"No! Please, no!"

She collapsed into his arms, and the quiet echoed in the suddenly spacious console room. Carefully, the Doctor settled onto the floor, Donna's crumpled form heavy in his arms.

"Oh, Donna. I'm sorry," he murmured. Brushing the hair from her face, the Doctor began to speak to her without any line of conscious thought. "I'll take you to Felspoon. Oh, you'd love it. It only snows there once every hundred years, but when it does, the snow's three shades of red. Can you imagine?" he asked with a smile, looking down to her face as if waiting for a response. The Doctor's smile faded slightly, but he continued. "And Charlie Chaplin. He's brilliant. He fancied me once, did I ever tell you? 'Course, I had a different face back then."

The silence was quickly becoming oppressive. Donna's eyes flickered open for a moment before slipping back into unconsciousness. Still, it was enough of a sign for the Doctor. She would wake up soon, wiped blank of her time with him. It wouldn't be good for either of them if she woke up in the TARDIS. He gently moved her from his arms to the metal grated floor, tucking his coat underneath her head.

When he stood, stiff and aching, he couldn't help but glance down at her. His hand balanced on the lever that would take them home, the Doctor made a decision. "I'll take you to those places, Donna. I'll fix this. I promise."

And for once, the Doctor did not lie.