Title: Lachrymose

Summary: A moment with the Doctor's true love.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Donna's asleep at last, which means the Doctor can at last slip away into the back rooms, to the rooms Donna will never, ever explore.

The stone figure resting on the bed is a familiar one, frightening in all cases but this one. She is, like all of her kind, frozen under his gaze, but she doesn't seem to mind, her face peaceful, her slightly sharp snaggletooth peeking out of otherwise perfect lips, the only reference to her true nature he's ever seen. Her wings are splayed out beneath her, stone feathers heavy against the sheets, and her hair is frozen in a sort of halo on the pillow, snaking out in all directions from where she lay.

He turns away, and cold hands find his.

"... How was... New New York...?" Asks a thin, whispery voice that manages to be birdsong and gravel at the same time.

The Doctor tilts his head slightly, not quite to see, but just enough.

"We met up with Jack for a while," he tells her, and his voice holds the same note of hushed reverence one might use in a basilica. "He asked after you."

"... Jack always... Liked Lapis..." She noses against his neck, and his skin prickles in a way that is wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

"Well, what's not to like about you?" He asks with a smile. "You're sweet, and kind, and beautiful..."

"..." Her hands move to his chest, feeling dual heartbeats under stone fingers as she hugs him gently, making sure to be extra careful of his fragile, fleshy frame.

"... Doctor is... Kind..." She says after a moment. "Doctor... is good..."

He smiles slightly, but it's not as bright as usual.

"Lapis... Are you alright?" He asks,

"... Lapis is sorry... For Doctor..." She admits after a moment.

"Whatever for?"

"Doctor has given Lapis everything... Doctor has love for an angel..." She bows her head, resting it against his shoulder. "...Lapis is sorry..."

The Doctor swallows hard.

"You shouldn't be sorry," he tells her gently, reaching up to squeeze cold, unyielding fingers. "It's my decision, in the end, to decide whether or not you're worth loving. And, Lapis, you're certainly worth that."

Closing his eyes (he's made the mistake of not doing so, which becomes an uncomfortable situation on occasion), he brings her hand to his lips and kisses it. Her arms tighten slightly around his body, but not enough to hurt, so he doesn't mind, and, keeping his eyes closed, he turns to press another kiss to her cheek.

"If anything, I should be apologizing," he whispers. "For making you fall in love with a dopy flesh person like me."

"... Not dopy. Doctor."

He lets out a huff of laughter and presses another kiss to his cheek, feeling his insides clench as he does so.

Because no matter how true his words are, or how close they become through the darkness of a blindfold, it can never be enough.

Not for either of them.