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Title: Eclipse
Rating: R
Pairing: Ten/Donna (Friendship)
Word Count: 1,177
Summary: If she wasn't going down quietly, then neither was he. Spoilers for Doctor Who 4.13 - Journey’s End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Story title inspired by The Frames; chapter title belongs to the great E. A. Poe.
Author’s Notes: This came out of nowhere. Even I can’t figure out when the idea sprung about or how it translated itself into words. But, it did, and here it is, and I haven’t attempted a serial in a very long time, so I think a short one is worth taking a stab at for the present. Please let me know if you think it’s a worthwhile venture to continue; I thrive on feedback :)
Part One: Eulalie
“No,” she cried, as he caught the dampness of her tears beneath his hands as he cradled her forehead, thumbs pressed to her temples, and it broke his hearts - both of them, though separately, to ensure the most prolonged and intense of suffering - to see it come to this, to see her come to this; to see them end.
He felt his own mind reeling as he relived her memories, their memories - every inch of what they’d done together that had stayed inside her head. He felt himself die a little more each time something small slipped in to mingle with the unforgettable elements of their adventures - every simple touch or laugh between them that broke up the monotony of saving worlds and thwarting total destruction, the smiles and private jokes that dotted their comparatively monochromatic travels with vibrancy, with color. His hearts throbbed painfully, aching in his chest as he wrapped his consciousness around the memories, wrapping them as quickly as he could, his chest heavy and his breath weighted down as he heaved a sigh and prepared to dissolve the essence of the woman held tight in his arms, prepared to wipe away the very beauty of her soul in the space of a single, life-altering moment.
He took her hands, gathered them in his own for an instant as he hesitated, torn completely between the most selfish of thoughts, the most terrifying self-centered of considerations; he couldn’t let her die, couldn’t lose her forever, even if she never knew his name, never recognized him on the street as he watched her, looked out for her - but he could already feel the loss of not having her with him, with or without the knowledge she’d acquired, of not having his bright and exuberant Donna at his side, pulling him back from the edge when he needed it, pushing him forward when he questioned, pulling him close when he was too stubborn or too frightened to pull her to him first. Either way, he’d lose her; and it hurt like hell.
Blinking hard, feeling the tears behind his eyes gathering, the pressure building; noticing the increasing heat, the ruby flush of Donna’s fingers, her wrists and cheeks flushed from the growing inferno within; he knew, suddenly and with great clarity, what he had to do. With a steadying heave of his lungs, he refocussed, strengthening his hold on her mind and connecting every thought that concerned him, every recollection surrounding him, related to him, or even vaguely concerning the possibility of his existence, attaching one to another in an endless bond of chains, all linked and inseparable - an intricate, shimmering web of her life with him in it, the perfect spaces where their worlds intertwined. Closing his eyes, biting down on his lower lip, and begging silently for a forgiveness he would never be allowed the chance to ask for aloud, he steeled his mind and pulled, mentally ripping from Donna every last detail of himself, robbing her of the marvels, the wonders of life she’d led by his side.
He felt the strain of her memories, their weight bearing down upon his mind and prepared to assimilate them into his own consciousness, when suddenly, he felt the heavy burden on his psyche disappear, stripped bare of him and tugged, quickly and determinedly in another direction entirely.
“Don’t you think,” came a gasp from in front of him, from between shoulders that were heaving suddenly with great force, lips that were parted and moving almost coherently, from a mouth that was slack and gasping for air, “for one minute...” she paused, her chest expanding with the force of her lungs trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen, for the impending darkness behind her pupils, and he held her tighter as she struggled to speak, his eyes wide and the tears he’d managed to hold back before now spilling down his cheeks as he stared down at her fearfully, cradled in his arms like a child, innocent and helpless enough to pass as one, shivering in his embrace. “That I’m going,” she rasped, the sound tearing harsh and almost bloody from the depths of her throat, catching somewhere around her jaw and sticking, ripping, shattering his hearts as he watched her in horror while she smoldered against his hands, caught in the crooks of is elbows. “Down,” she sighed, a brilliant sense of sheer being shining bright behind her eyes as she lurched forward, gaze focusing on him with a delirious smile as she lost control, as her muscles went slack and her body drew limp as she whimpered out the last of her words, “Without a fight,” before falling into him, her eyes closed and her chest still.
“Donna!” He was breathless, desperate, and he clung tight to her, shaking her frame with absolute terror as he lowered her to the ground, his hands cupping her face and trying to feel for her, his fingers too unsteady to know if her thready pulse is real under his touch. Frantic, he pressed his head to her chest, his cheek sloped on the contour of her bust, his mind reeling over why he hadn’t anticipated this - she would have known what he was going to do, of course; she had his mind! And with his mind, she would know how to fight it, how to reverse his methods, how to seal off her consciousness and throw off his efforts. He almost didn’t hear the beat beneath his ear, but he could breathe again when he felt it, the gentle drumbeat, the soft and subtle pulse against him, too weak but present, like the trickle of a brook that wants to be a stream, that should be a mighty river - that in truth is an ocean, strong and bold and beautiful.
The reality isn’t any of those things, isn’t as it should be; the reality is a broken woman, sweating and barely breathing, her inhalations labored and her exhalations pained, her pulse twittering pathetically, the last efforts of a failing will. He clenched his hand around hers and bowed his head - this is his fault.
But if she wasn't going down quietly, then neither was he.
He stood, bracing her form in his arms, steadying her behind her head and at the fold of her knees, letting her midsection slump between his arms; unconscious, her skin searing beneath even the slightest touch, radiating off her body like a flame, the battle of mind over body raging in her heart and soul; and he carried her, his own hearts pounding, trying to remember what it was like to function solely on hope, on need - trying to find, something, anything, in all of the known universes, in all of the possibilities he could see, swarming in his mind without relent, just one way that he could save her.
Part Two: Desperate Moments In Linear Time
Rating: R
Pairing: Ten/Donna (Friendship)
Word Count: 1,177
Summary: If she wasn't going down quietly, then neither was he. Spoilers for Doctor Who 4.13 - Journey’s End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Story title inspired by The Frames; chapter title belongs to the great E. A. Poe.
Author’s Notes: This came out of nowhere. Even I can’t figure out when the idea sprung about or how it translated itself into words. But, it did, and here it is, and I haven’t attempted a serial in a very long time, so I think a short one is worth taking a stab at for the present. Please let me know if you think it’s a worthwhile venture to continue; I thrive on feedback :)
Part One: Eulalie
“No,” she cried, as he caught the dampness of her tears beneath his hands as he cradled her forehead, thumbs pressed to her temples, and it broke his hearts - both of them, though separately, to ensure the most prolonged and intense of suffering - to see it come to this, to see her come to this; to see them end.
He felt his own mind reeling as he relived her memories, their memories - every inch of what they’d done together that had stayed inside her head. He felt himself die a little more each time something small slipped in to mingle with the unforgettable elements of their adventures - every simple touch or laugh between them that broke up the monotony of saving worlds and thwarting total destruction, the smiles and private jokes that dotted their comparatively monochromatic travels with vibrancy, with color. His hearts throbbed painfully, aching in his chest as he wrapped his consciousness around the memories, wrapping them as quickly as he could, his chest heavy and his breath weighted down as he heaved a sigh and prepared to dissolve the essence of the woman held tight in his arms, prepared to wipe away the very beauty of her soul in the space of a single, life-altering moment.
He took her hands, gathered them in his own for an instant as he hesitated, torn completely between the most selfish of thoughts, the most terrifying self-centered of considerations; he couldn’t let her die, couldn’t lose her forever, even if she never knew his name, never recognized him on the street as he watched her, looked out for her - but he could already feel the loss of not having her with him, with or without the knowledge she’d acquired, of not having his bright and exuberant Donna at his side, pulling him back from the edge when he needed it, pushing him forward when he questioned, pulling him close when he was too stubborn or too frightened to pull her to him first. Either way, he’d lose her; and it hurt like hell.
Blinking hard, feeling the tears behind his eyes gathering, the pressure building; noticing the increasing heat, the ruby flush of Donna’s fingers, her wrists and cheeks flushed from the growing inferno within; he knew, suddenly and with great clarity, what he had to do. With a steadying heave of his lungs, he refocussed, strengthening his hold on her mind and connecting every thought that concerned him, every recollection surrounding him, related to him, or even vaguely concerning the possibility of his existence, attaching one to another in an endless bond of chains, all linked and inseparable - an intricate, shimmering web of her life with him in it, the perfect spaces where their worlds intertwined. Closing his eyes, biting down on his lower lip, and begging silently for a forgiveness he would never be allowed the chance to ask for aloud, he steeled his mind and pulled, mentally ripping from Donna every last detail of himself, robbing her of the marvels, the wonders of life she’d led by his side.
He felt the strain of her memories, their weight bearing down upon his mind and prepared to assimilate them into his own consciousness, when suddenly, he felt the heavy burden on his psyche disappear, stripped bare of him and tugged, quickly and determinedly in another direction entirely.
“Don’t you think,” came a gasp from in front of him, from between shoulders that were heaving suddenly with great force, lips that were parted and moving almost coherently, from a mouth that was slack and gasping for air, “for one minute...” she paused, her chest expanding with the force of her lungs trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen, for the impending darkness behind her pupils, and he held her tighter as she struggled to speak, his eyes wide and the tears he’d managed to hold back before now spilling down his cheeks as he stared down at her fearfully, cradled in his arms like a child, innocent and helpless enough to pass as one, shivering in his embrace. “That I’m going,” she rasped, the sound tearing harsh and almost bloody from the depths of her throat, catching somewhere around her jaw and sticking, ripping, shattering his hearts as he watched her in horror while she smoldered against his hands, caught in the crooks of is elbows. “Down,” she sighed, a brilliant sense of sheer being shining bright behind her eyes as she lurched forward, gaze focusing on him with a delirious smile as she lost control, as her muscles went slack and her body drew limp as she whimpered out the last of her words, “Without a fight,” before falling into him, her eyes closed and her chest still.
“Donna!” He was breathless, desperate, and he clung tight to her, shaking her frame with absolute terror as he lowered her to the ground, his hands cupping her face and trying to feel for her, his fingers too unsteady to know if her thready pulse is real under his touch. Frantic, he pressed his head to her chest, his cheek sloped on the contour of her bust, his mind reeling over why he hadn’t anticipated this - she would have known what he was going to do, of course; she had his mind! And with his mind, she would know how to fight it, how to reverse his methods, how to seal off her consciousness and throw off his efforts. He almost didn’t hear the beat beneath his ear, but he could breathe again when he felt it, the gentle drumbeat, the soft and subtle pulse against him, too weak but present, like the trickle of a brook that wants to be a stream, that should be a mighty river - that in truth is an ocean, strong and bold and beautiful.
The reality isn’t any of those things, isn’t as it should be; the reality is a broken woman, sweating and barely breathing, her inhalations labored and her exhalations pained, her pulse twittering pathetically, the last efforts of a failing will. He clenched his hand around hers and bowed his head - this is his fault.
But if she wasn't going down quietly, then neither was he.
He stood, bracing her form in his arms, steadying her behind her head and at the fold of her knees, letting her midsection slump between his arms; unconscious, her skin searing beneath even the slightest touch, radiating off her body like a flame, the battle of mind over body raging in her heart and soul; and he carried her, his own hearts pounding, trying to remember what it was like to function solely on hope, on need - trying to find, something, anything, in all of the known universes, in all of the possibilities he could see, swarming in his mind without relent, just one way that he could save her.
Part Two: Desperate Moments In Linear Time
Current Music: Fitzcarraldo by The Frames
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