What Dreams May Come ✗John and Donna
It was funny how he could get cabin fever aboard the TARDIS. A ship that was larger on the inside, dimensionally transcendent, and possibly limitless. But after a few days (close to an entire week!) of being stuck in his bedroom, he was just about climbing the walls.
Not literally, of course. Literally, he was lying on his back staring at the ceiling.
Still, the boredom was eating away at him, and the desire to move was growing ever stronger, so when Jack told him that the snow was melting, he knew that he just had to get out of the ship and savour the remainder of the snow.
He'd been out of the TARDIS for all of five minutes before he realised that this was probably a bad idea. Walking was bad enough - trekking through deep snow that was turning slushy was enough to leave him winded and exhausted. He'd thought to cut across town, from the South neighbourhood to the town hall, but he'd barely reached the park before he was flagging.
Leaning against a tree, he slumped, trying to catch his breath. His ribs and his lung still didn't seem to want to work properly, and he could feel the injured heart protesting the strain. Still, he was out, and that was the most important thing. The snow was still pristine - there weren't enough people in the Pocket to trample it into brown mud, and the sky was so blue, and the sun was out. All in, it was a fantastic day.
Wrapping his coat more tightly around him, he took a few more steps, then gave up moving as a bad job as even that amount of exertion winded him. He opted to flop onto his back in the snow instead, folding his arms behind him and staring up at the sky with a happy smile on his face. The Pocket was safe, Jack was back to normal, and it was a great day. Really, what more could he ask for?