Donna dreams she's drowning, the water closing over her head. She tries to swim, but her arms refuse to move, instead they hang limply at her side as she sinks further and further under. The light above fades, but then brightens, and she hears someone calling her name.

"Donna, you have to fight. You're stronger than this, I know it. Stay with me, I'm right here."

She tries to swim, to kick her way to the surface, but her legs also refuse to move, and darkness closes over her again.

***

She dreams of a forest, of someone chasing her in the shadows, and her legs won't move fast enough. She can't catch her breath as she turns to look back over her shoulder.

"Please, Donna, you can do this," someone calls to her, and she tries to run toward that voice, but she falls. Panic wells up inside her – she'll be caught! She has to run! But she can't make herself stand up again. The shadows close over her.

***

She dreams she's trapped in a tiny metal room, with death all around her. Voices call out for help from the shadows, but she can't look at them, she knows she'll see corpses and skeletons, nothing living. She pounds on the door, shouting for someone, anyone to let her out into the air. Just as she's about to give up, to give in to the darkness, the door opens, and the Doctor appears. "I've been looking for you," he says, holding out his hand to her.

Donna fights her way back to consciousness and struggles to open her eyes, although her eyelids feel as though they have weights on them. She finally succeeds, opening her eyes, then blinking against the brightness of the room. Her chest aches, and it burns as she takes in a breath. "Where am I?" she says, only her voice comes out as a weak whisper. She hears footsteps, then someone takes her hand.

"You're safe, you're on the TARDIS," the Doctor says, sitting carefully on the bed beside her and brushing her hair from her forehead.

"I was dreaming," she says, fighting to keep her eyes open, afraid if she blinks that he'll disappear. "You were looking for me."

"I found you," he says softly. "How are you feeling?" She sees him glance at the monitors next to the bed.

"My chest hurts."

"That's the pneumonia. I think the worst is over. The antivirals seem to have worked. I took you off the oxygen this morning, but if you want I can connect it again."

She shakes her head weakly. "Not right now." She lifts her arm carefully and looks at the IV that is running into her hand. "What happened?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Well, it seems you, Donna Noble, had the Spanish Flu."

"I wore the masks, all the time. I did everything you said."

"I know you did," he says gently, cupping her face with his hand. "It wasn't enough. After you collapsed, I brought you here, to the TARDIS."

"Why not the hospital?"

"You think I would take you to some turn-of-the-century hospital, without proper facilities?" He laughs humorlessly. "Not when the TARDIS was right there, with a full medical bay."

"Not changing the timeline, are we?" she chides gently.

"No, you were out of your own time – taking you to the hospital would have been much worse. You were contagious, for one thing, and might have caused a wider spread of the disease. You were much safer here." He pours her a glass of water and offers it to her, supporting her as she takes a few sips. "And before you ask, I only used medicine available in your time, so no paradoxes there, either. Aside from you catching the flu in the first place, of course." He avoids her gaze, and she suspects he's not telling the whole truth, but she doesn't press the issue.

"Did you call Martha?"

"Yes, she wanted to come of course, but I told her it was too dangerous. She's been monitoring you though, and she'll stop by to see you in a few days, make sure I did the job right."

"Thank you. For taking care of me," she says.

"It's my fault, I should have insisted we leave. I knew it was too dangerous."

"Don't, please," she says, squeezing his hand with as much strength as she can find. "It's my fault."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now. Right now, you should sleep, and then later on we'll get you out of this bed, alright?"

She nods, exhaustion already overwhelming her again. She stops fighting it, and lets her eyes drift closed. She sleeps, dreamlessly.

***

She wakes up coughing, struggling for breath, and the Doctor is there immediately to support her. When she finally catches her breath, after a seemingly endless time, she leans against him.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, I think," she says, but she knows her voice sounds weak.

"Are you hungry?"

She considers for a moment, then says, "Yes, I think I am."

"I'll get you something light, won't be a moment," he replies, easing her back down onto the pillows. She looks at her hand and sees the IV had been removed, leaving only a bit of gauze taped to her hand as evidence it was there. It itches a little, but she resists the urge to scratch it.

He returns with a tray holding soup and a sandwich, and some tea, which she drinks greedily, to his apparent amusement. "Better?" he asks, and she nods, reaching for the sandwich.

After she eats, he helps her to the tiny bathroom near the sickbay, then to the library, where he gets her settled on the sofa. He sits next to her and watches her for a long moment.

"What is it?" she asks, finally, when he doesn't speak.

"Nothing – I'm just glad to see you out of that bed."

"No more than I am," she says lightly. She leans her head back against the cushions and closes her eyes. "I heard you, in my dreams."

She feels him tense up, then relax. "Did you? What did I say?"

"Oh, the usual rambling," she teases, opening one eye to look at him. He's not smiling, so she continues. "I heard you calling for me to be strong."

He shifts uncomfortably, then says, "Yes. I was talking to you while you were ill. I—" he stops, then turns to her, taking her hand. "I thought I was going to lose you, despite all the medicine and everything else. I was afraid."

She squeezes his hand. "I was strong, because of you."

"Not because of me."

"I'm sorry I worried you." She sits up and shifts so she can lean against his shoulder.

He puts his arm around her shoulder and rests his head against hers. "I'm glad you weren't lost." He drops a kiss on the top of her head, and she sighs.

"Me too."

They sit in silence for long moments, until she breaks it finally. "Did they all die?"

"Who?" he asks, although she knows he knows who she means.

"The crew. Did they all die?"

"Not all," he replies carefully. "Some of them recovered."

"How many?"

"I don't know. A few."

"So we didn't change anything."

"We saved the city of Philadelphia from an earlier outbreak. You helped make the last days of those boys a little easier. Don't say we didn't change anything – you did. You made a difference."

"Not enough," she says tiredly, closing her eyes again.

He doesn't answer, and just draws her closer to him, rubbing her arm soothingly.

***

"That smells divine," she says from the doorway of the kitchen, and he turns from where he's stirring a pot over the stove.

"You shouldn't be up," he replies, as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

"I'm tired of sitting, and I'm starving. What else should I do?"

"Lunch is nearly ready. I thought you might like something other than soup for a change?"

"Definitely something other than soup, yes please."

"Roast chicken and potatoes sound good?"

She sighs happily. "Sounds perfect."

She watches as he finishes cooking, impressed again at his ability to actually cook. He beams at her after she takes a few bites and pronounces it delicious.

"I was thinking, since you're feeling so much better, we might take a little trip. There's something I want you to see."

"I think that sounds good," she replies. She's been feeling cooped-up lately, despite the size of the TARDIS. The only remaining evidence of her illness is a lingering cough, and tiredness that overcomes her by the afternoon, but even that is easing. "Where?"

"Ah, that's a surprise, but I think you'll like it. Do you trust me?"

"Always."

***

They leave the TARDIS hidden behind some hedges, and walk down the little road, past cozy little houses with tidy gardens. It's a lovely sunny day, although cold, and the Doctor fusses over Donna a little about whether her coat is warm enough.

"I'm fine, stop it," she says firmly. "You can't keep doing that."

"What?"

"Fussing over me. You'll drive me mad."

"Sorry," he says, chastened, as he takes her hand again.

"Now where are we?"

"Derbyshire, February 1919."

"And why are we here?"

He stops in front of one of the houses, and gestures at the house across the way. "That is the Stevens' home."

She gasps. "Not our Stevens?"

"Yes, it's his parent's house. And today, his brother is coming home." He nods at another figure approaching, with a rucksack over his back.

"He survived the war?"

"Yes, and his parents have been waiting for him to return. Today's the day."

The young man walks up the path to the house, and before he reaches the door it's flung open, revealing an older couple, beaming at him. They hurry out to meet him, embracing him.

"You see? His brother survived the war, and came home."

"Because of something we did?" she asks, confused.

He shakes his head. "No, just lucky, or clever, as far as I know. I just wanted you to see that not everyone dies."

No, some of us have to carry on, she thinks. The last son, or the last Time Lord. She watches as the family embraces their returning son, before they disappear into the small house. She slips her hand into his and they turn to walk back to the TARDIS. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Donna Noble, for reminding me."

"Reminding you what?"

"That people – individuals – are as important as timelines."

"You didn't need me to remind you of that," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

He stops and turns to her, taking her hands in his. "I do need you. What would I do without you?" He pulls her to him and kisses her, slow and gentle.

She pulls him closer, looping her arms around his waist, enjoying the feel of him. After long moments she pulls back, then slips her arm through his. "Let's hope you never have to find out."

**Historical Notes: The City of Exeter was a real ship, which docked in Philadelphia in June, 1918, after a brief quarantine. Most of the crew was taken directly to hospital, where many died. The quarantine protected the city, although unintentionally. They weren't yet quarantining ships for influenza, but by the time they reached port they were no longer contagious. If you're interested in reading more about the epidemic, I can recommend "The Great Influenza" by John M. Barry; it was my primary source of information. Thank you for reading!