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The Doctor prided himself on being able to immediately and accurately answer almost any question that came his way, no matter where he was or who he was with.
If Donna were to ask him what the temperature was in the TARDIS right now, he would reply instantly with ’73.8 degrees Fahrenheit’.
If she were to ask how long until they arrived on Earth, he would say... well, actually, that was up to the TARDIS, and how thorough a conversation the old girl thought he needed to have with Donna. But he would have an answer for why he had no answer, and that was, in technicality, not actively bruising his pride.
And if she were to ask if he was alright, he would tell her he was.
Because even if he wasn’t sure, she needed him to be.
But he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
It had started when Donna had… well, she hadn’t actually died, but it had really seemed like it in the moment.
He’d pulled her close with trembling hands and rested his chin on her head as the weight of what had just happened threatened to fall, held on by a fraying thread of hope that she would be alright in the end, because she had to be. She had to. There was no other acceptable answer the universe could give him in that moment other than Donna Noble being alive, because anything else would be absurd. Unthinkable. Real.
And she had been fine. By some miracle - or more accurately, a combination of Time Lord and human biology and the Noble family’s general brilliance - she was alright.
Donna was alive.
He couldn’t stop shaking.
✦
Back in the TARDIS, he could pass it off as enthusiasm. And while that hadn’t really been this face's trademark, the one immediately after had been jittery with excitement almost as second nature.
The Doctor supposed this regeneration wasn’t exactly as it’d been all those years ago, a little more mellow, more open, just a little older physically. Mentally, though, quite a lot. Hundreds of years, thousands? Maybe billions, depending on who you ask. Well, no one to ask - anyone who did would have died back on Gallifrey.
The last of the Time Lords, again. Best not to let that one sink in.
The beautiful new interior of his timeship going up in flames and stranding them here hadn’t helped his nerves, and neither had Donna's reaction to the TARDIS dematerializing.
Actually, that had shaken both of them badly, he thought, and discovering they were at the edge of the known universe, the edge he had created, hadn’t helped either, and the Not-Things really, really, really hadn’t helped.
And that conversation with Not-Donna - they really needed a better name for these creatures at this point - had been the straw that broke the camel's back.
He’d slammed his fists into the hard metal grates inside one of the ship's almost claustrophobic corridors, kicked and screamed and choked back hot tears until the waves of frustration and nausea and grief and everything else that just wouldn’t leave only threatened to pull him under instead of drowning him, and then he kept going because Donna needed him, and he can’t fail her again he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
“Good," he'd managed to say, because it was good, good that he felt this, because if he didn’t after the Flux, after everything, then what did that make him?
So he kept going.
His hands didn’t stop shaking.
✦
The rest blurred together.
It had all honestly been a mess; Invoking the superstition had been slightly unwise in retrospect. And the Doctor couldn’t exactly help it that his brain would solve any mystery put in front of him almost automatically at this point, and this one had been too important to pass up.
Then he'd made the wrong choice, and when Donna’s life had been at stake because of him, again, he had failed her, again.
A simple scan had been all that was between an all-out war across the universe and the death of his best friend in it.
It was all either of them could do in the end to collapse at the base of the TARDIS console, Donna's head tucked under his chin. She was warm and alive and breathing, his arms wrapped around her with a calculated pressure that wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but enough to know that he was here. That they were almost safe. Gingerly, he pressed a kiss into her hair.
✦
“She'd almost completed you. That other Donna was a 99.9% copy." The Doctor broke the silence when it didn’t feel as if he would shatter with the slightest touch. “Except I thought, ‘What's wrong?’ Turned out her wrist had an extra 0.06 millimetres. Obvious, really.”
“The devils in the details,” Donna said. He could tell she was trying to put on a brave face, but that it had shaken her too, more than she’d ever let on.
Pushing himself up off the floor, he busied himself with putting his coat back on, brushing a still unsteady hand over the newly unexploded controls.
He decided that by directing the conversation to salt and superstition, he could manage to stop himself from asking what he was really thinking. Well, for a minute at least.
“So, anyway, I was wondering, she said, on the spaceship -" Stalling wouldn’t help, but in an odd way it sort of did. He sighed. “That other Donna had your memory. She could remember us as the DoctorDonna, so she could see my life and my mind and my thoughts for the past 15 years. All that time we’ve been apart, she could remember it.” The Doctor watched as something like understanding dawned on her face. “…Can you?”
He tried not to sound too hopeful. Donna gave him a suspicious glance.
“No. It’s too much. It’s like looking into a furnace. But I suppose she had a great big outer space brain, she could make sense of it." Donna said it truly offhandedly, perhaps with a touch of confusion.
Right, that hurt. The Doctor crafted his expression carefully, trying not to show too much, but this face had never been good at that.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said quickly.
Which was a great place to stop this conversation before it drifted into uncomfortable waters.
Donna’s eyes narrowed.
"Why?”
He shrunk back a little.
“Just wondering."
“What did she see?” Donna stepped closer, pinning him against the control with her gaze. The Doctor hadn’t exactly forgotten how it felt to be under her scrutiny, but experiencing it for the first time in centuries was… a lot. Especially now.
“Oh… things."
Yeah, no way that's going to work.
The Doctor winced.
She moved back a little out of his space, but was clearly deeply unimpressed.
“Like what? Come on. Where have you been since I last saw you?” Donna paused, then continued a little quieter, “What's happened?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Robots, chases, waterfalls.”
“Oh, okay.” She was zeroing in on him now, the brief softness wiped clean off her features. "But what really happened?”
He couldn’t do this, not now, not to her. He rested a hand on the console for support, carefully traced a finger over the smooth surface. Could he tell her? If he started, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop. Not stopping was dangerous. Not stopping was - he didn't think he could take all of that, all washing over him right now. He'd drown.
“A lot.” The Doctor managed, hoping that exhausted admission would be enough. He saw Donna’s eyes widen a little at his change of tone, probably. Her brow twisted with a touch of worry, then she set her jaw.
“…If you ever want to talk about it, you know I’ll listen, right?” Donna’s voice was so gentle. His hand clenched on the controls.
She would, wouldn’t she? Because she was Donna Noble, one of the kindest, most amazing people he’d ever had the pleasure to meet, no matter how she tried to hide it.
If Donna listened, someone else would finally know, even if it wasn’t everything, even if it was just a small piece.
But telling her all of it, all of those years and people and stories, so many years he couldn’t keep them straight in his head some days -? Those some days are becoming every day, an unwelcome part of his mind supplied. How could he possibly do such a thing?
“I don’t think -" the Doctor caught himself before his voice cracked. “I don’t think I’d know where to start.”
Donna’s expression had slipped into something like pity. This face would probably have been annoyed, embarrassed that she pitied him, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Well, you could start small,” she suggested. "And in this absolutely hypothetical situation, I would also say you can tell me anything. I’m not going running if it’s scary, if that’s what you’re worried about. You, on the other hand - well, I'm not so sure.”
The Doctor swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the unwanted emotion welling up inside of him. Not tears again. He'd had enough of that in the past few hours.
Yeah, he did sort of feel like running. The direction this conversation was going… he couldn't control it, didn’t even know if he wanted to.
Gallifrey.
He should tell her about what they did, how they lied, how he didn’t know who or even what he truly was anymore. Where he came from. Where he belonged. But she didn’t know he had saved Gallifrey, changed the ending of the Time War. The dull ache of that past grief was nothing compared to what he really wanted to tell her about.
The Flux.
The words wouldn’t come out, lodged in his throat, stuck on his tongue.
Nothing he needed to say would make any sense to Donna, he reasoned. That was why he shouldn’t say any of it. Once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and then it would be too much for her.
And Donna will leave again, sooner than most of them do. Because even though she’s saying all these things about family and settling down, he has to keep going. Keep running. No matter how…
Can’t stay in one place forever, right?
This was more time than he’d expected to get with her, and he shouldn’t take it for granted, make this about him. And putting this on her… it was more than any person should bear.
He didn’t stop to think about what that meant for him.
But she had offered, hadn’t she?
Donna wouldn’t lie to him about this. She was too kind for that.
He had to try for her. She was putting herself out there, being so much more open than usual. The least he could do for the kindness he showed her was to actually say something.
Right.
“I’m not from Gallifrey," the Doctor choked out, surprised he even managed those four words.
Donna frowned. He could tell she was biting back several remarks.
“Well, where are you from then?” Her voice was tight. A very reasonable question, but he still couldn’t help the hollowness that filled him at her words. Ones he’d been asking himself over and over.
“Don’t- I dunno.” More information. “Didn’t have time to think about it at the… well, time. Was busy.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t really breathe either.
“Busy with what?” Donna was trying her best to compensate for his lack of detail.
Unfortunately, her questions meant he actually had to say more. The Doctor could ask her to stop; he knew she would.
“Cybermen. On Gallifrey after the Master destr-“ He cut himself off sharply. Not that, not yet. Maybe never. “We were there. Ryan, Yasmin and Graham, my friends - you’d love them, really, they’re brilliant - and the Master, he created a new kind of - of, well, that’s not…”
Donna’s eyes were slightly wide, confusion painted brightly across her face.
”Sorry, sorry. Oh, that doesn’t make any sense, does it?” The Doctor rambled a little hysterically. Finally, he met her eyes — sympathy, not pity this time.
“…Yeah, not really." The Doctor tensed, though her words weren’t at all harsh. “Maybe do it piece by piece. Like, I dunno, how did you get there? Last I heard, Gallifrey wasn’t exactly the place to be.”
Understatement of the century, he wanted to say. Couldn’t say. The words turned to ash in his mouth. There was too much to speak, to update her on. No one should have to hear all of that. And what if it triggered the metacrisis again? Was that possible? He knew it was illogical, that all the energy had left her and Rose, but what if-
“We can work through it, I promise. Together.” Donna’s voice was so steady. He envied her slightly for staying so calm.
He was pretty sure this was a new thing for him, all these tears.
Donna moved forward swiftly, grasping his hands in hers. The Doctor’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t have the strength after today anyway. Her palms were warm as a hearth in winter against his cool skin, her grip strong. She pressed his trembling fingers to her lips, her breath steady and rhythmic.
Maybe Donna copying his gesture from earlier should make him nervous after the Not-Things, but this was Donna, and the Doctor was too exhausted to care. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, but this time he made no effort to stop them running down his cheeks.
“Oh, spaceman,” Donna murmured, face falling.
There was no time to collect himself as she pulled him into a practiced, firm embrace, hands rubbing light circles on his back.
Practiced, probably because of Rose. Donna has a daughter now, he thought; she had better tell him everything he’d missed, all those years. They could talk about it all over tea, not coffee, because last time that had been a small disaster, minuscule really, and maybe everything would be okay.
The Doctor wrapped his arms tightly around her in return, fingertips tangling in her fiery red hair. His head was tucked under her chin, and he realized his tears were probably soaking her jumper.
"Sorry.” His voice shook, but his hands were finally steady. The Doctor knew Donna probably didn’t care that much about her clothes at the moment, but it still felt necessary. He wasn’t really just apologizing for that anyway.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. …Well, I have some choice words for you taking out that wall in our attic! And that lottery money, oh, I will-“ He tried for a laugh, but could only manage a weak sob. Donna's arms tightened around him, and he let himself sink further into her warm embrace.
Safe. This was safe.
At some point they would have to move, and he would have to talk. Donna would listen, and he would tell her everything, even if it took a few tries.