Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Runaway Bride

Bewildered, the two of us break from our increasingly less-subtle conversation to find Donna clasping a purple shirt in her fist. This time her fury is outmatched by something far deeper — genuine fear.

My voice catches at the sight of the shirt. Clenching my jaw, I return my focus to the body scan. Beside me, the Doctor is just as gutted by the reminder. "That's our friend's," he hoarsely replies.

"Where is she, then? Popped out for a spacewalk?"

"She's gone."

A sharp, shaking intake of breath. "'Gone' where?"

He lowers his head, his features suddenly seeming to weigh on him. I can feel it, too. It's an exhaustion I am all too familiar with. "We lost her."

"Well, you can hurry up and lose me!" The silence she receives in response is enough to somewhat ease the harshness of her voice. "How do you mean, 'lost'?"

No reply comes. Instead, he is off again, running around to the other side. "Right! Chiswick!"

——————

The mere minutes before we land stretch out in a haze of anxiety and lingering grief. We let Donna go first; partly as a gesture of good nature, partly as an attempt to get a break before we face yet another berating. It doesn't help. The second she peers between the doors, she snaps back at us, "I said St Mary's. What sort of Martians are you? Where's this?"

He has his back to her, rubbing the blue wood of his ship's exterior with concern weighing on furrowed brows. "Something's wrong with her — the Tardis. Like she's... recalibrating. She's digesting." In a rush he is back inside. A hand rests against the glass that protects the pistons. They make a whine of complaint. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I follow him in, ducking under the console to open up a hatch at its base. Wires and tubing thread in a familiar tangle, nothing out of the ordinary. Usually she finds some way to communicate any problems but I can't find anything. "Come on, Old Girl. I'm back. It's me, you know it's me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Donna," he calls, his hearing muffled by the buds of a stethoscope, "is there anything that might have caused this? Anything you might've done? Any sort of alien contact? 'Cause I can't let you go wandering off, not if you're dangerous. Have you seen lights in the sky or did you touch something, like... something different, something strange, like something made out of a funny sort of metal or— Who are you getting married to? You sure he's human? He's not a bit overweight with a zip round his forehead, is he?"

The silence is uncharacteristic. We look to the open doors, only to find her gone. "Donna! Donna?" I shout, the both of us catching up to her as she strides away down the alley, holding her skirts up to avoid murky puddles and litter.

She shakes her head. "Leave me alone. I just want to get married."

"Come back to the Tardis."

"No way, that box is too weird."

Hands in pockets, yet again. His shoulders are almost up to his ears. "It's... bigger on the inside, that's all."

"Oh, that's all?" she retorts with a sarcastic sneer.

I can't help but smirk at him. "How long since you last got to use that one?"

"What's that mean?"

Donna checks the delicate watch of twisted silver and diamonds fastened around her wrist. "Ten past three, I'm gonna miss it."

He shrugs. "Can't you phone them, tell them where you are?"

"How do I do that?"

As I start to root through my jacket, cursing myself for relying on burners and my office landline, I don't manage to stop him before he makes another bizarre comment, "Haven't you got a mobile?"