Donna slumped against him. If she had more energy, she would have wept openly, would have let out big ugly sobs against his shoulder before collecting herself and saying something disparaging about how her face was all puffy now and why'd you go and make her do that.
She rested against him like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders now that she could lean against his. Part of it was what he'd done to her mind — she couldn't explain it, but it was almost like something had been diffused, something had calmed, and it didn't only have to do with the fact that the Doctor was with her now.
It was such a relief to have him, to lace her fingers with his and tightly hold his hand, that she didn't yet think about the twin that she'd had for the last two months.
"You better not go anywhere," she said quietly. Her breaths were shallow and weak, and it wasn't clear if she'd stay that way. So many pieces of her had broken off and fallen away that there was little of her left. Physically, she was weak. Mentally, she was exhausted. She was alive, but at what cost?