Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Thirty-Five: Bloody Holly

We park atop an office block helipad and Donna is the first to stagger out, unbothered by the sudden height and the copious amount of noxious smoke billowing from the Tardis. She is more focused on her watch. A calmness takes over.

Desperately trying to fan away the gas, the Doctor shuts the doors and turns his focus to the dejected-looking bride-to-be. His lips pull into a weak attempt at a smile. "Funny thing is, for a spaceship, she doesn't do that much flying. We'd better give her a couple of hours. You all right?"

She shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

"Did we miss it?"

"Yeah," she sighs, dragging it out as if the humour may somehow make up for it all.

Sparing a glance towards the city below, his focus inevitably drifts over to the scaffolded structure of Canary Wharf Tower. The sight is unwelcome. I shift uncomfortably and busy myself with smoothing down my windswept hair. He only allows himself a second before looking back to her. "Well, you can book another date."

"Course we can." Her reply isn't at all convincing.

He grasps for another suggestion to cheer her up. "You've still got the honeymoon."

"Just a holiday, now."

"Yeah," he quietly agrees. "Yeah. Sorry."

It takes her a moment before she mutters, "It's not your fault."

His smile seems a little more genuine now and he chuckles, "Oh, that's a change."

I finally break my silence, still shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to find comfort, "Think of it like this: at least this might help with the whole 'cold feet' thing. I mean, you bullied a couple of aliens into bringing you back for the wedding, so... you must be pretty committed."

This time she breaks into a grin. "Suppose you've got a point." Her gaze drifts back to the Tardis, which is now more visible as the smoke begins to clear. "Wish you had a time machine," she remarks wistfully, "then we could go back and get it right."

We trade glances over her head. "Um, yeah. Yeah," the Doctor replies with a leading tone. My eyes flare in warning, sensing what comes next, but he has already launched himself into an awkward explanation, "B-But... even if we did, we couldn't go back on someone's personal timeline... apparently."

Sending him a sidelong glare, she trudges over to the edge of the building and takes a seat. All concern for her dress has faded now and she allows it to crease and catch the dirt of the gravelled ground without so much as a word of complaint.

I direct my elbow into the Doctor's side with a disparaging whisper, "Sweet Hercules. Personification of a bloody shovel, you are. Just keep digging."

"Oi!"

With a chuckle and a shake of my head, I join Donna at the edge. "We'll figure something out, yeah? I'm sure Lance will understand, and we'll come up with some explanation to satisfy everyone else. Believe me, I've had practise in covering up this sort of thing. Come next Christmas, nobody will even remember it."

She scoffs, "You haven't met my mum."

It isn't long before I hear the Doctor's footsteps disturbing the stones behind us. He drapes his jacket over Donna's goose-pimpled shoulders. I shuffle over to allow him the space between us. A hand rests on top of mine as he tries to settle himself but he doesn't flinch at the unexpected contact, nor does he pull away. Our eyes meet for a little longer than they should. I'm certain of it now — their brown hue, scotch and coffee and oak, are older than ever before, ever since we parted ways... ever since we lost Rose. His lips strain up into a weak smile which I try my best to reciprocate, letting my hand wriggle under his until we are palm-to-palm. Our fingers interweave.