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Though it’s past midnight, Donna isn’t shocked to find her granddad still outside, gazing through his telescope at the clear night sky. When she taps him on the shoulder, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Donna! Why are you awake?”
“Could say the same to you,” she points out, then shrugs. “I dreamed of the stars, then woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I figured I’d come say hi.” She snorts. “Turning into you, huh? Dreaming about aliens in orbit, and who knows what else.”
She expects him to laugh, or maybe pretend offense at the ribbing. But he does neither.
Instead, he just looks… sad.
Almost… scared?
Donna doesn’t like that. She’s used to her granddad smiling; teasing; overflowing with enthusiasm for the cosmos.
“What do you think is out there?” she asks, gesturing skywards. That topic is always a sure way to cheer him up, get him talking.
But tonight he grimaces in the starlight, then says with a clearly forced laugh, “I reckon we shouldn’t think too much about those things. Like your mother always said. All that business belongs in… in fantasy, and books.”
“…What?”
“And sometimes the news, these days,” he adds, but he’s avoiding her gaze. “Just… don’t think about it, my love. Please. Don’t.”
Donna stares at him. Her granddad, face clouded with something like grief, and he can’t look her in the eyes.
“Gramps, what the hell is wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, but she can tell he’s lying.