Fic: Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind (Part 8)
Title: Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind, Part 8
Author: Lilac Summers (lilsum4)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Ten, Donna
Rating: G
A/N: Shoutout to dtstrainers, who didn't give up on guilting me. ;)
The Doctor brings a new pet onboard; a bride appears. Here you go if you need a refresher: Part 1 - 7
The bummer of it is, Mickey doesn’t like her.
Rose’s reticence has rubbed off on him. In the short time he’s been onboard, it isn’t uncommon for him to look around himself suspiciously when alone. (Donna hadn’t helped matters by writing a friendly, misty Right behind you!” at him last time he looked in a mirror.)
Donna isn’t one to have to have everyone like her, but it just seems unfair that she can’t even make an honest effort to win someone over.
And so, in a bit of harmless pique, Donna has decided to spend the day draped over Mickey’s shoulders like a cape. It amuses her as he tows her around unknowingly. Because hey, when you’re dead you take your entertainment where you can.
Rose calls out to Mickey from somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS and he speeds up his pace. Donna allows herself to billow behind him and keeps up an unheard monologue on how he really shouldn’t be so closed-minded and should give resident ghosts a chance. It’s only funnier when he shudders with a sudden chill - but he’s too new to the TARDIS to realize he’s personally being haunted. Seems like Rose and the Doctor had forgotten to mention the very important tidbit of what it actually felt like to have Donna cling on. To Donna’s delight, he hasn’t caught on that, as he peers cautiously into a dark corner, she’s actually fluttering right behind him, clipped to his shoulders.
Mickey arrives at the library where the Doctor is helpfully piling books into Rose’s arms. The Doctor looks up at his entrance just in time to catch Mickey brush at his shoulder and give in to an all-body shudder.
"Oh, there you are! I’ve been wondering where you’ve been!”
Mickey is shyly pleased that the Doctor seems so glad to see him. "Oh, well, I was exploring the-”
The Doctor looks a bit startled that Mickey is speaking to him, before brushing him off with a wave of his hand, "Oh, no, Rickey Mickety Mick, I wasn’t talking to you.”
Donna abandons Mickey and rushes over to clap a freezing hand over the Doctor’s lips. “You hush - don’t ruin my fun!”
"Haven’t heard from you almost all day," wonders the Doctor, rudely ignoring that Donna is covering his mouth. "Thought you were off stealing Rose’s mascara again. "
"I knew it!" yells Rose, at the same time that Donna protests, "I haven’t…lately!"
Mickey realizes to whom the Doctor is speaking and he takes a few hurried steps back. "Oh god, the ghost is here, isn’t it?"
Donna gives a resigned little sigh. "I’m not an ‘it’. See, you scared him. I didn’t want him to know," she mourns, draping herself over the Doctor much as she had over Mickey. "He doesn’t like me, you know."
The Doctor pats his shoulder in consolation, correctly guessing her hand is there. "Nonsense! Of course he likes you. You like Donna, don’t you, Mickey?"
Rose is suddenly fascinated by the top volume on Sock Styles of the 27th Clom Dynasty. She buries her nose deeper in the first few pages as Mickey hems and haws. a bit wild ‘round the eyes. "Err, yeah! Ghosts - cool and not terrifying at all! Nothing bad ever happens from having dead people floating around."
Donna wilts over the Doctor, a gloomy shroud. The fact that there is no wry retort from her means that she’s actually hurt. The Doctor frowns thunderously at Mickey before forcing out a, "See! One big happy family. All right, let’s focus on Clom. Lovely cheerful Clom with the largest-ever amusement park. They have a roller coaster that drops 1000 feet. 1000 feet! 305 meters, it’s a marvel more malfunctions haven’t happened. We’re likely due for one any day. Mickey, we’ll make sure you get to go on that first! Now, Rose has the volume on…"
Donna drifts away, a little metaphorical black cloud, leaving them to it. She shouldn’t care that Mickey doesn’t like her. Shouldn’t care that they get to go to Clom without her. She has more than enough, here on the TARDIS.
But she does care, more and more every day. She sinks down through the floor, to hide in the depths of the ship even the Doctor doesn’t know about.
The Doctor senses her go as he scans the room under furrowed brows.
They don’t make it to Clom, surprise surprise. They end up in an abandoned spaceship, and Rose and Mickey are almost harvested for parts.
Rose would be angrier about this if the the Doctor didn’t look so exhausted. Hollow. And cold. Colder than Rose has ever seen him.
She and Mickey trail after him through the dead ship, both silent. She wracks her brain for the right thing to say and, finding nothing, can only follow his bowed back.
He veers away suddenly, dips into a corridor, and emerges leading Arthur, the horse placidly clip-clopping behind him.
"I thought I said 'no’ to the horse," Rose teases, glad for an opportunity to break the quiet.
She expects another quip about Mickey, but the Doctor drifts past her towards the TARDIS doors. "Donna will like him. It’s no good to feel alone."
Rose has even less to say to that.
"YOU GOT ME A PONY!" Donna shrieks, upon being presented with her gift.
She’s twirling around the doctor like a streamer in the wind, too excited to settle, though a fingertip drifts over his shoulders so he can hear her delight.
Arthur’s ear swivel back and his dark, liquid eyes track her movement.
Donna squeals. She flies forward, back and around Arthur, amazed as the horse shimmies nervously, head swiveling to track her. "YOU GOT ME A PSYCHIC PONY!” she amends, in an even more ear-piercing volume, forcing the Doctor to stick a finger in the ear she shouted in.
"Is he?" he queries.
“Yes, he can see me!” enthuses Donna, and swoops right round to hug her new horse. In her glee she misjudges, passes right through Arthur. The horse neighs uncomfortably, but Donna comes in for a second try, managing to throw her arms around his neck, cooing.
Arthur shies back a bit before figuring she can’t do much harm, and settles back to nose at the Doctor’s pockets.
After an adequate amount of telling Arthur how he’s the most handsome, smartest, nicest, most gifted horse in the whole wide universe, Donna seems satisfied.
"Come along, Milo!" Donna urges, one hand on the horse’s ear and one on the Doctor.
"His name’s Arthur," corrects the Doctor.
"Seabiscuit."
"Arthur," he reiterates.
"Harry Plodder!" she exclaims.
"Arth- okay, I like that one."
Mickey and Rose hang well back, watching Doctor and Horse being led away by invisible hands.
"So, he got the ghost a horse," observes Mickey.
"Seems like," nods Rose.
"Nobody finds that weird."
"I find it weird,” mutters Rose.
"Where do you think they’re going?" Mickey wants to know.
"Wherever Donna wants them to go, I suspect."
"Damn, it somehow got creepier," shivers Mickey.
"I agree," sighs Rose. She’s not scared of Donna anymore, and hasn’t been for a very long time. But it doesn’t seem right to her that the Doctor is so attached to someone who is dead. That can’t possibly be healthy.
They follow at a distance, until they come to a fork that veers away from wherever horse and ghost and Time Lord are heading. Their presence, or lack thereof, is completely unnoticed by either Donna or the Doctor, as Donna focuses on coming up with increasingly ridiculous names for Arthur, and the Doctor focuses on Donna’s joy.
Rose glances back, once, and sees the Doctor turn to argue with Donna, a smile on his face. First smile since they left Madame de Pompadour behind.
The TARDIS has constructed a lush green field for Arthur - or Harry Plodder, depending whom you ask - with a quaint, cheerful stable at one end. Off in the green grass he sees the horse step high in a spirited dance with an unseen friend. The Doctor imagines Donna swooping in and out between the horse’s legs, or clinging to his back when Arthur takes off on a gallop into the distance, wheeling about and returning, to bow is head and accept a ghostly pat to the head.
Some days have passed now since Arthur’s arrival, and the Doctor’s been spending a lot of his time out here in the field, watching (picturing) Donna play with her new horse. The country sun beats overhead and the heat relaxes the tension in his shoulders, making a rainy funeral procession in Renaissance France seem far away indeed.
Rustling beside him has him opening his eyes to see Rose settling comfortably on the grass at his side.
"It looks like he’s dancing!" laughs Rose, gazing off at Arthur, who’s back to performing high-spirited side-steps.
He smiles, happy to share in her laughter, and leans back on his elbows, legs crossing at the ankle.
They sit in companionable silence for a bit, before he thinks to ask, "Where’s Mickey?"
"He didn’t want to come out here when Donna’s here. That is her playing with Arthur, right?"
"I think she’s training him," grins the Doctor. "For what, I’m not quite sure."
Rose digests this information, glances sideways at him and observes his fond gaze, settled on a horse and its invisible trainer. She says, very carefully, "Doctor. I’m worried about you."
The Doctor turns surprised eyes at her. "Whyever for?"
"Y-you seem to be...you and Donna...You seem to spend too much time with Donna."
The Doctor looks away. "Who else does she have, after all, to interact with?"
Rose makes a frustrated sound. "I don’t know. The TARDIS? Her new horse? Doctor…Donna’s dead. Is it really safe to get so attached? I don’t think she’s meant to be here."
The Doctor’s silence is heavy, and when he finally turns back to Rose, she shrinks back at the alienness of his gaze. "Dear child," he says, and his voice drops its cheerful pretense to sound deep and mysterious as an ancient ocean, too old for a besotted Rose to comprehend. It makes her feel very small and inconsequential. "None of you are meant to be here. All of you leave."
"No," chokes out Rose. "I can stay here with you. I want to. Forever."
"Your forever is a blink of an eye to me, Rose. A beat of my hearts," he reminds her, not unkindly. "Humans aren’t meant to have more. And one day you’ll want to live out your version of forever with someone who can share it with you."
Rose’s eyes are blurry with tears, at the reminder of her mortality. At his unwillingness to even try. Even if she doesn’t understand the depths of him now, she could grow to. Can’t he be willing to play in the shallows with her until she can?
"But you think a ghost can give you your kind of forever?"
The Doctor pretends to not see her tears, just as Rose pretends to not hear the resolve in his voice. "I think Donna belongs…belongs in the TARDIS perhaps more than anyone else. She is someone who has nothing left to lose, staying here with me."
"And I do?"
"Oh Rose. Yes. Your whole life. Your family. Your world. The future, brilliant you."
"I don’t care about those things! I care about you! Don’t you care about me?"
It’s a strike to his hearts, how naive she is. When he’d give anything, anything, to have his family, and the future of Gallifrey, back.
But it's clear from her tear-streaked face that this isn't what Rose wants to hear right now and, besides, the Doctor doesn't want to continue this conversation.
He’s loved all his companions - perhaps not in the manner some wanted to be loved - but he loved them in his own way, nonetheless. Few times he’d been tempted to try for something more, Reinette being the latest. She’d waited for him for a lifetime, when he’d popped in and out of her life just a few minutes at a time. And in the end, when he’d turned right around and walked through that fireplace to go back to her…he had ended up watching her funeral procession instead. Her life had been spent forever waiting.
Oh how brief their lives were. A handful of minutes. A walk through a fireplace. Mayflies.
Rose continues to wait for his answer, chin trembling and more tears welling in her eyes. These children, always so willing to wait and waste their precious minutes on him.
He has no answer for her that will please her, so instead he pats her hand and eases to his feet, saying nothing. And walks away from her and towards a dancing horse and a playful ghost.
He’s a few strides to the homely stable, where he can see Arthur munching on some feed, when an unexpected voice makes him jump.
"We should get him a friend," Donna muses, suddenly at his ear.
"Arthur?"
"Sure, Arthur," responds Donna, a wry edge to her voice.
"You’re his friend," he points out, quietly.
"I’m dead,” she says flatly. “He needs another horse around so he can have horse conversations about horse things."
"Horse conversations," repeats the Doctor, bone dry.
"Yeah, you know. Things only another horse would appreciate. Horses he can have horse adventures with."
The Doctor has the sneaking suspicion they aren’t talking about Arthur at all.
"You’re being ridiculous," he declares, and proceeds into the stable.
"I’m being ridiculous," scoffs Donna, a faint whisper to his left, but leaves it at that, and so he’s grateful.
He breathes in the scent of fresh hay and clean horse. His converse sink into the hay strewn on the floor and he rocks back and forth, enjoying the crunch.
Arthur lifts his head and eyes him from his open stall, as though saying What are you doing all the way over there, and not over here paying attention to me.
"Go pet him, you big lump, don’t be rude!" admonishes Donna. He does so, stepping up to stroke the horse’s silky mane. Arthur gives him a regal nod, as though it’s his due. "Tell him it’s from me," Donna commands.
"What, the petting?” the Doctor asks, incredulous.
"Yes the petting! I can’t really touch him, you know. I want him to know I would pet him if I could."
The Doctor rolls his eyes and brings up his other hand, stroking the horse’s forehead as well. "That’s from Donna," he intones dutifully. Arthur doesn’t seem to care less, but Donna is pleased.
"Okay, now give him that apple in your pocket."
He doesn’t know how she knows he’s carrying an apple in his left trouser pocket, and doesn’t quite want to ask. That apple’s been in there for a good 15 years.
But he fishes the apple out, as fresh as the day he plucked it from a king’s banquet table, and offers it to the horse.
"Wait! Tell him it’s from me, too!"
"It’s my apple," the Doctor grumbles, then informs the horse, "This is from Donna, too." Arthur delicately lips the apple from his hand and butts the Doctor with his nose once in a quick thanks.
"See, even though they were both from me, he’s thanking you for it," murmurs Donna.
The Doctor wipes his hand on his trouser leg and leans back against the wall, watching Arthur return to his oats. "He’s just a horse, Donna."
"He’s a horse who appreciates someone who can touch him and give him the things he needs to be happy."
The Doctor tips his head back in resignation, a dull thunk resounding as it rests against the wooden wall. "Oh Rassilon, this isn’t about Arthur is it. You heard my conversation with Rose."
Donna’s presence is a bit of cold air against his shoulder, a tentative grasp of spectral fingers against his own. "Rose wasn’t wrong, Doctor."
"About what? Wanting to stay here with me forever? You’re the one who pointed out she wants more from me than I can give her, Donna."
"No, no. About me being just a ghost."
"You’re not 'just’ anything Donna! You’re unique - in the whole wide Universe I’ve never -"
"But I am just a ghost. Dead. My time is over and, but for some quirk or delay in the afterlife processing center, I’m here," she cuts him off ruthlessly.
"But you like it here, Donna. You said you wanted to stay," his tone is almost pleading.
"I love it here in the TARDIS, and being your friend. I never thought I’d get to talk to anyone ever again. But I don’t know why I’m here, or how long I’ll be allowed to stay. And besides you need…you’ll always need someone to see and touch and share biscuits with and plan adventures with. If not Rose because she wants to get into your precious skinny trousers, then someone who’ll just be your mate."
"I do have companions, Donna. I’ve always had them," he reminds her brusquely.
"And yet you never let them too close. You’d rather spend your free time with me. And don’t get me wrong, I lov- I really appreciate it - but you need more."
She adds quietly, a whisper of winter breeze on his cheek, "You need someone to pet your forehead and feed you apples."
He smiles in response, but it’s a sad quirk of lips. "I prefer bananas."
Donna pinches his arm, though he feels little more than a brush of cobwebs against his wrist. "Just think on it," she commands, and is suddenly gone - with the Doctor none the wiser how much that conversation had cost her - floating away from him and leaving him alone with a horse who eyes his other pocket in case he’s hiding more apples.
He does think on it.
They travel to an alternate universe, and Mickey turns out to be so much more brave than the Doctor ever gave him credit for. After leaving Mickey behind to take on a new mantle, he’s down one companion in the TARDIS. Rose begins demanding more of his attention once more.
So he thinks about how often he left Rose and Mickey alone to their own devices so he could go talk to Donna instead. Thinks about how used he’s become to feeling her hover over his bed, watchful on those rare times when he gives in to sleep, or a welcome distraction when he needs conversation in the wake of nightmares. Thinks about how he’s come to expect the feeling of a ghostly hand in his hair. Thinks about the pleasure he feels when the TARDIS sometimes giggles for no reason, and he knows it’s because Donna is joking around with the only other being who is truly aware of her.
Thinks about that evening he spent slowly turning the pages of books Donna picked out, because she couldn’t turn the pages herself. He had no interest in reading The Viking and the Maiden, but it was either that or read aloud to her and she’d burst out laughing the first time he’d said "turgid manhood".
Thinks about how much he'd enjoyed that evening - and how he had no clue what Rose had been doing in the meanwhile.
And then he thinks about Rose.
Rose, who pulled him out of a bitter darkness; a breath of carefree air when he’d needed it most.
Whom he, in turn, had plucked out of a boring life, barely past adolescence and with no real experience in the world. And of course she’d been dazzled by him - it’s what he’d wanted, what he’d needed after only seeing a monster when he looked in the mirror. So what had he really expected, in the end, for her to feel for him?
Rose, who never said no to any of his most harebrained ideas, and was only too willing to follow him into disaster for a joke and the promise a good time.
With each successive adventure it becomes clearer to him, as he abandons Rose once more upon returning to the TARDIS, that Rose and Donna are both right. He’d rather spend time with Donna when in the TARDIS, but he depends too much on Rose’s hero worship to bolster him through each horrible decision he makes. It’s not fair to Rose, and likely keeping her from becoming the wonderful, independent person he glimpses slumbering within her.
He needs a companion who will temper his growing overconfidence, an equal, and one who he can share with openly on the TARDIS without fear of them wanting more than he can give.
But he’s not ready to let go of Rose; even if it’s for her own good. She’s like a comfortable security blanket that he’s yet unwilling to discard. And after all, he argues with Donna, suitable companions are hard to find.
Donna argues back that he should have a candid talk with Rose, explain how he really feels and let Rose decide her own future.
The very idea of that type of conversation makes him break out in hives.
Soon, he thinks to himself, next time Rose gives him a toothy smile and links hands with him before they take off running. Soon.
Until the choice is taken out of everyone’s hands.
"I lost her, Donna. She was so brave," he sobs, clinging to the console.
The TARDIS is glowing a muted green, mirroring the Doctor’s distress. Donna had had no time to figure out what had happened, only that the Doctor had tumbled, distraught, through the door. "What? Rose?! She - she died?" Donna whispers, clutching his shoulder.
The question seems to give him strength, and he sniffs before straightening. "No. No, she’s okay. In the alternate world, with Mickey and her mum and her dad. She’s fine."
"Oh. but that’s - that’s good, right?" ventures Donna, haltingly.
The Doctor nods. Donna watches him struggle for composure. "She’s fine. She’ll be fine," he repeats to himself.
He turns away, giving all appearance of being in control once more, until he spies the cheap purple jacket slung carelessly over a rail. He freezes. Donna frets, following as he slowly makes his way to the jacket. When he touches the imitation leather, his features crumble.
"I just wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to lose her yet. I lose them all. I’ve lost so many." He grips the jacket, knuckles white with the force, and Donna wishes - not for the first time - that she could truly hold his hand.
"And I never told her," the Doctor continues, shoulders shaking, "I was going to. I thought I had time! Tell her how much she helped me. She was silly and young and brave and I needed that after…after the Time War."
Because she never saw your faults, thinks Donna. Which would have been terribly unhealthy for both of them in the long run. The Doctor’s inability to return Rose’s feelings would also have certainly soured the relationship as time passed. But the Doctor knew all this already, and had procrastinated in facing the issue - in telling Rose what she really meant to him and giving her the choice to lead her life as she thought best. How awful he must feel now.
There’s nothing she can say to comfort him, no way to even offer him the warmth of a hug. Donna slides away from him and up to the TARDIS’ central column, hugging it tight as it pulses consolingly at Donna and the Doctor.
She watches the Doctor grieve and feels as useless as ever.
In the end, the Doctor decides he needs closure. A chance to tell Rose how much she had helped him, the chance to wish her happiness. He’d lost companions before without getting an opportunity to do so, but this time he has a plan.
It was a stupid plan, Donna thought, if she knew anything about how tearful confessions went, but well, no one had asked her.
So here they are, Donna watching a breaking Rose standing upon a windy beach. The Doctor’s sad attempt at well-wishing devolves into a lecture on the dangers of hopping dimensions. Donna scratches her head in confusion. Where are all the "you were a wonderful companion, top notch; I wish you the best, have a great summer" speeches he had rehearsed? This is already going downhill.
And much as she anticipates, halfway through the Doctor’s fumbling not-really-saying-anything-noteworthy, Rose’s weeping face proves to be too much.
"I love you," the agonized words escape Rose.
Donna winces. Oh jeez, there’s no good options here. Either the Doctor says he loves her back - whether it’s a lie or not - and Rose feels like she lost her one true love. Or he says something stupid like "Thanks!" or "I do too, like a brother would!" and just comes off as a jerk. Or…
He comes up with his own, spectacularly stupid option.
He says "Right you are" like the biggest git, and then waffles about and admits nothing in an attempt to run out the clock! Leaving the poor girl with the lifelong doubt about what he might ever had said.
Donna claps both her hands over her face in horror at this trainwreck happening in front of her. The Doctor has fucked up so royally, she’d die of second-hand embarrassment if she weren’t already dead.
She doesn’t even have the satisfaction of tearing the Doctor a new one for his idiocy because - as he deliberately closes the transmission before he can actually say anything binding - he looks as dejected and guilty as ever.
Sensing her disapproval, he growls out an "I don’t want to hear it, Donna," continuing to stare fixedly at the controls. Donna gives him the finger, even if she does feel a bit bad about how guilty he looks. Surely he knows how badly he screwed that up.
However, she doesn’t want to leave the Doctor alone and so sad, even if he deserves a fist to the eye. She floats up to the TARDIS column, making soft soothing noises and giving careful little pats to the glowing pillar. It’s trembling from the effort at creating a temporary bridge between dimensions, and Donna feels bad for her.
It’s because her hands are on the blue column of energy that she feels the minute shift, from exhausted trembling to manic buzzing.
"Wha-" she begins, and turns to scan the console room.
To notice the bride standing by the doors, seemingly frozen in confusion.
"Er…" she says eloquently, drifting down to place a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. She’d rather not disturb the Doctor in his grief. And yet, he probably really should notice that…
Wait. Wait wait wait.
"That’s...that’s my bloody dress!"
She’d forgotten that she had a hold of the Doctor, and he jumps at her shout.
"What is your problem!" he growls, whirling, then stumbling to a slack-jawed stop when he sees the stranger in his TARDIS.
At his voice, the bride turns to face them, looking around with spooked eyes. When she spies the Doctor by the console, the woman opens her mouth in one gaping "oh" and let out a high, unending shriek of fright.
Donna’s grip on the Doctor would have been painful if it had substance. "Holy crap! NERYS?!"
"You recognize her?" shouts the Doctor over the loud shrieking.
"Yes, that’s my so-called 'best' friend wearing the dress I had dibs on, from Chez Alison! The cheek!" She tries her mightiest to tug the Doctor towards her ex-bestie, but doesn’t kid herself that it’s her grip that propels the Doctor forward.
Nerys scrambles back from the approaching Doctor, pressing herself against the TARDIS doors. The shriek climbs another octave.
"Do you know how to make her stop screaming?" he asks Donna, giving up trying to placate the woman and instead plugging his ears.
"You want to go over there and explain to her that the ghost of her friend is telling her to calm down? You think that’s gonna work?"
He grimaces, conceding the point.
Nerys is well and truly freaking out, as well she should be suddenly finding herself in a strange room with a strange man, when it looks like she had been heading to her wedding, instead.
Donna steels herself and floats over, making shushing noises that she knows her frenemy can’t see or hear. "Not that I blame you, Nerys dear, but you truly must shut up," complains Donna.
To her surprise, Nerys does stop. Not because she heard Donna, but because she’s starting to hyperventilate, in the throes of a panic attack.
"Oh, that won’t do," claims the Doctor into the sudden silence. "Here, breathe in this." He digs a paper bag out of his pocket and advances on Nerys, who springs away from him, her breath coming in and out in labored gasps.
"Nerys, you’re going to make yourself pass out," Donna chides, reaching out to pat her friend on the arm.
And immediately gets sucked into her.
Donna reels, suddenly trapped within flesh, the mass of it pulling her down. Sensing she’s no longer alone inside her brain, Nerys hides in a corner of her psyche and locks herself away, happy to no longer be in control of this nightmare.
She blinks, stops wheezing, and thunks to the floor, letting Nerys’ legs give way beneath her. She feels like she weighs a ton. It’s very different being in sole control of a body as opposed to just a passenger, as she had been with Rose. She can’t seem to control any of these ungainly limbs. She looks up at the Doctor, who’s approaching cautiously with the bag once more.
"There there, loud lady," he’s saying, pleased that she no longer looks ready to pass out and finally was listening to him. "That’s right, just be quiet and let’s get to the bottom of this. Who are you and how did you get on my ship?"
Donna opens Nerys’ mouth, closes it again. Feels around with a strange tongue around strange teeth, and forces saliva down a strange throat. Everything takes so much effort.
"Doc-torr," Donna forms the word carefully, the feeling of a tongue curling around teeth and palate a novel one. She startles at the sound of her voice. Does Nerys really sound like that? God, it’s awful!
The Doctor stops advancing abruptly. The disbelief he feels at finding a stranger on his ship turns abruptly into distrust. "How do you know me? Who sent you!"
"It’s - it’s...me. Don-na." The control is coming to her mouth faster now. Of course it would; she’d always been a talker.
The Doctor blinks. "Donna?" He reaches out tentatively and presses a finger to her arm, as though making sure she’s not some figment of his imagination. "What did you do!"
"Don’t know," she responds, moving her limbs slowly, testing out the ungainly feel of them. "I went to … to touch her hand and I was just …sucked into her."
She tries to clamber to her feet but can’t quite remember how legs work. "Help me up, yeah."
He reaches down cautiously and helps her to her feet. She stands swaying for a moment, almost goes down again but the Doctor is handy at catching her and righting her back, before she gets the hang of her new center of balance. Reasonably stable, she looks down at her skinny frame.
The neckline of the dress is a low-cut V, and displays Nerys’ chest to full advantage (which is why Donna had picked it, it was her dress, she’d called dibs, damn it!). Ever curious, she pokes at the top of her left breast, feeling it jiggle under the skin. "Aha! I KNEW IT!"
The Doctor follows her motions with his eyes, confused about …well, about everything, but at the moment more confused as to why Donna was feeling up her friend. "Knew what?"
"Knew they were fake! You don’t drop down to this weight without losing some boob. 'Long holiday in America’ my arse!" she pokes the other breast with grim satisfaction, before looking up to find the Doctor frowning down at Nerys’ cleavage.
"Oi!" She snaps her fingers under his nose, making him jerk his head up. "Don’t stare at my… Nerys’ breasts!"
"I'm not -- you stop that!" he reprimands, slapping her hand away as she goes in for another poke. "You need to get out of there. She’s not your body to use, and I have to figure out why she’s here," he warns, watching Donna twist her hips and wave her arms experimentally.
"Don't lecture me! I know that -- and I didn’t mean to; it just happened! I wanted to stop her screaming, not possess her." She glares a bit, and runs her hands over the silk of the dress just one more time, to enjoy the feeling of it on her fingertips. "No need to fret, I’m leaving now, so don’t get your knickers in a twist. You better plug your ears though, ‘cos when I’m gone she’s gonna go right back to screaming."
She would have liked to hug the Doctor, she realizes only a second too late. She’s never done that before, and she’ll never get the chance again. She could really use one, too. She almost opens her mouth to ask for a hug, but discards the idea as stupid. Besides, he’s backing up to a safe distance, and raising the paper bag in case he needs to swoop in again.
Hiding the trembling of her lips - goodbye substance - she pushes hard against Nerys’ skin.
It’s like hitting concrete, or being wrapped in a straightjacket. One made of bones, muscles and skin. The happy novelty of Nerys’ body morphs into dread. She’s trapped, in this heavy, foreign cage of flesh.
"I can’t get out!" she wails. She pushes again, harder, and Nerys’ body only stumbles forward. Wild, she reaches towards the Doctor. "Come here, help me!"
"What?!" he exclaims, edging closer again. "How?"
"Grab on to my hands," Donna instructs. The Doctor does so, gripping her cold, skinny fingers. With his grip on her, Donna tries to attach to the Doctor and pull herself out.
She doesn’t budge.
Donna panics. "It’s not working! Doctor, I don’t want to be stuck in Nerys, of all people! She’s a million times worse than Rose!"
"Rose?!" echoes the Doctor’s startled squawk . “When were you inside Rose?! How!"
"Oh that’s right, you don’t remember. That time at the game station? I was in there with her. You snogged me out of her."
"WHAT! I did not!"
"You sure did! Snogged me right and proper, like a hoover vacuum you were."
"I...that was...I didn’t...how?!" he splutters, hands shooting to his hair.
"When she took the Tardis inside her, she caught me, too. I convinced her to stop using the TARDIS and let you help. Little did I know that you were gonna 'help’ with your big ol’ mouth!” His absolute embarrassment helps her temper the panic. It really is delightful seeing him so befuddled. Why hadn’t she told him this earlier?
The Doctor stares, wheels turning. He hadn’t, had he?! Regeneration played havoc on the brain, but if he concentrated hard he could almost remember, almost picture those mysterious eyes, sad and lonely, looking into his.
Donna snickers while he turns various shades of red, before the severity of the situation brings her back down. "No but really, I don’t think that’s gonna do it this time, and I can’t get out."
He sighs, the memory of that gaze dissipating. "You can’t normally take over people, can you?"
Donna is walking over to a coral strut, wrapping her hands around it and trying to get the TARDIS to pull her out instead. There’s nothing - no sense of connection to tether her back to the ship.
"No, I go right through them. I was only in Rose because she pulled the TARDIS into her, and I’m linked to the TARDIS. You fishing the heart of the TARDIS out pulled me out, too." She pushes a sweaty strand of blond hair off her forehead, then raises a hand to her gaze with a little gasp - she’s just noticed that Nerys’ nails are painted a bright red. How tacky! On her wedding day!? She would have never let Nerys make such a bad decision!
"Then something’s drawn Nerys here, and you into Nerys, and once we figure out what it is we can pull you back out," concludes the Doctor.
"So I’m stuck in her in the meanwhile? Because she’s no help at all - just blubbering off somewhere in the corner of her mind," Donna scoffs, with a roll of her eyes. "Classic Nerys!"
The Doctor scrubs a hand down his chin, looking at his new temporary companion. "I’m afraid so."
"Well, yippee," she responds, with a sarcastic twirl of a tacky red-tipped finger, and then pokes at Nerys’ left breast again to watch it bounce.
to be continued
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