A/N: Hello! If you know me from my Potter fanfic then I hit a brick wall of writer's block so decided to write something else and ended up with my first DW fic. I will update my other stuff soon. Hopefully.

If you don't know me from Potter fanfic then hi and sorry if there are any glaring errors in this. I'm new around here.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or anything else you might recognise.

Donna Noble is infamous amongst her friends and family for missing the big things in life. After the fact she will be told tales of explosions and monsters that she won't believe because it's utter nonsense. Her mum will roll her eyes and scold her for talking too loudly on the phone and her granddad will wag his finger knowingly and insist the papers' wildest guesses are only half the story. It is part of her life and she doesn't mind that half the people around her are clearly mad. She'll ignore her mum and indulge her granddad and that's that.

Then, one day, she realises that these things change. The next time the news is filled with talk of aliens, her mum insists they watch something else and her granddad isn't there to protest because he has been in his room since he came in a few hours ago. Other things change too. When Donna gets a new temp job she expects her mum to start having a go at her for not getting a real job and putting her limited skill set to better use. When her mum frowns, Donna braces herself for Olympic level nagging, but is instead surprised by a congratulations.

"It sounds like a wonderful opportunity," she says, as she collects a couple of mugs and waits for the kettle to click. "With your experience and capabilities they might even take you on permanently."

Donna is for once in her life too shocked to speak. The words are not a hint, sarcasm or reeking of the disappointment, but sound like a genuine compliment and encouragement.

"What?" her mum says when she catches Donna's open mouthed stare. She turns back to the half-made tea and it feels like she is avoiding her eyes.

It's around the same time that her granddad stops blaming 'them up there' for everything that goes wrong. Words like 'spaceship' and 'aliens' are replaced by 'global warming' and 'government conspiracy'. One day she asks what ET did to piss him off and is startled when the reply is a shaky "Nothing. Nothing at all."

He is still spending time at the allotment, stargazing and drinking tea from his trusty thermos. Possibly more now than ever. As ever she sometimes joins him, though he tries to stop her using his telescope for some reason. He says he doesn't want to bore her but it never stopped him before. Whenever they walk up the hill together, he always tells her to stay back so he can check everything is okay first and, while she complains, she follows his instructions because it seems important to him. He tells her it's to check that there's no one waiting for them and she laughs. Typical of the war generation, to expect to be attacked, but as she points out, no one in their right mind cares about the contents of his shed.

"Honestly, what do you think is going to happen?" she chuckles after he gives her the all clear to approach their spot. "Army of bunnies nicking your carrots? Aliens complaining about you spying on them?"

His face, illuminated by only by the moon (or it could be the distant light pollution from the rest of London - it's hard to tell), falls momentarily before he looks wistfully skyward. "You never know, Donna. I might find one waiting for me here one of these days."

This is also when she develops the strange habit of boarding trains at random and getting off at stations she likes the sound of. Of course she could drive to these places, but this way the destination is unknown until she is there, picked by someone else, and she enjoys the freedom of it. Sometimes she'll find a cafe and watch the world pass her by, sometimes she goes shopping at a market and sometimes she just walks around the unfamiliar town. It's nice but every time she feels oddly alone. She still lies about her whereabouts and never tells another soul the truth. It just seems weird if anyone she knew joined her.

She keeps this up until one morning she gets on the first train of the day leaving platform one and a couple of hours later finds herself in Cardiff. The moment she steps onto the platform she feel nauseous. After just half an hour in the Welsh capital her head is throbbing and she considers going back home. She's sitting on a bench, trying to stop the pavement beneath her spinning when a tall, dark, handsome man sits next to her and smiles. It'd be the stuff of her dreams if it wasn't for the spots of light in her vision and his bizarre dress sense.

"Donna?" he asks her in an American accent and she wonders briefly how he knows her name. His arm goes around her shoulders when she fails to reply. "What are you doing her? Where's the-"

The next thing she knows, Donna thinks she is lying down but it's hard to tell with her head still feeling like it's on fire. There's the steady beep of a heart monitor and the hum of other machinery.

"-scans look like some kind of - of amnesia," she hears a woman say somewhere above her. The English accent makes her wonder if she's been taken to a hospital at home.

"That isn't all, Dr Jones," the same man from the bench says, his voice filled with trepidation. "Take a look at this."

The sound of footsteps is followed by a gasp.

"Is that-? Alien?"

"Not just alien. The readings are coming back as Time Lord."

"You mean-?"

"Unless you know another one? Gwen?" he calls out.

"He isn't answering his phone," answers a Welsh woman from outside the room. "I've been trying since you brought her in," she continues, this time sounding closer.

"Here, try mine," says the English woman and there is the sound of a zip being undone and the rustle of fabric. "Normally he answers that number."

As the sound of high heels grows quieter, Donna hopes they are trying to call her granddad. She knows it's highly unlikely but it's who she wants to talk to most.

"You think he'll answer?" the man asks. "I haven't seen him since - well - since I saw two of him."

"He hasn't been answering my calls for a while now, but he has to eventually. Can't ignore us all forever." The woman's tone sounds as though she is forcing more positivity into it than she truly feels.

"Lucky we had another doctor visiting." His voice isn't much different.

Even though it feels like her skull is breaking up and she isn't sure if her limbs are working, Donna forces her eyes open, blinking when the bright light hits them. The man and the woman either side of her stand immediately. A quick glance at her surroundings shows she is in a windowless room that looks like no hospital Donna has ever seen.

"Donna! How're you-"

"Who the hell are you lot?" she gasps, trying to not sound as frightened as she is. "How do you know my name? Where am I?"

The woman, dressed in what looks like a military style uniform and a lab coat, rolled up at the sleeves, glances at the man, apparently surprised.

"Don't think I won't remember your faces," Donna threatens. "Now tell me where the hell I am!"

"It was on your driving license," the doctor explains kindly. "My name is Dr Martha Jones. Does that mean anything to you?"

"No!" Donna shouts as her head throbs again. "I don't usually hang around with creepy doctors in - in -"

Her head begins to swim as a dark haired woman rushes into the room with a mobile in her hand.

"Jack, it's him! We need to-"

The world turns black and the next time she wakes up it's the evening and Donna is in another hospital, but this one looks more like the ones she's used to with the white walls, proper doctors and God-awful food. Her new doctor, a middle-aged bloke with an unfortunately sized nose and a comb-over, tells her she was dropped off at the entrance with a note, clearly written by trained medical practitioner, explaining what was wrong with her and how it should be treated. The real shock comes when she discovers she's now in Swansea. She can't explain how. Everything since Cardiff Central is a blur and nothing she can find in her pockets or bag says that she left the station.

Over time she puts the incident down to a mixture of not having enough breakfast and travel sickness. Sometimes she tries to recall the faces and words of the people she thinks she remembers but they remain as hazy as the dream she suspects they were. After that she stops her spur of the moment trips for fear of collapsing again. She finds she misses them more than she ever thought she would.

More concerning for her are the more regular and peculiar things that happen to her. Sometimes she wakes up in the night crying and can't remember her dreams. Anytime she watches a film or something on telly about volcanoes she has a panic attack. She is always on the lookout for bees and often finds herself counting shadows and no one can explain any of it.

On top of this she has to deal with strange encounters with people she doesn't know. The most disturbing of these begins in the middle of her honeymoon. Not long before sunrise she is woken up by a text finally coming through on her phone from the previous day. After reading the message from her mum asking if she has checked the lottery ticket she was given on her wedding day and then throwing her phone across the room (did the woman seriously expect her to care about something like that while she was at the other end of the continent?) Donna gets up and decides to go for walk around the hotel complex. There's no point in waking up Shaun, really, and she hasn't had a chance to explore since she got here.

As she leans against a stone wall and watches the edge of the horizon begin to burn dark orange a flash of light catches the corner of her eye. She turns and sees a blonde woman emerging from the side street a few metres away, taking in her surroundings as she does. Despite it being chillier at this time compared to the day, it is still far too warm for the blue leather jacket and black trousers she is wearing.

Without spotting Donna, the blonde approaches the sign that Donna thinks gives directions to the beach and her jaw drops. "Is that - Greek?"

"Well, you are in Greece, love," Donna chuckles. The woman's head snaps in her direction in shock. "What did you expect?"

"Yeah," she says distractedly. Turning back to the sign, she frowns and wets her bottom lip. "But why?" she adds, almost to herself.

The sunrise all but forgotten, Donna watches the other woman with curiosity. She can't be older than mid-twenties and there are dark circles below her eyes. In fact, she looks exhausted. The sign she is so closely inspecting remains unchanged and her confusion soon morphs into hopelessness. For a moment Donna thinks she might cry and takes a step closer to her. As she does something about the woman's bright jacket rings a bell.

"Do I know you?" she asks. The woman turns to her, looking as though she had forgotten Donna was there. "You from London?"

There's a moment of silence before the woman answers. "Originally. I get around a bit these days," she adds with a quirk of her eyebrows.

"I've definitely seen you before though. Got a thing for faces, me," Donna insists. She was sure she had seen the woman outside the chippy. Or had it been at work? Did she live on her mum's road? She had the right accent, at least. Besides, that's what they always say about holidays - you go half way around the bloody globe and end up bumping into your next door neighbour.

"Really?" The woman faces Donna fully, properly looking at her for the first time since they had started talking.

"I'm from Chiswick. Maybe-"

The woman's face lights up. "I have seen you, yeah. Few times." Donna feels oddly uncomfortable as the woman's eyes dart over her features as though cataloging her. Her breathing has increased and she looks as though she is trying to suppress a smile. "What's your name?" she finally asks quietly.

Nothing about this stranger so far makes Donna trust her. From her out of place clothes to her being shocked to discover what country she's in, Donna supposes she should have just walked away instead of approaching her. However, there is something about her, maybe the desperation in her eyes or her kind face, that makes her stay.

And she is so sure that she knows her from back home.

"Donna Noble," she replies, temporarily forgetting that that isn't her name and hasn't been for a week now.

A slight crease appears on the blonde woman's forehead. "Donna Noble," she repeats slowly, as though trying to place the name.

For longer than necessary the woman stands there, staring at Donna who doesn't know how she is meant to respond. The sun has eradicated the dark shadows of the night and Donna can see the woman's face clearly. With the harsh light she looks older than Donna suspects she is and twice as tired. She suspects that she is one of the hundreds of faces she must pass every day, never truly seeing but as much a part of her home as the shops, trees and postboxes.

"You all right?" she asks. The woman keeps staring at her.

"Maybe," she murmurs, as she begins backing up. "I'll see you around, yeah?" With a quick smile, her tongue between her teeth and her eyes shining, the woman runs towards the street she appeared from.

With a huff, Donna follows her. "But - wait - who are you?" she calls.

When she reaches the corner there is no sign of the woman or anyone else.

Back at the hotel she doesn't tell Shaun about the woman, mainly because it is her honeymoon and the last thing she wants is him thinking about pretty blondes. Even when they get home, though, she never breaches the subject. Admittedly that lottery ticket her mum was obsessed with winning a rollover jackpot is more than an adequate distraction.

But every so often, in a different place every time, Donna sees her. Sometimes she is rushing down the street, as though looking for something. Sometimes she is sat down, head in her hands, looking as though the weight of the world is on her shoulders and crushing her. Occasionally though, Donna finds her watching at her from a distance, her blue jacket making her stand out in the crowds. She always disappears before Donna can talk to her.

What disturbs Donna most of all is that ten years later, as she is showing her daughter pictures of the grandfather she will never know, she spots something in the background of one of the photos. She shakes her head, thinking she is seeing things. When she opens her eyes she still sees her ten year old self, hugging her dad around the middle at a park she has long forgotten the name of, and the blonde woman, watching them, blue jacket zipped up, somehow - impossibly - looking the same age as when Donna first meets her nearly twenty years later.

And it's not the only photo she is in.

Eventually she accepts the blonde woman as part of her otherwise reasonably normal life, even though she sporadically shows up for the next few decades. One thing she never gets used to is strangers who recognise her, sometimes by her face and occasionally from her name alone. It isn't from the lottery win as she and Shaun never went public (though she had been tempted, if only to shove it in Nerys' face) and it isn't like she has ever done anything else of importance.

For instance, a few months before her wedding to Shaun, she finds herself temping at a publishing company. It's a rare bit of work for her as the agency is rammed with people desperate for work and she's now trying to save for a wedding. Last night Shaun had been joking about trying to make money from all of the strange black cubes the world is entranced by, but she refuses to have them in the house. She doesn't know why but something about them gives her the creeps.

In fact, Donna is glaring pointedly at her fellow receptionist Mike, who is currently rolling one of the stupid things in front of him, when a tall, red-haired woman approaches the desk.

"Hi, I have an appointment with Mr Brack- No, Bittern - wait-"

"Mr Bickley?" Donna smile and the woman waves her hand dismissively.

"I'd have got there eventually," she replies in a Scottish accent. "Him, yes. In about -" She checks her watch and pulls a face. "Five minutes ago."

After spending the day dealing with dullard after idiot after dull idiot, this woman, with her clothes bordering on casual and laid back attitude, is a breath of fresh air.

"Don't worry about it, Mrs Williams," she tells her after checking the appointment diary for the woman's name. "He's never been on time for a meeting since I started here." She doesn't mention that that was only six days ago. "If anything I'll tell him you were here ten minutes ago."

"That," Mrs Williams says, sagging with relief on the desk, "would be super."

"No problem," Donna smirks. She picks up a stack of paper next to her and straightens it out unnecessarily. "Us gingers have to stick together."

"Especially in this weather," adds Mrs Williams and they both look out of the automatic glass doors at the end of the reception at the bright summer's day beyond them as though it has offended them.

"If you'd like to take a seat, Mrs Williams, I'll send you up once Mr Bickley has finished painting his nails."

Laughing, Mrs Williams heads towards the chairs with an undeniable bounce in her step.

"You shouldn't really speak like that with clients," sniffs Mike with an air of superiority.

"Yeah," Donna replies harshly, "and I've told you about those bleeding cubes. Now get rid!"

Five minutes later, Mike has shut away his cube in a drawer and Mrs Williams is still waiting. Donna can't really describe it as patiently as she keeps fiddling with her sleeves, playing with her hair and checking her phone. It's almost like she has never had to sit down in one place for so long and she's almost childlike in the way she blows her fringe out of her face, swings her legs and repeatedly looks towards the vending machine in the corner. It almost reminds her of someone, she thinks.

Her inability to sit still like a normal adult aside, Donna can see why someone so young is already a Mrs. Even as she makes a face with every check of the time, there is still something beautiful about her and yet Donna can't quite bring herself to be jealous. She gets the feeling that a couple of years ago, before she met Shaun, this wouldn't have been the case.

As Donna watches her, Mrs Williams pulls her purse out of her bag, looks in it and then presses it to her forehead. She yanks a note out of it and makes her way over to the reception desk.

"I don't mean to be a bother but is there any chance you've got change for this?" She looks more annoyed than embarrassed as she hands an unfamiliar note over. "Vending machines never take them."

Donna inspects the note that claims to be worth five pounds and sees the words Bank of Scotland written along the top. Trying to hide the fact that this note could be as fake as that Katie Price's face for all she knows, she quickly spots the word sterling and decides she can try and get rid of it at the cornershop on her way home. "Yeah, hang on." She ducks under the desk for her own bag and soon emerges with what she thinks of as a normal fiver.

"Thank you so much," she enthuses. "It's my husband's idea of a joke, to switch every Scottish note he finds with me. I swear he's printing them..." she mutters as she slides the English note into her purse.

"Blokes, eh? My boyfriend - well, fiancee," Donna corrects herself, putting on a posh accent, "insists on making the same "you should go on that and see if you're secretly a Weasley" joke every time we watch Who Do You Think You Are? I'm like, I don't know who think you are, sunshine, but I think it might be the one sleeping on the spare room tonight."

Mrs Williams laughs, shaking her head. "Rory learned a long time ago. The last time he made a joke like that I think I ended up in detention."

"Donna," Mike interrupts, "could you pass me a pen please?"

"Yep." Donna passes him the pen that he could have easily reached himself without so much looking at him. "At least you got him trained early. If I could have met Shaun a couple of-"

The door behind the desk opens to reveal Mr Bickley with an apologetic expression. "Mrs Williams? Sorry to keep you waiting. I just need to fetch a file from in here and I'll be with you." He smiles at Mrs Williams before looking down at Donna. "Any calls, Miss Noble?"

"Your twelve o'clock cancelled. Plumbing emergency."

Another nod and he is back behind the door.

Donna turns to roll her eyes conspiratorially with Mrs Williams but finds her staring at her wide eyed. "Sorry," she says, blinking rapidly as though she's only just realised what she's doing. "But are you Donna Noble?"

An uncomfortable feeling sinks into Donna's stomach at the look she is receiving. All the camaraderie and jokes turn sour and Donna wants nothing more than for this woman to leave her alone. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's- it's just my daughter," stammers Mrs Williams, looking down at the desk. "She told me about a Donna Noble once. Said she always wanted to meet her."

The look Mrs Williams gives her now is close to awe and Donna doesn't like it because Donna Noble is a temp from Chiswick and nobody else cares about this. Especially not children with writer mothers and goofy fathers.

"Of course, it isn't you," Mrs Williams backtracks, with a hasty laugh. "She means another Donna Noble, obviously. Silly of me to bring it up."

The way she looks like she is lying rather than embarrassed sets Donna on edge and if it wasn't for her needing this job she would find out who this woman is and how her daughter knows her before she leaves. A few seconds later, her boss calls her in for the meeting and she emerges half an hour later, winks at Donna and sweeps from the building.

"Spoke very highly of you, that Mrs Williams did." Donna starts at her boss' voice and finds him stood next to her. "Said you were a credit to the company. Shocked when I said you were just a temp."

Donna tries to smile but isn't sure how it ends up looking. "Guess I'm just a people person."

The next Monday the woman on maternity leave that Donna has been covering for phones in to explain how she is handing in her notice. Apparently that Saturday a winning EuroMillions ticket was posted through her letterbox and she doesn't need the job anymore. When the position is offered to Donna she accepts it and the niggling feeling somewhere deep down that something isn't right.

The strangest of all these meetings happened a few months previously, though Donna has no memory of it. Her granddad explains afterwards that she had come around to have a catch-up with him, but hadn't felt well and that's why she had woken up on the sofa. She believes every word because it's her granddad and he has no reason to lie.

In actual fact it is Shaun's nephew's birthday the next week and she has been talked into getting the present for him because he 'hasn't got chance'. It's more like he can't be arsed but Donna knows she can call a few favours in for this and agrees.

She's browsing the toy section of the department store after work and realises she hasn't a clue what is the popular toy nowadays. Shaun's sister always looks down on her and she is determined to get her kid a spectacular (and preferably loud) present to prove she isn't the idiot she treats her as. As she makes her way cluelessly along a shelf, she spots a mop of brown hair ducking behind the till across from her.

She marches over and peers over the top of the counter. "Do you work here, mate? Fancy giving us a hand instead of inspecting the carpet?"

Achingly slowly, as though he is attached to the ceiling by a wire that is dragging him to his feet, the man rises and eyes her fearfully. She gawps at him, barely out of school and apparently sharing a wardrobe with his bloody granddad, as his fingers fiddle with the name badge on his chest.

"Right-" She glances at the badge. "- George. How about you-" Donna does a double take. "Does that say you're security?"

"Erm." George looks at his own badge as though surprised to discover his own name. "Yes, it does," he replies slowly before snapping out of his trance and talking very fast. "Because I am George and I make sure this place is secure. And sell toys. The toys are more important. The toys being secure is most important though, which is why I'm here and George. You should call me George because that's my name. Cool name, George," he adds almost as an after thought, fixing his bowtie.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that. What's your name again?" Donna replies sarcastically.

He swallows and looks at her as though she's just told him that his favourite Action Man has gone missing. "George. Call me George."

"Well, George, how about you help me find a toy for an eight year old boy so you can go back to hiding and I can show off to my boyfriend's absolute cow of a sister?"

George stares at her for a moment before a wide grin spreads across his face and he claps his hands together. "Let's go!"

And without further ado, the nutjob in braces has linked arms with her and is dragging her towards a large section filled with dinosaurs. It's highly unprofessional and totally invading her personal space but she doesn't throw him off until he comes to a halt.

"You trying to rip my arm off?"

"Didn't want you getting lost."

"We've walked three feet!"

"Oh, you would be surprised how much can go wrong in three feet," he tells her seriously before flexing his finger, pulling out a stuffed Triceratops and holding it very close to her face. "How about this? Could call it Tricey? Always wanted one myself..."

Donna raises an eyebrow and he lowers it.

"Okay... how about-" He spins on the spot, drops down and pops up again with a fire engine in hand. "This?"

"Do you even work here?" Donna asks, hands on hips. "Or did you just have one too many blue Smarties and couldn't resist?"

She has no idea why she'd being so rude. The man-child is clearly a complete dunce but he is helping her. A little too enthusiastically, but still there's a strange comfort in the back and forth.

"I'm a professional," he replies with dignity, straightening his braces.

"Professional dumbo."

A shadow passes over his face but Donna doesn't have time to wonder about it because he is once again dragging towards more merchandise. Oddly, she finds she is almost enjoying this.

"Now ignore this Ben 10 rubbish," he tells her as though he is advising her on stocks and shares as they pass a shelf of black, green and silver, "and while lightsabers are definitely cool with a capital 'C'-" He gestures to the unobtrusive looking cylinders next to them. "-weapons for children doesn't sit with me too well. Now, this-"

"What about all that?"

George stops and follows Donna's gaze. On her right is a whole stand of spaceships, glow in the dark stars and eggs containing aliens in goo. Something about it grabs her attention and, now she looks, the hand on her arm begins to feel normal rather than intrusive.

"Definitely not," George dismisses and tries to pull her away.

"Why not?" Donna stays put and he falls back comically. "What's wrong with this?" she asks, picking up a a box with a large, silver space shuttle-type thing in it.

"A lot," George replies curtly. "It'd never fly with engines that size for starters and it's a horrible colour, so how about we-"

"It's not meant to be realistic," laughs Donna. "It's spaceship from Planet Zobatron," she reads from the box. "It's hardly NASA so just- just -"

There's a pressure in her head, building from her temples and spreading out. Suddenly the room is too warm and George has his hands on her shoulders.

"Are you okay?" He looks terrified but the banging in her head stops her caring.

"Headache," she mutters. "Look, I'll - I'll just take this-"

"No." George snatches the box from her hand and replaces it. "You're not well."

The bright colours are melting together before her and she nearly topples into the shelf. "It's a headache. Happens sometimes."

"You need to see a - a medical professional," he tells her sternly.

"I don't need a doctor!"

The room starts spinning and it feels like the water surrounding her brain is starting to boil. She needs to leave because she's scared but wants to stay for the same reason. George is now holding her upright and thinks she hears him mutter "oh, you never did." It feels like the floor in sliding under her feet. When she sees a sign that reads Staff Only she realises he's half-carried her across the shop. The door shuts and they are in a dimly lit corridor by a narrow staircase. Donna tries to push herself away from him, to prop herself against the wall but ends up kneeling .

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Just give me the Planet Zobatron thingy and-"

"There's no such place!"

"Oh shut it, Spaceman!"

Her head explodes and she sees giant wasps and blobs of fat and snowy mountains and pinstripe suits and robot Santas and skeletons in spacesuits and -

And then there's a golden light in her mind, pushing it all back. Her head is still burning but it is no longer over-whelming. She opens her eyes, not realising she had them closed. The wide eyes she meets are desperately sad, yet joyous, simultaneously a small boy caught with his sticky hand in the biscuit tin and an old man who has seen too much. The look is scared and lost and impossibly ancient and there's only one man she has ever known who could pull it off.

"Doctor?"

The pain is almost blinding now.

"Donna Noble."

The voice is different but no one else could inject so much reverence into her name. She wants to slap him and hug him, demand explanations and to drag him to the TARDIS to see the stars, but this isn't her Doctor and it feels wrong somehow.

"You... You did that thing? Re-re-"

"Regenerated," he says. She can feel his fingertips on her temples and knows it's the only thing holding her up. "Yes."

"Bloody idiot," she manages and he laughs.

"Have some respect," he says with a smile. "After all, I died."

Even through the spots in her vision and his new face she can hear, see and almost feel the sorrow coming from him.

"Were you travelling on your own?" she chokes, tears falling, clutching his forearms, trying to remain conscious. "You were, weren't you? I told you. If you just listened to me..." A gasp of pain and he pulls her into a hug she doesn't recognise but takes great comfort from. Different clothes, different skin but the smell remains the same.

"Are you alone now?"

She doesn't notice how he grips her tighter as he speaks. "Not at the minute."

"Good. You'd only hurt yourself otherwise. Forget to tie your shoelaces, trip and break your bloody neck or something."

He chuckles again and for a split second they are the Doctor and Donna Noble, best friends and untouchable as long as they have each other's backs. But then he pulls away, replaces his fingers and she knows what must happen, what must always happen and hates him more in that moment than anything she has ever known.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers and she forgives him instantly. If there was another way then he would have found it. The crack in his voice and the wetness on his cheeks tells her that much.

The most important woman in the universe closes her eyes and waits for her anonymity. She tries to retain something - his face, a memory or even the pride and self worth that is so foreign to her - but she knows it must all fade. For a brief moment she takes comfort in all the mysteries in her life being solved. The strangers who know her name. The melancholy that has set into her grandfather. The headaches and the inexplicable tears. The dreams of the man with the wild hair living happily with the girl with the bright smile and of a boy in his blue box saving the universe. She understands the pain of it all being forgotten but never gone and, just like the last time, she doesn't want to go.

Thanks for reading!