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It's Over

clone_doctor
For weeks myself and Donna have been jumping through holes in time and space, looking for that one reality out of millions, trying to find that one needle in that stack of, well, needles.

After being chased through pre-industrial Rome and gaining a spear to my calf, Donna convinced me it was time to call it a day.

"You're only human." She reminded me, and though I feel both hearts beating like they always used to, sometimes I forget that one of them is mechanical. "she'll come back when she's good and ready. Don't rush her."

So I slept ignoring the ache in my leg that let me know infection was creeping in. The mattress was hard and full of springs, the moldy duvet and moth eaten curtains were just a distant memory in a far off world. I slept like I had not slept for days, and somewhere in the dark recesses in my mind, I thought maybe that might be true.

When I awoke, Norway's blue dawn light was shining in through the window and spreading across my floor and over my face. Straight away, I knew something was amiss. Something was not quite as it had been, though certainly how it should be. Something that had been amiss was now not so. The conundrum in my sleep addled mind confused me so, I nearly forgot to open my eyes, and see.

Resting on my shoulder was the slightly tousled blond hair of a well known head, one so known to me it was almost part of me now, and yet had been missing for so long. A quiet sobbing, big wet tears and a fist knotting up the cotton of my white t shirt. Rose. She was back. She had come back, and I hadn't even needed to save her. My clever resourceful Rose. I wrapped her in my embrace, like so many of our early morning cuddles, and hushed her silent tears. For a moment we were not in a cold lodge off the coast of Norway, but at home, as normal as could be.

"He was dying." She whispered to me, and explained how the return of the Time Lords and created a momentary drop in the barriers between worlds. How he had sacrificed himself for Donna's grandfather, and how he had seeked her out for one last confession.

"He did things," she told me, perhaps hoping to find some forgiveness for her actions, "terrible and unforgivable things."

And so it became her confession, how he had changed time for his own benefit, toyed with fixed points that should not be touched, became a God and shaped the universe to please himself, forgetting the very thing that made him himself.

I hurt for him, I honestly did, but I hurt for me too.

"You left me. With a baby. In Norway. On a whim. I thought you were dead. I thought you had left me."

"It had crossed my mind. Shall I remind you that you left me. He would never have done that."

"He leaves everyone behind, that's the very nature of who he is. Do you forget he left you here, with me?"

But I could never be angry. He was her Doctor, and he had been in trouble. He had called to her, and she had gone to him. Simple as that. I could not resent her acts of compassion, when it was compassion alone that allowed her to forgive me my own sins time and time again. So I let it drop with a kiss and a squeeze.

"You didn't stay with him?"

"That's not who I am anymore."

My first smile in an age.

"Time to go home?"

We were going to be very very late for Christmas.

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