Ever since she remembered, Donna Noble has been waiting.
Waiting for the sound of the grinding of gears and the whistling gusts of wind.
Waiting for the smell of oil and the indescribable something that the Doctor always said was the scent of the vortex.
Waiting for the feeling of a cool, smooth hand taking hers.
Waiting for the sight of a head of hair that looks as if its owner just got out of bed, even though she knows it’s taken hours to make it look ‘just so’.
Waiting for the sound of a familiar voice babbling at a million miles a minute.
Waiting for the feeling of a mechanical mind translating instantly any one of the millions of language in the universe.
Waiting for the sight of a pair of warm brown eyes looking into hers.
Waiting for the feeling of smooth gears under her fingers, of knobs and dials that the right push could send anywhere in time or space.
Waiting the hissing of breath between teeth and the sound of unfamiliar words that aren’t translated because the TARDIS doesn’t want her to learn inappropriate Gallifreyan.
Waiting for the taste of banana cake that only one person in the Universe can make in just that way (although she has to fight him to get some before he eats it all).
And when she sees a tall, slender, all-too-familiar form silhouetted against the coral-coloured light in the rectangular doorway, she knows that the waiting is finally over.
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