This didn't really turn out the way I wanted, but oh well. I didn't originally intend to bash 11, even though it ended up that way. Don't like, don't read.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. If I did, we'd still have 10 and Donna. And quite possibly Malcolm Taylor from "Planet of the Dead" because I love him to bits.
As he feels his way around his new limbs, he knows there is something very different about this face.
This face likes to run.
Run on its feet, from its memories, from its emotions, and most importantly, from its friends. This face wants nothing to do with the people that helped define his previous two, and he thinks this is just fine. Simple memories of the lost are acceptable, which means he doesn't have to visit them. It hurts to see them, he reasons. He saw them all before he regenerated; that was more than enough.
He doesn't have to show them this new, unstable Doctor. A Doctor who will ignore the death of one of his companions. A Doctor who will keep important secrets from that companion's fiance. A Doctor who will lie outright to those that trust him the most because he cannot bring himself to trust them back.
This face likes to run. So run it will.
Donna Noble treks step by step through her life, alone in a crowd of people. She doesn't understand the pain in her heart. She is missing something. Something so very important, but she can't remember. Every time she thinks that perhaps now, yes! I remember something! I remember...
What do I remember?
She forgets, like something in her head blocks the thought. Her frustration fades over the weeks and months into sadness. Depression is what she knows now, only gaining a small reprieve from its claws when spending time with her family.
Her days are filled with monotony, something that she never felt for her life until now. She had enjoyed her life up until the memory loss. She knows that she has lost something profound, but no one can help her. Every day she wakes, showers, goes to work (when she has it), eats, watches telly, and sleeps. That is all there is now.
At night, she dreams of a different her. She dreams of a Donna who is a genius and has self-esteem to spare. No longer is she taunted by the disapproving words of her mother or the stuck up women who look like they only eat a single piece of lettuce each day. None of that matters because she is brilliant.
But every morning she wakes up and every morning she is the same old Donna.
"It's only fitting that they both lost who they were,
to gain something that was so much less."