he padded quietly down the hallway to his living area.
“Donna?” he called, looking about in confusion when he didn’t find her curled up reading on the sofa. He looked about and realized light was leaking from beneath the door to the loo and, as he moved closer, he could hear water running in the shower.
“Donna, are ye alright?” Peter asked from outside the door. He paused but when he received no reply, he called out once more, “What’s the matter, Donna? Is somethin’ wrong?” He waited a moment longer before he opened the door slowly and peered in. The air was thick with steam but as it cleared, he found her in the shower, curled up against the glass with her arms hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly, still clad in her nightdress as the warm water rained down.
“Donna!?" he blurted out, moving quickly to the door of the shower stall. When she didn’t answer and only began sobbing harder, Peter stepped inside, kneeling in front of her with his back to the warm spray from above. He rested a hand on her knee but she seemed oblivious to his presence, her whole body wracked with the force of her shuddering, convulsive gasps. He reached out and put his arms around her and Donna started violently as if she had just been released from a trance.
“Peter? Peter! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” she snapped, pushing him out of the downpour. “Go back to bed right this instant! I’m just takin’ a shower.” She tried to stand, wiping at her eyes angrily in a vain attempt to convince him nothing was wrong despite the fact that she’d elected to bathe in her nightclothes. Peter wasn’t listening. He shifted to take a seat beside her in the ersatz rain and pulled her back down against his chest, holding her fast. “Let me go, Dumbo!” Donna thundered, “Are you flippin’ insane?” She struggled weakly in his grasp before she turned and landed a solid swat to his shoulder. She stared him down defiantly, incensed when he offered no resistance to her fury and instead merely sat there studying her face. Her blood was up and she half-wanted a row but at the sight of him calm but concerned for her, she deflated. Donna sighed heavily then collapsed against him, muttering under her breath, “You don’t half look like a drowned rat.”
Peter shrugged and pushed her matted hair away from her eyes, then kissed her forehead and with that single, loving gesture, she was undone. Her bluster fell away and she clutched desperately at the vest he’d slept in, openly crying in front of him now. He kissed her forehead again and maneuvered his body to block the water from her face and shield her eyes. He held her patiently as he waited for her wracking sobs to subside, stroking her hair and murmuring soft words of comfort in her ear.
“Donna, what’s happened?” he ventured when she finally quieted in his arms. "Talk to me, love."
She shifted slightly and refused to meet his gaze as she replied, “Nothing, Peter. It was nothing. I’m bein' foolish. It was just a nightmare.” He gingerly lifted her face up to his with a finger and waited it kiss her until she leaned in towards him. He pretended not to notice the gentle quiver of her lips against his.
“Tell me,” he whispered as she shook her head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she demurred.
“OK,” he said quietly, nodding, but he made no move to release her. He waited without comment, his head resting back against the shower glass, only raising his hand to turn the water off as it began to cool. He settled back down with her, silent except for the sound of their breathing in the steamy confines of the shower.
“I had a dream,” Donna finally confessed. “It was cold, and I was somewhere rocky and barren. I looked down and there was a body on the ground, half-buried in the snow. It was a man, I think, and he’d been injured. There was blood on his clothes and he was dyin’ and there wasn’t anythin’ I could do.” She could see flashes of her dream, but everything was fuzzy around the edges, her recollections growing hazy the harder she tried to examine them, as memories of her dreams were wont to do. She shook her head once in frustration before continuing.
“And then Dr. Smith was standin' there, with his hands in his pockets and the wind whippin' around him, and I was kneelin' on the ground beside the dyin' man. I remember lookin' up at him, and he was so sad. And then I could hear singin’.” She twisted his vest in her fist in frustration before she pulled back to look into his eyes.
“Peter, I hear that same song, time and again in my dreams,” she ground out between clenched teeth, wishing there were some way she could let him hear the music echoing in her head. “I don’t know the words and I can’t even hum the tune. Whatever it is, it’s in some foreign language, and it just about breaks my heart.” She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to focus on the dying strains playing out in her memory, but they were as elusive as ever. When Donna opened her eyes again, Peter was looking at her expectantly.
"I looked up to ask Dr. Smith about the song and...he walked away from me,” she continued, the words carried out on a sob. “I called out and he turned and waved at me, but he kept walkin’ away. I got up to run after him,” she shuddered and clung to him desperately, “and I tripped.” She felt an awful lurch in her chest, the dread of what’s to come at the apex of a roller coaster as the memories washed over here again, but she forced herself to go on. "And then I was somewhere else and I was beggin' and screamin' and everythin' went dark. I started to fall and I knew I was gonna die, I just knew it.” She clutched him tighter and whispered into his chest. “And then you were there. Before I hit the ground, you were there. You caught me and you wrapped me in your arms and I woke up.”
“And came to take a shower in yer nighty,” he said dubiously. Donna ignored the statement and instead focused on the air filling and leaving his chest beneath her ear. "Do ye think ye're remembering yer time with him?” Peter finally asked quietly, his breath warm against her ear.
“Dr. Smith? I…I think so,” Donna confessed before she fell silent again.
“And that makes ye sad? No happy?” he persisted. Peter tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look up at him. "The two of ye had to have been close, from the pictures we’ve found. Do ye miss him?” he finally ventured, needing but not wanting an answer. “Is that why ye’re cryin', then?”
“Yes,” she replied automatically, but she shook her head at the same time. “No.” She straightened in his arms, her hands drifting automatically to her temples and she pressed trembling fingers tightly to both sides of her face. "I mean yes, I think I miss him, but no, not that way. It wasn’t like you think. We weren’t like that. We were never like that,” she said in a hollow voice, and Peter pulled back to search her face. Donna frowned when she looked at him, her forehead creased in confusion and Peter was alarmed to see that she looked almost dazed.
“What is it, then? How am I to help if ye willnae tell me what’s made ye cry?” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, to keep his words neutral and calm, but his disappointment bled through. “We donae keep secrets from each other, do we?"
Donna blinked suddenly and tried to meet his gaze, but when she looked into his eyes, filled with equal amounts of love and concern for her, she had to fight to choke back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her yet again. She bit her lip hard, focusing on the pain as a way to center her thoughts and bring her emotions under her control. She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing and leveling out her racing heart, and only when she felt she could once more trust herself to speak did she open her eyes again.
“No, Peter,” she agreed as she pulled away from him slightly, “it’s just that I’m .....well… I’m...” She fidgeted awkwardly with the lace trim on her sleeve, unable to look at him properly.
“What?” he asked, nudging her leg gently with his own. He reached over and clasped her hand, threading her fingers with his own and brushing his lips across her fingertips.
She hazarded a glance back at him before she blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling. "I’m afraid,” she breathed, embarrassed. "Oh, Peter, I’m so scared.” He squeezed her hand gently and Donna squeezed back but found she couldn’t face him.
“Of what?” he asked, puzzled, as she buried her face back in his chest. He draped his arms about her shoulders and pulled her close again. She turned in his arms, desperate to see his face as she tried hard to explain.
"When I have dreams, like these, yeah?” she began, struggling to make herself understood. “Peter, you’re right. I know it’s things I’m tryin' to remember. What if my life was like that before? What was I doin'?” She shook her head and looked down at the nightgown clinging to her legs, grimacing as she pulled the rapidly-cooling fabric away from her body. "I told you to stop lookin'. Now, I’m startin' to think that maybe it’s better if I don’t remember, either."
“Maybe,” Peter conceded, “but dreams are funny things.” He shifted and put his hands on her shoulders and Donna finally looked into soulful brown eyes. "Donna, when ye first saw me, it was at the scene of a murder, a man’s murder where he’d been stabbed. Maybe I told ye too much about it. But that’s all this is: just yer brain processin' old memories and gettin' them all mixed up with other things. It just startled ye, that’s all.” He gently pulled a lock of damp hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear with a reassuring smile.
Donna smiled back wistfully and shook her head again. "No, Peter, no. That’s not it."
"Then what?” he pressed.
"What if….” she began, letting her fears spill over in spite of herself. “What if these nightmares are just the beginnin'? They’re things I’m tryin' to remember, things about my past. What if they work both ways?” She turned pleading eyes to his, desperate for reassurance. "Peter, I’m terrified. What if it happens again? What if I’m about to forget? What if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember the life I’ve rebuilt since the first time? Peter, what happens if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember you?" She gripped his hand in both of hers as if she could hold on to her memories by sheer force alone. "I don’t know what happened to me the first time, to make me forget. I just remember wakin' up in my bed with almost two years of my life wiped away. And I know that at least some of it was good and that I was happy then. Peter," she sobbed as the ultimate source of her misery finally escaped, "I am so happy with you, and I couldn’t bear it if I forgot again."
"Donna, that willnae happen again,” he soothed, holding her tightly and kissing the top of her head. When she snorted in disbelief, he continued. "It will no,’ he said resolutely. "And besides, if somethin' did happen, this time would be different."
She looked up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"This time, ye'd know someone was out there, looking for ye," he replied, kissing away her tears. "And I’d never rest, not one hour of one day, until I had ye back in my arms."
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25 | Part 30
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
First Mate: The lovely serenityslady has officially joined the crew. Thanks for the support and suggestions!
Rating: PG for Plot Galore and A for Angst
Word Count: 2,545
Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind. I like my posts to be around the 5,000 word mark, so this is a bit thin, but as I'll be out of town at convention for a long weekend, I thought I'd put up what I already have.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25 | Part 30
June 17, 2012 2:10 AM
Donna sat bolt upright in Peter's bed, hair flying, and unable to catch her breath. She’d been dreaming and she hated this kind of dream, hated it with a passion. She rarely, if ever, remembered much of her mind’s nighttime meanderings, and when she did, it was usually nothing more than insubstantial snatches, images that melted away as soon as she woke up properly and tried to examine them. She might remember a familiar face or place if her dream had been drawn from her day to day life, but those weren’t the kind of dreams she hated. In retrospect, she thought, maybe she should call them nightmares, except she had the distinct impression that in at least some of them, she was actually happy. She always knew when she’d been lost in nightmares, though: she’d wake in a bed soaked with sweat and her hair would be plastered to her face as if she’d been running in a hot rain. But this? This was new and entirely unwelcome, because this time, her nightmare had a new resident. This time, she could clearly see the face of the man she loved, the man whose bed she shared tonight. This time, she had been lost in a nightmare with Peter Carlisle and it horrified her.
Donna scrubbed her face with both hands, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace as she carefully crawled out of bed, thankful her bad dream hadn’t woken the man beside her. He had turned over in the night and looked so beautiful bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window that it was all she could do not to touch him to make sure she wasn’t still asleep and dreaming. His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm and she could hear the faint whisper of his breath on his pillow. One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other was flung out behind him as if he were searching for her fingers even in his sleep. Looking at him, she felt the prickle of hot tears and a familiar ache in her chest, and she silently crept out of the room before she began to cry.
**********
Peter awoke with a start, groggy and disoriented. A glance at the clock stood on his bedside table told him it was nearly 3:00 AM, and he knew something was amiss. He reached out a hand and fumbled about on Donna’s side of his bed but he found it cold and empty. He forced himself upright and sat in the silence for a moment, looking about curiously, blinking and straining to hear some sign of life. Something was wrong. Something had woken him, but he couldn’t immediately tell what it had been. He rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he padded quietly down the hallway to his living area.
“Donna?” he called, looking about in confusion when he didn’t find her curled up reading on the sofa. He looked about and realized light was leaking from beneath the door to the loo and, as he moved closer, he could hear water running in the shower.
“Donna, are ye alright?” Peter asked from outside the door. He paused but when he received no reply, he called out once more, “What’s the matter, Donna? Is somethin’ wrong?” He waited a moment longer before he opened the door slowly and peered in. The air was thick with steam but as it cleared, he found her in the shower, curled up against the glass with her arms hugging her knees to her chest, sobbing quietly, still clad in her nightdress as the warm water rained down.
“Donna!?" he blurted out, moving quickly to the door of the shower stall. When she didn’t answer and only began sobbing harder, Peter stepped inside, kneeling in front of her with his back to the warm spray from above. He rested a hand on her knee but she seemed oblivious to his presence, her whole body wracked with the force of her shuddering, convulsive gasps. He reached out and put his arms around her and Donna started violently as if she had just been released from a trance.
“Peter? Peter! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” she snapped, pushing him out of the downpour. “Go back to bed right this instant! I’m just takin’ a shower.” She tried to stand, wiping at her eyes angrily in a vain attempt to convince him nothing was wrong despite the fact that she’d elected to bathe in her nightclothes. Peter wasn’t listening. He shifted to take a seat beside her in the ersatz rain and pulled her back down against his chest, holding her fast. “Let me go, Dumbo!” Donna thundered, “Are you flippin’ insane?” She struggled weakly in his grasp before she turned and landed a solid swat to his shoulder. She stared him down defiantly, incensed when he offered no resistance to her fury and instead merely sat there studying her face. Her blood was up and she half-wanted a row but at the sight of him calm but concerned for her, she deflated. Donna sighed heavily then collapsed against him, muttering under her breath, “You don’t half look like a drowned rat.”
Peter shrugged and pushed her matted hair away from her eyes, then kissed her forehead and with that single, loving gesture, she was undone. Her bluster fell away and she clutched desperately at the vest he’d slept in, openly crying in front of him now. He kissed her forehead again and maneuvered his body to block the water from her face and shield her eyes. He held her patiently as he waited for her wracking sobs to subside, stroking her hair and murmuring soft words of comfort in her ear.
“Donna, what’s happened?” he ventured when she finally quieted in his arms. "Talk to me, love."
She shifted slightly and refused to meet his gaze as she replied, “Nothing, Peter. It was nothing. I’m bein' foolish. It was just a nightmare.” He gingerly lifted her face up to his with a finger and waited it kiss her until she leaned in towards him. He pretended not to notice the gentle quiver of her lips against his.
“Tell me,” he whispered as she shook her head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she demurred.
“OK,” he said quietly, nodding, but he made no move to release her. He waited without comment, his head resting back against the shower glass, only raising his hand to turn the water off as it began to cool. He settled back down with her, silent except for the sound of their breathing in the steamy confines of the shower.
“I had a dream,” Donna finally confessed. “It was cold, and I was somewhere rocky and barren. I looked down and there was a body on the ground, half-buried in the snow. It was a man, I think, and he’d been injured. There was blood on his clothes and he was dyin’ and there wasn’t anythin’ I could do.” She could see flashes of her dream, but everything was fuzzy around the edges, her recollections growing hazy the harder she tried to examine them, as memories of her dreams were wont to do. She shook her head once in frustration before continuing.
“And then Dr. Smith was standin' there, with his hands in his pockets and the wind whippin' around him, and I was kneelin' on the ground beside the dyin' man. I remember lookin' up at him, and he was so sad. And then I could hear singin’.” She twisted his vest in her fist in frustration before she pulled back to look into his eyes.
“Peter, I hear that same song, time and again in my dreams,” she ground out between clenched teeth, wishing there were some way she could let him hear the music echoing in her head. “I don’t know the words and I can’t even hum the tune. Whatever it is, it’s in some foreign language, and it just about breaks my heart.” She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to focus on the dying strains playing out in her memory, but they were as elusive as ever. When Donna opened her eyes again, Peter was looking at her expectantly.
"I looked up to ask Dr. Smith about the song and...he walked away from me,” she continued, the words carried out on a sob. “I called out and he turned and waved at me, but he kept walkin’ away. I got up to run after him,” she shuddered and clung to him desperately, “and I tripped.” She felt an awful lurch in her chest, the dread of what’s to come at the apex of a roller coaster as the memories washed over here again, but she forced herself to go on. "And then I was somewhere else and I was beggin' and screamin' and everythin' went dark. I started to fall and I knew I was gonna die, I just knew it.” She clutched him tighter and whispered into his chest. “And then you were there. Before I hit the ground, you were there. You caught me and you wrapped me in your arms and I woke up.”
“And came to take a shower in yer nighty,” he said dubiously. Donna ignored the statement and instead focused on the air filling and leaving his chest beneath her ear. "Do ye think ye're remembering yer time with him?” Peter finally asked quietly, his breath warm against her ear.
“Dr. Smith? I…I think so,” Donna confessed before she fell silent again.
“And that makes ye sad? No happy?” he persisted. Peter tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look up at him. "The two of ye had to have been close, from the pictures we’ve found. Do ye miss him?” he finally ventured, needing but not wanting an answer. “Is that why ye’re cryin', then?”
“Yes,” she replied automatically, but she shook her head at the same time. “No.” She straightened in his arms, her hands drifting automatically to her temples and she pressed trembling fingers tightly to both sides of her face. "I mean yes, I think I miss him, but no, not that way. It wasn’t like you think. We weren’t like that. We were never like that,” she said in a hollow voice, and Peter pulled back to search her face. Donna frowned when she looked at him, her forehead creased in confusion and Peter was alarmed to see that she looked almost dazed.
“What is it, then? How am I to help if ye willnae tell me what’s made ye cry?” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, to keep his words neutral and calm, but his disappointment bled through. “We donae keep secrets from each other, do we?"
Donna blinked suddenly and tried to meet his gaze, but when she looked into his eyes, filled with equal amounts of love and concern for her, she had to fight to choke back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her yet again. She bit her lip hard, focusing on the pain as a way to center her thoughts and bring her emotions under her control. She closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing and leveling out her racing heart, and only when she felt she could once more trust herself to speak did she open her eyes again.
“No, Peter,” she agreed as she pulled away from him slightly, “it’s just that I’m .....well… I’m...” She fidgeted awkwardly with the lace trim on her sleeve, unable to look at him properly.
“What?” he asked, nudging her leg gently with his own. He reached over and clasped her hand, threading her fingers with his own and brushing his lips across her fingertips.
She hazarded a glance back at him before she blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling. "I’m afraid,” she breathed, embarrassed. "Oh, Peter, I’m so scared.” He squeezed her hand gently and Donna squeezed back but found she couldn’t face him.
“Of what?” he asked, puzzled, as she buried her face back in his chest. He draped his arms about her shoulders and pulled her close again. She turned in his arms, desperate to see his face as she tried hard to explain.
"When I have dreams, like these, yeah?” she began, struggling to make herself understood. “Peter, you’re right. I know it’s things I’m tryin' to remember. What if my life was like that before? What was I doin'?” She shook her head and looked down at the nightgown clinging to her legs, grimacing as she pulled the rapidly-cooling fabric away from her body. "I told you to stop lookin'. Now, I’m startin' to think that maybe it’s better if I don’t remember, either."
“Maybe,” Peter conceded, “but dreams are funny things.” He shifted and put his hands on her shoulders and Donna finally looked into soulful brown eyes. "Donna, when ye first saw me, it was at the scene of a murder, a man’s murder where he’d been stabbed. Maybe I told ye too much about it. But that’s all this is: just yer brain processin' old memories and gettin' them all mixed up with other things. It just startled ye, that’s all.” He gently pulled a lock of damp hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear with a reassuring smile.
Donna smiled back wistfully and shook her head again. "No, Peter, no. That’s not it."
"Then what?” he pressed.
"What if….” she began, letting her fears spill over in spite of herself. “What if these nightmares are just the beginnin'? They’re things I’m tryin' to remember, things about my past. What if they work both ways?” She turned pleading eyes to his, desperate for reassurance. "Peter, I’m terrified. What if it happens again? What if I’m about to forget? What if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember the life I’ve rebuilt since the first time? Peter, what happens if I wake up tomorrow and I can’t remember you?" She gripped his hand in both of hers as if she could hold on to her memories by sheer force alone. "I don’t know what happened to me the first time, to make me forget. I just remember wakin' up in my bed with almost two years of my life wiped away. And I know that at least some of it was good and that I was happy then. Peter," she sobbed as the ultimate source of her misery finally escaped, "I am so happy with you, and I couldn’t bear it if I forgot again."
"Donna, that willnae happen again,” he soothed, holding her tightly and kissing the top of her head. When she snorted in disbelief, he continued. "It will no,’ he said resolutely. "And besides, if somethin' did happen, this time would be different."
She looked up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"This time, ye'd know someone was out there, looking for ye," he replied, kissing away her tears. "And I’d never rest, not one hour of one day, until I had ye back in my arms."
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25 | Part 30