Further Adventures of Supertemp

Marvellous Night For A Pooshdance

2009-07-11T07:42:06Z

Title: Marvellous Night For A Pooshdance
Series: A TARDIS's Guide To The Galaxies
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna
References: Fires of Pompeii, misc other
Summary: Sequel to Make Me A Match (straight after Partners in Crime) and Drops Of Gallifrey (straight after Make Me A Match). This part comes after Fires of Pompeii. Sorry it took so long, but it's longer than the other parts and I wanted to make it up to par. I hope it’s worth the wait. Great fun writing it!
Word count: About 5600

1. Make Me A Match
2. Drops Of Gallifrey

Donna closed the doors of the TARDIS. Behind the blue-painted wood, Pompeii vanished.

The Doctor wandered wearily over to the console, sticking one hand in a pocket and twiddling a few switches that didn’t need at all to be twiddled with the other. He tried very hard not to look at Donna. Still wearing that blasted floaty purple dress; a walking reminder of their adventure. Truthfully, he felt angry and ashamed of his behaviour, even if he had relented to Donna’s tearful pleas, and he didn’t know quite what to say.

Donna said it for him.

“Thank you.”

He glanced up.

“Yup,” he said nonchalantly, looking away and continuing to tweak switches at random. Idly he noticed the TARDIS tweaking one of them back with an annoyed click, and when touching the next switch resulted in an ever so slight sensation of electrocution, he knew what his ship was trying, not very subtly, to tell him. He looked up.

“You were right,” he told Donna stiffly, and watched her mouth fall open. Well, she was right. He swallowed and pressed on. “Sometimes I need someone.” The words caught in his throat – words that he’d once declared passionately to someone else, centuries and centuries ago. His eyes dwelled on Donna, silently begging her not to leave him alone again like – like ...

Perish the thought.

“Welcome aboard,” he managed to say. Hardly able to get the words out; absolutely terrified of what the reaction might be. In blowing up at her, he’d crossed a line from which there was no return. Was the apology for nothing? Would she demand to be taken home anyway? But as he watched her carefully, her eyebrows knitted – sympathetically? – and her mouth pursed into a little wry smile.

“Yeah,” she said.

A single syllable. Yet the Doctor thought he’d never heard a nicer sound. His hearts thumped painfully and he wondered if he’d actually just felt them try to zoom across his chest towards each other for a squidgy cardiovascular embrace. Solemn though the moment was, he couldn’t help a tiny smile flitting over his face, and Donna’s own smile widened as she exhaled. He realised with a start that she’d been just as worried about what he’d been going to say. Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her; not after flying off the handle like he had done.

Speaking of handles …

He pulled down the ignition lever with a flourish, relieved that his ship seemed to find his sort-of-apology to Donna adequate enough to not try killing him again. The engines roared into power, the floor shuddered, and then the TARDIS was spinning off into great swirls of no time at all.

Inside, the Doctor dropped his hand from the lever and moved it into his pocket as he gazed up at the pumping time rotor. From the corner of his eye he was aware of Donna wandering over to the jump seat and plonking herself down. He tried to delay joining her for as long as possible, but when it got to the stage where the TARDIS evidently decided if he twiddled any more switches she’d be sending him to the medical bay all frizzled in a body bag, he scuffed his way over to the jump seat and lowered himself down, glancing at his ginger-haired companion. She returned the look. In a sudden flash they weren’t in the TARDIS at all – they were back in Pompeii. Spending their last moments alone, together. Hot rocks steaming around them. Faces smeary with ash. Gazes burning with the intensity of invisible laser bolts. Having to say goodbye just nearly as soon as they’d met.

Then Donna snatched her eyes away, and the Doctor blinked in confusion, and they were back in the familiar junky surroundings of the console room.

For a moment the memory was too vivid - they couldn’t look at each other – but then the Doctor heard a very definite sniff. His hand blindly groped, quivering, for Donna’s fingers. It found and gripped them. He dared a look back, to see that so had she, and that her eyes were red and dribbly again. But this time not because of him. They lunged for each other at the same time.

“Oh my god, we could have died,” Donna told his shoulder, teeth clacking out the words like a typewriter.

“I know – I know,” he said, his voice deep and raw as he folded his arms even tighter around her and rocked her a little. “Shhh. You’re in shock.”

“Duhhhh,” she intoned into his ear, shaking like a piece of machinery. His mouth quirked against her cheek.

Ah, Donna Noble.

He tried to juggle the fabric of her long purple gown, managing to pass up the hem and fling it helpfully over his shoulder where Donna unceremoniously blew her nose into it. They sat there, swathed in purple, neither bothering to untangle themselves.

Slowly, Donna’s shudders became an occasional tremor.

Idly, the Doctor’s hands creepy-crawlied their way up Donna’s back and began braiding her tresses into a nifty sort of balloon-style K9.

“Soooooo,” said Donna, her head making no effort to lift from his shoulder.

What did one say after a near death experience like that? Offer to make a cup of tea? Maybe not quite the right thing, thought the Doctor; still, there was always Ho Wo Slug Fug tea from Shan Shen, which actually was something akin to a near death experience, and was guaranteed to put you into a mild hallucinatory full body coma for at least a day or two. Great stuff.

“So,” he repeated, eyes skimming the peacefully humming room over Donna’s spanking new K9 bouffant.

“Know what we need right now?” said Donna, evidently deciding that the hugging had gone on more than long enough and shoving him gently away.

“Therapy?”

“Yeah,” said Donna sarcastically, swinging her arm around his shoulders and hoisting them both to their feet; he let her. “A special sort of Earth therapy – it’s called alcohol and it’s very, very good.”

He was convinced. She could actually read his mind. He was about to launch enthusiastically into the praises of Ho Wo Slug Fug tea, when an even better thought occurred to him.

“The Dancing Moons of Poosh!”

“The dancing moons of what?”

“Poosh, Donna, Poosh. It’s a planet – well, I say planet; more like a big … thing of ballish … gas thingy … stuff.”

“Talk it up a bit more, why don’t you; you make it sound so intriguing,” scoffed Donna, folding her arms and regarding him as one might a small child.

“Biggest orbit of moons anywhere in the universe,” said the Doctor enticingly, twirling his fingers and grinning. “Totally different and random they go round, bit like ping pong balls. Love ping pong – brilliant!”

Donna sighed, but the Doctor could see a hint of a smile on those pursed lips.

“Ping pong,” she repeated flatly.

“There’s even one that does a sort of jitterbug,” he promised, with an air of producing the clincher.

“Oh, well, if it jitterbugs that’s got me convinced,” said Donna in tones that – if the Doctor knew human women (which he suspected he probably still didn’t) – might have meant the complete opposite.

“Did I mention there’s a twenty-seven-hour-a-day bar?”

He’d hardly finished speaking before Donna was already at the console.

“How’d you turn this TARDIS thing of yours on?”

* * *

After picking themselves up from Donna’s bang of a landing (after the mention of bars the Doctor hadn’t been able to prise her away from the console even with flinging both arms around her waist and bracing himself against the console with a foot; he was already resolving to teach her the basics of TARDIS navigation) the Doctor shrugged on his overcoat and opened the door in gentlemanly fashion. Donna ignored the gentlemanly fashion bit of it and took one step out. Then one step back in.

“What, not coming?” asked the Doctor in surprise. “I thought you wanted a drink.”

“This is a posh place, you moron,” she hissed at him. “I’m a mess. People are looking.”

“No they’re not,” he said, in not completely convincing tones. “You look … lovely.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Donna in annoyed tones that brooked no argument, picking off a clod of mud as she re-emerged. “Yick.” He hid a smile; evidently she’d decided they were past mere niceties now. Fine by him. “I tell you,” she continued, “if my mum could see me now – actually she’d probably strip me off and dump me in the bath like back at school. Terror of the Sandpit, that was me … ooh look, drinkies.”

He chuckled as she made a bee-line for the menu while completely ignoring the roped chains of Pooshes gliding past in the star-studded distance. Much like a giant pearl necklace in a black velvet jewellery box – but a necklace that in parts jitterbugged and zigzagged and cartwheeled and hopped and did all manner of strange things that necklaces generally aren’t supposed to do.

“You could be as filthy as a – a … well, as a pig and I wouldn’t care,” declared the Doctor stoutly, following behind with his hands pocketed.

“Inspiring loads of confidence,” replied Donna dryly, eyes scanning the card. She cocked her head at the waiter. “Oi! You over there – Jeeves. Bring us whatever you’ve got that’s strongest. Lots of it. Buckets of it.” She took another look at the list of prices and her eyes narrowed. She pointed at the Doctor. “He’ll pay.”

The waiter looked questioningly at the Doctor. The Doctor waggled his eyebrows humorously.

“Very good, modommmmm,” the waiter told Donna, leading the way to a booth and scribbling away on page after page of his order pad with enthusiasm before leaving, proffering many bows. Donna blew out a sigh. She drummed her fingers on the table and watched Poosh-009 bounce past the window before turning her smile towards the Doctor. He eyed her critically and licked his finger, reaching for her cheek. Her smile disappeared. She swatted his hand away.

“Whatchoo doing? Stop it.”

“Hold on, you just got a bit of …”

He stuck his tongue between his teeth, concentrating as he tried to wipe away some of the ash marks. He had to admit that his handiwork wasn’t very good. What he mainly seemed to be accomplishing was turning a small dark smudge into an even larger, darker smudge.

“Better?” asked Donna in female concern.

“Much!” promised the Doctor brightly, and when Donna craned her head to admire the famed polka of Poosh-242424, he took the opportunity to extend a finger and slide a stripy Verangian pot plant in front of the mirrored seat back, which at the moment was reflecting the breakdancing of Poosh-5938. Fortunately Donna was far too busy staring at all the aliens in the bar to notice her own appearance. A smirk settled at the corner of the Doctor’s mouth as he watched. After a while, though, aliens were beginning to stare back. The Doctor’s smile faded. He stretched out his sneaker under the table and tapped on Donna’s shoe.

“Knock knock.”

Her head snapped back.

“Oi! What?”

“Stop staring.”

“But see that person over there – he’s got five arms,” she said in a strained whisper, swivelling to gaze again.

“Yeeeep. So?”

“No, I don’t think you heard me, I said he’s got five arms. Oh god. He’s seen us. Don’t look! Why’s he staring? Is he dangerous? Does he have fangs? If he opens his mouth will it have fangs in it?”

“Don’t be silly, Donna. Probably he’s never seen anyone with two arms.”

Donna made a little noise like “Oh!” and her mouth popped closed like a fish. She turned around, much to the Doctor’s relief. After a moment, though, he began wriggling, and wasn’t completely sure why. Until he realised that he’d become the object of Donna’s fascination. She was staring steadily, her chin propped in her hands, eyes roving unashamedly over him.

“Oi!” he said, wriggling uncomfortably again.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just … you know what? I forgot you were an alien. Until you –”

She broke off and bit her lip, not quite meeting the Doctor’s eyes. He coughed hurriedly, knowing she had been about to refer to his outburst after Pompeii. “You … you don’t look like one, is what I mean,” she finished; and then eyed him, suddenly suspicious. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you? You’re not really some nerdy sci-fi geek who built a spaceship in his garage?”

“Nerdy sci-fi geek? Me? – the Doctor? A Time Lord?”

“Oh yawn yawn – yes you, your high and mightiness. You’re telling me no one ever thought you weren’t an alien before? I mean, you wear flipping glasses. That’s dodgy to begin with. No laser surgery in the ten billionth century or whatever it is then?”

The Doctor unbuttoned his jacket, taking Donna’s hand and placing it on the thin cotton. She looked at him sceptically. Quietly he took her other hand and placed it on the other side of his chest. After a moment her eyes widened and she promptly folded forward over the table to drop her face to his chest, pressing her ear against the double heartbeats. He looked down at her messy red hair spread over him and snickered in amusement.

“Wait for it,” he promised; and, squeezing his eyes shut, struck up a rendition of Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors in perfect time with the Charlestoning of Poosh-23. Donna seemed mildly impressed.

“Though don’t think this means you’re gonna start groping at me, you hyper-spaced-up Casanova,” she warned him, lifting her face to bestow one of the special glares he’d already gathered were reserved for him. “I’m not a flipping alien. Regular heart. One.” She tapped on his chest with a grubby fingernail. “Not a jukebox.”

“Ah – but don’t you realise you’re alien to me too, Donna? Too warmish, you humans are. Bit like a hothouse orchid from Nebblebobbula Five; quite interesting how they flower really, they open up and let a beam of sunlight penetrate them …”

Here he paused, eyeing Donna curiously as she really did begin to resemble a blushing Nebblebobbulan hothouse orchid, her cheeks clashing with her hair.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he said, mouth hanging open.

“Stop talking like that.”

“Like wha – oh!” His eyes bugged and he swallowed. “Yup.”

They tried not to look at each other and stared instead out the window with great interest at Poosh-6969.

The Doctor made a comment about the weather. Donna agreed that there was such a thing as weather, and that sometimes it rained. Sometimes it didn’t. It depended on the atmospheric pressure. The Doctor agreed with this too, and then they caught each other’s eye and blushed again and stopped talking altogether. Luckily at this juncture their drinks arrived (wheeled to their table in an enormous ice-filled tub) and both made sure to select far too many bottles and to slurp very loudly to make up for the lull in conversation.

Gradually, the faint tinges of colour left their cheeks and with a little help from the drinks the conversation returned to its normal pitch. And how they could talk! In the space of ten minutes, they’d covered Donna’s views on religion (by the time she’d blown off a bit of steam the Doctor gathered it amounted to believing in nothing except the sanctity of chocolate), clothing stores (she called them evil, twisted conglomerations – he couldn’t argue with that, although from a completely different perspective), art (according to Donna some of it wanky but some of it quite good), and electric toothbrushes (she even had one in her pocket, and he hadn’t even known she’d had pockets in that dress, or where she’d gotten her hands on an electric toothbrush in ancient Pompeii, but he kindly offered to sonic it for her; she said no.) They also covered his own views on bubblewrap (brilliant), sushi (despicable), nanocomputers (despicable), wind-up clockwork monkeys (brilliant), and bananas (here he must have glazed over a bit because he came hurriedly to with Donna threatening to pour his glass of Hokey Cokey Cola over his head.)

“I had a banana aversion at one stage,” he remarked in disbelief. “Mind you, it was a couple hundred years ago. Didn’t last. Knew it wouldn’t. Bananas are good.”

“So, this age thing,” said Donna, pointedly ignoring him and latching onto the different tack. “If you’re how old you say you are, you must’ve had … I dunno, hundreds of people travelling with you.”

That was true. Constant company without getting too close to anyone. He’d had heaps of friends. Some of them he’d picked up solely for their Intergalactic Snooker playing skills and they’d spent weeks on end playing snooker on the TARDIS console in their rolled-up shirtsleeves, arguing over how many quadromils of chalk to use and whether it was an infringement to start using pieces of the console that fell off as makeshift cues. Stuff like that was a brilliant distraction.

“What am I saying?” added Donna suddenly, gesturing at the alien-populated bar. “Even aliens with you.” He nodded. “Got any insider info for me? Oh I know, tell me about Time Lords. You’re one, you must have flitted round with some. Unless you’re all hermits. Or like those germs that split into two and keep replicating.” She paused uncertainly. “You – you don’t … do you?”

“Course we do! … Nup, just kidding.”

He fielded the hit well – probably deserved it, that one – and waited for the next question.

“Come onnnn, Doctor, tell me! Any weird little habits I should know about? Eating insects, bleeding green blood, hogging the shower – you know, that sort of thing. Who’d you travel with out of your lot?”

His jaw tightened. He stared mutely.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” said Donna in evident self-annoyance. The Doctor lowered his head. “Sod me and my big mouth,” she went on, taking his response quite rightly as agreement. “Don’t answer. Please, don’t.”

“No, I want to,” he choked out, instantly. He trusted her. “I – yes, I did. Travel with some of them.”

“And … oh. But you lost someone, didn’t you,” said Donna in such gentle tones that he wouldn’t have thought they could come from the same person who could holler like no other. He looked askance at her for a long time, debating whether to say it. Whether he could even bring himself to talk about it, after so long spent trying to forget.

“My – my wife,” he finally got out with an effort, gazing out the window as Poosh-1001 waltzed past, its pale surface veiled in light silvery mists. And then he wasn’t quite sure if that was the moon, or his eyes getting blurry.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Donna say, and in the next moment a hand was laid over his. He gripped it tightly. “You have to travel with someone, don’t you,” she continued with uncanny insight. He glanced up. She wasn’t watching him. Her eyes were fixed on the rocky brown crater of Poosh-8 catching up with Poosh-1001 and spinning them off together. “Because you lost her. And you can’t be alone.”

She was right, of course. Was she ever not right about him?

“Stuck with me now,” she added self-disparagingly. “Must be a bit of a let-down from hanging around with Time Lords.” She waggled her fingers. “Super powers. And then normal boring Donna.” She waggled her drink and flashed a cheeky grin. “Biiiit tipsy.”

He sighed. Appreciated the attempt to cheer him up, but it made him feel worse. She wasn’t “normal boring Donna.” Why didn’t she believe that? She’d said he needed someone. And she was right. Now he had her. That seemed right too.

“Not normal or boring at all,” he told her, managing a grin. “You’re brilliant. Brilliant as any of them. Brillianter, in fact.”

She snorted and slurped through her straw.

“Yeah right. Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Not all,” he told her meaningfully, and she blushed a little, but kept sipping.

“What was she like? Your wife.”

“Oh – she was beautiful,” said the Doctor earnestly, leaning back with his legs idly crossed at the ankles. A sympathetic half-smile puckered the corner of Donna’s mouth, encouraging him on. “Well! – more than beautiful, really,” he bragged with assurance. “Stunning.” He threw Donna a sidelong look under his lashes. “Everyone at the Academy wanted her.”

“I just bet they did,” said Donna in innocent tones that somehow managed to insinuate a whole lot more.

He couldn’t help but blush; but he grinned anyway, a huge, bright grin like a megawatt.

“And she picked you. Can’t see why,” teased Donna, leaning over the table to pick a loose bit of cotton from his collar. “I could seriously thread a needle with you … oh, but I forgot. You had a different body. So you say. Still not gonna actually believe that till you do your – your morphy thing bang in front of me, sunshine.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You’ll have clothes on, though – right?”

He grinned, choosing not to answer that directly.

“Yeah, you’d have liked me back then,” he promised cheekily, and could have sworn that she went a bit pinker. “Buff,” he enunciated, wickedly.

She gave him another of those special reserved-for-him glares, but evidently saw enough past his jokey demeanour to scoot around the booth and put her head comfortingly on his shoulder. His arm went around her, and they sighed together. Both exhausted; the Doctor’s mind occupied with his wife, but his memories somehow not so sad any more.

Presently there was a noise above them like a pair of nail-clippers. Their heads swivelled upwards in unison.

The waiter hiccoughed politely again.

“Closing time,” he said, making many deep and apologetic bows.

“Thank god,” said Donna with a yawn that threatened to unhinge her jaws. “Need bed.”

“Whaaaat?” whined the Doctor. “But we just got here.”

“Need I remind you that you said it was open twenty-seven hours,” scolded Donna, poking him.

“Yeah, but forty-four hour day, Donna. Keep up!”

“Oh, course,” said Donna with sarcasm. “Forty-four hours. Cos that’s completely normal. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

The Doctor cradled his drink sulkily and pouted at the waiter.

“I’ll fix this,” Donna told the waiter with assurance. She turned to face the Doctor. He eyed her with trepidation as she pointed firmly at his glass.

“Little drinking game. Every time you think of your planet and feel depressed about it, take a sip.”

The Doctor shrugged. Why not? He screwed up his face in thought.

“Citadel,” he finally decided, nodding his head with certainty; and obediently drained his drink with a smack of his lips. “Look, Donna, it’s the boogieing moon!” he added, squinting at Poosh-50 through his glass. “Fantastic!” He bobbed his head with enthusiasm, rocking out to its orbit.

“You’re completely mad,” said Donna, snorting as she watched him.

“If I’m doing this,” said the Doctor cunningly, “then you have to take a drink whenever you think about …” He crossed his eyes in thought. “Aha. Lance.”

“Really, really bad in bed,” said Donna casually, and the Doctor nearly sprayed his Hokey Cokey Cola back over the table.

“Don-na!”

“He snored,” said Donna, rolling her eyes.

“Bad boy Lance,” said the Doctor, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, digest in peace,” said Donna, watching Poosh-02 jitterbug past the window. “Though he was bad at other stuff too,” she continued reflectively, picking up her drink, and the Doctor moaned in protest, his face dropping onto Donna’s shoulder with a gentle thud.

“Do we really have to talk about this?” he mumbled into her neck.

“Not been getting any? Prude,” said Donna with equal measures of crudity and affection, poking his shoe with hers under the table as she watched the five-armed alien down ten drinks in quick succession. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Evidently she decided just a fragment of a moment later, because there was an outraged squeal in his ear, and then something was whacking him hard, and continually. He couldn’t see for sure (because he was too busy trying to shield himself) but he thought that the thing doing the whacking might be Donna’s hand.

“What’d I do?” he protested blankly under the blows.

“My. Hair,” she told him, eyeing herself in horror in the mirrored back of the seat just vacated by the five-armed alien. “You’ve turned it into a dog!”

The Doctor somehow escaped from the booth and bolted, sure that he’d never hightailed it faster back to the safety of the TARDIS.

Though come to think of it, he’d never shared the bedroom next to his attacker before.

Apart from that one time on Nebblebobbula Five.

And whatever happens on Nebblebobbula Five, stays on Nebblebobbula Five.

* * *

“Night, Donna!” called the Doctor, bedsheets drawn up to his chin.

Donna’s head appeared around the gaping doorless frame separating their rooms. After the Doctor had been found hiding and had apologised and un-braided her hair, they’d discovered that the TARDIS had removed the door and any attempts to put it back up resulted in the Doctor’s hands being porcupined with splinters (but not Donna’s, which the TARDIS seemed to want to remain splinterless enough to apply balm to his.)

“Sleep tight, spaceman,” said Donna cheerfully.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” they chorused, and then gave each other surprised looks, and then grinned.

Donna’s face suddenly took on proportions of immense suspicion. Her mouth opened, a finger already waggling.

“No bedbugs in the TARDIS,” cut in the Doctor. Donna closed her mouth and then opened it again. He forestalled her with: “Earth ones or intergalactic space weevils, or whatever it is you were about to say. Promise.”

She pursed her lips in a smile.

“Yeah yeah, all right, you little banana in pyjamas. Don’t start thinking you all know me.”

“Oh … I think I do,” he said cockily, enjoying her annoyed pout.

She strode over and snatched one of his pillows out from under his back, delivering him a faceful of goosedown. He snatched up the closest thing to hand (it was his tiny potpourri eyepillow) and had just joined in the battle with no less enthusiasm when there was a series of rattling clinks and a ceasewallop by mutual accord.

Five steaming cups and saucers were stacked enticingly on the spindly-legged Renaissance table beside Donna.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” said Donna to the TARDIS, waving the pillow sternly and scattering feathers everywhere. The Doctor listened in surprise. “I’m not interested in whatever little quarrels you two are up to, all right? You feed me, you feed him too, or take it elsewhere, boxy.”

There was a silence, followed a moment later by a dull clatter on the Doctor’s bedside table as a cup of Ho Wo Slug Fug tea materialised.

“I seriously love this ship,” gushed Donna. The Doctor smiled weakly and eyed the foamy sludge. It bubbled, and noxious fumes suddenly wafted his way, helped by a little battery-powered fan silently protruding from the TARDIS wall. He looked pointedly up at the ceiling.

This meant war.

“Oh … lovely jubbly,” he said over-cheerfully, gingerly prodding away the delicate rose-patterned teacup with a fingertip in case of spontaneous combustion. “Might have it a bit later.”

When Donna didn’t answer, he looked over his shoulder in puzzlement. She was perched beside him on the bed, eyes closed and hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Donna?” he said uncertainly.

“Don’t mind me. Just resting my eyes,” she said, eyes still shut.

He nodded, and then waited a minute before prodding her. She swayed like Poosh-1001, but as he’d suspected, made no reply. Carefully he manoeuvred her into a lying-down position, grinning to himself as he noted their near-matching pyjamas – his blue and pinstriped, hers green and candystriped. He considered for a moment and then draped his well-darned quilt over her, feeling a bit like he was tucking in an enormous living Victorian doll for the night. He shuddered, banishing the thought; that had been a particularly scary experience that he didn’t want repeated any time soon.

The TARDIS lights were already dimming. The Doctor heard a sound like rr—ii—p and looked at the wall. A piece of Edwardian wallpaper was hanging loose, a nozzle emerging through the wall with bits of plaster crumbling around the edges. A little blue puff of perfume erupted from the tip of the spout and floated through the room, dispersing like smoke. A second pink puff followed the first.

“Oh, don’t get ideas,” the Doctor told the TARDIS irritably. “This isn’t what it looks like. She’s just tired.”

The nozzle twirled a little and then retreated, creaking sourly.

The Doctor leaned on his elbow, chin on his palm, and looked down at Donna, considering her intently in the near-dark. She stayed asleep, her hand curled peacefully by her chin. A half-smile snuck across his features.

“Night-night,” he said in low tones, long fingers stroking back her errant red fringe. Then he rolled to the other side of the bed, sinking into the mattress with relief.

After a moment he scratched his head and flicked on his ultra-sonicked candelabra – the one he’d nicked as a memento from the Last Supper. A Last Supper which had been brilliant, thanks to him toting along a clanking selection of wines from Louis XIV’s chateau, and laying on an entertainment which included dragging along a reluctant Houdini to perform a double act. Although getting Jesus up to be the assistant in the magic act turning water into wine – yeah, something had gotten a bit lost in translation there. Anyway, things had gone from merry to quite wild, and by the time they’d been chucked out of the inn (poetic irony) they’d ended the night completely drunk and in high spirits, him leading them all in a rousing chorus of Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life on his recorder, and conducting with a half-eaten challah breadstick (bopping Judas on the head a few times).

He suddenly remembered something else. Him and Jesus, slumped against each other in the street, giggling. Both very drunk, and him staring into Jesus’ eyes and saying: “Hicc! But heresh the thing, Jesus – great love. You laying down life and all. Brilliant. Go – hicc! do that. See, you love your friends. I love mine. Love ALL my friends. Love ‘em. I’d die for them. Love you too, Cheesus. Mates – that’s us. See this breadstick? See it? Would you – hicc! sign it for me. For souvenir. Use this – pen, sonic – oh nevah mind that. Thaaaaaat’s it. Aw, nice big loopy signature … greatsh.”

Then he’d passed out. By the time he’d woken up, his arms wrapped affectionately around a surprised-looking donkey with bits of breadstick hanging out of its mouth, they’d gone. He’d heard afterwards that Jesus had nicked what he’d said, paraphrasing without so much as a credit – he apparently wasn’t so saintly he was above doing that – but the point still stood. Donna had been willing to die back on Pompeii with him to save all those people. He looked down at her again, marvelling. They were so alike. A proper team.

“My brave, brave girl,” he said with deep feeling, gazing at her peaceful countenance.

An eagle eye cracked open.

The Doctor froze, nerves electrified. Yeah. He really shouldn’t have used the prefix my. He was done for. Now the only question was, which part of him would she hit first?

“Dumb Martian,” murmured Donna thickly.

Was that a faint smile?

The Doctor uncringed. He gave Donna a tentative poke and her eyes closed like at the press of a button. Grinning madly away to himself, he reached over and switched off the candelabra. Darkness flooded the room. He lay back, propping his hands behind his head. It had been a long and tiring day, and his mind was still busy whirring and computing. He shifted a couple of thoughts around, swept a little memory by-product away, turned off a few synapses for the night, and mentally prodded at the bit that artificially induced sleep – carefully avoiding the fascinating little bit he’d discovered one day that made him unable to stop cranking up heavy metal Judoon FFFFFFM on the old console radio and practicing the limbo under the ramp rail.

His eyes closed.

Donna rolled into him with a flomp, and snuggled up to him in her sleep.

In his sleep, an arm snaked its way under her back.

That night he dreamed about Gallifrey. His wife was there, as always; but this time when he went to her, she only smiled and pushed him away warningly, pointing behind him. He turned and peered through the hanging drupes of the orchards. Something was different. And then he relaxed, and waved, and stuck his hands in the cavernous pockets of his frankly ridiculous Time Lord robes and strolled over, and felt someone tug off his headdress and tell him he looked like a complete dunderbrain, and to get his eyes lasered.

And all he could do was grin foolishly.

Because in his dreams he was there with Donna Noble.

Drops Of Gallifrey

2009-05-23T13:45:24Z

Title: Drops Of Gallifrey
Series: A TARDIS's Guide To The Galaxies
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna, the Graske
References: Time Crash, Music of the Spheres, The Runaway Bride, Partners in Crime
Summary: Sequel to Make Me A Match, set after Music of the Spheres and Partners in Crime, and before Fires of Pompeii. For the uninitiated, the previous story was about Donna’s first night in the TARDIS. Much to the Doctor’s chagrin, the TARDIS was starting to act “shippy” in more respects than one. The Doctor was having none of it. This follows straight on.
Word count: Bizarrely, about 4700. Same as MMaM – though I didn’t plan it that way!

1. Make Me A Match

The Doctor flung open the door with a bang and eyed the occupant of the room with a baleful glare.

“I don’t care,” he cut in warningly before they could open their mouth. “Get. Out.”

“Not hurting anything,” whined the midget Graske, sliding nonetheless from its makeshift bed onto stumpy feet, its three tentacle-like crests tucked into a nightcap. A nightcap that – now that Doctor thought about it, his forehead furrowed – resembled one of his Victorian-needle-pointed pillowcases.

“Read my lips – I don’t care,” repeated the Doctor, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows. “I kicked you out just last week after your water pistol shenanigans – now I know who’s been nicking all my biscuits! – how’d you even get back in? – no, you know what? Not interested. I’ve just spent the worst part of two hours looking for a bedroom. I want this one vacated and you back where you crawled from by the time I say Raxacoricofallapatorius.”

“Your ship let me in,” protested the Graske, trying to sweep a pile of biscuit crumbs under the bed.

The Doctor snorted profusely.

“Yeah. Right.”

“True!” insisted the Graske. “Like last time. Space portal opened and your ship teleported me up here – whoosh!”

“And why would it do that?” asked the Doctor in dangerously patient tones, leaning his lanky frame against the doorway. The Graske shrugged.

“Graske doesn’t know. Maybe your ship wanted to let something in.”

“Like you?” suggested the Doctor mockingly, withdrawing his sonic screwdriver and flicking the setting to Temporary Tempestish Temporal Instability. With it he outlined a large, lazy circle in the air. A glowing purple portal appeared; miniature amber threads of lightning crackling across the surface. The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the hole.

“Out. Now.”

The Graske muttered something under its breath and pottered towards the fizzling hole. Near the opening, it hesitated.

“But … what if there’s Something on the other side?” it said, peering through. “With teeth. What if it likes eating Graske?”

“Only one way to find out,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “Go on, quick – hop in.”

The Graske took a deep breath.

It disappeared.

“Oi, come on now, no sneaky tricks,” said the Doctor impatiently. “I can see you hiding behind that force field.”

His trainered foot extended around the portal and met with the Graske’s behind; his hand reaching over and whipping the pillowcase from its head at the same time. With a startled shout the Graske tipped head-first through the hole, limbs flailing puppet-like before it vanished for good. The Doctor triumphantly zipped the portal shut and twirled his screwdriver before tucking it into his breast pocket.

A couple of minutes later he was lying stiffly on the Graske’s tiny makeshift bed – really nothing more than a plank propped up on bricks – with his legs sticking well over the end, arms pinioned to his sides, the small pillowcase spread unsatisfyingly across his torso. Trying not to move a nanocentimetre in case he fell out. He decided that the first thing he was going to do before taking Donna on a trip was to cause a small, perfunctory explosion in the engine room. Nothing too drastic. Just to black out the lighting system long enough for him to stick on his night-vision goggles and rewire the mapping controls without the TARDIS getting hold of what he was up to. Oho, just let her try and swap his room around then.

His mind occupied with these pleasant thoughts, it wasn’t long before he drifted into slumber.

When he woke up, it was still dark, and cold. He forgot that he wasn’t in his Edwardian four-poster. He shifted a little and crashed onto the floor with a thud, stiff as the plank he’d been lying on.

“Right,” he muttered under his breath, scrambling to his feet and dusting himself off.

He froze. His fingertips prodded tentatively at his chest.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Was that Graske droppings he’d landed on? He shuddered.

The very last straw.

He firmly palmed open the door and strode down the corridor, mentally trying to place where he’d left his laser pliers. Out of all his tools they were the ones with maximum destructive properties. Not that they were meant to be like that; he just hadn’t managed to not explode them every time he used them. And for once this was going to come in excellently handy. Oh yes.

He was going to melt every blasted TARDIS shape-shifting wire he could get his hands on.

On his way through the museum wing, passing suits of exotic alien armour, he overtook Donna at bullet-train pace. Compared to him she seemed a steam engine shuffling down the corridor in stripy green pyjamas, hair all on end like flames from a funnel.

“Hello-busy-bye-talk-later,” said the Doctor, too intent on his TARDIS-crippling mission to stop.

When there was no reply, he threw a curious glance over his shoulder. Donna was still shuffling along. She didn’t seem to have noticed him. Her hand flopped out and hit the wall. It trailed over a beaked helmet visor, and a Kakavookian throwing star, and then a squid-shaped breastplate. If the Doctor didn’t know better, he’d have thought that she was still asleep. Intrigued, he stopped and watched the orangey-pinkish corridor flex and creak. There was a whirring sound and a jet nozzle emerged from one of the walls. It sprayed a fine mist over the opposite wall; spongifying it as it ate itself away, replaced by buds branching out around the edges. They solidified into hard coral just in time for Donna’s fingers to curl involuntarily around the new doorway. She passed blearily through.

A smile cracked across the Doctor’s face as he caught on to what was happening. Forgetting all about the pliers, he stuck his hands in his pockets and noiselessly followed Donna through a warren of corridors and grand halls and temperature vents (and at least four bedrooms with double beds, but the Doctor pretended not to notice these.) At last a familiar pillar-box-red door swung open. The floor tipped down to a gentle slope. Donna’s slippers scuttled through the doorway and the TARDIS creaked in relief. Without warning the corridor lights flickered off and the Doctor found himself in pitch darkness, the only light filtering from the open door. Evidently the ship had powered down to restore her ion fluids, having practically tied herself in knots to deliver a half-asleep Donna to the kitchen.

“Morning,” remarked the Doctor with a grin, sauntering in. “Sleep well, did we?”

Donna dropped hard into a wooden chair and looked up at him through tangled red strands of hair. She blinked. She looked as though she were about to say something. Her mouth opened.

The Doctor waited.

After a few moments of silence, he began to grow impatient. Her mouth was still hanging open, stretching wider.

Oh. A yawn.

A very long and silent yawn. The Doctor watched Donna’s gaping jaws in fascination.

At long last her teeth clicked shut.

“And who,” mumbled Donna, her eyelids drooping shut and springing open before doing the same thing again, “are you?”

His grin faltered at the edges.

“The Doctor,” he said uncertainly, scratching his neck.

“Doctor who?”

“You – you mean you don’t know?”

Donna squinted an eye as though trying to remember.

“Right,” she said resignedly, slapping her palms flat on the tabletop. “Talk me through it. How drunk was I? Had we just met? Was Nerys there? At any point – and be quite clear about this – at any point did I get up on a table and sing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough?”

The Doctor gaped. His hand plunged into his pocket in search of his screwdriver, with the intention of bleeping Donna’s head for damage. Or just plain insanity. There was always that.

“Oh!” said Donna suddenly, seeing the metal tube. Her hands flapped tiredly in the air. “Click. Doctor, and Adiposes and all that. Sorry. Just a tad …” she yawned, “ … sleeeeepy. Had horrible dream. About a chocolate volcano – sounds good, but wasn’t. Cocoa everywhere.” She shuddered. “I remember cake. Did we have cake? We did, didn’t we. There was a lot of cake. Don’t ever give me cake before bed.”

She got up. The Doctor eyed her unsteady progress around the kitchen with amusement. He sat down and relaxed back, folding his arms. This was something of a novelty. His mind cast itself back to his former companions. Leela had always been up at the crack of dawn to roll away her sleeping mat in the TARDIS garden before sharpening her poison darts and practicing the cut of death on his prized joojoojooj trees. Harry was a military man, always up early to do a brisk morning round of the ship. Martha had sashayed around in satin pyjamas and kimono. Rose had bounded out at a random hour every day – but always fully showered and bubbling to go. He couldn’t remember anything like this flannel-half-buttoned-up, messy-haired creature padding blearily about his kitchen, totally at ease with her surroundings.

And with him.

Proper mates.

It was oddly endearing, but at the same time he couldn’t understand it. He didn’t do domestic. He didn’t like domestic. Of that, at least, he was convinced.

He watched as Donna, having exhausted the non-contents of the cupboards, turned around and found a cup of tea smoking invitingly on the tiled bench.

“God, just what I needed. You made me tea? Watch it, spiky. A girl could get used to this.”

The Doctor pouted and his eyes crossed as they shot up to gaze at his tuft. Spiky? He shook his head, annoyed that he hadn’t had the tea idea first.

“Wasn’t me.”

“Then who …?”

The Doctor lifted his shoulders and eyebrows, his gaze travelling around the TARDIS.

Donna’s mouth parted in a perfect O.

“She did …?” she said in a hushed whisper, stabbing her fingers in the air, as though afraid of the TARDIS hearing. “Your ship made me tea? Actually made it? – what, popped in the little spoon and everything? That’s – well, that’s nice.”

The light in the room flickered a little; like a wink, the Doctor noted in surprise, and Donna darted an unsure glance at the ceiling. The light flickered again. As the Doctor breathlessly watched the exchange, Donna made her way to the table. She paused, stroking the backs of her fingers gently over the wall as she slurped from her mug.

“Thanks darling.”

An innocuous little gesture, but one that made the Doctor freeze, his hearts suddenly crackling and sending warm ripples coursing through him.

None of his companions – not one in all his hundreds of years – had ever treated the TARDIS like that. Like – well, like he did. His friends just laughed at him when he patted the console, or humoured him when he talked to the engines. Some of them rolled their eyes. Sarah Jane had been a particularly champion eye-roller. But Donna …

He looked at her more intently than he had before. She wasn’t paying him any attention at all, engrossed happily in a second cup of tea that had materialised on the table. He, on the other hand, couldn’t for the lives of him tear his gaze away from her. He was beginning to think that “mate” really wasn’t a word that he should have used at all in connection with Donna Noble, because now it was bringing all sorts of other potential relationships to mind – ones that he hadn’t considered ever since –

His eyes slammed shut before painful memories could resurface.

But with one of his senses cut off, his hearing was more acute. He could detect the gentle clink of Donna’s teaspoon in her mug, and the soft slurp as she drank her tea. He felt his hearts beating delightfully flighty little rhythms in ways they really really oughtn’t. Somewhere in the darkness, too, he became aware of the TARDIS cheekily creaking along in time. He performed a quick cardiac tripass to thump some sense and order back into his inner workings. The TARDIS mechanisms sourly ground to a halt with a series of hollow bangs.

“What’s wrong?” said a voice.

He opened his eyes to Donna’s concerned expression. He unscrunched his face and wondered how to phrase things.

“Er. Nothing.”

Beautifully phrased.

He noticed that Donna was now tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs that the TARDIS must have procured from somewhere, because there was no way he had any. He looked around hopefully for another plate. None appeared. Grumpily he ignored his rumbling stomach and got up to inspect the biscuit tins. Oh, the Graske had done a proper job on them. Not a crumb left. The Doctor shifted the last tin back into position, and as he did so a tiny speck on the shelf caught his eye. He pressed his finger to it and lifted it to his eye.

A raisin.

Well, that was better than nothing, even if it was grey and shrivelled and the Graske obviously hadn’t even wanted it. The Doctor carried it back to the table and set it down in front of him. He looked at it.

“Fantastic bacon,” said Donna in oblivious ecstasy, slicing away even faster. She licked a bit of yellowy-orange yolk from the corner of her lip. “You not having any?”

“Not hungry,” replied the Doctor pettishly. He bit into his raisin.

Donna scoffed and pushed back her plate.

“No wonder you’re a twig. How you have any energy to bounce around like you do I’ll never know. We’re going somewhere today, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded, chewing on his toothful of raisin.

“Right,” said Donna, swinging her arms and stretching. “I’m off to get ready. Where we going?”

“Ah,” said the Doctor in enticing tones that he hoped didn’t indicate that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “It’s a surprise.”

“You know, some women don’t like surprises, Doctor,” said Donna pointedly. He swallowed. “Fortunately,” she continued after a pause, “… I’m not one of them.”

His face relaxed.

“See you in a bit,” said Donna with an easy grin.

“Bye,” he said, smiling.

Once he was sure she was gone, the Doctor dropped all pretence of diffidence and grabbed her plate, hungrily mopping up the rest of her yolk with his raisin. Why didn’t the TARDIS feed him? It was his ship, after all. And just who was it who had nursed her through crippling bouts of oil depletion and chameleon-short-circuitry? In his opinion the situation was calling for some serious retaliation. He rested his jaw dreamily on his fist and considered. Possibilities flickered intriguingly through his mind, but he dismissed a few of them out-of-hand as too undestructive. Then it hit him. Oh yes. She’d be humming a different electromagnetic pulse when he changed the console room desktop theme from metawattiancoralfishies9.5 to jailhouserock1.2. No more Mr Nice Timeguy. Iron bars and balls and manacles everywhere.

This settled to his satisfaction, he decided to get ready himself. He pushed back his chair and wandered into the corridor – lit almost painfully brightly now, he noticed.

“Oh, going to start being helpful, are you?” he remarked, strolling along. He supposed his ship had taken his mental threat seriously, because almost at once he found himself in front of his bedroom door.

Still wedged in next to Donna’s door. He could hear running water and the sound of singing.

All right, not entirely helpful then.

Reluctantly he opened the door, and after some lengthy consideration in his mirror … changed his shirt. Satisfied with this, he dipped his fingers into his pot of Melamaquian styling wax and, after indulging in a bit of a lick of the contents, squinted at his reflection, his fingers working busily to form floppy spikes. He was so occupied with his task that he barely noticed when the singing stopped. A door in his wall opened and he whirled around to see a head of wet red tendrils appearing around the corner, followed by a pair of bare shoulders. The Doctor swallowed and tried very hard not to notice these.

“Oh – hello!” said Donna in apparent unconcern. “Fantastic hot water in there. Seriously, you could drown a massive slug or something.” She froze at her own words and shuddered, involuntarily stepping further into the Doctor's room to reveal a towel clutched around her body. “You haven’t ever, have you? Drowned a giant slug in there? Cos if you have …”

He hastily assured her that he hadn’t. Donna looked around.

“Thought this was my wardrobe. Didn’t know you were in here … what’s this room?”

“Mine,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “The TARDIS must have moved it here.” He eyed Donna nervously, but she didn’t seem to suspect anything untoward on his ship’s part.

“Reminds me of being at school with Nerys,” she said, grinning at him. He grinned back. This might be fun after all. “Little midnight snack parties,” she continued, “popping in to borrow the hair straightener … speaking of, have you got one? With a non alien plug, I mean. Forgot mine.”

“Catch,” said the Doctor, digging around in a box and tossing it across the room. Donna caught it neatly.

“Had just a bit of an inkling you might have one,” she said teasingly, casting an amused glance at his pot of styling gel. He blushed.

“Now now, off you trot,” he said in lightly warning tones. “Got to get all ready for our first trip, haven’t you?”

“What to wear, what to wear …” mused Donna with at least as much deliberation as though she were attending an intergalactic political convention. She shot the Doctor an accusing look. “Still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

His mind was currently occupied with that very question. Where should they go? A suggestion was running through the back compartment of his mind. He rummaged mentally through the layers of thought processing busily in his head. A tune emerged – nothing as nice as his transcription of the Music of the Spheres – he really had to see about getting that published. It would look brilliant on the cover. Music of the Spheres, by The Doctor.

He shook his head. Focus. (And not on Donna’s shoulders.) This tune was something else; something human. Stars and Stripes Forever, he thought it was. What were the words running along to it?

Oh.

Roman baths, Roman baths, Roman baths. Roman baths, Roman baths, Roman baaaa-aaa-aaaaaths.

So much for not noticing the shoulders.

“Told you,” he said, trying not to look at Donna. “It’s a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes; even not looking at her, he could see that much.

“Fine – just tell me, should I dress up or down?”

The Doctor thought for a minute.

“Downish,” he ventured tentatively, “… but sort of uppish …” He flung his hands in the air. “I’m a bloke, Donna – I don’t know!”

She huffed and retreated back into her room, murmuring something about hopeless men.

The sheer squeal that assaulted his ears two seconds later had him pulling out his water pistol, ready to roll in, spy-like, for the attack. But then a red-headed towel-wrapped blur was rushing back into his room and attacking him. With a massive hug. Just as quickly it released him and disappeared back inside. The Doctor stared after Donna in open-mouthed surprise. Judging by her reaction, and the spiralling clothing racks he could glimpse through the open doors, the TARDIS had installed a direct passage for Donna straight to his giant wardrobe room. He stuck his hands in his pockets and his expression slowly stretched into a goofy grin.

Then his nostrils widened and fluttered, taking in a delicate sniff of the perfumed air lingering in Donna’s wake. The smile faded. His knees went weak. He actually staggered. His vision became blurry, and he thought he felt something wet trickle down his cheek and jaw.

Memories hurtled flashing and unbidden through his mind as though playing in fast motion; sights and sounds and smells that he had kept suppressed for eternities.

Mountain drupe orchards in autumn, lit up by a flaming sunset.

A sundial, the twin shadows slowly making their way across weathered purple stone.

Lolling in the grass beside a laughing Time Lady with grey eyes and hair that gleamed under orange skies.

And nearby, a tow-headed little Timelad, trying to tug himself up into a gnarled silvery-leafed tree …

“Hey. HEY! Where’d you drift off to, spaceman? You all right?”

How long had he been standing there, fists clenched? His surroundings swam back into focus, and through a filmy blur of tears there she was. Wearing a loose blue-patterned tunic, her hair tied up in a gleaming ponytail. Her hand gripping his arm in concern. So close – the scent far stronger. Where had she found that bottle? Actually – no, he had a pretty good idea; he looked up at the tall ceiling and took a deep steadying breath. His gaze lowered to the woman in front of him, noting her anxious expression.

Donna Noble. Her name … like his own … like theirs. His family’s. That was just a cruel twist, wasn’t it. The icing on the proverbial. No wonder he’d felt so drawn to her.

How had she even been beamed up into the TARDIS, anyway? Even taking the Huon particles into account, it shouldn’t have happened. He’d avoided thinking about it at the time, and now he had a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that he knew why. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Donna had been pulled into the ship. TARDIS defences down had done it, but that had just been an oversight … hadn’t it? True, they’d landed awfully near Donna’s car the second time …

It hit him like a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

The Graske. Teleported up not just once, but twice.

The TARDIS had been aiming for something else. Someone else. And when she couldn’t, she’d gone straight to the source and bloody well parked in front of it.

His eyes darted threateningly from wall to wall, but for once there was no answering creak from the TARDIS. She stayed almost painfully silent, like a small child being caught in the wrong. He was furious. And she could sense it. He felt the age-old anger bubbling up, and tried to keep it under control. But to his surprise this didn’t seem as difficult a thing to do as usual, because Donna was still there, her hand on his arm; and something in the gentle, sympathetic pressure of those fingers was squashing down his anger towards his ship and replacing it with something else quite unexpected and painful and wonderful as it spread throughout his chest, sticking in his throat.

Maybe – just maybe – the TARDIS had gotten it right this time.

“Donna,” he said, his voice cracking ever so slightly, “that – that perfume.”

“Yeah? Oh! Was I not supposed to use the shampoo and stuff in there?” said Donna in alarm. “Is it toxic for humans? Oh my god, it’s going to leak through my head and shrivel up my brain, isn’t it?” She shrieked and batted at her hair in panic. “Get it off!”

The Doctor swallowed and reached out, stilling her frantic hands and linking her fingers with his own before Donna could dash off and do something just a little bit rash, judging by the look on her face; like unmethodically shaving that red head he was already becoming too fond of.

“No,” he confirmed. “The TARDIS must have put it there for you. Course you can use it. It’s not dangerous.”

Except, of course, it was.

Very, very dangerous. More dangerous than the Huon particles, really – though not in the way Donna might imagine. This was dangerous for both of them. It was of paramount importance he find that bottle of Gallifreyan perfume and lock it away where his meddlesome ship couldn’t get to it. And then he would simply compose himself and put a charming smile on his face and take Donna on a shopping trip, just as she’d asked him last night. To Ancient Rome. That way he could ditch her for a while at the baths and duck back to spend some nice personal quality time, all alone.

Leisurely banging dents into the TARDIS console with a mallet.

He noticed that his hands felt empty, and it was with a tiny sensation of loss that he realised Donna had gently but firmly withdrawn the warmth of her fingers from his.

Then he felt a pair of thumbs pressing softly against his cheeks.

“Dusty as anything in there,” said Donna lightly, flinging away her wettened fingers and jerking her head over her shoulder at the wardrobe door. The Doctor’s eyes followed. “Some alien. You really are such a bloke. You should get the vacuum out once in a while – that’s if you lot even have vacuums and not … I dunno, all weirdo super suction blasters or something.”

“Oi, lot to be said for super suction blasters,” returned the Doctor with a watery version of his usual grin. That half-smile on Donna’s face … oh, she knew it wasn’t the dust making his eyes well up – even if she didn’t know what it was – but he also understood that she wasn’t going to say anything. Protecting him yet again. Loud as she had proved she could be on occasion, he was grateful for her tact right now. Just how was it that the woman was so perceptive? That she already understood him instinctively? He almost thought that he could possibly lov –

With a snap he shut off the neural synapse of that thought, and configured his cerebral response to burn the nerve endings for good measure.

Suddenly Donna's eyes widened.

“Doctor,” she said in a strained whisper. “Don’t … move.”

The Doctor felt a chill run down his spine. Then he caught sight of it in the mirror.

The Graske.

Never had the Doctor been so happy to see that ugly little face. It really couldn’t be more perfect timing. This time he could be the knight in shining armour. Although, wait; did that mean he’d been Donna’s damsel in distress before? He didn’t know that he particularly liked that idea. Well, in any case, it only steeled his resolve.

“Don’t panic, Donna,” he said in low, urgent tones. “That thing’s a Graske. Deadly, they can be.” Donna nodded, gulping.

Stealthily the Doctor tiptoed backwards, keeping a careful eye in the mirror and making all sorts of complicated hand signals to Donna. Yes, good, that was it; he looked quite dashing.

There was a cough behind him, and he felt something tugging on his sleeve. He whirled around.

“Pardon,” said the Graske.

“Yup?” said the Doctor enquiringly, feeling Donna’s curious eyes on his back. He lowered his voice. “Pretend you’re a thief.”

“I am a thief,” said the Graske out loud, sounding puzzled. “That’s why I returned. I forgot to give you my calling card.”

“Your … calling card?” said the Doctor in perplexed tones. He heard a snort behind him.

“Yes,” continued the Graske earnestly. It pointed to the name on the card. “If you have need of my services. Contact details there.”

“Well – thank you,” said the Doctor blankly, and heard an even louder snort. The Graske bowed and vanished.

The Doctor stared down at the card. Then a nasty thought occurred to him and he patted his breast pocket.

“Donna, he got my screwdriver!”

Donna burst into raucous laughter.

The Doctor felt quite weak, and looked around for a helpful cup of tea from the TARDIS.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when none appeared.

Continued in Marvellous Night For A Pooshdance

Bella Noble Is In The Library

2009-04-02T02:51:28Z

Title: Bella Noble Is In The Library
Series: An Impossible Child
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna, Bella, CAL
Spoilers: Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, Turn Left, Journey’s End
Summary: Following the adventures of the Doctor and Donna and their somewhat unusual (and getting unusualler) daughter. Set post-JE and pre-JE at same time (cryptic! *chuckles*). Sequel to When I Was Six and Something New. This story can stand alone, but I suggest reading the other stories first for background. I'm very aware I haven't updated this story since last November. Really sorry for taking so long!
Disclaimer: Hopefully suitable for non-Doctor/Donna shippers too.
Disclaimer 2: Not babyfic. *brings offerings of plot*

1. Partners In Time

The Doctor propped his back up against a stack of Persian pillows that Donna had picked up in the Ottoman Empire and leafed quietly through the pages of his book, eyeing his bedmate every time she made a sleepy whiffling noise from beneath an enormous mound of covers.

He’d never needed to sleep for as long as Donna did; an hour or two was usually enough to recharge his time batteries (as Donna called them). To make up for it, he ate much more than most humans (something that Donna proclaimed to be obscenely unfair). He tried to explain to her – every time she ran an accusing finger down his ribs – that ‘feeding up’ was a concept inapplicable to Time Lords. It never stopped her trying, and so he obediently wolfed down all the Earth delicacies that she insisted on buying him. Like cheeseburgers, and cake.

Who was he to complain when his mouth was stuffed full of chips and mushy peas?

Fried things were good.

Donna snorted sarcastically in her sleep. The Doctor wriggled. He was sure that she wasn’t telepathic; still, it was uncanny the way she sometimes appeared to be picking up on his thoughts. Fondly he glanced down at the muss of red hair that never failed to turn more haystacky whether Donna tossed and turned or not …

He tried to focus his attention back on Paddington.

One page turned.

And then another.

Soon, page after page was flipping over as the Doctor forgot about everything, even Donna, except the adventures unfolding in front of him …

“Finito!” he finally proclaimed out loud, closing the back cover a little too enthusiastically and whipping off his glasses to tuck them into his blue pin-striped pyjama pocket.

Donna jerked awake with an exclamation of “snofrlteblastingeeeerg?”

“Sorry,” said the Doctor hastily, remembering where he was.

“Yeah,” replied Donna, her voice dripping with sleep. “Go on. Tell me, now you’ve woken me up. You’ve finito what?”

There was a sort of threatening quality to her words, and the Doctor meekly held up his book, sliding further under the layers of puffy covers and wondering whether they would protect him from a slap.

“Just Paddington.”

Donna groaned.

“Why does that tell me we’re off to the library. Again. Seriously, why don't you just move in?”

“Thanks, marmalade,” said the Doctor gratefully, bending over to smooth her hair away and kiss her cheek. She turned her head and eyed him askance.

“What’d you just call me?”

“Oh – marmalade,” said the Doctor, rubbing Donna’s neck gently as she cricked it this way and that. “I know humans say ‘honey’, but I’ve picked up a few things from Paddington, so I thought ‘marmalade’ would work brilliantly too …”

Donna opened her mouth, probably to correct him in the most cutting way that she knew how, when a little voice somewhere in the distance proclaimed “Finito!” and she groaned again, flomping her face abruptly into the pillow.

A small bare-footed figure in pink candy-striped pyjamas appeared at their bedroom door, triumphantly managing to heft with both arms and wave a book on thermodynamics. The Doctor couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard Donna say “Oh god, it replicates,” through a mouthful of pillow. He wondered whether he should take the time to be offended, but a lump had already appeared at the bottom of the bed and was squirming its way under the pile of quilts, until a tousled head popped out between the bed’s occupants.

“Can we go to the library, right now?” pleaded Bella, planting her chin on her father’s chest and staring up at him with her mother’s blue eyes.

He’d never been able to say no to either of them.

“Course we can,” he said with a grin, ruffling his daughter’s curly brown hair. Bella beamed, flinging her arms around him and nearly braining him with the weighty tome before wriggling out of his arms and snuggling up to Donna.

There was a very long and aggrieved groan into the pillow.

After a moment, though, Donna shifted to her side and planted a sleepy kiss on Bella’s head, pulling her into a tender motherly cuddle. The Doctor smiled and blinked hard as he gazed at his little family.

He thought that, just maybe, the library could wait a bit longer.

***

“Come on, Bella, let’s find the kid’s section,” said Donna, taking her daughter by the hand and leading her out of the TARDIS into the Library – the only one big and important enough to be referred to as just that.

The Doctor followed, closing the blue doors and locking them behind him before turning and sticking his hands in his pockets, surveying his surroundings in satisfaction. Where the vast hall had once been empty and swarming with deadly Vashta Nerada, bright sunlight was pouring through the grand windows upon buzzing crowds of humanoids and decidedly alien-looking aliens.

“No, I want to see the thermodynamics section,” said Bella, pulling her mother in the opposite direction. “Is there one?”

Donna hooked a preventative finger into the braces holding up Bella’s baggy eighteenth century knickerbockers, completed by a baker boy cap and miniature blue Converse sneakers.

“Just humour me, I’m trying to do the parent thing.”

The Doctor grinned goofily as Bella scowled and strained her arms and legs obstinately against her mother’s pull. It reminded him a bit of the day he’d seen Donna arguing with her own six-year-old self.

“What?” snapped Donna and Bella together, and the Doctor realised that there were two identical blue-eyed death glares trained on him.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he said disarmingly, tilting on the toes of his own sneakers.

“If you’re looking for children’s books,” interrupted an authoritative child’s voice, “they’re on levels five, six, nine, eighteen, forty three, one hundred and ten, four thousand and …”

The three travellers turned.

The voice faltered.

“Oh!”

“CAL!” exclaimed the Doctor, grinning at the little girl’s face looking down at them from a nearby information node. “Look, Donna, it’s CAL! You remember CAL?”

“Of course I remember her, you plum,” said Donna in mock exasperation, letting go of Bella’s braces with a snap. “I’m not exactly likely to forget her now, am I? What with being sucked into her digital innards and spat out the other side.”

“Donna Noble is in the library,” said CAL cheekily.

Donna’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah, yeah, awright. That’s enough from you, Miss Moonface.”

“Oh – have a sense of humour, Donna,” said the Doctor with a grin.

Donna snorted darkly.

“You can talk. Groucho.”

“I … have an excellent sense of humour,” protested the Doctor. “I always laugh at Titanic, don’t I? And in all the right places.”

“I don’t want to say I rest my case,” said Donna pityingly, “but I so completely rest my case.”

CAL was beginning to look bored by their exchange, and made a huge sigh to let them know it. Her eyes flickered to Bella.

“Bella Noble is in the library.”

“That’s me, Mummy!” said Bella excitedly, pulling on Donna’s sleeve. Donna laughed.

“Yeah. Oi! – stop pulling, you’ll stretch it and then your father’ll have to take me shopping for a new one ... ooh, could do with a bit of shopping …”

She let the words hang suggestively in the air as she turned a sly look on the Doctor; who, clearly horrified at the prospect of spending a day following Donna around intergalactic mall upon mall upon mall upon mall, promptly swooped upon a giggling Bella and whirled her up.

“How’s River and the others doing, CAL?” he asked as Bella snuggled into his chest, cheerfully choking him with a pair of small arms.

CAL gave him a look that might have meant a shrug – if the node could shrug.

“Oh, they’re good. Happy, and everything. River Song is writing a book.”

“Really?” he said, bemused, absently flattening Bella’s cap brim over her curly pigtails. “She can do that? I thought she was all sort of … electronicfied.”

“All of space and time spinning around in his enormous head,” mused Donna to no one in particular, “and the best he can come up with is ‘electronified.’”

The Doctor shifted Bella to his hip and gave Donna a very distinct poke. She poked him back, no less hard. Harder, in fact.

“River Song is though,” said CAL, and sighed. “Electronified. I have the book in my hard drive if you want to read it.” She paused for a moment, straining to wrinkle her smooth white forehead. “It’s not very good, actually.”

“What do you do all day?” asked Bella, who had been gazing at CAL in wonder.

“Read,” said CAL. “I like reading. Sometimes I watch people.”

“Don’t you have any friends?” asked Bella curiously.

CAL lowered her eyes.

“I’ll be your friend,” said Bella with assurance, her small chin firm where it rested on her father’s shoulder. The Doctor and Donna shared a smile brimming with affection for their offspring.

“Will you play with me?” asked CAL in plaintive tones.

Bella looked at Donna questioningly.

“Oh, go on. Get out of here,” said Donna with a smile, leaning over to smack Bella lightly on the behind. Bella and CAL both beamed and the Doctor reluctantly lowered his daughter to the ground, her toes wiggling eagerly.

“Come with me, Bella,” said CAL.

Her face vanished suddenly from the node and reappeared on an empty node a little further away.

Bella yelped in delight and followed, clutching her baker boy to her head as her rubber soles patted lightly through the massive hall. The Doctor and Donna stood with hands entwined, watching the children merge into the distance as CAL’s face flashed playfully from node to node.

“And not too far!” suddenly bellowed Donna at the top of her voice; the Doctor and a nearby crowd of psuedo-Japanese tourists wincing at her tone. She turned to the Doctor with a bemused smile.

“So. Our daughter … playing with a computer.”

“Oh, well,” he said, still rubbing his ear. “Kids play games with computers all the time on Earth.”

“Not actual playing.” She eyed him for a moment and then suddenly smacked his hand away from his ear. “Oi! Stop that.” She paused. “I suppose it must get pretty lonely for CAL, stuck down there in that wirey computer room thing with no playmates.” She sighed. “Wonder if Bella ever feels like that.”

The Doctor looked at Donna curiously, wrapping a matey arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her head. She gave him a weak smile in return.

“Come on, what’s brought this on?” he asked cheerily, squeezing her. “Bella’s got loads of pals. What about on the Oodsphere. What’s that little Ood called again? You know, the one – the tentacley one, they’re always up to something together. I can never remember its name …”

“The tentacley one? God, you’re dreadful.”

He looked affronted for a moment, and then shot Donna a suspicious look.

“You can’t remember either, can you?”

“Weeeell … nup,” admitted Donna, lifting her eyes comically at his accusing stare. “They’ve all got names like Oogleblaaarg and Dongleflong, haven’t they? How in flipping heck am I supposed to remember? I suppose she should be starting school soon.”

“What, the Oodlet? I s’pose so …”

“Bella, you twit!”

“There’s no rush.”

Donna started to say something, but then stopped.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor. Donna looked at him, and then at the busy crowd.

“Not here.”

The Doctor scratched his head, peering up and down the hall for somewhere a bit more private. Suddenly his face cleared and he led Donna across the hall and down a corridor to one of the reading alcoves. As he drew the embroidered drapes closed around them, the sonic mufflers kicked in and the noise of the crowd dimmed to a distant mutter. He took both of Donna’s hands and waited expectantly. Now that they were alone she seemed reluctant to begin. Finally she took a steadying breath and lifted her eyes from the floor. The Doctor noticed that she was chewing her lip.

“Do you – do you ever think about Bella being an only child?” she asked.

“Truthfully? Hadn’t really thought about it.”

Donna nodded, as though she’d expected as much.

“It’s just, I was an only child. So were you – weren’t you?”

He nodded, wondering what was coming next.

“It got pretty lonely sometimes,” she went on. “I was just wondering, would you ever think about maybe having another kid? I mean, we didn’t do too badly the first time, did we?”

She looked at him hesitantly, swinging his hands a little too fast.

“My first reaction?” He slowed her hands to a gentler sway, lost in fond memories of their baby daughter. “Oh yes. Definitely, yes.”

Donna looked a little bit teary. She heaved a shaky sigh, and then turned a dazzling beam on him, the one that always made him go slightly wibbly-kneed. He thumbed away a droplet or two on her cheek and kissed her, feeling well rewarded.

“Imagine, a little brother for Bella,” she said dreamily as they parted.

“And he would be ginger,” said the Doctor, equally dreamily.

“Oh, god. Still going on about the ginger thing, are you? Move on.”

The Doctor reached out his hand and ran it through Donna’s glossy ponytail, twisting red tendrils around his fingers.

“Always wanted to be ginger,” he said wistfully. “I’m so glad you are. I mean, Bella sort of has your hair, but sort of mine too.” He sighed and released Donna’s hair. “The brown part.”

“Maybe you’ll be ginger one day,” said Donna, only half joking.

“Not for a long, long, longishly long time,” he replied with a rogueish wink. “Ginger or not … I kind of like how I am now.”

“And I love it,” said Donna, lifting her face for another kiss as the Doctor’s hearts thudded a little quicker. “Try to give me some advance warning before you do this regeneration thing, yeah? Or I just know we’ll be in couples therapy for a long, long, long, longishly long time.” She paused. “Course, our lives has pretty much been one long couples therapy since we met.”

The Doctor smirked appreciatively.

“Yeah …” continued Donna thoughtfully, “actual couples therapy … that could get just a bit awkward. You’re what, hundreds of years old; I’m not, they’ll think you’re some sort of, I dunno, sugar daddy.”

“Sugar what?” repeated the Doctor, screwing up his face in distaste.

“And besides the slight age difference, I don’t even want to get started on explaining our relationship. Get enough of that with my mother. You know how she kept staring at you a while back? She asked me the other day if you’ve got two sets of eyelids, like a reptile.”

He chuckled, stroking tendrils of hair back behind her ears.

”You know – regeneration doesn’t always happen like that,” he began slowly. “Usually happens when I’m being strangled or shot at or something. Actually you’re pretty good at saving me from that. Handy having you round.” He placed his lips softly to her forehead. “Did I mention I love you?”

“Oh, rahdy-rah,” said Donna briskly. Trying to hide her shyness, as he well knew. “Stop trying to butter me up,” she continued. “You can go look at those books I can just tell you’re wanting to look at.”

“That’s ... that’s really quite amazing – you’re not telepathic, how did you know?”

“Oh please. You’re easier to read than one of your precious books, mate. How did I not know, more like. For starters you’re in the biggest library in the universe. And we all know you’re the biggest nerd in the universe.”

“Oi! I thought we agreed bookworm was a nicer word than nerd. Not brilliant, though … can we come up with another word? One without worm in it?”

“You’re only not a nerd when Bella’s around. And it may be nicer, but it don’t make it less true.” She grinned cheekily at him, and he knew he couldn’t stay cross at her. “Besides, you’re doing that toe hoppy thing, you know, the one you and Bella do. So go on, scram … ‘pretty boy.’”

The Doctor turned obediently. Suddenly he whirled back to survey Donna, an adoring grin breaking out across his face.

“Oh, now I just know why that came out a bit quick first time we were here. You couldn’t fool me, Donna Noble.”

She blushed.

“Yeah, yeah – Mister Detox.”

Now it was his turn to blush.

“I did mean the detox.”

“Yeah. Sure, Spaceman.”

And on that embarrassing note, he tugged open the drapes and scrammed.

***

The Doctor staggered to the lending desk under a mountain of books, miscellanous volumes sliding off and thudding to the floor as he careened hunch-backed and bow-legged in what he thought might be the right direction. He squinted through a hole in the stack. Ah. It was. Donna was already there. He could tell because he could see her fingers drumming on the desk.

“You know,” he heard her say, “when I phoned you to meet up in one hour, I thought I made it pretty clear not to turn up with every book ever written. Like you don’t have enough books in that bleeding double decker library of yours at home already.”

He tipped his armful and headful into a waiting crate. Donna appeared, her lips pursed in a reluctant smile.

“I love books,” he tried to explain. She shook her head.

”Oh believe me, I know. Just who was it again who wanted to read on our anniversary night? I ask you, honestly.”

“Wasn’t a real anniversary though, was it? Come on, Donna. Really?”

“Er, the day we met? I think you’ll find it was, chum!”

“Do human women have to celebrate everything?” ventured the Doctor plaintively, watching a team of tiny goggle-eyed aliens efficiently pack his books into a crate, ready for loading into the TARDIS. “I still don’t understand why you want to celebrate us nearly getting eaten by giant spiders. It’s not even as though it’s our real anniversary.”

“It was the day we met. You got a problem with that?” demanded Donna, suddenly looking nearly as fierce as a giant spider herself, much as she had when she’d first been accidentally beamed into the TARDIS, and the Doctor hid a smile as he shook his head obediently.

“Those books better not come back late again,” continued Donna, peering at them. “They’ve already limited you to borrowing a hundred books instead of a thousand. They’ll take away your card next time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll just use my psychic paper. Anyway, I think I was fairly understanding that time when you took that SUD back to the video shop a century late and landed me with sixteen thousand credits in fees …”

“Suds?” repeated Donna suspiciously, albeit with an air of trying to change the subject. “What you talking about?”

“Sonic ultradisc, Donna – keep up,” returned the Doctor with impatience. She poked her tongue out.

“Speaking of keeping up,” she said, looking at her watch, “where’s that Bella got to, I wonder?”

“Kid’s section?” suggested the Doctor. “Allons-y! It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

After a couple of minutes had turned into a couple of hours of riding the lifts, sending frantic paged messages over the information system, and calling out to CAL with no reply, even the Doctor was beginning to get worried. That was nothing compared to Donna. She looked positively murderous and within an inch of throttling him for agreeing to let Bella go off alone. He was beginning to think that she might be right.

“Where can they be?” wailed Donna as the pair of them wandered, hand in hand, through an old, musty part of the library filled with biographies. It looked very old. So old that there didn’t seem to be any nodes installed. The Doctor was very careful not to point this out.

Suddenly he caught sight of a blue shoe dangling back and forth beneath the legs of an old leather armchair. His relief was so palpable that for a moment he could only stand, unable to speak. Then he laid a hand on Donna’s arm and pointed.

“Bella,” muttered Donna, her face red and her voice raw as she rushed towards the armchair, the Doctor close on her heels. He vaguely noticed CAL’s face standing out from the flat side of an old bookshelf, her eyes reading something over the back of the armchair. Obviously she hadn’t been able to find a node ether. She looked odd with her face grained and wooden. Instinctively the Doctor didn’t like it, but he was too focused on reaching his daughter. Donna reached the chair first and strained to see over the tall back. Then she gulped, her face turning whiter than the Doctor had ever seen it; so white that all her freckles stood out. He leapt the last few strides and gripped her arms in case she fainted.

In the next instant he almost forgot Donna. He stood frozen, staring over the back of the chair.

Bella was sitting quietly, reading a book.

A little blue book.

Rock n Roll

2009-02-01T23:35:45Z

Title: Rock n Roll
Characters: Ten/Donna
Rating: PG
Summary: The Doctor's never really been one to put over the smooth moves, but he can pull them out on occasion. At least, he thinks he can. Donna firmly believes he has some ways yet to go in his education.

“It’s your fault, Doctor!”

“Oi! How’s it my fault?”

“I said I didn’t want any of this – this stuff going on!”

“I think you’ll find I was the one who said I just wanted to be mates! I didn’t ask for this either, you know.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that when I signed on, falling in love with a bloody alien was definitely not on my cards!”

“Or mine!”

“You so better not be calling me an alien, boyo. Oh please, do you have to move so close?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, rack off and do it from the other end of the seat, thanks.”

“Can’t. Um, because, what I wanted to ask is … Donna, do you think it would be all right if I kissed you?”

“I suppose we’ve got to now, haven’t we? What with the whole us falling in love thing … damn alien.”

“Cheer up, Donna. I mean, look on the bright side. We might not even like it.”

“Or we might.”

“And? …”

“It’s the ‘might’ that scares me.”

“Oh. Actually, me too, a bit.”

“Just … stop touching me.”

“Donna, I’m not touching you.”

“Your leg – it’s touching mine.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Don't see you moving it.”

“Nup.”

“You're going about the right way for a smack.”

“Donna?”

“What?”

“You smell like strawberries.”

“So do you, Spaceman. Been using my shampoo a bit, have we?”

“Well, it reminds me of you.”

“Oh, please.”

“Donna?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“Reaaaally? Know what? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha! Do I detect a hint of a smile?”

“No. No smile.”

“I’m sure I do … right … there.”

“Stop poking at me!”

“Aha, there it is! I was right.”

“Oh god. Hurry up and kiss me and let’s get this over with. Then I’m going back to Chiswick and you’ll never hear from me again. No. Second thoughts, not Chiswick. The Amazon. You’ll never find me there …”

“Donna, my love for you is bigger than the Amazon.”

“You nit. I’m having second thoughts about this whole kissing thing.”

“Then why’s your hand on my chest?”

“Why’s your hand on mine? … Hmm, better.”

“Sorry about that. It slipped.”

“Sure it did.”

“It did! Sweaty palms. See?”

“Nervous, Timeboy?”

“Weeeeell. A bit. You?”

“Nup.”

“Donna?”

“Fine, petrified. Just do it already!”

“You do it! – mmpppphh …”

* * *

“Doctor?”

“Donna?”

“I’ve decided, I’m not moving to the Amazon.”

“Thought not.”

“Hoo, aren’t we cocky … god, I did not just say that, stop looking at me like that!”

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we, Donna?”

“Big trouble.”

“Double trouble, in fact.”

“Soooooo … making out on the jump seat? Some big mighty Time Lord you are. You’re such a guy.”

“Oh, I've done the fifties. I can be a bit rock and roll.”

“Then show me how.”

“What?”

“Afraid to?”

“N-n-no …”

“How long is it since you …”

“That’s a very personal question, Donna!”

“Hate to break it to you, sunshine, but we’re going to get a whole lot more personal before this is through.”

“But … you’re undoing my tie …”

“Yep.”

“And – and my jacket …”

“Damn buttons – there we go.”

“Oh.”

“Got any moves yourself?”

“Well, a few. Trouble is my middle name.”

“It is not.”

“Technically it is. Long story, I’ll tell it some other time … WAIT! Stop, Donna. Are you sure about this?”

“Well – yes. I mean, you’re an emotionally retarded skinny streak of a claiming-to-be-a-Time-Lord, but for some bizarre reason I really do love you. Oh god. What does that say about me?”

“Only that you’re my favourite, albeit more-than-normally-gobby, rude and ginger human and I love you to bits. Well, not to bits, I suppose. That wouldn't really work.”

“Such romantics, aren’t we?”

“Aw, you know we wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, let's see about a few of those moves ...”

“Doctor? Just so you know, I wasn't talking about dancing the hand jive.”

“... Right ... I knew that.”

Time Lady and The Tramp

2009-01-15T02:49:46Z

Title: Time Lady and The Tramp
Series: And The Clock Struck Two
Characters: Eleven, Donna II
Rating: G
Summary: So, thanks for not chucking broken sonic screwdrivers at me for writing Eleven fic, actually I was tickled at the interest! So here’s some more. Donna’s still getting to grips with her regeneration, the Doctor’s gotten to grips with his and is generally being a prawn, and a kid ends up tagging along for a bit. He doesn’t seem anything particularly special. And there’s plenty of running from the long arm of the law – if the law spans the cosmos. Which apparently it does. All in all, not such an unusual day?
Word Count: 8000ish? It's in four chapters. Yeah yeah, I know *goes and starts up the coffee maker*

1. Au Revoir
2. The Clothes Maketh The Man

Chapter 1

“I got the regeneration blue-hoo-hooooooos,” warbled the Doctor, lounging on the jump seat and strumming idly on a guitar, his feet crossing easily on the console, bowler hat set low over his forehead.

“All right,” said Donna, taking out her improvised paper earplugs. She slammed them into the jump seat and ran a frustrated hand through her dark crop. “All right. You’ve been at it for an hour and nine minutes and forty three … forty four seconds. You want me to ask? I’ll ask. Why have you bloody well got the regeneration blues? I regenerated too, didn’t I? And I haven’t got them. Why have you?”

“Because I’m bored, Donna,” explained the Doctor, a whining edge to his voice. “Bor-hor-hooooorrrred. Oh yeeeeeaaah.” He did a rapid attack of his hand on the strings and stopped strumming, blowing out a sigh. The guitar crashed to the floor.

“Have you really not finished reading?” he continued, suspiciously.

“Nup,” said Donna, returning to her book. She was determined not to let his annoying tactics get to her. And tactics they were. She was sure of it. Before his regeneration, the Doctor would have quietly let her get on with her reading, at least after a slap or two, but this new version of him didn’t seem to take no for an answer – slaps and all.

His hand emerged from his black pinstriped pocket, making loud crumpling noises with an empty paper bag.

Donna eyed him sourly over the top of her book.

“Just looking for my humbugs,” he assured her with an innocent smile. Donna watched, unamused, as his hand delved back into his jacket pocket; emerging firstly with a fob watch, then an embroidered hanky, then a beaver-bristled toothbrush, then an African hunting dart, then a deck of cards that seemed all the two of hearts, then a powdered eighteenth-century wig, then a small nondescript stone cup with a label affixed (it said ‘holy grail’ in the Doctor’s sprawling handwriting), then a ping pong ball, and another ping pong ball, and another ping pong ball, and another ping pong ball, and another ping pong ball (the Doctor juggled them for a moment, enchanted with his own prowess; then in a twinkling got bored and lobbed them at the console where they all hit a lever – it fell off.)

Finally the Doctor pulled out the psychic paper. He cast a casual glance at it and put it down, then did a double take and snatched it up again.

“Check it out!” he exclaimed gleefully, his fists rising in a tiny gesture of triumph. “Woo-hoo! Donna, look. I’ve got a message. I just love getting messages. You’re a Time Lord now. Sure you don’t want me to get you a psychic paper too? It’s so much quicker than your i-mail and Nosebooks.”

“Who’s it from?” said Donna, shutting her book with forced patience. The Doctor shushed her and read the message to himself, fretting the paper taut between his fingers.

“It’s from my old mate!” He danced the paper in his hands. “Jackson Lake! Oh, brillo brillo sillo … quillo … brilliant!”

Donna hid a smile.

“Shut up with your willo nillos. Who’s Jackson Lake?”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know him. I met him last Christmas when you weren’t here. It was in London. Eighteen-fifty-one, I think it was. He was me; well, I was me, but so was he for a while. Except now I’m not, and he’s not, so no one is really. Does that make sense? Because it doesn’t to me. I flew a hot air balloon, Donna. That was so good. I want to go up in a hot air balloon again. Remind me next time we’re in Peru. Or China. Or four hundredth century Jupiter.”

“I’ll stick it in my Jupiterian diary,” said Donna, rolling her eyes.

“You have a Jupiterian diary?”

“No. What’s this Jackson person writing to you for?”

“Well, listen – Dear Doctor,” read out the Doctor. He stopped, grinning fondly. “Isn’t that nice?” He cleared his throat. “Dear Doctor, it would be splendid to see you once again this Christmas Eve to reminisce over old times. If you are not otherwise engaged, dinner at eight o’ clock, same place. Your friends, Jackson and Rosita Lake – Donna, they got married!”

“And who’s Rosita?”

“Girl who helped us out,” said the Doctor, a bit too nonchalantly. He bounced up and flicked a few dials on the console before slamming down a lever, sending the TARDIS whirling into flight.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Donna, slyly. She gripped the jump seat, speaking a little louder over the hum of the engines. “Clever, then, was she?”

“Well! – I thought quite highly of her, I suppose.”

“Thought quite highly?” teased Donna. “Oooh-er! You liked her. Go on, admit it.”

She expected the Doctor to fervently deny any such thing, but … was he blushing a little? This new face of his did that awfully easily.

“So – dinner in Victorian London?” continued Donna, quickly changing the subject. “Sounds good.” She frisbeed her book after the ping pong balls bouncing their way around the shuddering room. “Anything’s better than sitting here listening to your caterwauling. Don’t be surprised if one of these days you find that guitar ‘accidentally’ broken. Tomorrow, probably.” She stopped and thought. “Come to think of it, we have a time machine. I can break it yesterday.”

“Hey, don’t diss this!” said the Doctor, picking up the guitar and hugging the vibrating instrument defensively to his chest. “Eric gave me this guitar. It’s so completely un-dissworthy.”

“Eric? As in Clapton? So it’s true, then.”

“What is?”

“Talent really can’t be bought.”

At the same moment, somewhere in an icy bricked-in London courtyard, a grinding noise faded away and the transparent form of the TARDIS became solid. The doors banged open. The Doctor danced out, bouncing from foot to foot, arms spread.

“Jackson Lake!” he exclaimed.

There was no Jackson Lake. The Doctor stood, arms out, waiting expectantly.

“This is like old times,” remarked Donna, following him outside and pulling the door shut. “You landing us in completely the wrong year –”

“Which depends on your perspective of wrong,” cut in the Doctor.

“As in, looking at it from the perspective of being right?” retorted Donna.

The Doctor squeezed his fists in defeat and made a grumbly sound. Donna squinted around for some clue to their surroundings. She nearly jumped as she spotted a dirty face peeping around the wall.

“Look, there’s a kid,” she told the Doctor. “Ask him when we are.”

“Hie!” called the Doctor, waving. “Can you tell us what year it is?”

“You what?” shouted back the kid in disbelief.

“This one here’s a bit sloshed,” called Donna, thumbing at the Doctor. “He can’t remember.”

“I am not sloshed,” protested the Doctor. Donna shoved him meaningfully, and the Doctor sighed. “Fine, yeah, sloshed.” He crossed his eyes, twirled tipsily, and fell flat on his back with a thud.

The kid giggled appreciatively.

“Eighteen-ninety-seven,” he hollered.

“Ninety-seven?” repeated Donna. “Well, that’s nowhere near the right year. You really are sloshed, aren’t you?” She eyed the Doctor's prostrate starfish-like form with suspicion. “What have I told you about drinking and driving?”

“But you do it all the time,” complained the Doctor, getting to his feet.

“Do we have to go over this again?” said Donna in annoyance. “I’m allowed to do it. Hot cocoa doesn’t make humans go stark raving mental like it does you.” She stopped, realisation dawning. “But … I’m a Time Lord. Oh … my … god. Does that mean no more chocolate?” She grabbed the Doctor by the lapels, wild-eyed. “Change me back!”

The kid was watching with fascination. He emerged from behind the wall and sidled up to Donna, extending a tough little palm.

“Miss? Got a farthing to spare, miss?”

Donna momentarily stopped throttling the Doctor – who was trying to explain between chokes that he couldn’t change her back, and that there were perfectly good chocolate substitutes on other planets if only she'd get over her hang-up about eating insects – and looked down at the pair of beseeching eyes. Her hands released the Doctor and began digging in her bomber jacket pockets.

“Well, I’ve got this,” she said doubtfully, pulling out a pound coin, “but I don’t know how much good it’ll be here.”

The kid’s eyes widened. He stepped forward with a shy smile and took the coin, hunching over and shuffling back, accidentally bumping into the Doctor, who was also surreptitiously shuffling away from Donna.

“Hey, steady on!” said the Doctor, catching hold of the small shoulders. “You nearly went right over. Then it would have been all plonk. With maybe a touch of ker-splatt.”

“Sorry, mister,” said the kid, twiddling an awkward foot. The Doctor reached out and patted the kid’s floppy cap in bumbling fashion; and then the kid was scurrying off, his feet skimming over the pavers in shoes little more than leather scraps tied with rags.

Donna watched his progress, feeling angry and sad at the same time.

“But it’s Christmas,” she said helplessly. “Doesn’t he have nowhere to go?”

“Orphanage?” hazarded the Doctor. “Workhouse, maybe. Not nice, really.”

“Poor kid,” said Donna, peering after him in concern. “Well, at least I gave him something. Come on then. Back to the TARDIS. Let’s see if you can get the year right this time.” She smirked. “Wouldn’t want to make you late for your date with Rosita.”

The Doctor gave her a scathing look and pushed his hand into the pocket of his black jeans.

“That’s funny,” he said with a frown, emerging empty-handed. “Not funny ha-ha,” he clarified. “Funny what-the-what?” He gathered up the black pinstriped fabric of his suit jacket and abruptly stuck his face in the pocket.

“You’re a right little Mary Poppins,” remarked Donna. “Pockets made of carpet bag, are they?”

The Doctor’s reply was muffled, but Donna thought that she could just make him out saying something about keys. It might have been ‘fleas’, but she sincerely hoped it was keys. If it was fleas, she was going to strip him down, right then and there, and fumigate him herself. Likely as not he hadn’t worn this jacket for a good century or four –

A piercing whistle suddenly shattered the quiet of the courtyard. Donna cringed, clapping her hands over her ears. The Doctor did the same. They spun around.

At the end of the wall stood the kid: a small, slouchy figure in his baggy patched knickerbockers. He dangled a key on a long chain, grinning, and turned, his short legs flashing as they bore him off around the corner.

“That’s my key!” yelled the Doctor, taking off at a run, one hand clutched to his bowler hat and the other tugging Donna behind. Her new Docs slipped over the icy stones, over-striding from leap to leap as she tried to keep up with the Doctor’s spider-limbed gait. They skidded around the wall. A long cobbled alleyway was stretching away in front of them, the kid already vanishing around the corner at the far end.

“You’ll never catch him,” said Donna with a groan.

“He’s – going – round – long way,” panted the Doctor. “Here – shortcut.”

Chapter 2

The Doctor grabbed Donna by the hand and pulled her into a much narrower alley – barely even a passage – between two rows of houses. Their shoulders slid and bumped along the icy, slimy stones as they shoved their way through the tight space. Just before they reached the end, the Doctor banged flat-backed against the wall. Donna grunted as the momentum thudded her against the hard stones too. Before she even realised what was happening, she heard the slapping of approaching footsteps and a faint noise of puffing, and then the kid himself came running past the narrow opening. In a twinkling the Doctor had stuck out a booted ankle. The kid cried out, flying through the air, and landed with his chin thudding along the cobbled pavement.

“Hey!” shouted Donna, squeezing past the Doctor and rushing to the slumped figure. “Are you all right?”

To her relief, the kid sat up. He seemed in shock, though, lifting his hand dazedly to his chin. Suddenly he burst into tears. Distraught, Donna crouched and put an arm around his shoulders, but he pushed her away. A shoe crunched on the pebbles beside them, the Doctor’s hand reaching down and picking up the long chain, the TARDIS key slipping down and dangling on the lowermost link.

Donna glared at the Doctor.

“Was the tripping necessary? You could’ve really hurt him!”

He ignored her, swinging the chain.

“Twirly twirly, round it goes.”

Donna looked at him in disbelief, wondering not for the first time about the possibly reduced mental faculties of young-looking-but-actually-quite-ancient Time Lords. The kid was scrubbing at his teary face with a pair of skinned knuckles. His eyes sullenly followed the whirling chain. Suddenly they glazed over and his arms shot poker-straight to his sides.

“There,” said the Doctor in satisfaction, tucking the key back into his pocket.

“Doctor!” cried Donna, pounding on his foot with a fist. “What did you do to him? Stop it! Stop it right now!”

“Just a hypnotic suggestion,” said the Doctor calmly. “It’ll wear off in a bit.” He bent down and stared into the kid’s eyes, searching for a reaction. “Now, tell me,” he said in soft, almost eerily bland tones. “Who told you to take my key?”

“No one told him,” broke in Donna, exasperated. She got up and folded her arms, stamping her Docs against the cold. “He’s a little pickpocket. He just did it cos that’s what he does.”

“Donna?” said the Doctor conversationally, not taking his eyes off the kid, who was still standing stiffly to attention. “Is that key impervious? Yep. Much like the TARDIS? Uh-huh. Ergo, if he didn’t know the key was there, he couldn’t have taken it. And what could anyone want with my key? Precisely. So could you possibly – and I mean this in the nicest possible way – just shut the hell up while I find out? That’d be brillo.”

“Don’t you brillo pillo me,” returned Donna between clenched teeth, but she fell silent all the same.

“Go on – who told you?” said the Doctor to the kid.

There was a pause. Something flickered in the kid’s eyes.

“They told me to.”

“Who?” repeated the Doctor, his brow furrowing.

A chill ran down the back of Donna’s neck as the kid, still completely relaxed and unlucid, lifted an arm, a single finger pointing.

The Doctor spun around at the same time as Donna, their four hearts leaping together in a pulmonary ballet. A confronting sight stood before them: five beefy policemen positioned heart-sinkingly in formation around the TARDIS, which seemed to have been pulled there by chains looped to its doors. The policemen were wearing an old-fashioned Victorian uniform of buttoned blue, and gripping police lanterns in ham-like hands.

“Where the hell did they spring from?” cried Donna. She paused and blinked. “Doctor, they have blue moustaches.”

“Those … are very, very blue moustaches,” agreed the Doctor.

“So I’m not seeing things. Good. I mean – no, not good. Is this where we run?”

“Hang on,” said the Doctor, putting a hand on her arm. “Let’s see what they want.” He waved to the stony-faced policemen with gangly schoolboy naivety. “Hello there! You know – that’s not an actual police box. It’s mine.”

“Your travelling machine,” said the Constables together, and the Doctor looked taken aback.

“Bloody hell, how do you know that?” He squinted at them. “Ah ... but you’re not really Victorian, are you?” He turned to Donna. “Donna, do you know what? I don’t think they’re really Victorian.”

“Nice deducing, Sherlock,” returned Donna. “What, and you didn’t get that from the mouldy face fuzz?”

“We intercepted your timecraft from its flight path,” chorused the Constables.

“Oh, so you did that,” said the Doctor, folding his arms. “Ha, Donna! I knew I wasn’t sloshed. So. Giant blueberrymen. Can I call you that? How did you intercept us? Forget that – forget it, dumb question. I mean, obviously you used those temporal magnetism fields you’re pretending are lanterns.”

Now the Constables looked unsettled.

“No,” went on the Doctor, thoughtfully, “the real question is – why? What do you need me for? Oh, I know, I know; don’t tell me. It’s going to be all sort of Scotland Yard, isn’t it? You want me to help you out. Donna, it’s just like Sherlock Holmes!” He beamed, skipping a little on his toes. “Oh, this is going to be wicked! Righty-ho, step aside and unchain the doors, my good fellows, and let me through to my … timecraft, to get my … um, deerstalker. And then we’ll be on our way.” He paused. “If we’re going to do this properly, I need a violin.”

“We have a warrant for your arrest,” said the Constables to the Doctor. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The Doctor looked as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

“What – so, no Sherlocking?” he said petulantly. He kicked his shoe along the pavement. “That blows. You there, in the – er, blue. I was going to let you be my Watson. Oh well, missed your chance.”

“Get a grip, you twit,” snapped Donna. “They’ve got a warrant for your what?” She grabbed the Doctor's black pinstripes and shook them. “What have you been up to while I’ve been gone? Wild parties? Or – no, you’ve been drag-racing the TARDIS again, haven’t you? After what happened before, you’d think you’d have learnt. They’re really going to tow it this time, aren’t they? Go on, tell me what it was! Drunk and disorderly, I’ll bet.”

“I haven’t done anything – I swear!” whined the Doctor. He looked utterly stupefied. “I’m under arrest?” he repeated blankly.

Suddenly his head was tilting, a suspicious gaze directed down his bowler-shaded nose at the Constables. He looked somehow much older, Donna thought.

“Arrested under whose authority?” he snapped out.

“Classified information,” said the Constables stolidly, their lanterns glowing all the while with an alien light.

“What do you mean, ‘classified’?” blustered Donna, stepping in front of the Doctor, her fingers still gripping his jacket. “How can it be classified? For all we know you could be trying to mug us or something. You! – Bluey! Show us some identification.”

“Don’t, Donna – they’re real,” the Doctor told her with a sigh. “They’re sort of intergalactic undercover cops. They try to blend in with their surroundings – though you really suck at it, don’t you?” he said rudely, turning suddenly to the Constables. “Suck, suck, suckity suck. Come on – blue moustaches? Police aren’t all blue.”

“Don’t get them mad,” muttered Donna through gritted teeth.

“Are you coming quietly?” said the Constables to the Doctor, ignoring Donna and clipping their lanterns to their belts, tapping their coshes in their palms.

“Are you crazy?” shouted Donna, putting her arms around him. “Of course he’s not coming quietly. He’s not coming at all. Not until you tell us what he’s supposed to have done.”

The Constables looked at each other. The nearest of them looked at the warrant.

“Take into custody – dead or alive,” he read out, his colleagues echoing him; and they swung their coshes menacingly.

“Dead or alive!” shouted Donna, her messy dark bob becoming even more mussed as she rubbed her hand desperately through it. “What the hell kind of warrant is that? That’s barbaric! You’re not proper police! Tell them, Doctor!”

“They may not stop to listen,” said the Doctor thoughtfully, readjusting his bowler as the Constables’ coshes lit up with a little ‘ping’ and began whirling of their own volition.

“Now do we run?” asked Donna.

“Now, we run,” confirmed the Doctor.

“I’ve sort of missed it – the running,” admitted Donna, and the Doctor beamed at her. She looked behind them. “What about the kid?”

“What about him?” said the Doctor, bouncing energetically in anticipation of a good run, shaking his hands like a boxer about to enter the ring. “Donna, he’s with them.”

“So?” said Donna, sticking her hands on her hips. “We can’t just leave him here!”

The Doctor groaned, but Donna shoved him hard and he hurriedly cricked his knees into a crouch. His fingers wafted in front of the kid’s face.

“Okay, come on now,” he said, reluctantly. “Clicky clicky. Enough with the zombie face.” The kid stared stoically. “Wow, you’re good,” said the Doctor, impressed, staring practically nose-to-nose. “You’re very good …”

“Not the time for it!” hissed Donna, throwing a desperate glance over her shoulder at the blue-moustached Constables tramping closer and closer.

“Oh, right,” said the Doctor, guiltily. His forehead creased, and he clapped his hands hesitantly. “Um, tickety boo! Wakey wakey. Rise and shine.”

He paused and scratched his ear.

“Open Sesame?” he ventured.

The kid continued to stare, flaccid-faced.

“Oh, you and your tickety boos,” grumbled Donna, hooking a finger into the waistband of the Doctor’s black jeans and pulling him away from where he was now desperately prodding and poking at the kid’s cheeks. “Bloody hypnotic suggestions – if you ever try it on me, I swear I’ll punch you from here to the next galaxy.”

The Doctor snatched the kid and heaved him over his shoulder, the kid’s arms hanging down and flopping around his back.

“Watch it! I know you claim to have been a dad in your past life,” said Donna crossly, as they set off at a run, “but really, you do know kids aren’t sacks of potatoes, don’t you?”

The Doctor shot her a nasty look.

“Do you at least know where we’re going?” asked Donna, panting.

“Yep,” said the Doctor shortly, straining under the extra weight.

“Oh, good,” said Donna, her boots thudding heavily over the uneven ground. After a moment, she looked at the Doctor again.

“Really?”

“No.”

“Brillo,” said Donna, sarcastically; and then she shut up, because even with a respiratory bypass system she needed all of her puff for running, and so did the Doctor. They shot out from the alley into a wider lane. Donna checked over her shoulder. They seemed to be making a little bit of progress. The Constables weren’t at the corner – yet.

Part of the way down the lane, the Doctor cried out and staggered, nearly falling to his knees and just managing to right himself in the nick of time.

“Put – me – down!” shouted the kid, now apparently fully cognitive once more and wanting to prove it by banging as hard on the Doctor’s back as possible. “Let me go!”

“Fine!” returned the Doctor, annoyed. He stopped and heaved the flailing kid down. “Happy to.”

The kid made a rude face and took off, arms pumping.

In the opposite direction.

“Not that way!” yelled Donna. “They’re there!” Her feet automatically took off after him.

“Donna!” yelled the Doctor. Something in his voice stabbed painfully at her, and it was almost enough to make her turn back, but she kept her eyes and legs trained resolutely on the kid. He'd just about reached the opening of the alley when he squeaked in terror and teetered to a halt, Donna practically treading on his heels.

They were smack bang against the blue-buttoned expanse of the Constables’ coats.

A heavy hand clamped down on each of their shoulders. Donna flung a glance behind her, relief flooding her at the realisation that the Doctor had done the sensible thing and vanished. He was safe for the present. That didn’t leave her feeling any better about her own situation, though. She fought her captor all the way down the lane, the kid doing the same. Two of the Constables pushed them into a ramshackle wooden building and up several flights of rickety stairs into an attic choked with dust.

“I’ve got mite allergies,” shouted Donna in vain hope, but the door thudded shut and she heard a key turn in the lock. She kicked it viciously with the toe of one of her Docs. Then she turned around.

“Nice work, Baker boy.”

Chapter 3

“It were your friend’s fault!” returned the kid, defiantly.

“Actually – yeah,” said Donna, frowning. “Come to think of it, you’re right. It was his fault, wasn’t it? That twerp.”

“Twerp,” agreed the kid.

Donna scanned the room for some means of escape. There didn’t seem to be any. The floorboards were uneven rough-hewn planks, but perfectly solid, and there were only two windows. One of them was barred, and looked out over the street. Donna’s gaze fell thoughtfully on the other window. That one wasn’t barred, but it led out to the sloped roof. And somehow she didn’t quite fancy breaking her neck.

She sighed and sat down, smoothing her short kilt over her jeans.

“Your friend gonna get us out of here, then?” asked the kid, sitting down beside her and holding his knees with a skinny arm. He took off his cap and wiped his nose with it. Donna wrinkled her face in disgust.

“Don’t do that!”

Her hand rootled around in her bomber pocket and pulled out a pack of tissues.

“Use this.” She whipped one out and held it to his nose. “Blow,” she commanded.

The kid cross-eyed it with interest, and blew. Donna wiped it for him and looked around for somewhere to bin it, before deciding that the dirty tissue was probably cleaner than the rest of the room. She lobbed it high into a mildewed corner.

“So,” she continued after a moment. “How did a kid like you get mixed up with those nutter cops, then?”

“Got paid handsome for it,” the kid told her defensively. “A whole penny. When you’re in the workhouse, you take whatever job you can get.”

“Suppose you would,” said Donna. She felt curious. “So … you’re in the workhouse, then? Really? Do they look after you all right?”

The kid shrugged.

“Not going to be there always, am I?” he said abruptly.

“Good for you,” said Donna, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“Well,” said the kid, shyly. “I play the violin. Sing a bit. And dance.”

After a bit of coaxing from Donna, he sang a few lines, and then buried his face in his knees.

“That’s fantastic,” said Donna, impressed. “You should show the Doctor a thing or two. When he gets us out of here, that is. Thinks he can sing.” She rolled her eyes.

“They all think it,” said the kid, sending his eyes spinning comically too. Donna laughed and tugged his cap down over his face. He pushed the floppy brim back up, grinning at her.

“Wish I had a mam like you,” he said. Donna recoiled a little.

“What?” she said tolerantly, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth as she prepared to brush off his remark. “No, you don’t.”

The kid looked down. For a moment, Donna thought that he was embarrassed by his declaration, but then he looked up, his cheeky little face earnest.

“Yes, I do,” he told her, and she stared at him.

“Why do you say that? Where’s your mum?”

“Asylum,” said the kid, matter-of-factly. He tapped his head to demonstrate – and then his face crumpled. A sob escaped him. Donna felt tears wet the fringes of her own eyes. She gingerly gathered the kid closer in a hug, wondering if he might shove her away again, but he nestled readily enough against her bomber jacket, his little chest heaving.

“It’s all right,” Donna told him in soothing tones, rocking him. “Shhh. There’s a time for putting on a brave face, but sometimes you just have to – I don’t know. Let it all out.”

“Do you have kids?” asked the kid, his tears carving pink streams through caked-on dirt. Donna stared straight ahead, a chill creeping through her limbs despite the warmth of the small body cuddled against her.

“No,” she said. “I sort of did have, once. They weren’t real, though. They were in a computer world. A virtual reality. That’s a sort of …” She trailed off, looking down at the keenly listening face, and tried to smile. “No – no kids. I just haven’t met the right bloke, I suppose.”

“What about your mister out there?” said the kid slyly, snivelling a hand across his nose.

“Use a tissue!” snapped Donna, pulling one from the packet and stuffing it in his hand. “And – him?” she scoffed in genuine amusement, shifting her weight a little. “That stupid great lump? Nup. Nuh-uh. Anyway, we just travel together. All over the place. We’re just getting to know each other again. He’s sort of – changed. And me too. It’s hard to explain.”

If the kid noticed, with all the perceptiveness of his streetwise years, that her strident tone had suddenly become tinged with wistfulness, Donna didn’t. She laughed.

“Why am I explaining myself to you, cheeky chops?”

“Do you have a mam, though?” persisted the kid.

“She’s – well, she’s a long way away,” said Donna slowly, partly to herself. A pained expression crossed her face. “Oh god. How am I going to tell her what happened to me? I … I can’t tell her. I don’t even look the same as what I used to. What if she doesn’t believe me? And Gramps – what’ll he say?”

“Putting on different clothes doesn’t change you, does it?” said the kid, confused. He made a fist against his scrawny chest. “In here.”

Donna smiled quizzically at him.

“You know what? You’re a smart kid. I bet your mum’s proud of you.”

The kid hid his face in his knees again, but not before Donna caught his pleased expression. Then he looked up.

“Miss, someone’s saying ‘psst’.”

“What?” said Donna. Then she heard it herself. A very distinct “psst”. It was coming from somewhere outside. It stopped. Then she heard it again.

“Who’s there?” she called cautiously, going to the window.

“Blitzin’!” came the hushed reply. Donna groaned.

“Who’s Blitzin’?” asked the kid in confusion.

“The Oncoming Prawn,” said Donna resignedly. She stuck her face up against the high window, her hands gripping the bars. The kid scrambled over in keen interest and began to bounce beside Donna on his tippy-toes. From outside, he looked like a pair of bright eyes appearing and disappearing at the gap in the window bars, over and over again.

The Doctor was waving up at them from the street, a long ladder hooked over one shoulder. He adjusted it a little.

“Behind you!” screamed Donna and the kid together, the kid’s eyes bouncing even faster.

The Doctor’s own eyes widened under his bowler. He swivelled abruptly, the ladder banging with a hollow thud into a Constable holding a raised cosh. The policeman dropped like a stone. Not seeing anyone, the Doctor swivelled the other way. The ladder took out another Constable. Still seeing no one, the Doctor shrugged and struggled towards the wall of the building, bearing the weight of the ladder. Donna rushed over to the other window, the kid following. After a moment, the topmost rungs of the ladder appeared at the far edge of the roof. They began shaking, and Donna presumed that the Doctor was climbing up. A minute or so later, a bowler hat appeared too, and then the rest of the Doctor was clambering onto the grey slates on hands and knees.

“In here!” called Donna, waving both arms, and the Doctor waved back. He stood up carefully and disappeared down a sloping roof. A moment later, he appeared again at the top of the next gable, a little nearer. Donna smiled, relieved – until she realised that the ladder rungs were wobbling again.

“They’re following!” she shouted in alarm. The Doctor looked back, teetering with his arms held out for balance. Sure enough, the two Constables had recovered quite well from their laddering and were silently tramping over the first roof ridge.

“Quick!” squealed the kid in excitement.

“O-ver the rooftops, step in time!” shouted the Doctor in glee, skittering bow-legged down yet another roof and then pumping his arms wildly as he strained his way back up the next. “Oh wait, that is Mary Poppins …”

“Concentrate, you insane idiot!” shrieked Donna, hearts pounding like pistons in her throat, hands clutching to her head as she saw bits of tiles flutter precariously in the wind around the Doctor's nimbly hopping feet. When he made it into the room safely in a flurry of black pinstripes, Donna succeeded both in hitting him and bowling him over with a hug at almost the same moment.

“Door, door!” panted the Doctor, ducking under Donna's arms and pounding across the creaking planks, tiny puffs of sawdust erupting around his footfalls. He yanked the sonic screwdriver from his jeans pocket and aimed the tip at the lock. Then he stood back, frowning, his hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He stepped forward and gingerly pushed at the door with a fingertip. And again.

“Don’t tell me,” said Donna flatly. “Special super hyper space lock you can't open.”

“What?” said the Doctor. “Oh, no. It’s just an ordinary lock. It’s just …” He paused and cleared his throat, sheepishly holding up the screwdriver. “Donna, I've run out of battery.”

A million things flashed through Donna's expansive Time Lord mind; most of them interesting ways in which she could go about hitting, kicking, punching, or otherwise visiting physical retribution upon the Doctor. She put them out of her mind temporarily, twisting and peering fearfully through the window after their pursuers.

There was nothing on the roof except the loosely nailed-down tiles fluttering in the wind. The Constables were gone.

“But where did they go?” she asked, stupefied.

No one heard her. The kid was enthralledly watching the Doctor, now on his fourth unsuccessful attempt at breaking down the door with his shoulder. As he valiantly pulled back for an fifth doomed run, the kid reached out and pulled at his jacket sleeve.

“Got a bit of wire, mister?” he asked. The Doctor paused and dug around in his pocket.

“African hunting dart do?”

The kid took it and fiddled for a moment with the lock, the Doctor peering over. Then – joy of joys – there was a satisfying click. Everyone sighed in relief, smiling around at each other. It was a happy moment. The Doctor turned the handle of the door with relish. It swung open, and they all peered through.

The entire length of the wooden staircase was alight with blue fire. It looked like a giant gas oven.

“That,” said Donna, taking a deep breath at the sheer unfairness of it all, “sucks.”

“Yep – yep, yep, yeppity yep,” agreed the Doctor, who seemed more than a little lost for words, staring blankly at the roaring, crackling flames. Donna could make out the shapes of all five Constables standing in the middle of the blue fire, still holding their coshes and lanterns, although now the glass sides of the lanterns appeared broken and inky with soot.

“But why’s it all not burning away?” asked Donna, looking at the staircase. “Why are they not burning away?”

“Those aren’t ordinary flames,” said the Doctor, urgently. “Remember, Donna, it’s a temporal magnetism field. We have to get out of here right now, or –”

He pointed. Donna gasped, seeing flashes of buildings and people from hundreds of points throughout history appearing in the flickering flames. The Constables stood stoically, their work done, even though they were now trapped in the fiery maelstrom themselves.

“Back to the roof?” suggested the Doctor, looking apologetically at Donna, who'd never liked heights ever since dangling from the particularly lofty one on the Adipose Industries cable. It was the sort of thing that he would enjoy, in a way, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her for not getting into it quite so enthusiastically.

“Let’s see,” said Donna, sarcastically. “Roof, fire of untimely death; roof, fire of untimely death – I think I’ll lock in untimely death – you idiot!”

“Not going to phone a friend?” said the Doctor cheekily.

“Already used it up on you, didn't I?” retorted Donna. The Doctor grinned. He turned to the clearly petrified kid.

“Piggy-back?” he suggested kindly.

The kid scrambled wordlessly onto the Doctor’s waiting back. A minute later they were climbing carefully out through the window. The ladder was gone – pulled down by the Constables, presumably. Donna didn’t say anything about unfairness this time. Right now, all things fairness seemed to be going up in smoke along with the building.

“Only one way down,” said the Doctor cheerfully, clambering on hands and feet over the gables, resembling in his black garb a monkey with a smaller monkey attached to his back. Before Donna knew it, he’d reached the edge, looked down – and jumped. The kid screamed.

“You are kidding me,” shouted Donna. “I only just regenerated! I was even getting used to the hair!”

“Hair’s fine!” called back the Doctor after a moment. “You’ll be fine. I promise! Nearly there, Donna!”

His words made her feel a little bit better. Even though the height so did not.

She jumped.

Much to her everlasting relief – because she really was getting used to the hair – she landed cat-like beside the Doctor and the kid on a passing horse-drawn cart. The driver seemed quite surprised by her sudden appearance. The horse less so; the Doctor seemed to know him quite well. They were even having a bit of a chat.

After all the doings on the rooftops, the journey back to the alley seemed comparatively uneventful, apart from the Doctor trying to yank off an unfortunate policeman’s moustache, and Donna accidentally knocking another policeman unconscious with his own baton.

Just to be sure.

Chapter 4

The TARDIS was still safely in the alley, its monolithic form standing out starkly against the trappings of Victorian London. Blue doors still chained shut with a huge riveted padlock. This time, the Doctor and Donna looked hopefully at the kid. He grinned and set to work on the lock. A minute later, the chains were clanking to the ground.

“Speaking of chains,” said Donna, picking one up and running it through her fingers. “I wonder why they wanted to arrest you, Doctor? It must have been a mix-up. They can’t have meant you.”

He didn’t answer.

Donna dropped the chain. Something wasn't quite right, there ...

“What’ll happen to the fire?” broke in the kid. “Did you see? It was blue!”

“Oh, fire brigade should be able to put it out,” said the Doctor hastily. “Fire brigades are great. They have bells that ring and everything!”

“I thought you said the fire was a temporal field thingy?” said Donna.

“Donna, it’s still just fire,” said the Doctor, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you’re still just a prawn,” said Donna, crossly. She relented and gave him a hug, though. Then she turned to the kid, who was fidgeting restlessly. “Go on, get going,” she said, giving him a friendly slap on the rump. “And be a bit more careful about which jobs you take next time, yeah?”

“All right, miss,” said the kid.

“Donna,” she told him. “My name’s Donna Noble. Go see your mum, and tell her happy Christmas, all right?”

He nodded, backing away with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey!” shouted Donna, realising something. “I never asked your name.”

“Charlie,” hollered the kid, still backing off. “Charlie Chaplin.”

And he disappeared at a run, leaving the Doctor and Donna stunned and staring at the place where he'd stood.

“Charlie Chaplin?” they questioned together.

“I said,” began Donna in a wobbly voice, “before I left you, remember? When your mind was burning me up. I wanted to go meet Charlie Chaplin …”

Her voice cracked, and the Doctor had his arms wrapped around her in a twinkling.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, dropping a kiss to the dark locks. “I know. But you’re here now. You’re safe.”

Donna blinked, her eyes red but tearless.

“I’m glad we finally met him, though. Poor thing.”

“Oh, I have a feeling you helped him. I think we helped him,” said the Doctor. “In fact – Donna? I want to show you something.” He unlocked the door and led her into the TARDIS.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and Donna’s head poked out through the crack, looking left and right and then down an alleyway that looked a bit like a film set – but not any set that she’d ever imagined. The camera was old-fashioned, and so were the clothes that everyone was wearing. For all Donna knew, they might have been costumes.

Then the little crowd of people thinned, and through the gap she saw it. Moustache, black suit jacket, black bowler hat …

“That’s him,” she said softly, feeling a strange sense of pride. “Little Charlie. All grown up.”

“Explain to me, Chaplin,” the director was saying in a marked American accent, chewing a cigar. He removed it and puffed, studying Charlie up and down. “I like the look. I like it. It has character; it has pizazz. But what’s he like?”

“Well, he’s a tramp,” began Charlie. “But he’s also a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow. Always hopeful of romance and adventure. Though he’d have you believe he’s a scientist. Even a musician.”

“Odd fellow,” remarked the director, harrumphing.

“He is,” agreed Charlie with a far-off smile, tweaking his bowler to sit at a more rakish angle. “He certainly is.”

Donna closed the door and turned to the Doctor in realisation, her eyes flicking over his own bowler.

“The Tramp?” she said in disbelief. “He got it from you? But – but that’s the most famous movie character ever!”

“And Charlie’s the Kid,” pointed out the Doctor, leaning on the console. “Remember that movie he made later on? The Kid? All that racing over the rooftops? Policemen? Story of little Charlie. Well, Charlie and us. How wicked is that, Donna? All that time ago, and he remembered.”

“You’re not exactly easy to forget,” said Donna, a little bitterly, still thinking of the events that had led to her leaving the Doctor. “It took wiping my head to do that.”

The Doctor was setting the controls for Victorian London. He didn’t seem to be listening, or else he was ignoring her. Either way, Donna felt suddenly angry. She sat down abruptly on the jump seat and pursed her lips as fishily as she could.

The time rotor glowed and the TARDIS was off again, swirling through the vortex. Inside, the Doctor braced his arms on the shuddering console, his gaze fixed on the floor, while Donna jolted up and down on the jump seat, looking anywhere and everywhere except at the Doctor. When the engines whined to a halt, the silence in the room was palpable, broken only by the hollow metallic clank of the Doctor’s shoes treading across the grated platform. The doors were slowly pushed open, revealing the same courtyard as before, although now it was dark and silent and bathed in moonlight. The faint sounds of Christmas revellers could be heard somewhere in the distance.

Donna looked at the Doctor’s tall silhouette lingering in the open doorway. Everything about him seemed uncertain; almost pensive. He looked sidelong over his shoulder at her.

“What are you waiting for?” she said. “I thought you wanted to go see Jackson Lake … and your good buddy Rosita,” she added, unable to keep herself from saying it a little bitingly.

At that, the Doctor turned around completely. He broke into a determined trot around the console, and then he was beside Donna, plumping himself down on the jump seat and draping an arm around her shoulder. She shoved him away with a feeble “Get off it” but his arm latched itself persistently around her again.

“Jackson Lake,” began the Doctor, “and Rosita – they can just bloody well wait. It’s Christmas, and you’re back. You’re really back, Donna!”

“Observant of you,” she said, trying to hide how pleased she really felt.

“And,” he continued, his tone lowering, “Christmas is for spending with the people – well, the person – you really love. Isn’t it?”

Donna’s hearts seemed to stop. Then they did a feeble wobble and struck up again in a wild two-step.

“Why … what do you mean?” she said shakily.

“Because,” began the Doctor, shifting closer on the seat, his gaze dark and velvety where it peeked under his bowler. Donna swallowed, completely unable to understand why her super-charged new Time Lord brain felt suddenly swathed in great fluffy wads of cotton wool.

“Because,” he repeated, “because you’re my absolute best buddy, Donna.”

And then he wrapped her in a warm bear hug.

For a moment – just a moment – there was utter silence. Then the Doctor found himself moving away from the jump seat.

Not of his own volition. Pushed pointedly by a pair of arms.

“Donna?” said the Doctor in puzzled tones, reaching the end of her fingertips and keeping on going.

But Donna was pressing her hands over her pinkening cheeks, staring at the Doctor with enormous eyes. She shook her head slowly, then the Doctor jumped as she began to bat wildly at her head with her palms, making an infuriated groaning sound. Next, she got up and stamped one Doc-clad foot hard on her other. The Doctor winced, still moving backwards. Finally, Donna strode forward and banged shut the TARDIS door. It might have been kicked; the Doctor wasn’t sure.

After a moment, there was a timid knock.

“Donna?”

There was no answer.

“Donna, I think you’ve accidentally left me outside.”

There was still no answer. The Doctor looked around helplessly at the courtyard. He pulled his jacket around himself more snugly and squashed his bowler as far down around his ears as it would go. He tapped again on the door, hopping up and down a little on his toes.

“It’s starting to snow,” he pointed out in a small voice. After a moment, the door opened a crack and an umbrella was passed out.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor, putting it up. He sat down and leaned against the blue wood.

“Donna – ?” he began again, meekly, but before he could get any further, the door opened again and his guitar flew out, landing beside him with a hollow ‘thunk’, echoed by the door slamming shut again. The Doctor picked up the guitar and strummed a melancholy chord, leaning back and crossing a long leg over his bent knee. The stars twinkled above, their silvery white flares flickering deep in his eyes. Some of the constellations he knew very well. Some of them, even after all his centuries spent coming and going in this part of the universe, were still a complete mystery to him. He continued to stare up at the night sky, his long fingers picking out a contemplative tune on the guitar, the snow casting down around him as lightly and finely as plucked goose feathers.

He was jolted out of his reverie by a small crash somewhere behind him. After a moment he leaned back again, deciding that Donna must be taking her mood out on the console. Generously he decided to put her odd behaviour down to the regeneration blues finally catching up with her. There was another noise like a crack, followed by a dull thump, and the Doctor made a mental note to buy a new stabiliser for the TARDIS.

A gust whirled some of the snow past him. He promptly buttoned up his jacket. Even with his lower-than-human body temperature, it was getting cold. His thoughts turned temptingly to Jackson and Rosita, and to sneaking off to where they were waiting for him. He thought wistfully of eating a big dinner with them, in front of a fire. Drinking beer. Maybe them telling him how brilliant he was.

But then his thoughts wandered to Donna, and to all their constant running, hand in hand. He thought of her always telling him what to do. Currently breaking his TARDIS to pieces. Maybe hitting him.

The Doctor thought a bit more. Then he settled himself as comfortably as he could.

It looked like they were all in for a long night.

The Clothes Maketh The Man

2009-01-07T17:29:17Z

Title: The Clothes Maketh The Man
Series: And The Clock Struck Two
Rating: PG
Characters: Eleven, Donna II
Summary: For those who wanted more, here it is! Continues straight on from Au Revoir, post-Journey’s End and post-regenerations.
Word Count: A bit of a longie. 3500 or thereabouts.

1. Au Revoir

Mid-twenty-sixth-squeeze from the Doctor, Donna's mind was already wandering off to more mundane matters, such as calculating the height of the pyramids at Giza with her brand new system of numeration, or growing a TARDIS in a pot.

“What time is it?” she asked suddenly, prising the Doctor’s arms from around her – twice, because he kept clinging on. She glanced up at the sun, shielding her eyes. Something somewhere in her mind clicked unexpectedly and her fingers darted to her head. “Ten twenty three. Oh my god.”

“Time Lord!” the Doctor reminded her, grinning. “Oh, this is going to be so completely wicked! Do you want the long complicated interesting explanation or the short boring yawny one?”

“Seeing as it’s you giving it … boring and short.”

“Donn-na!” he complained. “Oh, fine. Well, you know a clock face? Think of your face, head, whatever, as a clock. Imagining that?”

“I’m a clock,” deadpanned Donna. “Yeah, think I got it.”

“That’s all there is to it. Your ticker is, literally, the ticker. Easy. Now come on, Donna, let me do the long complicated answer too. It’s way more interesting. I get to use the word ‘temple-nebular-temporal-osis’. I just made it up, but it sums things up so well …”

“Hell no,” she told him, feeling even more brusque than usual. “If you do, we’ll be sitting here all day, me not even pretending to be listening. Right now all I want to do is go get changed. I’m feeling all billowy in places and really really tight in other places – and stop looking for which ones, you.” She paused. “And speaking of places … how did you know to find me here?”

“Oh, that,” said the Doctor in entirely too casual tones. “If I told you it was a coincidence, would you believe me?”

“I might, if anything involving us two was ever a coincidence, which according to the whole bloody universe it never is. Remember? Huon particles, window charades, time beetles, DoctorDonna … did I miss anything?”

“How about your regenerating just now?” said the Doctor, suddenly serious. “I owe you for that, you know. No one’s ever offered before to – you know. Melt in my arms.”

His intense expression vanished and he sniggered like an adolescent. Donna just shook her head, wondering whether the more youthful a Time Lord started to look, the more senile he started to become.

“All the time we’ve spent travelling together,” she began resignedly, “and you still think I don’t know when you’re trying to change the subject. Answer me, and no mucking about, or I’ll wallop you. How did you really know I’d be here?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have you been following me?”

“Fine,” admitted the Doctor sourly, “yeah, I followed you a little, so what? I was just checking up on you. I did miss you occasionally, believe it or not.” He smirked.

Something else popped into Donna’s head. Her mouth dropped open and she waggled her finger slowly.

“It wasn’t just occasionally, though, was it? I remember … hang on, were you stalking me?”

The Doctor’s smirk vanished abruptly.

“I think you’re still a bit affected there by your regeneration, Donna,” he said, tapping her head with one hand and squishing her cheeks with the other. “Yeah, I definitely detect a bit of neural passage whizbangery going on – it’ll wear off eventually –”

Donna popped out her cheeks and swatted the Doctor’s hands away, now completely sure.

“You, Doctor, are the worst stalker on the planet. I mean, the absolute worst. Probably in this galaxy, too. And the universe. Ever, of all time. I mean, it was so obvious you were stalking me. I didn’t know who you were, of course, since I’d lost all my memories, but I actually felt sorry for you; you were so bad at it. Don’t you remember the day I came and sat down with you at the café – you were hiding behind a giant newspaper with a hole cut in the middle – and I ordered tea and jammy scones for us and started chatting away to you? You seriously looked like you were going to wet yourself. Oh, that was fantastic.”

She grinned, her mind starting to recall numerous instances of her mystery brown-suited man – the day he’d turned up as a door-to-door salesman proffering tinned asparagus; the day he’d cycled, puffing, all the way to her workplace behind her car, obviously imagining that he was invisible to her, since her head was facing forward; the day she’d been out in the park, reading on a bench and seeing just his head, covered by a construction worker’s helmet, slowly popping up and down through a utility shaft at intervals to watch her.

“Brilliant,” concluded Donna, unable to stop laughing. “Oh, admit it, you missed me big time, you silly alien.”

The Doctor looked like he wanted to sink down into a utility shaft right then and there.

“Who’re you calling alien, alien?” he said sulkily.

Donna was laughing too hard to care.

“Did you say something about changing?” continued the Doctor helplessly, pulling Donna to her feet and affording her even more mirth at the sight of him wearing brown pinstriped trousers that were now far too tight, and trainers that he was half tripping around in as he flounced about. He flat-out refused to remove his suit outside, so had to unzip the trouser fly just to be able to jump, his legs practically pinned stiff by the fabric; and what with Donna’s howls and titters, his face was bright red by the time he teetered over with a crash through the TARDIS door.

* * *

Donna stood behind a changing screen in the Doctor's giant wardrobe room. She shrugged on a fitted leather bomber and considered her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers through her shaggy cropped locks. The Doctor hadn’t been kidding. Definitely brunette. She wondered whether she'd gotten it from him.

She pushed a finger against the tip of her nose, then twiddled her earlobes back and forth; then, for the fun of it, tried pulling different faces. Rolling her tongue didn’t seem to work any more, which was a bit disappointing. On the other hand, this face could do excellent fish lips. She finished by blowing out a stream of air through a pout, and idly wondered how old this body would be from a human perspective. Couldn’t be more than in her twenties, she thought. Like how the Doctor looked now, really. Now that was her kind of time travel.

“Ooo-hoo-hoo, do I see Donna wearing Docs?” said a gleeful voice, and Donna glanced up, startled. The Doctor’s head was poking over the top of the screen. “Why does that seem completely appropriate?” he went on, his finger touching to his chin in mock wonderingment.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Donna, extending her own finger up and pointedly pushing his forehead down. “Grow up. I know at nine hundred years old or whatever you are, that might be asking a bit much, but just give it a try, will you? If you say one more word about my shoes, I swear to god I’m going back to wearing heels.”

“No!” exclaimed the Doctor in horror, his head reappearing. No doubt he was remembering all the occasions on which he’d had to lug her back to the TARDIS after she’d broken a shoe or twisted her ankle. “Don’t say that. I like these, promise.”

“Yeah?” said Donna again, more doubtfully, lifting one heavily booted foot and then the other, clomping each back down and stamping a few times. She looked up at him. “Not too – I dunno, grungy? They’re kind of comfy …”

“Oh, they have all sorts of funk going on,” promised the Doctor, wrapping his arms over the screen and resting his chin on top. “And hey, groovy kilt,” he continued enthusiastically, snapping his fingers at it.

“Thanks,” said Donna, pulling down on the flared skirt where it wrapped over her new jeans. “Well, come on then, you cosmic Zoolander,” she challenged. “Give us your best pose.”

She heard his feet hit the ground, and then he was strutting confidently out from behind the screen without the least hint of self-consciousness. He struck a dashing attitude.

Donna’s mouth fell open in shock. She automatically averted her eyes.

“Oh my giddy monkey’s uncle’s god,” she got out faintly, covering her mouth with a hand, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

The Doctor looked down mournfully at his kilt and bare legs, his feet laced up in Roman sandals and his chest strapped over with leather cords like some sort of Amazonian warrior.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in genuine confusion. “I mean, you’re wearing a kilt too. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but to be honest, yours isn’t really all that great, compared to mine. I was just trying to be nice –”

“Um, what’s wrong?” interrupted Donna in disbelief, her eyes flickering back to him. “I'll tell you what’s wrong. PUT – SOME – BLOODY – CLOTHES – ON!”

The Doctor jumped at her tone, his kilt unfortunately flying up every which way. He scurried back behind the screen. After a moment, his head popped up again.

“What are you squawking for?” he complained, sounding more like a peevish professor than a half-naked Time Lord.

“Are you serious? What you’re wearing – or not wearing, more’s the point – it’s disturbing on so many levels, I don’t know where to begin. Apart from the mental scars I’d get watching you fiddle around under your precious console in that thing, considering I know what you're like when you really get going down there. That’s not counting the scars I’ve gotten having seen you just now, by the way. Yes, I am actually scarred; I have that image burnt into my retinas and apparently now it’s not going away until I regenerate again, which is why I’m considering – hmm, what can kill a Time Lord? Oh yeah, cyanide; quick, get me some cyanide …”

“Riiiight,” interrupted the Doctor cheerily, drumming his fingers over the top of the screen in sudden understanding. “Right. No problem, I’ll just pop off and change. Back in two ticks. Or a bit longer, because two ticks – oh, I’m not bothering explaining, you’re a Time Lord now, you get it …”

He fluttered his hand dismissively and disappeared. Donna took the opportunity to attack her new crop with a brush, finishing the effect by pinning it back. One of the clips fell from her fingers and she bent to retrieve it.

A pair of black shoes stepped out from behind the screen.

Donna looked up, her gaze travelling over a pair of equally dark trousers.

“A suit jacket,” she said flatly, getting to her feet and staring at the Doctor’s attire. “Again.”

“Yeah,” said the Doctor, grinning. He tugged the lapels across his dark knitted sweater and swivelled to check over his shoulder in the mirror. “Classic.”

Donna blew out a frustrated sigh and shoved her hands in her bomber pockets, twiddling her stance on the edges of her boots.

“Look,” she said, “at least I made an effort. You’re completely uncreative, you know that? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you know that. Just who was it that managed to solve all the Dalek stuff?” She pulled out her hands, pointing two fingers at herself and snaking her head triumphantly. “Oh yeah. Was her royal moi-ness here, I think.”

She paused, eyeing the Doctor.

“Speaking of uncreative, you still haven’t figured out how to fix the chameleon circuit, have you?”

“Well!” he blustered. “Not my fault. It was the thing, in the whatsit, and to be quite frank, it all just went a bit ‘zing’ …”

“Yeah,” said Donna in a patronising tone. “Course it did.”

“So you don’t like the jacket, then?” asked the Doctor sadly. “Really? It’s quite natty, I think. Sort of hip, and beat. Down with it. Cool. Dapper. Slick.”

He flicked back his hair in a bouffant and smirked at Donna.

“Blitzin’, even,” he added.

In a flash he dispensed with his posing, tugging clumsily at Donna’s sleeve like an overgrown puppy.

“Hey, did you get that, Donna, what I just said –”

“Oh yeah, I got it all right,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Real clever – Donna and Blitzin’?” She yanked her arm away from his grasping fingers. “You idiot.”

“It could catch on,” continued the Doctor, undeterred. “Sounds cool, doesn’t it? It should be our code name. Next time we get captured, make sure to call me Blitzin’. I’ll call you Donna,” he added kindly.

“Next time we get captured? Doctor – and I mean this in the nicest possible way – if you ever see me building myself a sonic screwdriver, it’s just so I can disintegrate you for my own sanity.”

She stepped towards him. He hovered on his toes, looking a little alarmed, then relaxed as she ran her hands curiously over his shoulders, fingers tracing down the thin grey stripes.

“Pinstripes, then?” she commented. “I know I’ve said it before, but seriously, don’t you ever change?”

She realised what she’d said as soon as she said it, and blushed.

“Now, Donna, don’t make me explain regeneration again,” teased the Doctor, tipping her chin gently with a finger. “Anyway, I changed the colour,” he informed her, looking down at himself and brushing off a speck of lint. “This one’s black. You’ve seen me in other colours before. This one was right at the front of the clothing rack, didn’t hardly even have to do any looking around. It was just, you know …” He spread his hand open in the air. “Plop. There.”

“Sure – black,” pointed out Donna. “The TARDIS isn’t exactly stupid. She probably put it there to save on your loads of dirty laundry. I don’t know how she puts up with you, really I don’t.”

She looked down at her own discarded clothes, puddled on the floor.

“I suppose I should hang that up,” she added, not making any move to do so.

“Huh?” said the Doctor distractedly, still preening at himself in the mirror. He caught sight of her expression in the reflection, and turned, frowning. “Are you all right, Donna?”

“Oh … fine,” she said drearily, poking at the clothes with a toe. “It’s just, that was my favourite jacket. The brown one. Remember? I was wearing it the day you brought me back, after all the – you know. Losing my memories.” She sighed, rubbing her hand through her hair. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wear it again. It doesn’t really fit any more.”

The Doctor came away from the mirror, looking sympathetic. His gaze travelled over the floor to where his own brown pinstripes lay in a crumpled heap, trainers tossed askew on top. Donna looked too. Before she knew it, her boots were clomping across the floor and she was lowering herself beside the suit, folding her legs to the side. She pulled the brown fabric into her lap, her fingers playing idly with it. How many times had she hugged the Doctor in this? Or had he saved her life in it? Or had she saved his?

Donna looked up. The Doctor was watching her, an understanding smile on his face.

“So,” she said briskly, her voice wobbling a little. She busied herself with folding up the trousers. “This goes back on the rack, then, does it?”

“Mmm-hmm. Doesn’t fit,” said the Doctor simply, leaning on the side of the screen.

Donna paused for a moment and then looked up – really properly for the first time – at his new face, her eyes scanning over features that seemed both familiar and unfamiliar. His eyes were soft; almost apologetic. Oh, he was right. The brown suit didn’t fit him any more. And not just size-wise, either.

“I’ll do it,” he added, and Donna silently held the suit up for him. He took it with a small smile, folding the trousers over a hanger and draping the jacket on top. The hanger was dropped onto a nearby rail with a tiny metal "ker-clink", the Doctor's fingers hesitating only for a nanosecond; if Donna hadn’t been a Time Lord, she might not have noticed it. But then his hand came to rest on the shoulder of the jacket, and Donna knew that in his funny little way, he was saying goodbye. She suspected that he needed to compose himself, because it was a few moments before he turned around, blinking a bit and smiling nostalgically. Donna bit her lip. She got up and silently slung her own clothes over a second hanger, coming over and hooking the curved wire carefully next to his suit. The Doctor reached for her hand and squeezed it.

They stood looking at the two laden hangers.

“God, I’m hungry,” said Donna abruptly into the silence.

“Regeneration. It does that to you,” agreed the Doctor, letting out his breath and turning away. “I remember after I regenerated last time. Me and Rose went gatecrashing medieval banquets for a whole week.” He brought a fist up to his mouth and stifled a hiccup, looking a little queasy. “Bloody hell, that was a lot of turkducken.”

“Want me to make us banana milkshakes?” suggested Donna.

“Actually, I don’t think I feel like a banana milkshake right now,” said the Doctor.

“You don’t want a banana milkshake? You? Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Doctor? Is it regeneration sickness or something? I mean, you have done this regenerating thing an awful lot of times now, and what if it does something to you the more you get older? You really have to be more careful, what if –”

“Nah,” broke in the Doctor hastily. “Just don’t feel like banana.”

“But – but you love bananas!” exclaimed Donna, unable to comprehend his sudden change in hearts.

“Loved,” he corrected. “Loved bananas. Past tense. Though, did you know there are planets where everything actually goes backwards? How cool is that? I have to take you there. Past tense would be their future tense. At, least, I think it would.” He frowned. “I haven’t been able to work out what they’re saying backwards enough to figure it out …”

Donna didn’t answer. She was busy thinking about bananas, and all the other little things that might have changed – oh, not just about him, but maybe about herself too. She inhaled and stared down at her new Docs.

“No, what I really feel like,” went on the Doctor, oblivious to her turmoil, “is still something yellowish though. Yellow’s good. Not chips …”

He hummed and hahhed for a moment, then clapped triumphantly.

“Fondue. With those toasty fork things to stick in it. That’s exactly what I feel like. Wanna go halves? I say halves; it’ll just be a massive bloody big puddle of cheese, of course – we might need to buy ourselves a ladle to split it up – but as close to halves as we can get, anyway …”

Fondue did sound very, very good, Donna had to admit. Oh, identity crises could just go hang themselves until after she’d had a good feed.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I think Time Lords are like cheese – they get better with age.”

The Doctor giggled appreciatively, but Donna immediately cringed. “Are you kidding? That was awful!” She looked suspiciously at the Doctor. “Are you imprinting on me or something?”

“If I am, then you’re imprinting on me,” returned the Doctor. He was blinking hard, as though his neural passages were adjusting a bit. “Donna, was – was I seriously wearing nothing but a kilt back there?” He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “That was so undignified …”

“Wait a moment,” said Donna, seeing a hat rack nearby. Her fingers flickered over a selection, pausing on a beret, a panama, and a fedora. They finally settled on a dark bowler. The Doctor followed it with his eyes as Donna lifted it off and clapped it over his brow, settling it at a rakish angle on his flop of hair.

“There. Much better for, er, covering stuff up,” she said not-so-innocently, flicking the Doctor’s big chin with a finger.

His eyes crinkled in return.

“So, do you fancy a flight in my spaceship, Noble?” he queried, doffing the hat and leaning forward to chummily offer an arm. Donna grinned and shoved her arm into his without ceremony; then they were strolling off, the Doctor keeping up his usual stream of charming, albeit somewhat self-absorbed conversation.

As they passed the clothing racks, Donna quietly reached out and trailed her hand along the worn brown pinstripes one last time. She swallowed, then let go and clasped the newly black-pinstriped arm on her other side a little more firmly. The Doctor patted his hand over hers, not stopping his rabbiting-on about something or other.

Oh, it felt the same, decided Donna, grinning. And for the moment, that was good enough.

Continued in Time Lady and The Tramp

Au Revoir

2009-01-03T23:40:05Z

Title: Au Revoir
Series: And The Clock Struck Two
Rating: PG
Characters: Ten, Donna -> Eleven, Donna II
Spoilers: Journey's End
Summary: What can I say? Angst, then happy. Bye bye soon, Ten, we love you *sigh*.

It was the stupidest thing. Just one word, it had taken.

The word had been “Doctor”, of course. Someone at the clinic had said it in a certain way, bringing the memories trickling back to Donna in a stream. So that by the evening, when she was out walking and wincing and hoping that the fresh air would help cure her headache, it all came flooding back in a deadly whirlpool.

Donna didn’t know how he’d found out about it, but he was there at her side almost instantly as she hunched over and burst into tears, the pain threatening to rip apart her skull.

The Doctor hastened to support her, coaxing her down gently on the blowing grass. Her shoulders shook with sobs. But they were bitter tears, because she could see a little smile on his face and she knew that he’d figured out what he was going to do to take away the Time Lord consciousness this time, and what it would do to him; and she could see that he didn’t even care because the silly, stupid sod had decided that he had to save her, not even the most important woman in the universe any more; just her, Donna Noble.

His lips ghosted over her temple as she sobbed, trying to push him away, to let him know that he couldn’t do this, but he was insistent as he kissed his way over her forehead and ears and cheeks and lips. Where his lips touched her skin she felt the prickling and burning cease as the destructive Time Lord energy leeched out through her pores and into him.

Somewhere along the way she realised that she’d stopped struggling and was grasping him close to her, the tears continuing to stream down her face. He kissed those away too.

At last he pulled back, gasping and shaking his head as he tried to gulp down air. Donna knew, with her last clinging vestiges of Time Lord knowledge, that his lungs must be literally burning up by now. She lunged forward to catch him as he crumpled backwards, his limbs splaying on the ground.

He stared up at her, his eyes not leaving hers for a moment despite his choking coughs and the violent jerking movements ravaging his body. He still had that little smile on his face, and the only sign of his pain was in the lines around his mouth. Donna couldn’t understand his self-control, because she’d been in his head; she knew what happened during the regeneration process and what unspeakable pain he must be in right now. Still, she couldn’t cry any more; this was no time for tears. She unbuttoned his jacket with trembling fingers and wriggled it over his shoulders, then rubbed his chest vigorously, her face pale and pinched.

“Donna,” said the Doctor faintly, his voice rasping. She shushed him.

“For god’s sake, just shut up for once in your life. Please.”

The Doctor obeyed her, still staring as though memorising her face. Which he probably was; both of them knowing that this would be the last time he’d ever see her like this, through these eyes. Even now Donna could see his pupils dilating and turning shades of gold and orange. She wondered, not for the first time, why it was that the most beautiful-looking things in the universe so often turned out to be the most deadly.

His skin was changing too, becoming more translucent. Donna watched helplessly as the beginnings of a pale gold haze shone around him.

“No,” she said suddenly, sitting back on her heels, refusing to accept it. “No …”

The Doctor managed to quirk his eyebrow questioningly at her, even in the middle of a painful-sounding cough. The energy was glowing palpably around him now. He cried out in agony as it flared; then – then the poor idiot smiled apologetically at her.

Donna felt her eyes welling up. That did it. She didn’t even have to think twice. She hurled herself forward and wrapped her arms around the Doctor, whimpering in shock as the energy fizzled against her skin.

“Donna, get back!” exclaimed the Doctor in alarm, coughing and hacking as he tried to wriggle loose.

Good. She’d always liked shocking him.

“Nope,” she told him, panting, holding on with a steely clasp and wincing as the haze slowly wrapped itself around her limbs, creeping along her body. “We’re in it together, us two. You’re not sticking it out alone any more. I’m coming along for the ride.”

His mouth was going open and closed like a fish, and only about half of it was from the coughing.

“But – you can’t! It’ll – you know what it’ll do to you?”

“Yep.”

The Doctor shook his head in a mixture of reproof and awe. Donna felt her eyes going swimmy.

“Donna, this may not be the best time to tell you this, but – you’re just a little bit crazy, you know that?”

“Guess who drove me to it, Spaceman,” she retorted, blinking furiously to try and clear her eyes. He laughed. Laughed joyously, and laughed hoarsely, and just laughed, and she couldn't help it; she joined him.

He quietened sooner than he might have done ordinarily, the pain obviously affecting him far more than he cared to admit. But he still managed to smile fondly at her between bouts of coughing. His eyes had become deep, swirling pools. Donna could just barely see her own gaze reflected in them. Everything was turning a sheer hazy gold, even him. And it was quite simply beautiful.

“See you on the other side, then?” he promised her, his voice low and intent.

“You betcha,” she gasped, shuddering as flames seemed to lap at her; within her. “Allons … y,” she managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“Au revoir, Donna … Noble,” he choked out, cocking his head at her with a brilliant grin, and then she tucked her head against his shoulder, bracing herself.

When the full extent of the regenerative energy hit them, it was like nothing she could have imagined; it felt as though she was being bathed in liquid fire, every part of her literally melting as she felt the Doctor melt with her …

* * *

Donna opened one eye, squinting.

And then the other.

Nope, too soon. Bright light pierced them and she slammed them shut.

After a moment she peeked again. This time she was relieved to find it seemed a bit paler and more manageable. Splitting headache, though. She sat up, groaning. To her surprise there was an answering groan, and suddenly she remembered the Doctor. She swivelled, hardly daring to hope ...

Sitting up beside her was a man, rubbing his head ruefully. When he noticed her looking at him, his face lit up and Donna could have cried in relief. The face was completely different – more sort of chiselled – but those eyes, that grin. The terrible suit, of course. That damn tuft of hair. It had to be the Doctor. Well, either that or it was all part of an elaborate ruse to kidnap her, in which case she’d be clocking this grinning young chappie over the head in a minute.

“Donna!” he exclaimed, holding his arms out and wiggling his fingers. Sleeves too long, she noted.

“Yeah?” she replied. Oh, that sounded odd. She cleared her throat. Her voice seemed different; higher, clearer.

The man looked a little put out.

“It’s me. The Doctor. Hello! Remember?”

Donna tipped her head to the side, eyeing him suspiciously. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Um, you know – ‘Talking about my regeneration'?”

Donna spluttered at his singing and nearly died on the spot. He’d turned into a bit of a wannabe singer? A wannabe singer with a bad memory for lyrics, who couldn’t hold a tune?

“No, don’t,” she told him hastily. “Really – don’t do that.”

He shrugged and stopped, gazing earnestly at her as he waited for her to speak.

“Part of me,” she began, her voice tremulous and not sounding quite right to her ears, “part of me wants to run to the nearest mirror just to make sure I’m not imagining all this. And part of me just wants to do this …”

She hit him on the arm, as hard as she could.

“Ow! Donna!”

“What the hell were you thinking, letting me do that?”

She hit him again.

“You wanted to!” he exclaimed.

“I was all emotional and brainless and weepy, you twerp! I wasn’t even thinking! Oh god.” She stopped hitting and put her fingers to her temples. “I think I’m having an identity crisis …”

The Doctor was grinning in the same old inane way, with maybe a hint more of a smirk. Donna glared at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just – you’re still you,” he said happily.

“Duh! Who did you think I’d be, bloody Jane Jetson? All right. Tell me the worst, go on. How do I look?”

She tilted her head in profile at him, feeling suddenly nervous, running her hand over her face and through her hair.

Oh. It felt cropped.

“I like it,” declared the Doctor stoutly. “I mean, I liked you just fine before. But you suit this look too – I mean, it suits you. They both do. Did. Um – do. Yeah.”

Donna smiled, still picking at her hair.

“I, um, I can’t see up here. Am I still ginger?”

“Oh – nope,” said the Doctor with regret. “It’s all dark and short, actually. Nice, though.” His eyes ran over her and he rubbed his nose shyly. “You – you look younger, Donna.”

“Seriously?” she said, delighted. “Same right back atcha … Spaceman.”

She thought he seemed rather too pleased upon hearing it. He’d always thought far too much of his looks for his own good.

“And?” he continued, looking at Donna eagerly, gesturing up and down his face and body. “Well?”

She shrugged. Better not let him get too big for his boots.

“Meh.”

It was quite comical how quickly this new face of his fell. Donna stored away that bit of information to use in the future – on as many occasions as possible.

“Oh, I’m kidding, Dopeylocks,” she admitted. She reached out and ruffled his hair, letting the strands run through her fingers. “You look fine.”

The Doctor gave her a familiar look of half reproach, half relief – it was weird seeing it on another face though – and shuffled closer on his knees. He gently placed his hands on Donna's chest, raising his eyebrows at her. She raised her eyebrows back, waiting for the regeneration verdict. The Doctor squinted, concentrating on her pulse, then nodded.

“It worked,” he said simply.

She let out a sigh, as did he. They remained there for a moment. Quite a long moment.

And ... an even longer moment.

Donna glared at him.

“Get – your – hands – off,” she enunciated threateningly. The Doctor removed his fingers from her chest, looking sheepish.

“Thought you’d try it on with me?” said Donna, pursing her lips and folding her arms protectively across her body. “Now that I’m all – I dunno – ‘hot young Donna the Time Lord’?”

His mouth was moving like a fish again. Oh, she’d never get tired of that.

“No!” he squeaked.

Nor that.

“You’re not hot – I mean, you’re not not hot – no! I mean …”

He kept on babbling. Donna watched, grinning, as he continued to put numerous feet in apparently even more numerous mouths. All in all, she was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. He'd just begun fervently explaining something about playing leapfrog in ancient Babylon – god knew how he’d got onto the subject – when she laughed and put him out of his misery, throwing herself at him for a hug, feeling her new hearts race joyously as this equally new Doctor sighed in relief and squeezed her in return, even harder than he ever had before.

Oh yes. Him and her. Together again. They were going to be just fine.

Continued in The Clothes Maketh The Man

Make Me A Match

2009-01-03T03:23:00Z

Title: Make Me A Match
Series: A TARDIS's Guide To The Galaxies
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna
Summary: Donna’s first night in the TARDIS. Conversation and food ensues.
Word count: 4700 or thereabouts I think. Just warning you in case you need a coffee or something to make it through. Well, I know I did ;)

The takeout boxes stood open and messy on the kitchen table. A glowing fire was crackling in the oven, casting weird chopsticky criss-cross shadows all over the room.

“First tea in the TARDIS, Donna Noble,” said the Doctor with a grin. “Verdict?”

“Verdict would have to be … any more of that kung pao dodo left? There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

“Loads of dodo,” he answered cheerfully, opening the boxes to check. “Incoming!”

He squinted an eye shut and with a flick of his fingers sent a box skimming over the table towards her. It missed its target and flew onto the floor, bursting open and splattering pools of sauce everywhere. The Doctor winced, daring a glance at Donna.

She was pointing an unimpressed chopstick at him.

“What are you, two? Shouldn’t you be off playing with your little toy soldiers?”

He gave her a meek grin, leaning over and pushing the second box more gingerly.

“Yummy,” said Donna, whetting the tips of her fingers together and opening the box flaps. The Doctor cracked a smile as she eyed the contents and stabbed a piece of dodo with her chopstick, sighing blissfully as she shoved it in her mouth.

“I still can’t – mmm, this’s good – can’t get over the whole thing, really.”

“Oh, I know,” he agreed, “it’s pretty good stuff. All sort of noodly –”

“Not the tea, you dumb alien. Though it’s good too.” She swallowed. “No, you know, how you can just order takeout from in here.”

“What? Do it all the time.”

“I know it must seem all run-of-the-mill everyday to you, but really. Going through the takeout window in a spaceship? Did you see the look he gave you?”

The Doctor grinned and shovelled more noodles into his mouth, recalling the cashier’s face.

“It was a takeout in another galaxy,” he said after a moment, through a mouthful, “give me a bit of credit.”

“True,” said Donna, dinging her water glass with her fingernail and grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, I’m gonna love this travelling malarkey.”

Her enthusiasm was irresistible. The Doctor felt a prickle of excitement run from the base of his neck down his spine.

“Want to go somewhere?” he asked in would-be casual tones, his trainer-clad feet hopping about in anticipation under the table.

“Nah,” said Donna, shrugging dismissively. “I’m all right.” The Doctor felt his face droop, then noticed that she was laughing at him. “You’re a dodo yourself. I scour the whole of bloody London looking for you cos I want to see the universe, and when I finally do find you, it’s nup, can’t be bothered? Fat chance. Much as I’m dying to go somewhere, can it wait till tomorrow, though? I’m really tired.”

She yawned.

“Oh fine, fine,” he said easily. “Sorry. I forgot you humans have to sleep so much. Waste of time, sleeping.”

“What, you don’t have to?”

“Not much,” he replied, feeling smug, then ruined it by being infected by her yawn.

Donna laughed. She looked into her box of dodo.

“Ordering takeout on my first night here. This your way of letting me down that you can’t cook? Might have known, really.” She scoffed a little. “Typical male.”

“What?” he exclaimed, putting on the hurt face of a typical male. Secretly he was enjoying her snarkyness, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “I can cook! I’ve had proper lessons and everything. From your Louis the Sixteenth’s pastry cook, no less.” He bobbed his head, grinning with pride. “Oh yes, that’s right.”

“Yeah,” replied Donna, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And so not surprising either. Cos all I see in here is biscuits. And more biscuits.” He saw realisation dawning on her face as she swivelled in her chair and craned her neck, her eyes scanning the kitchen. “Oh my god. You’ve got nothing but biscuits …”

“Oi, what’s wrong with biscuits?” he retorted indignantly. Biscuits were good, and he was fully prepared to argue the point. He wiped his fingers on his jacket, ignoring Donna's look of disgust. “In fact, I was going to save this for later, but seeing how my culinary reputation’s at stake ...”

He got up and pulled open the fridge door with a flourish.

“Oh, you didn’t,” groaned Donna in pained ecstasy.

The Doctor nodded, grinning goofily.

“I did, I did. While you were looking round. Call it a little welcome to the TARDIS.”

“Little?” said Donna, eyeing the sheer chocolate mountain of cake. He had to admit that she had a point. He’d never been one for actually measuring ingredients, which was why he’d gotten kicked out of Louis XVI’s pastry cook’s kitchen in the first place. Probably something that Donna didn’t need to know.

She was rummaging around in the kitchen drawers. The Doctor wondered whether it was a generally human thing about not digging into cake with your hands. He supposed it must be, seeing as they all told him off. He honestly didn’t see why they got so hung up about it; you could fit much more cake into your hands than you could a piddly little spoon.

He felt something hard tap him on the head.

It was a spoon.

“Found them!”

“You’re good,” he replied, staring at the cake.

Donna said something else.

“What?” said the Doctor distractedly.

“I said, you were just talking to the cake, weren’t you?”

His spoon had already found its way to his hand.

“Well, I promise it is a very good cake,” he managed to get out before falling upon it. Donna hesitated for a moment, then followed with no less enthusiasm. Silence fell over the kitchen as they both wallowed greedily, pausing at intervals only to grin chocolate grins at each other over the top of the gradually eroding mountain.

Donna was first to lower her spoon, sighing. The Doctor had to hand it to her. She could put it away with the best of them – well, maybe except him. She splayed out her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands, her eyes fixed on him. He smiled.

“What?”

“Feels like I’ve known you for ages,” said Donna dreamily, picking up and licking her spoon.

The Doctor looked back steadily, jaws working on his mouthful of cake as he wondered what she was getting at. He’d learnt pretty early on that copious amounts of cake tended to be an inhibition-lowerer for humans.

“But,” she went on, “at the same time I’ve only known you for a – well, a couple days. I don’t really know anything about you.” She paused and looked around again. “Except you apparently live on biscuits and cake. How’d you get to be so blooming skinny?”

A snort escaped him, and he felt himself relax.

“What d’you want to know?”

“Oh, I dunno. Anything. Everything.”

“Aw, go on then,” he agreed, feeling indulgent. “Ask away. Allons-y.”

Donna grinned and folded her arms, leaning back in her chair.

“Right then. First question – I’m feeling generous, I’ll make it an easy one.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really.”

“Watch that backchat.”

The Doctor obediently shut up by shovelling in more cake, and saw Donna's lips twitch.

“So, let’s see,” she mused. “Oh, I know! Favourite colour.”

“Ginger,” he replied promptly, crumbs trickling out of his mouth.

Donna narrowed her eyes.

“Flatterer. Suppose your favourite colour changes with the scenery – blonde, brunette …”

“What?” he asked, scrunching up his face in confusion. Her meaning suddenly dawned on him, and he nearly choked on his cake. “Oh, no, no – not that! Just I’ve always wanted to be ginger.”

“What, like dying it?” She was considering him in a very female way, lips pursed. “Might work. Haven’t you ever tried it?”

“Once.”

“Really?” she said gleefully, latching on to this fresh tidbit.

He laughed, feeling a bit foolish. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Don’t go harping on about it now. Long long time ago, when I had a different body. My friend – Sarah Jane, her name is – got bored and dyed it for me.” He paused and grimaced in reminiscence. “While I was asleep. That was … fun.”

Donna didn’t seem to be listening.

“What was that little crack there about a different body …?”

“Ah. Did I not mention to you that I can regenerate? I’m sure I did …”

“Yeah, somewhere between all the frantic window waving and blobbies of fat … No, you bloody alien, no, you didn’t. So, you mean like you can just – I dunno, change your body? What you look like and everything?”

“Mmm,” said the Doctor slowly. Donna was staring at him as though he was about to sprout an extra head, right then and there. He wondered what was coming next.

As it happened, it didn’t take long to find out.

“Could you change right now? Could you look like Brad Pitt? Can you do that – look like all sorts of famous people? Go on, do it, turn into Brad.”

“Hold on! Um, no – maybe – haven’t tried it – and nope. I only regenerate when I’m, well, mortally wounded.” He took another spoonful of cake. “And the thing is, I can’t change back. At least, I wonder …? Nah, don’t think I can.”

“Oh,” said Donna uncertainly. She blinked a couple of times. “So, does that happen often? The changing thing?”

“Weeeeell …” he stalled, not wanting to alarm her.

“How often?” she prompted again, leaning forward and propping up her chin on her palm. He bit his lip. She really wasn’t going to let this go. He scratched his jaw, umming and ahhing a bit.

“Doctor, tell me! How often?”

“Okay, okay! This is sort of my … tenth body.”

She sucked in her breath.

“Your tenth? Oh my god. You’ve been killed – actually killed – ten times?”

“Nine,” he corrected her, feeling an unexpected lump grow in his throat at her horror on his behalf. Everybody – all his other friends, that is – had always treated his regenerations with comparative indifference. Oh, they’d been shocked and upset that he’d changed, of course, but he could see that they thought it was just a typically alien thing to do.

Apparently not Donna Noble.

“Can you just keep on doing it?”

“Not really,” he admitted, feeling the nasty little nag in the pit of his stomach that he usually got when he tried not to think about his own eventual mortality. “A couple more times. Maybe.”

Donna didn’t say anything, just reached across the table and placed her hand firmly over his. His eyes travelled down and saw that under her fingers, his knuckles were clenched and white.

“I suppose you sort of saved me once,” he pointed out, swallowing. “Back with the Racnoss.”

“Just as well you’ve got me around again now,” said Donna lightly. He glanced up, meeting her eyes. “Maybe I’ll save you again … only if you take me out shopping once in a while, of course. Otherwise I might just leave it.”

He could tell that she was only half joking. Her eyes were very, very concerned.

“Shopping it is,” he answered with a weak grin, hoping that his eyes were half as grateful. He wiggled his eyebrows feebly. Anything to get that look off her face. “Though if not – you never know, might end up with Brad Pitt on your hands.”

Donna sniffed a little. “Nup, I’ve changed my mind,” she told him flatly, withdrawing her fingers from his. “Brad can go stuff it.”

The Doctor tried not to smile, and didn’t quite succeed.

“Right,” said Donna cheerfully, with only a hint of a wobble in her voice. “Next question? Hum … oh, I know, course! What’s your name?”

“You know it,” he said patiently, his voice guarded. “Just the Doctor.”

“Come off it. No one’s called just the Doctor.”

He knew she thought they were still just mucking about, but his snappy response tumbled out, as it always did, before he could think the better of it.

“It’s not important, Donna. Leave it. All right?”

She blinked in surprise at his tone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, getting up from her chair and reaching out to clear some of the boxes, not looking at him. Oh god oh god oh god. He felt awful.

“No, wait,” he said desperately, his fingers drumming on the table edge in frustration. “I didn’t mean to get tetchy. You don’t understand. I haven’t told anyone. It’s not just you.”

She nodded slowly, but didn’t take her seat.

“I – I don’t mean to nag away at you, Doctor. You know that, yeah? Just don’t know when to stop, I s'pose. People always telling me that. Just make sure you tell me whenever I start annoying you. I know when to shut up.”

Her tone was light but her eyes were sad. The Doctor felt sadder for being the one to make them look that way. He wondered who had been telling her that she was annoying? He certainly didn’t want to be one of them, because from what he’d seen of Donna she was brave and adventurous and bright and a bit insecure, but certainly not annoying. How could he make her understand that there were very good reasons why she couldn’t know his name?

Looking at her closed-off face, he suddenly made a decision quite surprising to him – to tell her something that he could tell her; something that he didn’t really tell people.

“Noble.”

She looked up, fingers pausing over the takeaway boxes.

“Huh?”

“You’re not annoying in the least. And it’s Noble.”

Her face screwed up in disbelief.

“You what?”

“That’s my name. Weeeeell – last name, technically.”

“Oh, stop trying to be all clever clogs.”

“I’m being serious, Donna.”

“Pull the other one. You’re actually telling me that your last name’s Noble?”

“Yep. Well, sort of. Old family name, and that’s just what the word translates into in your language, and no one actually ever calls me that – mainly cos I don’t tell them, as such – but yeah. Completely one hundred per cent true. Funny, though, I haven’t used that name since … well.” He blew out a sigh and puckered his lips in thought. “A good long time. Must’ve been … yup. My third regeneration.”

Something in his words or face must have convinced her, because she sat abruptly back down, forgetting all about the boxes.

“Oh my god! That’s – that’s barmy, that is!”

He nodded, grinning.

“Oh, I know.”

“Doctor Noble,” she said, trying it out and shaking her head. “Seriously, what are the odds, though? Bizarre.”

“Bizarre it is, Donna Noble,” he replied in mock decorum, “bizarre it is.”

He supposed that his smile was just a little too like the cat that got the cream, because she frowned back at him.

“Yeah – and just cos our names is the same, don’t go getting any ideas, mate.”

She punctuated her warning with a shake of her finger, and the Doctor widened his eyes innocently.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He knew that her bluster was only an act – he didn’t know why she was so insecure, because she was brilliant – and as they broke into twin conspiratorial grins, the Doctor actually felt glad that he’d told her about his name. It was beginning to dawn on him that it was easier being honest with Donna than not, and he also knew that he was so secretive by nature that this whole honesty thing might take some getting used to. He wasn't sure what it was about Donna; it was true that they barely knew each other in some ways, but he already felt so at ease in her company. Had he ever felt this comfortable with anyone so quickly? He rather thought not. They seemed to share a common bond – apart from the name thing, which he’d thought was only an amusing little coincidence when they’d first met.

Donna was eyeing him archly.

“So then. Still not going to tell me your proper name?”

He shook his head, smiling. He didn’t need to snap at her.

“Nope. I’d only tell you, probably, if – if – well, don’t worry,” he finished, his hearts feeling a little hollow. “That’s not going to happen.”

She looked puzzled, but she was smiling.

“All right, all right. I get it, I really do. I know when to stop.”

She did stop, scooping out another spoonful of cake before leaning back in her chair with a sigh, her eyes travelling curiously around the kitchen. The Doctor eyed her to make sure that she really had finished her interrogation before taking the opportunity to continue ploughing his way through the mountainous cake. He was quite enjoying picturing himself as an intrepid explorer. Maybe Indiana Jones? Yes, he quite liked that idea. Sadly it wasn’t too long before he had to own himself conquered. Oh, it wasn’t for lack of sheer willpower. He blamed the fried dodo.

“There’s a bit of cake left, if you want it, Donna … Donna?”

He peered over at her. She’d tipped forward and was spread across the table, her head plonked on her folded arms, shoulders rising and falling peacefully in slumber.

The Doctor stared, his mouth open in surprise. Then he shook himself and sprang around the table, rescuing her spoon of cake where it was teetering from her limp fingers. He looked down at Donna for a moment, absent-mindedly popping the spoon into his own mouth. Before he knew it, he’d pulled his arms from his jacket sleeves and was draping the brown pinstripes carefully over her slumped back and shoulders; the action flooding him with memories of the day they’d first met and sat on a rooftop together. Donna snortled incoherently in her sleep, murmuring something about skinny rats.

He bit back a chuckle at their thoughts running along similar lines – well, subconsciously, in her case – and couldn’t for the lives of him resist delicately trailing his fingers over her copper hair. Halfway down, he blinked in surprise and snatched his hand away as though it were touching hot coals. He looked at his fingers and then back at Donna, now smiling in her sleep. A moment later he was treading noiselessly as a cat across the tiles, deciding to make a start on lugging her possessions – at the moment piled up in the corridor – to a room for her.

Before he left, he peeked over his shoulder, taking in the glint of firelight playing on Donna’s hair, her peaceful jacket-covered slumber in the middle of his kitchen, the room warm and glowing from the licks of the oven flames. His hearts pulsed a little harder. She looked like – well, like she belonged. He was suddenly so very glad that she’d agreed to travel with him. People were usually eager to come with him, but she hadn’t been, and then when she’d finally agreed, he’d been elated. Still was. Somehow it felt like it meant more.

Reluctantly he turned away and rubbed his nose as he looked down at her pile of luggage. With a couple of great heaves he managed to drag off everything at once, shuffling in mincing steps down the corridor like some sort of cardboard yeti. He wasn’t looking forward to the stairs, that was for sure.

It seemed an eternity of wheelie cases and overhanging hatboxes before he reached the end of the corridor and automatically lifted his foot to place it on the first step. But his foot pedalled wildly in nothingness and he barely managed to stamp it back down lest he overbalanced and became the first Time Lord to die by suffocation under a pile of luggage.

He looked up, still struggling under his burden.

“But that’s a lift,” he said blankly, out loud. “I – I don’t have a lift. What’s happened to my stairs?”

He paused. Was his ship actually trying to make things easier for him? Another thought followed.

Could it be that the TARDIS liked Donna?

But … surely not. His ship had always been jealous of his friends. Rose, for instance; she’d always ended up at the furthest perimeters of the ship and it had taken her hours to wend her way back. And Martha? One time she’d been just walking along the corridor and he’d had to fling himself on the floor and prostrate himself to stop her falling down a service hatch that he was sure he hadn’t left open. Oh, the TARDIS got used to his friends in time, but it was always a hazardous few weeks at first while she acted like a spoilt brat trying to get rid of the new step-parent.

Suspiciously he dumped the collection of bags outside the nearest door, wondering what was behind it. The TARDIS always tried rattily to put his guests into the closest boxroom or broom cupboard until he started whacking her walls with a handy broom (though it was getting tricky to find brooms now that she’d started hiding them from him) and even then she only ever seemed to harbour mouldy rooms with broken heating.

He turned the handle and pushed open the door with trepidation.

To say that he was shocked to see an actual bedroom beyond the door was an understatement. Moreover, it was a nice bedroom. Much nicer than his, really; the walls patterned delicately in lace-like coral, plushy green carpet … was that a little bathroom leading off it? Even he didn’t have a little bathroom.

“So – you like Donna just a bit then, do you?” he commented dryly to the TARDIS.

The coral creaked innocently.

“Donna’s not interested in me – not like the others were,” said the Doctor slowly, struggling to let those sorts of thoughts pass even briefly through his head, let alone get the words out. He sighed, then wondered why he was sighing. “It’s a relief,” he added firmly. “Anyway, is that what this is about?” He waved his hands vaguely about the room. “Don’t mind her coming with us? None of your jealous fits?”

He strained his ears, but couldn’t hear any answering creak. After a bit, though, the ever-present background hum of the engines increased in volume a little, and the sound seemed to become sort of … suggestive. The Doctor’s eyes widened.

“What?” he spluttered. “No! Absolutely no. I’m not – no. Not at all. Never in a million years.”

The walls creaked again, sorrowfully – if such a thing were possible.

“Donna’s just my mate,” said the Doctor in warning tones. “That’s all. Look, where're you getting these ideas? After the – oh, let’s face it – completely stupid fuss you’ve always kicked up about my friends. Go on, give her a leaky old boxroom too if you want. Didn’t get rid of the others, did it?”

He slammed the door shut and glared, waiting a moment before opening it again. At first glance the room hadn’t altered. Then the Doctor realised that the bed had been changed pointedly from a single to a double, and his fingers itched for a broom, or something equally whack-worthy.

“Who’re you talking to?” said a sleepy voice behind him. He jumped around in surprise to see Donna looking at him oddly, still clutching his jacket around her shoulders. Just seeing her, he felt his temper melt away.

“Oh hello,” he said, sticking one hand in his pocket and waving awkwardly with the other. Donna yawned, unslinging the jacket and draping it over his waggling fingers.

“Thanks for that. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep back there.”

“Fall asleep wherever and whenever you want,” he told her firmly. “It’s your home too now.”

The enormous smile she gave him in return made him feel happy all over again, and the feeling only intensified at the expression on her face when she caught sight of her bags in the doorway.

“This gonna be my room?” she asked, looking around in wonder. “Your ship is beautiful, you know. I mean, really beautiful. This is miles better than any posh hotel.”

The TARDIS made a low rumbling sound somewhere in her engines and the Doctor wondered if Donna knew that with those words she’d just won herself a devoted semi-sentient slave.

“Where’s your room?” continued Donna.

The Doctor scratched his nose.

“Erm …”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the outline of a door crackle into the wall, bits of coral around the edges crumbling off onto the floor. While Donna was busy dragging in her bags, he surreptitiously opened the door, peering through. He banged it shut at the sight of the familiar Edwardian blue striped wallpaper and his unmade poster bed strewn with bits of cogs and screws.

“My room’s further away,” he lied, feeling quite malicious towards his ship and making a mental note to disconnect some of the console wires in retaliation. Oh, it was childish, he knew, but – well, she’d started it.

“So …” said Donna, puffing a bit as she finally stood up beside her mountain of bags, her hands balling and hitting idly on her legs, a little smile on her face.

“So …” said the Doctor, looking down and concentrating very hard on his trainers. He heard Donna exhale.

“Oh, c’mere,” she said bossily, though he could tell that she was a bit unsure too, and only putting on a brisk front for both their sakes. His feet carried him forward and before he knew it he’d been wrapped in a hug. He placed his hands awkwardly on Donna’s back. Their mutual hesitation lasted only a moment and then she was relaxing fully in his arms, and he in hers.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” said Donna softly.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he answered immediately, meaning it with all his hearts. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring the feel of her arms around him and her hair tickling under his chin. The coral walls creaked in sly satisfaction, but apart from grinding his heel viciously into the carpet, the Doctor ignored his ship. Though this was very nice, he had to admit; he’d missed having a proper pal to hug. He gave Donna a final – hopefully just matey – squeeze and released her, stepping back and scuffing his trainers.

“Right. I’ll leave you to get – you know, settled in and all that. Yell out if you need anything. I’ll just be …”

He pointed at the door.

“Yeah,” said Donna, eyes and mouth distinctly amused, if tired. “Don’t look so nervous, alien boy. I’m not gonna make you be at my constant beck and call.” She elbowed him. “Well, not at first.” A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “Give it a day or two.”

“Cheeky,” he admonished, poking her shoulder and receiving a retaliatory prod in the sternum. He stumbled back a few steps, grinning, and continued backwards through the door before changing his mind mid-step. He poked his head back around the door. Donna had kicked off her heels and was kneeling, unzipping a suitcase.

“Donna?”

She swivelled, brandishing a hairdryer at him.

“What?”

He beamed.

“Oh, nothing. Nighty night.”

“Yeah, whatever, night. Now for goodness sake get lost and go do whatever you Martians do, so I can get changed and get some sleep.” She pulled a pair of pyjamas from her case and shook them briskly out. “Dunno if you can get by on nothing, but us Earthlings need our forty winks.” She paused and yawned. “Second thoughts, better make it eiiiiiiiiiighty.”

The Doctor wrinkled his nose playfully and caught Donna poking her tongue out just as he drew the door shut behind him. His smile faded to a twisted pout as he looked at his own door, still squished in next to hers. Blowing out a moody sigh, he kicked the corridor wall before turning and sticking his hands in his pockets as he trudged off in search of one of the other bedrooms.

It took him two hours and fifteen broom cupboards to find one.

He nearly fell down an open service hatch on the way.

Continued in Drops Of Gallifrey

Not So Silent Night (1/1)

2008-12-20T14:17:14Z

Title: Not So Silent Night
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna
Summary: Written for the fic festival Fifteen Ways Donna Shut The Doctor Up. I've been wanting to do something Christmassy themed, so here it is! Merry Christmas all ;)

“Still can’t believe you did all that on your own, Donna. Really, I'm proud of you. And, well, a little bit speechless. Literally, speechless. That’s how speechless I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re useless. Literally, useless. That’s how disgusted I am. With you.”

“Now, come on, that’s not fair.”

“Believe me, it is. I mean, you’re a doctor. Or so you claim – I’m having serious second thoughts about that. What the hell kind of doctor gets queasy at blood?”

“In case you didn’t notice, there was a lot of blood.”

“I noticed all right. Considering I was the one flipping delivering the baby, I did notice, thank you very much. I’ve never even so much as seen a baby being born, let alone helped deliver one before, and like a typical bloke you just upped and left me to it. And when I say upped, I’m talking about your feet stuck in the air after you fainted, by the way.”

“We’ve been over this! It wasn’t fainting, Donna. It was a momentary lapse of the respiratory bypass, all right?”

“Sounds like fainting to me …”

“I’m not having this argument again!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“And Doctor, just so you know, I was going to give you your present tonight.”

“Ooh, can I have it now?”

“No. Changed my mind. I gave it to her instead.”

“'Scuse me? You did what?”

“Well, I thought she needed glucose after pushing that great fat baby out. God, and I thought I was chubby as a kid –”

“Donna, I can’t even comprehend what you’re telling me. Are you telling me for my present you got … and you gave them to …?”

“Yup. Oh, and I popped a few too. Needed the energy, didn't I. Stop screwing up your face.”

“But … but … my jelly babies!”

“Tough. I noticed you didn’t give her a present.”

“Why should I? I don’t even know her!”

“Just seems a bit inappropriate not to give her one, ‘s’all I’m saying. Oi, get off my arm!”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Come on, Donna, we’re going back.”

“Why?”

“Something I need to do.”

* * *

“Oh, for goodness sake. You can wipe that great big smirk off your face, Spaceman.”

“I’m not smirking.”

“Yes you are. I’m going to start calling you Smirko the Smirkface.”

“Do you think he liked it? The baby?”

“What, your smirk? No, I think that’s why he started crying, actually.”

“No, Donna. Not that, I meant what I did … really? That’s why he started crying?”

“It's nearly enough to make me start crying. Now, don’t get all sulky on me, that’s nearly as bad.”

“You’re not going to get me down tonight, Donna.”

“Yes, I can see that. Oh, you make me laugh, you crazy Martian. Come here.”

“Donna, your hand’s freezing! ... There, better?”

“Erm, Doctor? You don’t have to wrap us up together in your coat, you know. It’s only my hands what are cold.”

“Don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Riiiiiiight. Is that why you're looping your scarf round both our necks now, too?”

“Yep.”

“Well … thank you, I s'pose. But it’s Christmas, it would be weirder if one of us didn’t have a cold. Though mind you, it’s freezing here. For a desert.”

“Deserts can get pretty nippy at night.”

“Well, it was very sweet of you to go back and sonically heat the manger up, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks, Donna. Glad I could do something.”

“Less appropriate, singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer to baby Jesus.”

“Why? Nice cheery song, he seemed to like it.”

“They don’t even have reindeer here! It’s all donkeys and cows and things.”

“Joseph was interested. Said I was very learned.”

“Yeah, about that. Why does everyone say wise men? It should go, one very wise woman called Donna. And a fainting Time Lord, though personally I don’t think you rate a mention at all.”

“Well, maybe you should have done something interesting too if you wanted him to call you learned. Oi, scarf, scarf! You'll strangle me! Stop turning!”

“We’re going back again.”

“Ohhhh, Donna! Do we have to? I still want to take you to that great big star up there. I promise you'll love it. We can go skiing on the lightfields.”

“Yeah, in a bit. Back to the stable first. Hmph, I'll show them interesting. Now, what d'you reckon’s the best way to make a fake Christmas tree out of a pile of hay?”

Partners In Time

2008-11-24T01:27:50Z

Title: Partners In Time
Series: An Impossible Child
Rating: G
Characters: Ten/Donna, Bella, and some familiar faces who I won’t give away
Spoilers: Mainly Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead, Turn Left, Journey’s End
Summary: Sequel to When I Was Six and Something New. This can stand alone, but I strongly suggest reading the other stories first as they give all the necessary background. This is a TL/JE alternative (I won’t say fix, for various reasons, but When I Was Six is set not long after Midnight) and also … well, you’ll see in the end. Not giving it away yet, am I ;). This is my first full length chaptered fic, so I warn you it's going to be a long one!

The Doctor turned the page, his eyes intently scanning the words from behind his glasses. He shook his head, licked his finger, and turned another page, wriggling himself more comfortably into the worn leather of the Chesterfield. Another page rapidly flipped over. And another. This was gripping stuff. Really gripping. The best thing he’d read in ages.

If he had been paying attention to anything else (which he wasn't) he might have heard a little scuffling noise at the library door (which he didn't). He didn’t even notice the noise growing louder as whatever was making it scuffled closer.

The scuffling stopped.

A pair of small blue eyes popped up over the top of the book.

The Doctor waved them away like a fly, engrossed in the story. The eyes disappeared momentarily, then reappeared, this time under the book.

“Hello Daddy,” said Bella, her face grinning up at him from his knees. He made a vague sound, lowering a hand to ruffle her curly brown head. She tried to peep up at the pages. “What's happening?”

“Hmm?” he returned slowly. “Oh. Well, I think – I think Paddington’s about to break Mr Curry's watch doing a magic trick.” He whipped another page over, above her head. “This is intense, do you really read this stuff?”

“You want me to tell you what happens next? Well –”

“Oi!” he interjected, cupping a hand over her open mouth. “Spoilers. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Irrarraye,” said Bella unintelligibly. The Doctor removed his hand, squinting.

“What?”

“It’s raining.”

“So it is. Your powers of observation astound me, Noble,” quipped the Doctor, listening contentedly to the gentle pattering on the TARDIS roof. Bella took the opportunity to snake a small arm up and knock the book from his fingers. He groaned. “What'd you do that for?”

“Take me somewhere where it isn’t rainy, right now,” she ordered as he reluctantly bent and stuck a bookmark in the crumpled pages. “So I can play outside.” She stuck out her lower lip.

The Doctor had to grin, as he always did when he saw his daughter clad in Donna’s old striped t-shirt and corduroy trousers. Bella looked so much like her mother at the same age, although Donna insisted that Bella had the firm set of the Doctor's mouth. Looking at the determined little chin resting on his knee right now, he couldn’t argue with that.

“The thing is,” he said solemnly, poking Bella’s nose, “playing outside would defeat the purpose of landing on a rainy day, wouldn’t it? Rainy days are good. Especially for reading. I always land on a rainy day when I want to read. Come to think of it – you've been very quiet all morning.” He ran his hand along Bella's bunches of hair – long and curly like Donna’s, topped with an unruly tuft like his. “What've you been up to?”

“Flying my TARDIS console,” she replied, scrambling up onto the Victorian sofa.

“Oh, that’s my brilliant girl,” he said fondly, helping to hoist her up under her arms. She settled herself neatly beside him, hands folded in her lap and little blue hi-top sneakers just managing to dangle over the edge of the seat, mirroring the Doctor's own white sneakers stretched out casually on the Louis XVI coffee table.

She looked up at him.

“You didn’t build it very well.”

“Thanks a lot,” he replied in mock indignation, tilting his head lazily down towards her. “And you could do better, could you?”

“Course I could,” she said, and the Doctor had to bite back a smile, her cockiness reminding him all too well of himself. “Parts keep falling off it,” she went on. “Like with your real one.”

“Yeah,” replied the Doctor. He rubbed his hand ruefully over his chin. “Remind me to teach you the meaning of tact, some time.”

“It’s all right, though,” she informed him seriously. “Cos I’ll sonic them back on. With this.” She fumbled in her pocket and dug out a plain wooden dowel, making believe that she was sonicking. The Doctor went cross-eyed as the dowel was brandished at his nose.

“Aha!” he said with a grin, pulling out his own screwdriver from his breast pocket and tapping hers away with it. “Touché.”

There followed a brief but intense sonic screwdriver fight, from which Bella emerged victorious. The Doctor pulled a face and lifted her into his lap, her legs swinging over his knees.

“I always beat you,” said Bella, snuggling into him and playing with the buttons on his brown suit jacket.

“Well, you take after your Dad – I’ve done a bit of fencing myself,” replied the Doctor, scratching his nose nonchalantly. “Took on the leader of the Sycorax on top of his ship, you know. Won, too.”

Bella giggled. He put on a hurt expression.

“I did!”

“But it was me that won this time,” she preened. “What do I win?”

“Erm …” said the Doctor, casting about for an idea. “Oh. How about these.” He lifted off his thickly-rimmed glasses and placed them crookedly on her nose. His mouth twitched at her bug-eyed appearance. “Oh, now, don't you look lovely. They suit you.”

“Yeah, well, Mummy says you don’t need them. Why d’you wear them?”

“Because they're stylish, and Mummy, being Mummy, refuses to acknowledge that.”

Bella gave him a pitying look, the sort that Donna was fond of giving him.

“Mummy said … hmm, what did she say? Oh yeah. That you belong in the eighties, aaaaand … oh yeah, your ship belongs in the sixties.”

“Oh, she said that, did she?”

“I sort of like the glasses, though …”

“Keep them. Now you can be uncool.”

He tickled her and she thwacked him across the stomach as hard as she could, which fortunately for him – given her small size – wasn’t very hard at all. “Oof,” he said playfully, twitching the glasses from her nose. They shared a grin.

Both heads turned as Donna herself walked in; smoke-blackened, soaked, and carrying a fire extinguisher. She glared at the Doctor wordlessly and dumped the extinguisher on the wooden floor with an ominous thud; hand clenched on her hip, foot tapping.

“What did he do?” asked Bella, sitting up, wide-eyed.

“All right, why d’you assume it was me?” protested the Doctor, still slumped back. “Could’ve been you.”

Bella raised her eyebrows at him, folding her arms sternly.

“Don't try to get me into trouble. It’s always you.”

“She’s got a point,” spoke up Donna in obvious annoyance. “Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure she shouldn't actually be your parent, not the other way around.”

“I should,” agreed Bella, kicking her sneakers into the Doctor's brown-pinstriped leg.

The Doctor cast his mind back, trying to think of the latest thing that he might have done to warrant Donna’s wrath.

“Need your memory refreshed?” said Donna, and he jumped guiltily; she might not have Time Lord powers, but she often seemed like she had the ability to read his mind anyway. “Do you remember coming into the kitchen and saying the oven could do with a bit of sonicking?”

“Yep,” answered the Doctor with certainty.

“And do you remember me saying not to sonic the oven because I was putting Bella’s birthday cake in there?”

“Yep,” he repeated, seeing where this was going, and hoping that Bella made a cute enough shield for Donna not to kill him before he’d had the chance to make a distraction and run away.

“And then do you remember, I dunno, coming back in while I was out and sonicking the oven?”

“That bit’s more hazy,” said the Doctor, but at Donna’s glare he said “Yep” obediently.

Donna held up the extinguisher. “Cake, fire, smoke – do I have to paint you the rest of the picture? In case you're wondering, it's a portrait of me, screaming obscenities at your smoke alarm which I suppose you've also sonicked, because it doesn't work, and then getting deluged by your sprinkler system, which works like bloody Niagara Falls.”

“You burnt my cake?” said Bella to the Doctor, pouting. “My now-I’m-five cake? You – you dumbo.”

“Oi!” said Donna, reaching over and flicking one of Bella’s curly bunches. “Don’t call your father a dumbo, miss.”

She glared at him.

“I’ll do that.”

The Doctor tried to think of a convincing excuse, opened his mouth, couldn’t think of one, and closed it again.

“Is this just because it was a lime cake?” asked Donna in exasperation. “You and your lime phobia, honestly, you're like a child. Worse than Bella. Is it because you wanted to make her a banana cake instead?”

“No,” said the Doctor in unconvincing tones, but at Donna’s glare he said “Yep” obediently.

She tapped him on the knee. “We’ll discuss this later, all right?” She turned to go, then swivelled back. “And I nearly broke my foot out there, can you pick up your gadgets lying all over the corridor?”

“Who?” chorused two voices.

“Both of you, then,” she said, throwing up her hands. “You’re as bad as each other, with all your sonicking and dismantling. And by the way, Miss Bella Noble … I want my toaster back.”

The Doctor eyed Bella. “You took her toaster?”

Bella eyed him unrepentantly. “Needed it.”

“For …?”

“The interfield feedback loop.”

The Doctor looked at Donna, shrugging. “Oh, she’s right. I would have taken the toaster for that too.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Spaceman. Bella, be careful, it’s all electric. And just make sure it’s back in the kitchen in one piece, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, now when you say one piece –”

“Bella!”

Bella blew out a sigh. “Yeah yeah, one piece.”

“Good girl,” said Donna. Two identical grins flashed at her and she couldn’t help laughing, folding her arms quizzically at the Doctor and his tiny alike companion perched on his lap. “You two make a pair, I tell you.”

“Of course we do,” said the Doctor, wrapping Bella in a bear hug. “Partners in time.”

“Crime, more like,” retorted Donna with a wry chuckle.

“Time,” insisted the Doctor. “Right, Space-munchkin?”

“Oi!” complained Bella, wriggling as he nuzzled her. “Don’t call me that.”

“Isn’t there anything I can call either of you?” said the Doctor, looking quite crestfallen.

Donna adopted a wondering expression.

“Hum, let’s see – oh, I dunno – how’s about our names for once?”

Nevertheless, she bent down and kissed first the Doctor and then Bella before squelching back out of the library, dragging the fire extinguisher behind her in a trail of black marks.

The Doctor let out a sigh. Bella flopped back against him.

“That,” she said, “was a close one.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed, resting his chin on her head. “You know, one of these days you’re actually going to have to tell her you don't like limes. I can’t keep burning her cakes forever. She’s going to get suspicious.”

Bella ignored him. “Daddy, what’s your name? Apart from Daddy. Like, how Bella’s my name, and Donna is Mummy’s other name, and Paddington is Paddington’s name …”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m not telling.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” he said, nearly laughing as he remembered the last time he’d had this conversation – it had ended in a very pregnant Donna guffawing so hard at his name that it had triggered the birth of their equally curious daughter.

Bella didn’t press the point, though.

“I know you’re a Time Lord. The only one. There aren’t any others. All gone.”

“Hmm,” said the Doctor. “So there aren’t. Thanks for reminding me. And who told you that?”

“Uncle Jack said it. When I was staying with him and Uncle Ianto.” She leaned back and eyed the Doctor. “What’s a Time Lord?”

He looked at her carefully, but kept his tone light. “What do you think?”

She took a deep breath. “Well. Is it like how I can make the time rotor start with my eyes?”

“Weeeeell, not exactly. You’re a bit different from a Time Lord – for one thing, Mummy has one heart, and I have two, which means you have three. If I could do the time rotor thing with my eyes too, I wouldn’t have had to put a special temporal lock on it to stop you whirling us off to a different Wiggles concert every few minutes.” He paused. “Incidentally, I never want to see that green spotty dinosaur again. Besides, the anatomy’s just all wrong.”

“You’re from Gallifrey,” went on Bella, putting her hands around his neck. She sighed, a sad little sound. “No more Gallifrey.”

“Mm-hmm,” said the Doctor slowly, feeling a gut-deep twinge at the mere mention of the name. “Uncle Jack’s really been spouting off about me, hasn’t he? What happened to just playing fifty-first century Monopoly and eating lots and lots of ice cream until you were sick, like he said you were going to do?”

Bella looked at him knowingly.

“Gallifrey … with silver trees.”

“Yeah – what?” His voice became suddenly suspicious, deepening. “How do you know that?”

“And orange skies,” she continued in a sing-song voice.

The Doctor looked back at her sharply. Her eyes, round and blue like Donna's, were a little unfocused. He grabbed her by the chin and peered into them.

“Bella,” he said intensely. “Are you all right? How do you know that?”

“Orange skies,” she repeated. She paused. “Paddington … marmalade skies … kaleidoscope eyes … Bella in the sky with diamonds … sapphires … Midnight … anti-gravity … moonshine … twenties … Agatha … a … a … Donna …. a … a … no, Bella … Time War … jelly babies … bananas … cake …”

She stopped chanting and blinked, her eyes swimming back into focus. The Doctor stared, his face frozen. He knew what she was doing; he couldn’t help reading people’s thoughts sometimes either. He supposed he ought to have expected that his daughter might share his ability. Still, it came as a shock after so long without any contact with his people. For some reason, of which he was unsure, he was hesitant to tell Bella what she was doing. There was something a bit uncanny about it.

“Oh, I can hear your real name now,” she began. “It’s funny –”

“Yeah,” he said, cutting her off. “Just don’t tell Uncle Jack, whatever you do.”

Bella hopped off his lap with a little sigh, patting him on the knee. “We’ll discuss Paddington later,” she said, the Doctor stifling a chuckle at her unconscious imitation of Donna. “I’m going to go work on decoding the interfield feedback loop a bit more.” She trundled off with hands shoved in her pockets like him, tuft and curls bouncing.

The Doctor sat back soberly, turning his eyes up in thought. There was something else bothering him – what was it …

“Time War?” he suddenly said out loud, head snapping back to the door that Bella had just exited. “But I wasn’t thinking that … or was I?”

He scrunched his face up, pondering.

Then he shrugged philosophically and plucked the bookmark from Paddington, tossing it across the room, and reclined back on the couch with nose firmly planted once more in book. Outside, it began to thunder.

Chapter 2: Bella Noble Is In The Library

Something New (4/4)

2008-11-18T06:21:14Z

Title: Something New
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Donna
Summary: Follows on from When I Was Six, set after some length of time has elapsed. It's another long part. Phew, hope you like!

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

A book landed unceremoniously in the Doctor’s lap.

“Decision day,” said Donna – very large now – as she eased down beside him on the newly seatbelt-fitted jump seat.

“What’s this?” he asked, putting on his glasses and picking up the book of baby names, thumbing through it.

“One of these days I’m going to throw those glasses out. You don’t need them.”

“I like them.” He peered at a marked name. “Linnea?”

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Donna, and it means lime tree.”

“Weeeeell …”

“You know I hate limes. Do you want me to hate our child?”

Donna sighed dramatically. “Fine, scratch Linnea. You got any ideas? What about something, I dunno, Gallifreyan. Out of curiosity, what’s your name? Not just Doctor. Doctor who? Your proper, real name.”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.” His voice was petulant.

“Tell me right now, or else.”

He gave her a long hard stare, his best one. At the look he got in return, he relented.

It was ten minutes before he could just get Donna to stop hunching over and howling with laughter like a hyena, and even then she was still snorting, tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks.

“You are having me on.”

“This is why I don’t tell people!”

“And there was me thinking it was some grand, mysterious thing, and it’s … it’s …” She broke into a fresh wave of laughter. “I'm beginning to think it's just as well you can't remember your mum. What was wrong with your parents? Did they really, really, really, really hate you? And I mean really?”

He buried his face in his hands. A noise erupted from between them.

“Owies, I have to stop laughing, it hurts,” gasped Donna gleefully. “Fetch me some water, o slave.”

The Doctor slouched off to the kitchen. He sluiced water into a glass and trotted back.

“Here you go,” he said, holding out the glass.

Donna looked up at him. She didn't take the water.

“What?” he said.

“It still hurts,” she said, hands pressed to her abdomen.

She wasn't laughing.

* * *

The Doctor felt like someone was kneeing him in the gut and pulling off his limbs simultaneously. Actually, someone was kneeing him in the gut and if they hadn’t pulled off his limbs yet, they were well on the way to doing so.

He didn’t care though, as he was sure that nothing done to him could compare with what Donna was going through, giving birth to their daughter. He could only hold her as she buried her face in his neck and sobbed, and sobbed, and then sobbed some more, broken only by intermittent pitiful cries of agony.

“Do something!” he yelled at Martha. She'd been very indignant when he'd appeared in her flat, literally dragging her off at racehorse pace; though when he'd gasped out that Donna was in labour, Martha – wearing nothing but slippers, bra, and a pair of stockings – had reached the TARDIS even before him. “It’s been ages! Give her something, anything!”

Donna shook with pain. The Doctor wrapped himself around her. Sylvia bustled into the bedroom with more towels and briskly tucked a cool one against Donna's sweat-soaked neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” repeated the Doctor, hoping that Donna wouldn’t hate him – that she didn’t hate him – for causing her to go through this torture. She clung to him like an anchor, though; even managing between gasps to shake her head into his neck, and he knew that she was telling him not to be sorry. How she could still love him, the Doctor didn’t know, but that was Donna – caring about everyone else even in the middle of such pain.

She suddenly let out a guttural moan. “Oh ... my ... god.”

“I can see the head!” called Sylvia excitedly, jumping up and down a little. “Not much longer, Donna love, hang in there.”

“Nearly there!” said Martha. “You'll have to try a bit harder, Donna. Give it one more good push.”

Donna let out one long last piercing squeal, and then collapsed limply against the Doctor with an enormous sigh.

“You did great!” said Martha. “She’s here and she looks great. Relax now – I’ll just clean her up a bit.”

“I did it?” said Donna, cracking open one eye, hair plastered to her forehead. “You better not be kidding, because I can’t actually push any more. If you make me push any more, I’ll get up and push you myself, all out of the room, and out of the TARDIS into the vortex. Including you, Spaceman.”

The Doctor’s face hurt from grinning.

“Donna, you’re amazing. I love you. Thank you.”

“Yeah, you owe me big time,” retorted Donna, but her eyes were soft as he kissed her.

“How about this to settle the debt?” said Martha with an enormous smile, carefully bearing a small bundle to the bed. Donna swallowed, her eyes widening as the baby was placed into her waiting arms. She gazed down, cradling it to her, and tenderly placed her lips to the tiny forehead with a look that made one of the Doctor’s hearts ache and the other soar. He felt his eyes growing wet.

“She's lovely, you two,” said Sylvia, dabbing a tear from her own eye.

“For an alien?” Donna couldn’t resist saying, and Sylvia gave her a dirty look.

“What are you calling her?” asked Martha curiously.

Donna looked at the Doctor, her mouth twitching. “Oh, now I’m suddenly remembering how all this birth business got started. You know how I said you owe me one? Well, I think I just figured out how you can repay me – go on, tell them what your name …”

The Doctor coughed to interrupt her, hastily reached for the baby name book, and scanned down Donna’s list of names. He snapped the book shut, grinning.

“Oh, it has to be Bella. Got to be.”

Donna nodded, beaming. “She looks like a Bella to me too. Beautiful. Not just a blob any more, are you, darling?”

“Actually, she looks just like you, Donna,” said the Doctor gleefully.

“Just what I was thinking,” said Martha.

“She’s got his hair, though,” pointed out Sylvia.

Donna eyed it. “Hello, I foresee hair product galore.”

“Not ginger …” mused the Doctor, stroking down Bella’s downy brown tuft of hair. Like his own, it refused to stay down, bouncing back up. He chuckled and did the same thing again. And again.

“Stop it,” said Donna, amused. “Well, thank god she’s not ginger. It’ll save me dragging her home from school for beating up all the Marcos.”

She glanced at Sylvia and they shared a guilty smile. The Doctor opened his mouth.

“Yes,” cut in Donna, “and before you say anything, I did look at a few of the prospectuses you so kindly papered my entire wardrobe with. I’ll tell you one thing, she is so not going to that school on Raxelon Nine. Did you know they have these weird snake aliens as teachers?”

“Yeah, snake aliens that happen to be the best scientists in the galaxy, I’ll have you know.”

All three women glared at him. Martha hit him on the arm, and Donna made an approving noise.

“Thanks, Martha.”

“No problem.”

“What was that for?” said the Doctor indignantly, nursing his arm. “And ow! Since when did you start hitting me? Donna, she hits harder than you!”

“Good! I’ll get her to punch you again if you say anything more about that school. My daughter is not going to a school where the teachers are snakes!”

“Fine, no snakes.”

“Hear that, Bella? Mummy won’t let naughty Daddy let you be eaten by a snake, no she won’t.”

“Can I hold her, though?” he asked eagerly. “I’ll be really careful, I promise.”

“Of course you can hold her, you great big plonker. You better get used to holding her, I’m sure as hell not going to be the one changing nappies all night …”

Donna trailed off, watching as the Doctor held the baby close. This was a side of him that she wasn’t used to seeing, and it fascinated her. She smiled to see them eyeing each other's identical shocks of hair.

“Three hearts,” the Doctor told Bella, his finger resting light as a feather on her tiny chest. “That’s how much your Mummy and Daddy love you.” His finger moved over each rapidly beating heart. “This one’s from me, and so’s this one. But this bigger one in the middle is all your Mummy’s – she’s got the biggest, warmest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.” He glanced up guiltily. “Oh, except Martha, of course. And your grandma. Obviously.”

Donna promptly erupted into a flood of tears, Martha snorted, and Sylvia looked around for a tissue.

‘What?” exclaimed the Doctor, staring at Donna in consternation. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you prawn,” she wailed, flapping her hands. “It’s just … I love you.”

He sank down on the bed and kissed her.

Sylvia blew out a sigh. She eyed Martha. “You look dead on your feet, love. Go take a rest.”

“Thanks Martha,” sniffled Donna. “You’ve been a star.”

“Yeah,” said Martha, swaying and yawning. “Doctor, if it’s all right, I’ll just give Tom a call and then go find my old room for a bit of shut-eye …”

“Absolutely,” said the Doctor. “Thanks Martha, you were brilliant. Um, sorry about all the – you know, the shouting.”

“You know it’s okay, Doctor. Believe it or not, you’re not the first worried dad I've encountered. You need me, Donna, yell out.”

She wandered out with a blissful smile.

“What a nice girl,” said Sylvia, plumping up Donna’s pillows. “Now, Donna, do you want to take a bath while I change the bed?”

“Yep,” said Donna, getting up slowly. “Ouch.”

“Careful,” said the Doctor, placing Bella gently in the crib and hastening to support Donna as they made their way slowly to the bathroom. He ran the bath and helped Donna off with her loose nighty.

She got into the warm water gratefully. “That’s nice.”

“Back in a minute,” said the Doctor, disappearing. He came back in, proudly carrying Bella.

“Oh, she’s not asleep?” said Donna, holding her arms out for the baby.

The Doctor shed his clothes in a messy pile and sloshed into the bathtub too, sitting down behind Donna and wrapping his arms around her middle as she leaned wearily against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, peering over in fascination at Bella, cradled against Donna’s breast.

“For god’s sake, close the door,” said Sylvia, passing from the bedroom with a pile of sheets.

“Sorry,” said the Doctor guiltily, but Sylvia only smiled and drew it shut behind her.

“Her bark’s worse than her bite,” said Donna, smiling sleepily and wiggling her toes against his. He didn't reply, overcome with emotion and slight disbelief at finally being able to hold Donna and his daughter together in his arms.

“Do you want a chocolate biscuit?” he asked Donna suddenly.

“Chocolate biscuit? Yech, no.”

He grinned. Yep, pregnancy definitely all over. He scooped up some water in his palms and gently emptied it over Donna's hair, smoothing out the limp tendrils. He wondered curiously what she would say if he gave her a ring.

Some other time, he thought, utterly contented.

* * *

“So,” mused the Doctor, holding the baby gently against his dressing gown, still a bit damp from the bath. “Bella Noble. Good name, suits you. Your mum wanted to name you after a lime tree. Limes are yucky, though. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Bella blinked up at him.

“It's all right,” he said guiltily. “I can say that, she’s asleep.” He checked over his shoulder, just in case. Donna was passed out on the bed, mouth open, snoring. The Doctor grinned. “If you do like limes, that’s okay,” he reassured Bella. “It’s just that bananas are better. Tell you what, try both and see what you like, okay?”

He considered her. She didn't look sleepy.

“Want to see the console room?” he asked, wondering if babies were interested in that sort of thing. He guessed probably not, judging by the way he could practically hear Donna laughing at him in his head, but he set off along the corridor anyway.

Bella looked up at him solemnly with big blue eyes. The Doctor loved that his daughter looked so much like Donna, though he felt that it would be some time before he could get used to looking down and seeing a tiny version of something very akin to Donna’s face looking up at him. With his own hair on it, for that matter.

“Anyway, this is the console room,” he told Bella. “See, mats on the floor. They’re for you. For later on, in case you want to crawl.” He looked around. “And I disinfected everything. Really good and proper. Your grandma made me do that. She was standing over me with a mop and bucket making sure it was done properly. I know that part over there is very clean because she made me do it twice.”

Bella continued to look questioningly at him, her hand grasping up towards his chin.

“Not quite sure who I am yet, are you?” he asked her, grinning. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to me. I have a feeling I’m going to be on nappy duty for some time.”

She yawned and blinked, her eyes moving around the room. They fixed on the central TARDIS column.

“Oh see, you’re smart,” said the Doctor proudly. “That’s the most important bit of the console. It’s going to be a long, long time before I let you drive it, though. Lots of brilliant places I can take you in the meantime.”

He stroked her cheek, marvelling at its softness. “I did make you a little console of your own, to practice on. You’re still a bit small for it though – I’ll have to ask Donna when you can have it. When I asked her about toys she said you might want a doll's house but I thought this was better. I made you a K9 too, just a little one. Donna said you can’t have one that works yet, but you can pull it on a string …”

He broke off and looked curiously at Bella as she continued to gaze at the column.

“Well, the column is interesting,” he said, half to himself. “Sometimes I stare at it too. Of course, then your mother calls me Spaceman. Don’t tell her, but I like it when she calls me Spaceman. She’s Earth Girl, but she doesn’t like it so much when I call her that. You can be … actually, I don’t know what you can be. Have to think about it. We’ll come up with something, won’t we?”

Suddenly he heard a noise and his head snapped up.

The central column was glowing a soft blue, the time rotor firing up.

The Doctor stared frantically at it. “What? What? Stop that! The stabiliser’s on!” He kicked the console, trying not to jar Bella. He glanced quickly down at her, still panicking, then did a double take.

“Bella?”

The baby's eyes reflected the column as she gazed steadily at it. Then she blinked, and the light faded, and the rotor stopped moving.

The Doctor stared, open-mouthed. Bella looked up at him and made a little noise.

“What was that?” he breathed. “Did you do – how did you …”

Wondering, he carried her back to the bedroom and put her in the crib, then stood and looked down at her, puzzled. She gazed up at him. Then she suddenly chuckled, looking remarkably like Donna did whenever she was teasing him.

A grin spread over his face and he poked her tummy gently. “You really are different, aren’t you? Even I don’t know how you did that. Just to be on the safe side, I think we’ll keep you in here for a while so you don't send us all spinning off into goodness knows where.”

“What’s that?” said Donna sleepily, raising her head.

“Your daughter is weird!” proclaimed the Doctor happily.

“Oi!”

“Oh, it’s just that … never mind, I’ll explain later. It’s good weird, I think.”

Bella burst into a fit of yells.

“She sounds like you too, Donna,” said the Doctor perplexedly, and Donna gave him an exasperated look.

“Yeah, well I’m not surprised, if you’re going to go around telling her she’s weird.”

“She’s hungry,” said Sylvia, jerking awake from where she’d fallen asleep on a chair in the corner. “Come on, Donna, time for her first feeding. While you're doing that, I’ll go get your grandfather, he’s probably hopping around outside. Mind you, I think he just wants to see the space ship as much as the baby.”

She patted the Doctor on the shoulder as she went out. He smiled, lifting the crying Bella from the crib and carrying her to Donna before sitting and watching dreamily as Bella began suckling.

“What?” said Donna, looking up with a smile.

“Nothing. Just remembering when I kissed you properly for the first time. After we ran into your younger self. Remember that day?”

“I remember that night,” shot back Donna with a smirk, and the Doctor blushed, but pressed on.

“And the first time we met. Who'd have thought then that we'd end up with a baby?”

“Not me,” said Donna, adjusting her hold on Bella a little. “I was seriously ready to kill you when I was beamed up here in that wedding dress. It would have knocked me for six if I'd known we were going to end up together, let alone have a baby. Actually, I'm still not sure it wasn't all some master plot of yours, Mr 'I Thee Bio-Damp'.” She grinned at him.

“So then,” he said, non-committally. “You completely over the idea of rings, then, after last time?”

“Weeeell, it depends, doesn't it?”

“On what?”

“On whether the Martian who gives it to me is the father of our child, and whether I love him a lot, and if I think we're all going to be very happy together, and whether he indulges my newfound taste for ... um ... hmm ... waffles. Yep. Definitely, waffles.”

“Ah, I see. Having rid the world of chocolate biscuits, Donna Noble is now going to save it from a plague of waffles.”

“What can I say? I just take my cue from you.”

“Donna?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love Bella ... and waffles.”

“Okay, okay, one stack of waffles coming right up. I mean, two stacks. Seriously? Three?”

“Love you too, Doctor.”

Something New (3/4)

2008-11-17T04:14:58Z

Title: Something New
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Donna
Summary: Follows on from When I Was Six, set after some length of time has elapsed. So you know in advance, this part's a long one!

Part 1
Part 2

Donna rang the doorbell and stepped back, chewing her lip. The Doctor squeezed her hand.

The door opened.

“Hi Mum.”

“Donna?” said Sylvia, looking surprised. “You didn’t call to say you were coming.” Her eyes slid briefly down to the Doctor's and Donna's entwined hands.

“Hello,” said the Doctor with a grin, waving his free hand. Sylvia made a sound, which Donna supposed could have been some sort of greeting. Or not.

“Well, hurry up and come in, both of you. It's freezing out here. I just put the kettle on, I'll make us some tea. Though – there isn't some alien invasion going on, is there?” She peered out warily. “What with him being here.”

“Decaf please. And nope, no alien invasion,” said Donna, leading the Doctor into the lounge and plumping herself down on the couch.

Sylvia disappeared. Donna swivelled towards the Doctor.

“Oh god, oh god. How am I going to tell her?”

He rubbed her hand. “Want me to?”

“She’ll kill you anyway. I’m just thinking of the baby.”

He gulped.

“So,” said Sylvia, returning with teapot and mugs. She eyed Donna’s slightly rounded figure before sitting down and starting to pour out. “Anything you wanted to tell me?”

The Doctor wondered if he was imagining the twinkle in her eye.

“Er,” said Donna. “Well, yes, there is something.” She stopped.

Sylvia took up a mug and blew on the hot liquid. “Go on.”

“The thing is,” said Donna nervously, “I’m pregnant.”

Not a muscle twitched in Sylvia’s face. “I see.” She took a sip of tea. “I suppose, judging by his idiotic grin, that alien of yours is the father.”

The Doctor tried to stop grinning idiotically.

“Yeah,” said Donna, gripping his hand tighter. “He is.”

“Is this baby something you were planning, or …”

“Well, we wanted to,” broke in the Doctor, looking nervously from Donna to Sylvia. “We sort of didn’t think we could, though.”

“What with you being an alien,” put in Sylvia helpfully.

“Erm, yeah. That. But it turns out we can. And we are.”

“Well then – congratulations,” said Sylvia, setting down her mug.

Both Donna and the Doctor gaped.

“Seriously?” said Donna finally. “Congratulations? You’re not, well, a little bit annoyed? Or mad?”

“Well, even though he is an alien … to be honest, after that whole fiasco with Lance, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get married at all, let alone start on grandchildren.”

“Married?” repeated the Doctor in a too-high voice.

Donna shot him an amused look. “I never said anything about getting married, you plum.”

“No, I suppose that would be too much to hope for,” said Sylvia with a sigh.

“What with him being an alien,” said Donna cheekily.

“Exactly,” agreed Sylvia, sniffing. “So – this baby of yours, madam.”

“Yeah?” said Donna, feeling no more than fourteen under her mother’s scrutinising gaze.

“Do you know yet if it's a girl or boy?”

“It’s a girl.”

Sylvia’s face twitched a little, as though she was coming around to the idea.

“Well, that’s sweet. I still have some of your old baby clothes, Donna – we'll go through them and pick out what you need. Although … will they fit it? Is it an alien too?”

“It hasn’t got suckers or tentacles, if that’s what you mean.”

“But it’s like him,” pressed Sylvia.

“Like both of us,” corrected the Doctor. “A bit of a mix. The clothes will fit just fine – it's very nice of you, Mrs Noble.”

“No trouble, that’s what I kept them for. Call me Sylvia. Tell me, is the baby at least healthy?”

“Completely.”

“Good. And is he looking after you properly too, Donna?”

“Yep,” said Donna with a grin, leaning unconsciously against the Doctor as his arm lifted equally unconsciously to drape around her shoulders.

Sylvia picked up her mug and took another sip of tea, watching the Doctor and Donna beam at each other. Though she didn’t let on, it was nice to see her daughter so happy, and obviously in love.

And as for him … he’d probably make an okay father.

For an alien.

* * *

“Donna, you had shoes like mine!” said the Doctor gleefully, holding up a tiny pair of blue sneakers. “Oh, we definitely have to take these. Can we get you a pair too? Then all three of us can match.”

“We'll see, Spaceman. I can’t believe you kept all these clothes, Mum. Actually, what I can't believe is that I ever fit into them.”

“Children grow so fast,” said Sylvia with a sigh, looking wistfully at Donna.

The Doctor was pawing through another box. “Donna?” he said, his voice suddenly strangled. “Look.”

He held up a small pair of corduroy trousers and a striped t-shirt.

Donna's hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! It’s what I was wearing that day when we ran into my younger self! All right, now I can believe I once fit into these.”

“Isn't it great?” said the Doctor, his grin stretching practically ear to ear. “Now our daughter can wear them too! I can just picture it, another little Donna ...”

“What day?” broke in Sylvia sharply. “What little Donna? What are you talking about? Really, I don't understand half the things you two say.”

Donna eyed the Doctor. He grimaced. She took a deep breath.

“Mum, you know how me and the Doctor do a lot of travelling in his space ship?”

“Yes?”

“I might have slightly forgotten to mention, um, that it’s also a time machine.”

Sylvia went on folding clothes.

“Yes, you did forget.”

Donna and the Doctor exchanged bemused looks.

“Mum, did you even hear what I said?”

“I heard you perfectly well, missy, I’m not going deaf.”

“It’s just – you’re taking it well. Very well.”

Sylvia gave Donna an exasperated look. “Donna, quite frankly, when it comes to you and this Doctor, nothing surprises me any more.” She got up. “Show me it.”

“What?” said the Doctor in disbelief.

“Show me this space ship, time machine, whatever it is. I want to see that it’s suitable for a baby.”

* * *

“Here it is,” said Donna, leading her mother into the back garden.

“A police box!” exclaimed Sylvia. “I remember these. You don’t see them around a lot these days.”

Donna unlocked the TARDIS.

“Mum, I should warn you before you go in. It looks normal from the outside, but it’s a sort of camouflage – it's much, much bigger on the inside. So don’t freak out.”

She opened the door and stepped in, followed by her mother. The Doctor brought up the rear, eyeing Sylvia nervously.

“Hmm,” said Sylvia, not batting an eyelid. “I see what you mean. Quite roomy.” She looked around. “I suppose you’ll be putting down mats in here, young man?” she commented, turning to the Doctor.

He didn't see any point in correcting her about his age; he felt quite small being interrogated by her, anyway.

“Mats? What for?”

“So the baby doesn’t break its arms in these holes when it's crawling around on the grating!”

“Oh!” said the Doctor, twiddling at his ear. “Actually, hadn’t thought of that.”

“I don’t suppose you had,” agreed Sylvia. “You may be an alien, but I suppose men are all the same when it comes to practicalities.”

She swept on, the Doctor scrunching up his face.

“Now, Donna, come and show me your room. You’ll need to sterilise it for when you give birth. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go to a hospital – just how different is this baby, exactly?”

“It’s got three hearts,” said the Doctor, trying to be helpful. Donna made a wild shushing gesture at him.

“Oh it does, does it?” said Sylvia, glaring at him. “That’s it. Donna, as soon as you go into labour, I want you to call me. Goodness knows I’ve helped deliver enough babies in my time. Even once in a car. I had you at home too, you know.”

“Thanks Mum,” said Donna, her eyes tearing up as she threw her arms around Sylvia. The Doctor looked terrified. Sylvia smoothed back Donna’s hair.

“Here’s a tissue, sweetheart,” she said, reaching around and pulling one from her sleeve like a conjurer.

“Thaaaahnk yoooou,” sobbed Donna.

“Hormones,” explained Sylvia to the Doctor as Donna shook into her shoulder. “There, there, love, you just cry all you like. If she’s anything like when I was pregnant with her, she’ll be at it all the time, so’s you know.”

“Right,” said the Doctor, wide-eyed and gulping.

It was some time later when they finally made their way into the kitchen, Donna feeling weepy again and in need of chocolate biscuits. Sylvia had insisted on seeing over the entire TARDIS, ferreting out rooms that Donna had never seen, and even one that the Doctor had never seen. Donna was finding it quite surreal to see her mother sitting at the kitchen table, which might have accounted for some of the weepiness.

Sylvia turned to the Doctor. “Is it safe for Donna to be flying in this – this thing when she gets to her third trimester?”

“It’s not a plane, Mum,” said Donna, managing to mop her eyes and roll them at the same time. She bit into her fifth biscuit. “It’s fine.”

“Well, we’re not making any intergalactic trips,” cut in the Doctor, leaning against the counter.

“Why not?” asked Donna in surprise, taking three more biscuits.

“Too bumpy,” he said. “Need to be careful of the baby.”

“Well, I’m glad one of you is being sensible,” said Sylvia approvingly. “Donna, put down those biscuits, you’ve had enough. Make sure she eats properly, Doctor.”

Donna pouted through a mouthful. The Doctor raised his eyebrows humorously at her.

“Short trips are all right, though,” he said after a pause. “In fact, would you like to take a trip? That way you can see it’s perfectly all right.”

Sylvia looked flustered. “Me? I don’t know about that.”

“We do it all the time, Mum,” said Donna encouragingly. “It really is safe.”

“Well, maybe just one short trip.”

“Space or time?” said the Doctor, leading the way back to the console room.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sylvia doubtfully. “Can you really go back in time?”

“And forwards,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and grinning. “Far as you like.”

Sylvia threw her hands in the air. “Choose for me. I can’t think of anywhere when you just throw it at me like that!”

The Doctor thought for a moment, his memory suddenly focusing on a part of Sylvia’s lounge room.

“I think I know just the place.”

“Sit down, Donna,” said Sylvia, patting the jump seat beside her. Donna did, meekly. “Where’s our seatbelts?” she continued, looking around.

“Er,” said the Doctor. “There aren't any ...”

Sylvia glared at him.

“They’re on order,” he added quickly.

* * *

Sylvia looked around the tea room. “Do we have to behave any particular way?”

“Just act normally, Mum, no one even notices.”

“Well I don’t know, do I? You have to tell me these things. I’ve never travelled in time before.”

The Doctor leaned back in his chair as they took in the sights of Regency England around them. He grinned at Donna and Sylvia in their matching Regency bonnets, Sylvia having insisted on “blending in”.

“Shouldn't we be getting back soon?” asked Sylvia, checking her watch. “I have to put your grandfather’s dinner on.”

“It’s a time machine, Mum,” said Donna impatiently. “We can take you back whenever. Just enjoy it!”

“Fascinating to see it all,” admitted Sylvia. “Just fascinating. I can hardly believe it’s real, it looks like a movie set. I’ve always loved reading Austen, of course.”

“What do you want to eat?” the Doctor asked Donna, who was hungrily perusing the offerings.

“Chocolate,” she said instantly. “Anything chocolate.”

“Chocolate, my foot. She'll have fruit cake,” said Sylvia in no-nonsense tones to the attendant, twitching the menu board out of Donna's hands. The Doctor hid a smile.

Their orders arrived. Sylvia took up her cake fork and scooped into her slice.

“This is delicious,” she pronounced through a mouthful. She swallowed. “Do you think we can ask for the recipe?”

* * *

The TARDIS doors opened and Sylvia stepped out into the garden in Chiswick.

“Well, thank you for a most wonderful afternoon, Doctor.”

“Any time,” he replied with a grin, leaning against the doorway.

“Don't say that,” muttered Donna, elbowing him.

Sylvia looked thoughtfully at her daughter. “I think I see now why you like travelling so much, Donna. Pop in some time soon when your grandfather’s not out. I suppose you’ll want to tell him about the baby yourself?”

Donna nodded. Sylvia drew her into a warm hug before releasing her and turning to the Doctor.

“Take good care of my girl, Doctor.”

“Better care than I take of myself,” he promised seriously, following that with “Oof” as Sylvia wrapped him in a characteristically Noble hug. He hoped it meant that he was beginning to meet with her approval.

“And your space ship isn’t too bad, I suppose,” she said as she let him go.

“For an alien,” chorused Donna and the Doctor together. Sylvia chuckled self-consciously, smacking the Doctor lightly on the arm.

“You're a bad influence on him, Donna.”

Donna grinned and snuck under his other arm. “Bye Mum. See you soon.”

They watched Sylvia leave. A little way down the garden she turned and waved. They smiled and waved back before retreating into the TARDIS. The Doctor shut the door.

“Do you think she doesn’t hate me as much any more?”

“Doctor, you really can be remarkably thick. What you just witnessed was my mother doing a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn. You just took her for afternoon tea in the bloody Regency. I think she likes you better than me now!”

“Really?” he said uncertainly. “But mums never like me.”

“Well,” said Donna, smiling at him. “Knowing her, you plonker, I'm pretty sure mine does.”

He turned away and rubbed his nose a bit.

Donna touched his arm, concerned. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he said in a none-too-convincing tone.

“I thought I was the one supposed to be getting weepy,” joked Donna. “Come on, tell me. What is it? I know Mum can be a bit overbearing sometimes, and I know you like your TARDIS just the way it is. You don't have to change everything she said, you know.” She stopped and thought. “Though the mats thing probably is a good idea.”

The Doctor sank down against the nearest support column. “No, it's not that.” He looked miserable.

“What, then?”

“It's just I – you know, I can't really remember my mother.”

Donna froze, open-mouthed, not having expected to hear him say that. She stared speechlessly, her heart aching for him.

“Is that very bad?” he said pleadingly in the silence, looking up with suspiciously shiny eyes. “It's just that it was such a long time ago. Far longer than you can even imagine. Hundreds and hundreds of years, and I was so small ... I want to remember, Donna, but as hard as I try, I just can't – I can't. And having your mum here made me feel that if I could remember, that's what I'd want mine to be like. How she was sort of telling me off when I didn't realise I needed it, but looking out for us too. It was nice.”

His voice broke on the last words and Donna promptly sat down, grabbing him and cradling him. He wrapped his arms around her thankfully and buried his head in her shoulder.

“And then I thought,” he went on, his voice muffled, “with a mum like yours, you'll be a really good one too. Which I knew you would be anyway.”

Donna found she couldn't say anything. She tightened her embrace fiercely and they sat like that for a few minutes, taking strength from holding each other.

Eventually he moved back and gave her a warm smile, which she returned.

“We better get a move on,” he said.

“For what?”

“Meeting your midwife. Since it seems you're not going to a hospital.”

“I thought my mother was going to help out. Won’t a midwife freak out at Miss Non-Species tucked away in here?”

“Not where I’m taking you,” said the Doctor, a small grin returning to his face as he got up and set the coordinates for Martha and Tom’s flat.

Part 4

Something New (2/4)

2008-11-15T07:28:12Z

Title: Something New
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Donna
Summary: Follows on from When I Was Six, set after some length of time has elapsed.

Part 1

Donna didn't tell the Doctor when she started throwing up again the next day.

Or again the morning after that.

He managed to catch her at it on the fourth day, though, when she was retching into the loo. She registered his presence dimly between heaves; the bathroom door creaking open behind her; the light step of his sneakers on the tiled floor; the crack of his knees as he knelt and smoothed back her hair, rubbing his hand in comforting circles over her back.

She finally collapsed into his embrace, drained and exhausted.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

“Lie down,” said the Doctor, reaching for his striped dressing gown and spreading it on the tiles.

“Why?”

“I want to try something.”

She lay back on the gown, knees bent. He pushed up her top.

“What are you doing?” she asked, squirming.

“Shh,” he said, closing his eyes and placing his hands on her belly. She watched as he breathed deeply, concentrating. “Every lifeform,” he began to explain, almost dreamily, “has its own unique timeline.” His hands moved gently, probing. “Like a clock ticking. The bigger the lifeform, the larger the clock and the louder the tick. When I touch someone, I can feel time ebbing like waves. I can feel your timeline beating through you, even now. Like a pulse, but not a pulse.”

Donna listened, almost hypnotised by his words.

“A life starts out so small,” he continued, in wonderment. “With just a tiny tick. Like a watch in a noisy room.”

His brow suddenly creased, his breath a sharp intake as his hands moved quicker.

“But if you listen carefully enough …”

Out of nowhere, Donna felt a completely unexpected sensation: a fluttering deep within her. She gasped and sat bolt upright, clutching the Doctor’s arm.

“Doctor!”

His eyes flew open.

“You felt something? What did you feel?”

“Something … moved.” She gasped as she felt the sensation anew, and her grip on the Doctor's arm tightened. “It just did it again!” She glanced at the Doctor, hoping. He motioned for her to lie back down, then replaced his hands and shut his eyes.

Donna waited, every nerve tensed.

Finally his eyes opened and he gazed intensely at her, seemingly unable to speak.

Then he nodded.

Tears of happiness instantly washed over her eyes, threatening to spill.

“But you said a human and a Time Lord can’t have a baby,” she managed to get out, shakily.

“That's just it,” he choked, his own eyes shiny with sheer joy. “The procreating part is the same, but for us to make an actual baby from it? We're not compatible like that. It’s biologically impossible!”

“Apparently not, smarty pants.”

“It is,” he insisted, his hands running frustratedly through his hair. “And why didn't the scanner pick it up?”

“Should have used an ordinary pregnancy test from down the chemist,” retorted Donna, unable to stop smiling out of shock. “You and all your techno gizmos, they're useless.”

“No,” he said, waving away her words impatiently. “That scanner is the most technologically advanced you can get – it picks up every lifeform there is. I can’t believe it’s broken. Do you know how much it's going to cost to fix?”

“I think the real question is, why exactly do you even have a pregnancy scanner? Haven't been doing the rounds impregnating random aliens, have you?”

“I’m a doctor, I'll have you remember,” he shot back.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen a medical degree hanging anywhere. When my cousin Horace got his degree he put it in a big frame right in the front hallway, couldn't manage to get in or out without seeing it.”

The Doctor wasn't listening.

“That scanner ...” he mused. “Unless …”

He jumped to his feet, pulling Donna up and catching her against him.

“Watch it!” she squealed. “Pregnant lady here! Oh – just being able to say that feels amazing.”

“And I love hearing it.” He kissed her deeply, then drew back. “It’s just that now we know there's a baby in there, I can use the imaging setting on my sonic screwdriver to find out exactly what’s going on.”

“What the hell are you standing around kissing me for then, Spaceman? Allons-y!”

* * *

Donna wriggled, making herself comfortable on the med bay bed as the Doctor hurried around a large screen, plugging in wires. She watched him. Her grin faded a little.

“You look serious,” she observed.

There was no answer.

“Are you afraid there’s something wrong with the baby? Or ... with me?”

The Doctor gave her a quick neutral look.

“The scanner,” he said briefly. “I've just checked it. It's not broken. It should have picked it up.”

Donna felt uneasy, watching as he plugged in a final wire before switching on the screen and stepping back to stand next to the bed. A ghost of his usual grin appeared on his face.

“Ready to meet your baby, Donna Noble?”

He held the sonic screwdriver over her stomach and began methodically scanning up and down. Donna watched in amazement as a shifting image slowly grew on the screen, line by line, until a complete picture was formed.

“Well,” said the Doctor, letting out a whooshing sigh of relief. He twirled the screwdriver easily and tucked it away in his pocket. “There it is. Our little baby.”

He laced Donna's fingers between his and squeezed hard. She squeezed back.

“It's so ...” She trailed off. “Well, being its mother, obviously I want to say it's beautiful, but it's still a bit of a blob, isn't it? Hello, blobby baby.”

The Doctor's eyes suddenly narrowed. He released Donna's hand and bounded up to the image, practically sticking his nose against it.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. I’m counting.”

“What? Fingers and toes? Are they even there yet? There better be ten of each!”

“No, wait. Shh.” His eyes scanned the screen. “One … or is it two?” he muttered to himself, while Donna strained to hear. “No, but there’s a third … triplets, then?”

“I’m having TRIPLETS?” exploded Donna.

“Hang on, wait a moment. That’s odd. And that – that’s different too …”

His face froze. Donna stared in anguish as he shook his head slowly, his mouth falling open.

“No, it can’t be,” he said blankly. “It can’t be. That's impossible.”

“What?”

He seemed to have forgotten her, caught in a reverie. Hands in his pockets, he backed slowly away from the screen, looking as though all the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Doctor?” said Donna desperately. “Tell me what’s happening. Is there something wrong with my babies?”

He seemed to revive a little, and wet his lips nervously with his tongue. “Three,” he said hoarsely. “There are three.”

“Three what? Not babies? Heads, then? Oh my god, I’m having a baby with three heads.”

"There's just one baby, and one head,” he reassured her. He stepped towards the screen, his finger raising to trace over the image. “But look, Donna,” he said gently, sounding awed. “Here’s one.” His finger moved over a little flickering spot. “Here’s another.” The finger moved to another spot just near it, flickering a little weaker. “And another.”

“They look like, well, just blots. What are they?” asked Donna, gazing curiously at the Doctor.

A grin was positively swamping his face.

“Don’t you see? Can't you? They’re hearts, Donna. Hearts. Two of mine ... and then one more. Yours.”

Some deep, unknown feeling swelled in her breast. Tears pricked at her eyes.

“Our baby has three hearts? Is – is it a boy or a girl?”

The Doctor squinted, then came back to sit on the bed, his eyes sweeping intently over Donna's face.

“Looks like we’re getting our mini Donna after all.”

“A girl,” she repeated, leaning back and sighing contentedly as she felt another flutter in her abdomen. “Ooh, she's feisty.”

The Doctor shook his head in amazement. “No wonder the scanner couldn’t recognise her. I can see it now. Lots of other differences. Nothing huge, just ... tiny things.”

“Not human,” whispered Donna, hand moving protectively to her belly, “not even a Time Lord. Then what is she?”

The Doctor's hand moved to cover hers, massaging it gently.

“I think,” he said, choking up; sounding, for once in all his nine hundred years, utterly flabbergasted as they gazed at the three tiny pulsing hearts on the screen, “I think … you and I, we’ve made something new.”

Donna could hardly breathe for sheer emotion.

“And she's growing inside me,” was all she could think to say.

“Donna Noble,” said the Doctor, his voice full of warmth and joy, “you are an amazing, fantastic, brilliant woman. Don't ever let me let you forget it.”

“Next time we’re fighting over the last piece of banana cake, I’m going to quote that at you word for word.”

“Oh, you want banana cake?” he said suddenly, looking stricken. “What else do you feel like? I can run out and get you some cake. Or – tell me, what do you need?”

“Nothing,” she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Got everything I need right here.”

He grinned fondly at her.

“Wouldn’t say no to some chocolate bikkies, though,” she said as an afterthought.

He chuckled.

“I’m not joking,” she said.

“Oh, right!” he said, and jumped from the bed. “One packet of chocolate biscuits coming right up.”

She looked at him, head tilted to the side.

“Two?” he guessed. “Two packs coming right up? No, three. Okay, four.”

“I love you.”

“Can you come with me while I get them?” he asked plaintively.

“Oi, I'm pregnant! You do know you’re my official slave now, right?”

He bit his lip. She felt a pang.

“Okay, I was just kidding about the slave thing.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “No, it’s just … this might sound daft but I don’t really want to leave you. Or her. Just not right now, anyway.”

Her eyes moistened and she slipped off the bed too, taking his hand.

“Then we won’t.”

Part 3

Something New (1/4)

2008-11-14T11:17:45Z

Title: Something New
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Donna
Summary: Apologies for putting this up before I've finished putting up the other parts of Unrequited Farce - I promise they're still on the way! My bunny was just nibbling and he wouldn't stop. This comes at the request of katherine_b who was asking about what happens after When I Was Six :) - it picks up some time after that story.

Donna’s eyes opened.

A blurry Doctor swam into view, his face etched with worry.

“Hullo,” mumbled Donna confusedly, blinking. “What happened? We were just in the console room ...”

“You fainted," he cut in, his voice strained.

“Did I really? I feel dizzy.”

“Thought so. I’ve just been running some tests on you.”

Donna blinked again. Her eyes shifted back into focus.

“You carried me all the way to the med bay? Blimey, you’re stronger than you look, you skinny Martian.”

Despite his concern, a wry grin cracked the Doctor's face.

“Er,” he said, “you hadn’t figured that out after what we were doing last night?”

His voice was cheeky, and Donna blushed.

“Fair enough,” she replied, looking for a way to change the subject. “So ... what’s that?” She pointed to the scanner that he was holding.

“Nothing, just a routine test. Part of TARDIS procedure.”

“What test?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Doctor, you're really scaring me! Why aren't you telling me?”

He eyed her, sucking in his breath. “It’s a … a pregnancy test.”

Donna's heart froze in equal measures of shock and anticipation.

“I didn’t know I could get pregnant. You’re a Time Lord!”

“And you’re a human.” His voice was curt.

“Is it even possible?” she said wonderingly. “Should we have been more careful?”

The Doctor shook his head, looking suddenly tired and pale; like he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with her, not ever.

“No,” he said finally, taking off his glasses and wiping them, looking down. “It’s not possible. It was never going to be possible.”

Donna felt unsteady. She gripped the sides of the bed, her eyes fixed on the Doctor's bowed form seated beside her.

“I had wondered, sometimes,” she said, her voice trembling. “I mean, I know we’re not the same species and everything ...”

He sucked in his breath again and turned, scooping her up and holding her against him.

“I … I’m so sorry, Donna,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve been completely selfish. We really should have talked about it before we got into anything like this. I knew you wanted a baby some day. Is this going to be a problem between us? You know I’d never hold you to anything …”

She snuggled harder into his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

“Doctor, I love you. Baby or no baby. I know I said I wanted a baby one day, but let’s be realistic. I think we both knew it wasn’t going to happen, was it? Not for us. And if I can't have a baby with you, then that's that. I won't be having one.”

She grew quiet for a moment.

“Why were you testing me?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Why were you testing me, then? If you knew we couldn’t have a baby ...” Her eyes grew wide with horror. “You didn’t think that I – I might be – with someone else ...”

“No!” said the Doctor, hastening to reassure her. “No, of course not. Like I said, it's just a stupid standard test. Part of the med bay diagnostic cycle for dizziness. I could have just tested myself instead for this one. That would have been weird, though.”

She chuckled. “Very.”

The scanner beeped. Donna looked at the Doctor, even though she already knew what the answer would be.

“Negative,” he confirmed.

She shrugged, but her face crumpled.

"Oh, my Donna," murmured the Doctor tenderly as they sank back against the bed, his arms surrounding her. She was quiet, thinking; feeling his breath coming and going in whiffles against the back of her neck.

“What about adoption?” she finally got out hesitantly, not daring to turn and meet his eyes. “There must be some poor little baby out there in this great big universe that needs someone to look after it. I mean, I dunno if Time Lords go in for that sort of thing, but it’s pretty nice really, isn’t it?”

The Doctor was silent. He blew out a sigh, and Donna tensed.

“Donna, I don’t know how it's possible, but … I think I just fell in love with you a little bit more.”

She relaxed and savoured the feel of him nuzzling into her neck.

“Could we get an Ood?”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’d love one.”

His arms tightened around her. “I think they’d be happier with the other Ood. Oodles of Ood. But Donna, I meant it when I said you’d be a wonderful mother, and if that means we’ll adopt, then that's what we'll do.”

“Just imagine a rugrat running around the TARDIS, breaking off parts of your ship.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I meant you.”

“Oi!”

She laughed.

“Donna?” he went on.

“Mmm-hmm?” she replied, feeling sleepy.

“What about an Adipose?”

“No!”

His voice was meek. “Just checking.”

They fell back into silence, and before long the only sound in the med bay was that of gentle breathing as sleep overtook them.

* * *

After her talk with the Doctor, and the negative test, Donna didn’t really see any point in telling him that she'd been throwing up in the toilet all morning.

Part 2

Unrequited Farce (3/5)

2008-11-13T01:55:43Z

Title: Unrequited Farce
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: Beverages, Noddys, mistaken identities, sexins, and biodampers. Pretty much everything except the kitchen sink ... although come to think of it there's a few of those too. Follows straight on from A Stitch In Time.
Disclaimer of sanity: Okay, now things are kicking into gear as Donna goes "behind the scenes" of UatW. This part may just be the most confusing thing I've ever written, if you manage to follow it all, well done!

Part 1
Part 2

Donna tiptoed stealthily along the narrow kitchen corridor. She rounded the corner.

And walked straight into Agatha and the other Doctor.

“Eep!”

“Donna?” said the Doctor, staring at her in confusion as she stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights. “Didn’t you go upstairs to look for clues? What are you doing back down …” He trailed off and frowned. “Something looks different.”

“Blue blouse,” said Agatha briefly. “She’s wearing a blue blouse.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed the Doctor triumphantly. “You are clever, Agatha!”

Donna and Agatha both looked at him in disbelief.

“What?” he protested.

“He’s got a lot of powers, you’ll have to trust me on that one,” Donna told Agatha, “but deduction? Not really one of them.”

“Oi!" protested the Doctor. “I can deduct! Anyway, weren’t you in a dress – sort of goldy, or was it brownish? Looked nice. Why’d you change?”

“Why don't you use your almighty powers of deduction?” suggested Donna, and ran for it, leaving behind an exceedingly confused Doctor.

* * *

Going upstairs probably wasn't such a bad idea anyway, thought Donna as she climbed the staircase. There was an off chance that some of the guests might have walnuttish nibblies in their rooms. She just needed to avoid running into her other self in the house, which shouldn’t be too hard – after all, she’d technically been through this day once already without any major incident. Well, not counting the whole giant wasp thing, and ...

She reached the upper landing and flung open the first door that she came to. It banged into something on the other side. Something that said “Oomph” and slumped down to the carpet.

Donna stared down at her other self, lying very, very unconscious on the floor.

She raised her eyes to the heavens.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Only one thing to do. Feeling like she was somehow intruding on her own privacy, which she knew was ridiculous, Donna stripped her counterpart down to her underwear, trying to ignore both her unclothed self and the complete weirdness of the situation.

“But this,” she said, staring at herself lying practically naked on the floor, “is a completely weird situation.” She bent down and started to push at her own limp figure. “God, I weigh a tonne,” she moaned, huffing as she rolled the counterpart under the bed. She tucked in a stray hand and gave it a friendly pat, wondering briefly if she was going insane, before quickly hopping into the brown dress and pulling up the straps.

The last hairpin had just been tucked into her new coiffure when she heard the Doctor's voice in the corridor.

“Donna, are you up here? I found it!”

Images of walnut jars spun happily through her head. “Oh, Doctor, thank god!” she exclaimed as he entered the room. She flung her arms tightly around him, his own arms automatically reciprocating as she brought her lips up to capture his in a passionate kiss. He made an indeterminable noise into her mouth, clutching her tighter to him before suddenly pulling back and blinking rapidly, lips swollen and hair mussed.

“Erm, Donna? What are you doing?”

She stared at him in complete horror.

It wasn’t her Doctor!

Absently wondering how many seconds she had before the universe was sucked down some enormous plug hole, and whether she should just throw herself on this particular Doctor and get the shag she was still holding out for, she lifted her thumb and wiped a trace of lipstick carefully from his mouth.

“Sorry about that. Thought you were someone else.”

He stared incredulously. “Who?”

“Er … can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“What?” she returned, pouting. “Can’t a girl have a nineteen-twenties secret romantic rendezvous?”

“Not while we’re investigating a murder mystery; no, you can’t!”

Was it her imagination, or was he looking all sort of – well, jealous?

“What is it you said you'd found?” she asked resignedly. A limp finger sticking out from under the bed caught her eye, and she surreptitiously pushed it back under with the toe of her shoe. Last thing this bloodhound Doctor needed was to think he’d found a body.

His expression changed, becoming excited. “Oh, you’re so going to thank me for this.”

From behind his back he produced … a magnifying glass. He grinned expectantly.

Donna was not impressed.

“What’s this for, you plank? You already gave me one. Er, somewhere.” She spotted it on the bed and snatched it up, thrusting it at him. “Here.”

“Yeah, but this one’s much better. Found it in my other pocket. Extonic sensitive glass, got it on a resort planet called Midnight – must take you there some time. It refracts light much more powerfully, the magnification is so much better. But if you don’t want it …”

Her imagination suddenly took off, images flying unbidden through her head: a giant wasp, a regular magnifying glass … and a Donna lying on the floor again, tongue lolling, stabbed through with giant stings. She grabbed the extonic glass.

“Gimme that. She’s – I mean, I’m definitely going to be needing it ...”

She stopped. He wasn’t listening, busy inspecting the door handle with the regular glass. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? In your element. Thinking you’re all Hercule? Gonna grow a little moustache, are you? Actually, I’ve never seen you with any sort of facial hair. Can you even grow a moustache?”

“Of course I can!” said the Doctor indignantly. “And what’s wrong with Poirot, anyway? He was right in the thick of things, chasing away at them ... and he always captured his quarry.”

He gave Donna a small self-conscious grin.

She stared. Was this Doctor actually flirting with her, thinking it was his Donna? And she’d missed this the first time around just because she’d been knocked unconscious? By herself?

It wasn’t bloody fair.

He was eyeing her through the magnifying glass now. She had to stifle a smile. He could be such a child. Although …

“Watch where you’re aiming that glass at, mister,” she snapped, and he lowered it guiltily, slipping it back into one of his fathomless pockets. “You’re like Mary Poppins,” she observed. “Carpet bag pockets. You got a pot plant in there too?”

“Doctor!” they heard Agatha call. “I have the Reverend downstairs, ready to be questioned.”

“Got to go,” said the Doctor with a quick click of his tongue and tilt of his head. “Chim chim cheree!”

“Just tell me one thing, Doctor,” said Donna quickly, seeing no sign of the universe crumbling around them just yet. “If I, erm … kissed you again.” His eyes bugged. “You know, hypothetically," she went on, "having already done it once – apparently. Would it still come as a bit of a shock?”

“Yes,” he squeaked, leaning closer around the door frame.

She let out a whoosh of air. “Good,” she cut him off, “all I needed to know,” and, hearing faint groaning coming from under the bed, she closed the door in his face and started to strip.

* * *

Blue-bloused once more, Donna hid behind the door, watching her redressed counterpart creep out of the room. She strained her ears. The footsteps halted a little further down the corridor.

“You won’t find anything in –“

“Eep! How come it’s locked?”

“Lady Eddison commands it to be so.”

“And I command it to be otherwise. Scotland Yard, pip pip.”

“Yeah yeah, get past all this, heard it before,” said Donna, waiting for them to enter the other room, before crouching down and creeping across the hall behind them. She made her way back down the staircase in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if there might be any walnuts in the store cellar.

She peeped into the kitchen, but to her dismay it was full of kitchen staff. Suddenly she saw the Doctor on the other side of the kitchen window. Her Doctor. He was signalling wildly to her.

She raised hands and shoulders and eyebrows.

He held up the jar of walnuts in one hand, a huge grin on his face, and a cluster of wooden limbs in the other hand.

Brilliant! she mouthed, grinning back.

He motioned to the jar, and then to the kitchen.

I need you to make a diversion so I can get this back in.

Like what?

He moved his hands descriptively.

“No way,” she said under her breath. She made a vicious cut-throat sign, to which he smiled apologetically and blew her a kiss, already opening the window latch.

As he got one leg over the sill, Donna took a deep breath, plastered an enormous smile on her face, stepped out, and treated the entire kitchen staff to an impromptu rendition of “Camptown Races”.

* * *

Walnuts back in place and the Doctor safely back outside, Donna took her bow to stunned silence, and shot off in the direction of the front door. She swung suddenly into an alcove as her counterpart walked past, presumably on the way outside to comfort Agatha. Donna set off the other way, looking for a back way out … and came face to face with the Doctor. Before she could work out which one, he did it for her, opening his mouth and pointing at her blue blouse.

“Yeah, I know,” she said before he could say anything. “I changed again. I just like changing, all right?”

“All right,” he said, staring at her. “But Donna, are you feeling all right? There’s something … different about you, isn’t there? It’s … I can’t quite place it. There’s something I can feel between us – something’s not quite right, with time …”

“Nup,” she said, cutting him off. “Time’s fine. Speaking of, is that the time? Got to go! Enjoy your drink. Don’t sniff it, by the way, just swallow. Actually, better put some sugar in. You know, helps the medicine go down.”

She ran for it again, leaving him open-mouthed behind her.

* * *

Donna opened the back door. She bumped straight into the Doctor, who looked like he was on his way in.

“There you are!” he said, holding his arms wide open with a grin.

“Before I say or do anything else, just answer me this. I say ‘pumpkin-style’, you say …?”

He gave her a queer look. “Coach?”

She let out a sigh of relief and threw herself into his waiting arms. “Oh thank god, you’re the other one. Pumpkin-style coach – that can be our new secret code word, all right? Or you could just make your hands into a pumpkin shape, like those shadow puppets …”

His tone was indignant as he held her back at arm's length. “The other one?”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just I keep running into you all over the place.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been out here, spraying Noddy with herbicide. And – um …” He held up another pile of unconscious wood. “Turns out there’s a sort of Pinocchio thing too.” He dumped it unceremoniously. “In case you’re keeping score.”

“Not you, dumbo; I’ve been running into the other you, the other you who’s with the other me.”

His eyes widened. “The changed clothes! I remember that. That was you? This is starting to make way too much sense.”

“Seriously? It makes no sense at all to me. The only part that’s remotely making any sense is why you insisted on taking us to a karaoke bar straight after all these wasp shenanigans, and belting out ‘Don’t go changing to try and please me’ on bended knee. Doctor, the other you just said something about there being something wrong with time. Is there?”

“Well, no, it's just that you’re a bit of a temporal anomaly now that you have my everlasting antibodies flitting around in you. No wonder I thought something was fishy at the time.”

“Fishy? I have the feeling I should be ribbing you mercilessly about anchovies right now, but that would probably be cruel.”

He snorted. “Just a bit. That was not my finest moment.”

“Actually, it’s probably coming up in a minute. Come on, let’s go watch!”

He stared at her in bewilderment as she dragged him off enthustiastically.

* * *

Donna and the Doctor pushed the leaves of the bush carefully to the side and peeped up through the kitchen window, just in time to see the other Doctor stagger and pour a bottle of ginger beer over his head. Her own Doctor winced. They both breathed a sigh of relief to see the other Donna grabbing the walnuts off the shelf, as expected.

They kept watching.

Donna blushed.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

“That’s some kiss.”

“Yeah," she agreed.

He grinned saucily. “Wonder what our first kiss would have looked like.”

“Doctor, up in the bedroom – you know that was me, right?”

“That was you as well? Not the other you?”

“Considering I – the other me – was lying naked and unconscious under the bed, it would be pretty amazing if it was.”

The Doctor gaped. “You were just a few feet away from me – naked?”

“Oh, please. Why am I not surprised you’re dwelling on that?”

“I'm just trying to get my head around it. My first kiss with you was in the bedroom, but your first kiss with me was in in the kitchen? Talk about timey wimey.”

“Did you know I was going to kiss you in the kitchen, when you kept going on about a shock? Since I’d already mentioned it?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know.”

“Oh my god,” said Donna, as it dawned on her. “Did you want me to kiss you again?”

“I, well, er ...” flustered the Doctor. “Well, just keep watching.”

Donna turned back to the window. She could hear the other Doctor, albeit slightly muffled – “Must do that more often. I mean, the – the detox.”

She felt the warm breath of her own Doctor as he brought his mouth close to her ear, lips grazing her hair.

“Except, Donna Noble … except, I most definitely did not mean the detox.”

The hairs on the side of her neck stood up and a gorgeous shiver ran down her from head to toe.

“Want to try it without the anchovies?” she whispered back.

The look of intense longing he gave her was answer enough as they slid down the wall into the bush.

Unrequited Farce (2/5)

2008-11-10T01:46:04Z

Title: Unrequited Farce
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: Beverages, Noddys, mistaken identities, sexins, and biodampers. Pretty much everything except the kitchen sink ... although come to think of it there's a few of those too. Follows straight on from A Stitch In Time.

Part 1

“Donna, I can’t believe you did this! What if we’d walked into ourselves? No, hang on, I’ll tell you what would have happened. You know that tiny, small, insignificant thing called the universe? … Kaput!”

“I’m sorry, all right? Stop harping on!”

“Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let me drive.”

“Oh yeah, Timeboys and their toys!” Donna shot back. “Like you’re so fantastic at driving.”

“TARDIS, Time Lord, ye –”

The Doctor stopped abruptly and went cross-eyed, leaning rapidly back as Donna’s finger shot to a quivering point just in front of his nose.

“Don’t,” she said with a shake of her finger, his head bobbing in response, “even think about mouthing off at me right now, mister! You’ve landed us in the wrong spot enough times yourself.”

“When have I ever done that?” he exclaimed, voice all high and indignant. He tried to avoid her finger, batting gingerly at it as it waved threateningly in front of him.

“Well!" said Donna in disbelief. "How about Pompeii, for a start? A whole library full of nothing but killer shadows. My mother’s old house. My mother’s new house. Simon bloody Cowell’s dressing room.”

“All right, I’ll give you the other ones, but what was wrong with the last one?”

“I wanted to meet Simon Amstell, you twit! Amstell, not Cowell.”

Her finger finally found the Doctor's nose, prodding.

“Point taken,” he said meekly. “Can we just get out of here before anything else goes wrong?”

They stepped out of the hedge. Right into a dapper-suited butler. Donna squeaked in surprise.

“Wotcher, erm … ah … Jeeves. There’s a good fellow, wot? We’re just out to take in a whiff of fresh air, aren’t we, dahhhling?”

She elbowed the Doctor, smiling widely. The butler gave them a suspicious look, but passed on.

“Don’t do that,” murmured the Doctor. “Really, don’t.”

“What? I sound fine. Tophole, even.”

“No, it’s just … you look like you’re about to eat someone.”

Donna shut her teeth with a clack.

“Erm, Doctor? One little teeny thing. No biggie.”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Where’s the TARDIS?” she asked, trying to stay cheerful.

The Doctor swivelled instantly, eyes widening to enormous proportions. “Oh no, no, no, no!” he spluttered, running around to the other side of the hedge, mouth wide open in disbelief. “My TARDIS!”

“What, what’s happened?” asked Donna, following him in alarm. She shook his arm. “Doctor, tell me!”

“It’s an intertemporal meld,” he said, looking dazed.

“You better hurry up and explain what that is!”

“It’s not good,” he said. His hand ran anxiously over his chin. “Well, it’s not bad, exactly, but it’s not good –”

“What is it?”

“Think of a pair of magnets put together. They attract, right? Now think of two TARDISes … TARDISes? TARDI? Interesting question, would you make the plural –“

“Doctor, focus!”

“Right, sorry. Where was I? Oh yes, two TARDISes. Put them in the same place at the same time and what do you get? Intertemporal meld. Our TARDIS … has drifted over and melded with the other TARDIS.”

“What, behind our backs?” said Donna in disbelief. “Cow.”

The Doctor looked torn between scolding Donna and stifling a smile. He settled for making a noise like a small explosion.

“Can’t we just up and leave in this one?” suggested Donna, looking up at the blue wood.

“What? No! No, because we got here first – the other we, Donna! If we leave now in this TARDIS, there’ll be no way for us to get out of here – no, Donna, the other us, pay attention! We’re stuck here until we leave – I mean the other we. Keep up!”

“Well it’s bloody hard when you keep rabbiting on like that!” She sighed and shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “So – our TARDIS is sort of glued into this one, we wait for ourselves to leave, our TARDIS gets unglued and left behind, and for the moment we’re stuck in the twenties again for a day?”

She thought about it for a moment.

“Meh.”

“Meh? We have to be extremely careful, Donna! Keep well out of the way, don’t change the timeline –”

“I really don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about. Just calm down. Take a deep breath, stop shouting – no need for anyone to shout, and … LOOK, it’s NODDY!” she squealed, starting to jump up and down, banging the Doctor on the head in excitement as he winced and tried to fend her off. “Hello, Noddy! No, wait, don’t go!”

The blue-capped creature chuckled and disappeared woodenly into the hedge, hauling a net bag full of clanking jars behind it. Without a second thought Donna grabbed the Doctor by the hand and plunged into the hedge, dragging him eagerly through the dense, dark foliage.

“No, no – stop! Donna! Mfffwplungtheep … ptwah! I’m getting all leaves in my mouth, yeerk – you’ll never catch up! Watch out, BRANCH! – OW! – slow DOWN!”

They shot out of the hedge at the other end, the weight of the Doctor sending them both flying. He landed on Donna with a grunt. They both lay winded for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Donna? Just so you know, I’m not really in the mood for it right now.”

“Oh get off, space cadet.”

He rolled off and they sat up, still wheezing. Between wheezes, Donna made sure to give the Doctor one of her patent nasty looks; one that she was particularly proud of.

“So, Mister ‘There’s No Noddy’ …”

“Well, there isn’t now. Long gone.”

Donna gave him another look, and the Doctor held up his hands in defense.

“All right, all right – it’s just possible, I may have been slightly mistaken, a bit. You can’t expect me to know every fictional character on your planet. That thing isn't actually called Noddy, of course.”

“What is it then? If it’s not Noddy? Sure looked like Noddy to me.”

“A Silvanode. That’s its proper name. There was a slight plague of them in the early sixteenth century when their spaceship crashed. They’re harmless. Made of wood, live in hedges and trees. They just eat nuts, steal them from squirrels, that sort of thing. You know, acorns, hazelnuts …”

He trailed off and stared at Donna.

She was staring back. “Doctor, what Noddy had in his hand – those jars!”

“… and walnuts,” he finished, already pulling Donna up.

“Wait, what about that little must-keep-out-of-the-way-of-everything speech?”

“Time and place for it, Donna,” he replied impatiently, “what happened to keeping up? Come on!”

They rapidly carnaged their way back through the hedge in the direction of the manor.

* * *

“It’s gone,” moaned Donna, moving around tins and pots at frantic speed. “The jar of walnuts. It’s not here. It’s not here!”

“Keep looking! Are you absolutely, positively sure it’s gone?”

“Well, I DID grab them before, I think I’d flipping well remember where they are!”

“Calm down!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! Can’t we just stick something else for me to grab in there?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Can’t risk it. It’s a fixed point in time and space now.”

“What, one of those things where if you change it, universe goes kaput?”

He gave her a pointed look.

“Oh, well, that’s – superbloodyfragilisticexpialidocious!” exploded Donna in frustration. “You just had to go and drink the cyanide in the first place, didn’t you? Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“You were the one who gave me walnuts! I just said protein! Protein! Why didn’t you just give me – I dunno – milk?”

“Yeah, milk with anchovies, because that would have gone down well!”

“Obviously better than walnuts!”

His voice was rising, getting shrill and panicky. Without hesitation she brought her palm to his cheek with a resounding crack and he stopped short, staring at her in open-mouthed shock.

“Don’t get all hysterical on me, chum!” she said, hands balanced on her hips. “I’ve never been given a ring – biodamper, whatever – by anyone before who doesn’t want to kill me, and I’m not about to lose you now before you’ve technically even given me it and before I get a wedding out of it. A proper weddingy wedding. With no giant spiders, no Huon particles, and no robot Santas.” She ticked them off on her fingers.

In spite of the peril of their situation, he grinned lopsidedly, rubbing his reddened cheek.

“You want a proper wedding with me?”

“If we’re going to be stuck together forever, Spaceman – yeah, I want a piece of paper with our names on it. Signed and witnessed. Framed, too.”

The Doctor was preoccupied with other matters.

“Can it be like an Earth wedding? With confetti, and cake?”

“Yes.”

“Could the cake have bananas in it?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, Donna –”

She cut him off. “Shut up. Time to get sentimental later. So let’s get moving, yeah? I’ll see if I can find any more walnuts here in the house.”

The Doctor’s face changed, becoming determined.

“Right. Be careful. I’ll go hunt down that Silvanode’s nest. See if I can find its stash.”

He produced his sonic screwdriver with a flourish and held it out high, racing towards the window with overcoat flying out behind him.

Donna turned to leave through the door.

“Oh, and Donna?”

“What is it? …. Mmmph!”

She broke off in surprise as he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers.

“Love you,” he said with a grin, before racing off again and half clambering, half rolling out of the window. Donna heard the rustling of foliage, followed by an indignant bird squawk, followed by a small thud, followed by “Ow” and “Whoops.”

“Prawn,” she said fondly, and took off.

Part 3

Unrequited Farce (1/5)

2008-11-09T02:48:21Z

Title: Unrequited Farce
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: Beverages, Noddys, mistaken identities, sexins, and biodampers. Pretty much everything except the kitchen sink ... although come to think of it there's a few of those too. Follows straight on from A Stitch In Time.

She leaned over the stove, watching the bubbling, melting chocolate. The heady smell of cocoa was already wafting deliciously through the kitchen, but apart from an appreciative sniff, the Doctor was being uncharacteristically silent. Donna poured the thick contents of the saucepan into mugs and turned, catching a glimpse of him standing with legs casually crossed; one palm resting against the kitchen table, the other shoved in his pocket. Just watching her, his eyes as dark as they had been when they were reflecting the London night sky.

She carried the mugs to the sink and busied herself with sugar packets. Her fingers didn’t seem to be working properly, though, and she couldn’t tear open the plasticky paper.

Another hand covered hers.

Donna watched as the Doctor swirled the sugar into the thick chocolate, his fingers also trembling a little as he took up one of the mugs. She reached for the other mug, turning to face him ... and gasped. He was close. There was hardly any space between them. He didn’t move back, his eyes watching her over the top of his mug, his exposed throat swallowing in a series of long gulps, before he finally put down the mug and ran the back of a hand across his wet lips. She lowered her own unfinished drink, placing it on the sink beside his with a metallic thud.

She looked back up at him. He looked shyly down at her.

The silence was almost too much to take. If one of them didn’t say something soon, Donna could tell that nothing would be said as much as done.

Fine by her.

Her hand lifted as though of its own accord, coming to rest on the Doctor's chest, lingering there a moment as he looked at her. She held his gaze as her fingers found his top jacket button and slowly slid it through the buttonhole, the fabric parting a little. She moved her fingers down and found the next buttonhole, undoing that one too. Each button was undone, one by one, until the jacket hung loosely on his frame. Donna lifted her hands to his shoulders, pushing the fabric backwards; the Doctor’s only concession to movement a lopsided shrug as it slid down his arms and crumpled on the floor.

He closed the gap then, bending Donna gently back against the sink as their lips met in a languid, sensuous, cocoa-flavoured kiss.

The kiss deepened, tongues tasting and exploring. Donna wrapped her arms further around the Doctor – but no, he was already pulling back, breathing hard and shaking his head, a small smile on his face.

She gave him a questioning look. He bent to pick up his jacket, slinging it rakishly over one shoulder and wiggling the fingers of his other hand. Donna smiled and took the proffered fingers warmly, just as she had done on countless other occasions, although never as the precursor to anything like what she knew was about to happen.

They were walking now, their footsteps echoing on the metal floors of the TARDIS corridors. Just as Donna began to wonder where the Doctor was taking her they came to an abrupt halt outside her door.

His door, usually a few corridors down, was right next to it.

Donna looked at the Doctor, eyebrows raised. He looked a little embarrassed.

Poor love, she thought, amused. It can’t be all that comforting having your ship know what you’re getting up to, even if she is trying to be helpful. Like having your parents chaperoning your first date.

“Doctor?” she said gently, tugging his hand. He was still staring at the twin doors and jumped, as though he had forgotten what her voice sounded like.

“Yup?”

“Come with me.”

His forehead creased in confusion, but he followed obediently as Donna led him to the console room and let go of his hand with a squeeze. She made her way to the controls.

“Now,” she muttered, waggling the tips of her fingers together and sucking her cheeks in.

“Hey!” he said with a frown, bounding over and snatching up his mallet before she could take it. “What’re you doing?”

“Settle down, Spaceman. You took me to that rooftop, now I’m going to take you somewhere where we can be properly alone. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Seen you do it enough times, haven’t I?”

He looked unconvinced but stood back, mallet at the ready.

Donna threw the time rotor forward and pumped the accelerator, checking the calibration dial and hitting the stabiliser with her foot at the same time. “Well?”

“Not bad,” said the Doctor distractedly, checking the feed readout.

“Not bad!” she repeated haughtily under her breath. “I’m being bloody brilliant.”

His face finally relaxed into a smile and he hung up the mallet. “That you are.” He came to stand behind her, placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Don’t distract me,” said Donna through gritted teeth.

He chuckled deeply, but didn’t remove his hand. It turned out to be just as well, as the TARDIS shuddered to a halt and Donna went flying back into the Doctor with a squeal, his arms catching her tightly as he braced them both.

“Yeah, don’t tell me,” she panted. “Landings, I know. I’ll work on it. You coming?”

She extracted herself from his arms and strode over to the doors, flinging them open.

“Where are we, exactly?” asked the Doctor, shrugging on his overcoat with a squint as bright sunlight and birdsong assaulted their senses after the darkness of London.

“Hmm,” said Donna with mock impatience. “Where might we be? I dunno, lessee … smell a hint of mint?”

The Doctor’s face cracked into a huge grin.

“Nineteen twenties! Ohhh, good girl … quick, Donna!”

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a neatly trimmed hedge.

“Oi!” she exclaimed, batting his arm away. “I know you were raring for it back there, but this is all a bit hasty …”

He shook his head impatiently. “When exactly did you bring us?”

“Are you being thick on purpose?” asked Donna, annoyed. “’Cause if you are …”

“Donna, tell me!”

She blew a lock of hair from her face exasperatedly. “Day after we were here last, like where you took me in London. Yeah, you’re not the only one who can do sentiment.”

A second later, she froze as a familiar voice spoke on the other side of the hedge.

Her voice.

“What d’you think? Flapper – or slapper?”

“Flapper. You look lovely.”

Then she experienced one of the strangest sensations of her life. Another herself and another Doctor walked straight past the hedge, their arms linked; walking close enough that Donna had to duck to avoid getting brained as her other self coyly swung her handbag against the hedge and sent a shower of leaves fluttering down on them.

Her own Doctor clamped a hand over her mouth, forestalling her squeal of shock. He waited until their counterparts had disappeared around the corner before he slowly removed it, glaring at her.

“Oops,” said Donna.

Part 2

When I Was Six

2008-11-06T08:43:18Z

Title: When I Was Six
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: Inspired by the A.A. Milne poem "Now We Are Six". Just a fluffy AU fic that was niggling away at me :). It's quite long, sorry, it sort of all spilled out very quickly and I wasn't keeping track!

“Just popping into the seventies for some milk!” called the Doctor. “You need anything?”

“Yep!” called back Donna. “Wait a minute!”

The Doctor waited by the TARDIS door for her to appear. She did, finally, an enormous shopping basket balanced in one hand and a long list in the other.

The Doctor’s face fell.

“But I was just going out for milk.”

“Not any more, sunshine,” pronounced Donna, presenting him with basket and list.

“Oh no,” said the Doctor, taking a step back. “You’ll just tell me I’ve come back with all the wrong things.”

“Well you did come back with all the wrong things.”

“How is getting bananas, when bananas is at the top of the list, the wrong things?”

“Doctor, do you remember I explained how just because bananas is the first thing on the list it doesn’t mean you buy out the supermarket’s entire stock?”

He looked dejected. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“But can you come with me anyway? It’s the seventies!” he added, trying to make it sound exciting. “Lots of … well, lots of brown. And orange.” He grimaced.

“Yeah, you and your brown suit, you’ll fit right in,” teased Donna. “I was born in the seventies, you twit, I know exactly what it was like. Oh, all right. Come on, I’ll get your milk too.”

He grinned. “What would I do without you?”

“Go hungry, apparently,” she retorted as they stepped outside, arms entwined. “Look, you wait here, it doesn’t take both of us to do the shopping. It’ll be quicker with just me. Oh look, it’s my old neighbourhood too. How funny. Well, it’ll be especially nice and quick then.”

“Are you not letting me come just because last time I started eating buns before we paid for them?”

“That's exactly why I'm not letting you come. And it wasn’t just because you were eating buns. It was because you were eating a lot of buns.”

“Oh, all right.”

The Doctor scuffed his sneakers and Donna gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Back in a bit. There’s a park somewhere over there with benches, you’ll find it.”

He wandered off, hands in his pockets. It didn’t take him long to find the park. It was fairly busy, although then again it was a surprisingly sunny day. He couldn’t see an empty bench, so he just leaned against a wall and enjoyed watching the families picnicking, the children running around, a football team practicing …

A ball rolled his way and stopped at his feet. He bent to pick it up, looking around to see where it had come from. There was a small girl running towards him who certainly looked indignant enough to be its owner.

“That’s my ball, mister,” she said, stopping a little way from him.

“Here you go, then,” he said cheerfully, about to toss it back to her, when he suddenly froze.

Red hair.

A curly mop of red hair.

It was cropped short, and the face was rounder, but those big blue eyes …

It was Donna.

He stared. She stamped her foot.

“Oi! You going to give it back or what?”

A slow grin broke out across his face. “Yup,” he said, putting the ball back down and tapping it to little Donna with his foot. She tried to stop it but it rolled past.

“Well, I nearly got it,” she said, frowning.

“Oh, you nearly did,” the Doctor agreed. “Want to try again?”

“Yeah,” said little Donna, running to get the ball while the Doctor grinned his head off. He struggled to get the grin under control and had just managed it by the time she came running back.

“Send it over, then,” he said.

“I think your friend’s calling you,” replied little Donna disappointedly, pointing.

The Doctor swivelled abruptly. The colour drained from his face as he saw Donna waving, lugging her now-full basket across the park, weaving her way towards them, laughing as she tried to avoid all the children running around.

“Donna,” he said desperately under his breath.

“What?” said little Donna.

“Nothing.”

It was too late, anyway. Donna was walking up to them.

“Phew. There was a huge line at the grocer’s, must be the nice weather bringing everyone out. Oh, who’s your little friend? Hello.” She smiled.

The Doctor watched helplessly as the small Donna turned towards her bigger self.

Donna’s eyes widened and she gasped, her head snapping up to the Doctor and then back down to the child. The Doctor winced, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. And for good reason. But, as the universe hadn’t imploded by the time three seconds had passed, he relaxed – a tiny bit.

The child didn’t seem to recognise her older self. He supposed that was reasonable, too.

“Hello,” said little Donna. “Who are you?”

Donna looked at the Doctor again. He nodded tersely.

“Uh, um, I’m Do – Nerys.”

Nerys? mouthed the Doctor incredulously. She gave him a look in return that clearly said, Well, I don’t know!

“I’m Donna Noble,” said the little girl.

“Where’s your mum?” said Donna curiously, looking around.

“Somewhere over there,” said little Donna, pointing. “Did you want to talk to her?”

“No!” said Donna abruptly, and the Doctor stifled a laugh.

Little Donna eyed them. “She says not to talk to strangers.”

“I bet she does,” said Donna with a long-suffering eye roll. “Believe me, she’ll change her tune big time later on, though.”

“But you’re not strangers,” said little Donna simply. “We’ve met now. We’re friends.”

At that, the Doctor’s hearts very nearly melted.

“Weeeell,” said Donna, as though it annoyed her to say it, “your mum's got a point, though. Strangers are people you don’t really know all that well.”

“That’s dumb,” said little Donna, pursing her tiny mouth as stroppily as big Donna, much to the Doctor’s delight. “How would you meet anybody if you didn’t talk to strangers?”

Donna glanced at the Doctor, who looked ready to burst with laughter. Her eyes narrowed at him before she turned back to her tiny doppelganger.

“Well, you still shouldn’t.”

Little Donna waved her thumb in the direction of the Doctor. “How'd you meet him? Was he a stranger?”

“Well – yes, but that’s not the point. You don’t know if someone’s going to be nice or nasty before you meet them.”

“How are you supposed to find out unless you talk to them?”

Donna looked helplessly at the Doctor again. He shook his head.

“I’d have to say she’s got a point, Nerys.”

“Well, you just be careful,” said Donna finally, tapping her younger self lightly on the nose. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Duh,” said little Donna, folding her arms. The Doctor hid a grin.

“Oi!” said Donna sternly. “Don’t get lippy.” She sighed and rummaged through her basket. “You want a jelly baby?”

“Yup!” rang out two voices.

Donna gave the Doctor an amused look. “Yeah, I had a feeling you might want one too.” She looked at the little girl. “Clean hands, missy?”

The little Donna rolled her eyes and showed her hands, front and back. They were only marginally dirty. Donna smiled, holding out the bag.

“Okay, dive in. Oh, fine, you too, Spaceman.”

Little Donna chose her sweet carefully. “Why d’you call him Spaceman?”

“Er,” said Donna. “Because he’s a bit spacy.” She tapped her head confidentially. “Up here.”

“Thought so,” said the little girl.

“Hey!” said the Doctor indignantly, not sure that he liked having two Donnas ganging up on him. One was enough. He bit into his sweet.

“Oh, yech. Lime.”

“You don’t like lime?” said both Donnas together, staring at him. “It’s my favourite,” said little Donna, sucking on her sweet.

“Yeah,” said Donna, biting into hers. “Mine too.”

Both Donnas grinned at each other, and the Doctor suddenly felt a warm twinge of … something. He didn’t know what.

“Marco in my class takes all my lime ones,” said the small Donna. “He’s a dumbo. He says people with ginger hair are stupid.”

The Doctor felt quite angry on her behalf and suddenly wanted to hug Donna – either of them. Or both.

“You just sock him in the head, sweetie,” said Donna idly through a mouthful, choosing another jelly baby. “S’what I would do.”

“And, moving right along,” said the Doctor, elbowing Donna meaningfully. “It was nice meeting you, Donna,” he continued.

“Yeah,” said Donna, smiling at the little girl and letting the Doctor lift the heavy basket from her arms as they turned to go.

“Are you married?”

“What?” said the Doctor and Donna together, swivelling back to stare at little Donna, before looking up at each other. The Doctor cleared his throat. “Um, no. We’re not married.”

The small girl nodded and turned to Donna.

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Why'd you say that? We’re not a couple,” said Donna, staring herself in the eyes.

Little Donna shrugged.

“You looked like you were. Oh well. Just asking.”

* * *

“You okay?” said the Doctor, eyeing Donna.

She turned around and looked back, but little Donna had already disappeared into the crowd of children. She turned back.

“Yeah, I think so. That was – weird. Weird nice, though. I don’t remember that. Well, I suppose I was only little, so I’d hardly remember it. It didn’t really feel like I was talking to myself. Although at the same time it did.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed, thinking back over the times he’d met various incarnations of himself.

“Probably if I did feel like I was talking to myself you’d have institutionalised me by now.”

He chuckled.

“I liked talking to you – her – too.”

Donna smiled ruefully.

“God, I had a gob back then, though, didn’t I?”

“Still do.”

“Oi!” She elbowed him.

He laughed, looking down at her as she walked beside him, curly red hair bouncing in the sun. He felt that surging twinge again.

“You’d be a good mother, you know.”

“What?” she said, smiling. “Steady on, where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. Just watching both of you together. It was like seeing what your daughter would be like. A little Donna. Red curls, freckles, blue eyes, cute. A lot of attitude.”

She laughed, long and raucous. “Yeah, well,” she said with a grin as her mirth died down. “Just have to find a bloke first. Then I’ll see about starting on making a little Donna.”

He scuffed a stone in the pavement with the toe of his sneaker.

“So you want kids, some day?”

“Some day, yeah. Before I get past the point where I can have them.”

“Don’t worry, that won’t be for a while.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I’m a Time Lord, Donna … just leave it at that.”

“I think I’m slightly embarrassed now.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, it’s just biology. Anyway, your clock is still well and truly ticking.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks – I think. Good to know I’ve still got time to find someone.”

“So, er – when do you think that would be?”

“Why? Getting sick of me?” she teased.

“No, I’d just – if you left … I’d really, really miss you.”

She looked at him curiously. His head was down, and he looked dejected.

“Doctor, I don’t want to leave you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah …”

He put down the shopping basket and fished silently in his pocket for the TARDIS key. She watched him unlock the door and carry the basket in, propping the door open with his foot for her. He placed the basket on the floor and went straight to the console.

“Everyone thinks we’re a couple,” mused Donna, closing the door behind her.

The Doctor looked up at her, his expression unreadable. He looked back down, fiddling with some controls.

“And I really mean, everyone," she went on.

Still he didn’t say anything.

Donna wandered over to the jump seat. “Even that little me thought we were a couple.”

The Doctor suddenly turned and looked directly at Donna.

“Do you?”

She blinked and swallowed. “Do I what?”

“Do you think we’re a couple?” he repeated.

She stared at him. “Do you mean me me, or mini-me?”

“You you.”

“I hadn’t really … thought about it,” she said slowly.

He turned back towards the console. Donna felt confusion and hope spring up in equal amounts. She squashed the hopeful part carefully down.

“You said to me, Doctor, when I started travelling with you again. You said you were just looking for a mate. Just a friend, nothing more.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that I … I didn’t realise that you …”

He was still looking down. “Why would you?”

“But what if I felt –”

He turned around at that, his eyes trained on her as she stood up and walked across the platform to where he stood, his hands in his pockets as he swallowed rapidly.

“Doctor?” she said. It came out as a whisper.

“Yes?” he replied softly, looking down at her.

“She was right about us, wasn’t she? That little Donna in the playground? Because … because she's me.”

He exhaled fully and before Donna knew it they were wrapped in each other’s arms, his lips crushing hers.

* * *

They drew back a little, beaming at each other.

“You know,” began the Doctor nonchalantly, looking up at the TARDIS. “I did think it was a bit strange that we happened to land right in your old neighbourhood, right next to the park where you were playing …”

Donna caught on and guffawed. “Ooh-hoo! The old girl playing matchmaker, is she?”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. Never worked before, though.”

“And why’s that?”

He leaned in for another kiss. From the look on his face, she thought she already knew the answer.

A Stitch In Time (4/4)

2008-11-04T23:29:22Z

Title: A Stitch In Time
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: The Doctor has found rather an unusual way to keep Donna with him.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Donna wandered into the console room. “Oh, there you are,” she said, spotting the red of the Doctor's sneakers poking out from where he was lying spread-eagled under the platform. “No wonder I didn’t see you before. So, how’s my favourite Time Lord today, then?”

“Splendiferous,” said the Doctor, sitting up and waving a tool in each hand. “How’s my favourite mutant?”

“Oi! Stop calling me that! I’ve been warning you about it for months. Yeah, yeah, I’m apparently like you now, if my freakish self-healing abilities are anything to go by, and we still have to tell my mother about that, by the way. And she’s not going to be happy about it. But call me mutant again and I’ll mutate you.”

“Well, it’s either mutant or Venusian, Donna. Take your pick.”

“Grrr, you’re impossible.”

“Literally,” he shot back. “As are you.”

He grinned, and despite her annoyance she couldn’t help grinning back.

“Fine, you can tell my mother.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Too late,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Aw.”

Donna smiled beatifically.

“About your … thingness, though,” went on the Doctor, gesturing his arms in her direction. “I had a thought.”

“Shock horror.”

“Do you remember ages ago when I asked you about all this, what you said about the pumpkin coach and the ring?”

“What? Vaguely, I was only joking around, you plum.” Still, her heart quickened.

“I know that. Give me some credit. But I was working down here this morning and I found something, I thought you might like to have it.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “What is it? And it better not be a pumpkin. I know you and your zany ideas about gifts. Let’s not have a repeat of the dodo incident, yeah?”

But he was already opening an empty jam jar and rummaging through it.

“This,” he said shyly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, feeling her heart constrict when she saw what he was holding out delicately between finger and thumb. “You kept it? All this time?”

“Yep. Well, sort of. Well, I knew I had it somewhere. Well, I have a whole box of them. This one might be the one I gave you. I think.”

Donna sank down on the platform above him and eyed the proffered biodamper.

“How very sentimental of you.” Her tone was wry.

“Hey, I can do sentiment! Really good proper sentiment, too.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure.”

A couple of minutes later, the TARDIS doors opened to the fading sound of the dematerialisation sequence. Donna stepped out in confusion.

“Where are – oh!”

The Doctor grinned as recognition dawned on Donna. They had been here once, a long time ago. Only, then it had been daylight and he had been rather preoccupied with a fire extinguisher. Now it was nighttime, and London was strewn with glittering lights.

“Christmas morning,” he said, leaning against the door of the TARDIS, arms folded. “The day after we met. Same rooftop where we landed after you jumped – quite literally – into my arms. Sentimental enough for you?” he teased.

“All very well if you have a time machine,” she said, but was unable to hide her beam of delight. He smiled back broadly.

“Thank you,” she admitted.

“You’re welcome … And?”

“And, you can do really good proper sentiment too.”

“Ha! Told you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go spoiling it now or anything by being a git about it,” she warned, and he looked suitably chastened. She looked around at the rooftop again. “Just one day later,” she marvelled. “God, it’s all exactly the same. This is – surreal, that’s what this is.”

She walked to the edge and sat down in the same place as she had done ages ago – or a day ago, whichever it was. The Doctor came to sit down behind her and Donna felt his arms wrap warmly around her, his head coming to rest on her shoulder.

They were silent for a while, watching the glowing lights.

“I’m out there right now, you know,” said Donna eventually. “I’m out there and I’m so unhappy. And at the same time I’m up here and I’m happier than I could have imagined. That’s too weird. All that time when I was crying over losing Lance and leaving you, I was up here too. Well, I am up here, I mean. Well, the me that was doesn’t know. About the me that is. Well, you know what I mean.”

“I know.”

Silence fell upon them again.

“So …” murmured the Doctor in her ear. “You’re out there crying about me?”

Donna whacked him lightly.

“A bit, yeah. Mind you, I was emotional about everything that day. Which is today, I mean. You don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said seriously. He reached around and laced her fingers between his, bringing their hands to rest together on her lap.

“Oh!” Donna suddenly blurted out. “Go on, you’ve got to say it.” She elbowed him enthustiastically in the ribs. “Since we’re here and everything.”

“Oof. Say what?”

“You know, what you said last time. With the biodamper. Renewing our ‘vows’, so to speak.”

He laughed fondly and kissed her cheek, his arms tightening around her. “All right, then.”

She wriggled around to face him. Her blue eyes met his brown eyes, both pairs equally dark in the night air.

The Doctor cleared his throat, a little nervously. “Ready?”

She grinned and nodded. “Definitely.”

“With this ring, then, Donna Noble ...” he began, a lopsided grin spreading on his face as she felt the cool metal of the biodamper slipping over her finger, “… I thee wed.”

She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head.

“That wasn’t what you said last time. You just said wed instead of biodamp, you pillock.”

His gaze was intense.

“I know.”

* * *

The lights of London twinkled. A breeze gusted.

Donna’s hair whipped across the Doctor’s face as they parted shakily from their embrace, his arms gripping hers; her legs curled practically in his lap.

“You didn’t do that last time either,” gasped the Doctor, a dazed smile plastered across his face and his hair impossibly more rumpled than usual.

“Yeah, well,” panted Donna. “I was in more of a slapping mood back then, wasn’t I?”

“And now?”

“To be honest?”

“Yeah.”

“Completely honest?” she murmured against his mouth.

“Mmm-hmm?” His voice rumbled deeply through her.

“I’m in the mood for hot chocolate. It’s bloody freezing out here.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you said that. I can’t feel my feet.” He wiggled his sneakers fitfully. “Back to the TARDIS? Hot chocolate? Toast? A fire, definitely. And, um …”

He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and looking anywhere and everywhere except at Donna. She grinned at his shyness and practically yanked him to his feet.

“Allons-y, Spaceman.”

A Stitch In Time (3/4)

2008-11-04T13:43:17Z

Title: A Stitch In Time
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: The Doctor has found rather an unusual way to keep Donna with him. This fic just keeps multiplying! Blame D & D, they're rather chatty ;)

Part 1
Part 2

Donna held the pad of gauze to her arm, scowling.

“Some so-called doctor you are.”

The Doctor winced as he threw the used syringe into the bin. “I'm sorry.”

“I accidentally trod on a hedgehog once – a really needly hedgehog, and it didn’t make me bleed as much as this. Where exactly did you get your doctor’s degree? I use that term very loosely, by the way.”

“Is it really all that important?”

“Tell me!”

“Stop squawking!”

Her eyebrows shot up and his hands came up almost at the same time, defensively.

“Now, I didn’t mean that ...”

“You better bloody hope you didn’t!”

“So, the degree?” he said, hastily changing the subject. “Well, I … well, I, er … haven’t exactly sort of ever gotten around to getting one. Kind of.”

“You’re joking! In all your nine hundred years? Oh, that’s incredibly reassuring. I’m surprised no one’s sued you for malpractice. You’re lucky.”

“I am,” said the Doctor simply, but the frankness of his look gave her the very distinct impression that he wasn’t just referring to a medical licence. She felt butterflies cluster pleasantly in her stomach as he hoisted himself up beside her on the high bed.

“Anyway, so that’s that,” he said, removing her hand from the gauze and checking the bandage. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he had a similar patch taped over his own arm, covering the skin where he’d drawn his blood before sending it whizzing through a series of machines.

Donna looked surprised. “Really? All done? Stardust flowing, and everything?”

He frowned and bleeped her chest with a small device, inspecting the numbers appearing on the screen. A relieved smile relaxed his face.

“Stardust flowing.” He looked at her carefully. “How do you feel?”

She considered. “Just the same, really,” she said, shrugging. “Why? Should I be looking all sparkly or something?”

“You’ve never needed stardust to make you look sparkly, Donna.”

She laughed, suddenly giddy about her new physiology. “I honestly can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this. This is mental.”

“I can’t believe it either,” said the Doctor, his grin ridiculously wide.

“You do realise you’re stuck with me forever now, don’t you? Sorry you went through with it?”

“Donna, in case you hadn’t realised, I’m slightly ecstatic about being stuck with you forever.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “You really missed the boat on the whole Time Lord essence stuff though. I mean, I know I was only kidding, but think about it. Immortality in a bottle. It would have sold gallons.”

“No,” said the Doctor. “It wouldn’t work with anyone else.”

“Why not?” asked Donna curiously.

He didn’t answer, just took off his glasses and folded them neatly on the pillow before shifting closer towards her. The way he was looking at her was making the butterflies in her stomach perform complicated, medal-winning acrobatics. His knee bumped hers, and the butterflies shot straight up her spine in a flurry.

By the time one of the Doctor’s hands had moved to cradle her neck, and the other had found its way to the small of her back, and his lips had met hers – yielding and melding softly – Donna had completely forgotten about her sore arm.

They broke apart only for air, breathing deeply as they eyed each other.

"Well," said Donna, lost for words.

"Well," agreed the Doctor, his lips curving into a grin.

Donna poked his stomach. “Was that – what you just did – was that some sort of Time Lord medical procedure or something? To get the antibodies working? Is that why this can’t work for anyone else?”

The Doctor enfolded Donna tightly in his arms.

“No. The antibodies can only work for you, Donna, because … there isn’t anybody else who I would even consider giving a part of me to.”

Her butterflies took flight again, and this time she was the one who kissed him.

Part 4

A Stitch In Time (2/4)

2008-11-04T01:39:42Z

Title: A Stitch In Time
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: The Doctor has a crazy idea that might just work. Donna isn't so sure.

Part 1 here

Donna followed the Doctor down the corridor towards the medical bay.

“This isn’t going to turn me into a Time Lord, is it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.”

“Oi! What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, it's just the whole two hearts thing – it would be so confusing.”

He didn't miss a beat.

“All the more to love you with.”

“See, and I just knew you were going to say that. I’ve been waiting for you to come out with that for ages. It has to be some sort of Time Lord pick up line.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve never used it before.”

He didn’t turn around, but Donna could hear a smile in his voice. She didn’t know quite what to say in reply, and opted for a safer topic.

“Yeah, yeah, all right. Speaking of Time Lord anatomy, how are you going to get the energy stuff in me? You’re not going to have to cut me up and stitch me back together, are you?”

“Nope. An injection of antibodies. Out of me, into you.”

“Really? It’s just – antibodies?”

“Yup. Why, what did you think it would be?”

“I don’t know, something more high tech like those Huon particles. I didn’t know it was just antibodies. Hmm. Essence of Time Lord. You could stand to make millions. Actually, never mind doing this to me, let’s go into business.”

He chuckled.

“Seriously,” said Donna, quickening her footsteps a little to match his. “Return of the Noble Corporation PLC Limited.”

“What, with Mrs Noble and Doctor Noble?” he said, laughing so hard that he began to cough. She banged him on the back.

“Well, I am the best temp in Chiswick. I’d be in charge of the whole operation, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agreed, the laughter still creasing his face.

They were nearly at the medical bay.

“So, how’s this going to work, then?” said Donna, feeling suddenly nervous.

“Like I said. Antibodies.”

“Yeah, but like how, dumbo? Biologically speaking?”

He turned for a moment and grinned at her.

“So enquiring. I’ll make a scientist of you yet.”

“Shut up and just tell me, Martian.”

“You know, we really need to work on a name for you too. What about Venusian? I like that. Ven-u-sian. They’d practically worship you on Venus. They love red hair.”

He gave Donna an admiring glance (not just her hair, either, she noticed) and secretly she felt flattered.

“Stop getting off the subject. Is it going to be like where I’ll have to be on drugs the rest of my life to stop the transplant from going rotten?”

“No! These won’t do anything nasty like that. They’re, well, they’re a biological derivative of stardust, really.”

“I’m going to have stardust in me?”

“A derivative.” He looked at her curiously. “Why? Does that bother you?”

A slow smile spread across her face, and her eyes lit up with the wonderous look he so loved.

“Not at all. I just can’t believe it. Having stardust running through your veins, that’s just … it’s just …”

He grinned and went on.

“The antibodies inhibit the aging process, basically. As long as you have them, they’ll make you exceptionally long-lived. Forever, even. And the more you have, your body can actually use them to regenerate. Simple.”

“I see,” said Donna.

“Of course when you regenerate it uses up a lot of antibodies. I don’t actually have all that many left.”

“And after this you won’t have enough to be able to regenerate any more.” Donna felt suddenly sad for him. “Doctor, are you completely, one hundred percent sure about this? You won’t regret it, will you?”

He turned again and looked at her with soft eyes, drawing her into a sudden hug outside the medical bay door. “Completely sure.”

Part 3

A Stitch In Time (1/4)

2008-11-03T12:49:23Z

Title: A Stitch In Time
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna

Summary: The Doctor has a crazy idea that might just work. Donna isn't so sure.

Two hours. Two ruddy hours wandering the TARDIS before Donna finally found him. In the conservatoire. She hadn’t even known he had a conservatoire. The Doctor looked up briefly as she entered, but turned away again, moodily plonking random notes on a ridiculously ornate piano.

“You play?” she asked cheerily, ignoring his obvious black mood and gesturing to the seat beside him. “Budge up, Spaceman. Even with your skinny little behind there probably isn’t enough room on this seat for the two of us.”

He managed to crack a wry smile as he shifted. Donna squeezed up next to him.

“So, what is it?” she said, wincing as he hit a particularly splodgy chord.

“What’s what?”

“This.” She waved her hands over his face. “You, being all Mr Gloom.”

He sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah right. Last time you looked like this … actually, I don’t think I’ve seen you look like this. And that includes the time when the TARDIS locked you out for getting jam in the control circuit.”

The Doctor looked down at Donna. His eyes were so mournful that her first instinct was to hug him tight. So she did. He seemed glad of it, and nestled into her shoulder.

“So, you want to talk, then?” said Donna, her voice muffled in his collar.

There was a pause.

“Maybe,” said an equally muffled voice.

They sat holding each other for a moment longer.

“Now?” suggested Donna.

“In a minute. I just like the smell of your hair,” said the Doctor, showing no signs of moving.

Donna rolled her eyes but permitted herself a grin. “Thanks, Timeboy. I think.”

Eventually he drew back and gave her a sincere but serious smile.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“No problemo.” She smoothed down his tie. “God, you’re like a puppy, you know?”

He tugged on his ear and looked bashful. “You give good hugs.”

“Is that what this is all about? Look all mopey and hangdog just so I’ll hug you?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

In the moment that followed, it looked like the Doctor was having some sort of internal fight, judging by the grimace on his face. Whether he was fighting to admit something to himself or fighting whether to tell her, Donna wasn’t sure. Finally he looked up.

“Donna, I don’t want to change.”

“Well, I don’t want you to change either.”

“But what if I do?”

“Why would you?” asked Donna, confused.

* * *

“Rightio then,” breathed Donna, slightly slackjawed. “You’re telling me you might EXPLODE and change into SOMEONE ELSE at ANY TIME?”

The Doctor frowned. “Well, I didn’t put it quite like that.”

“So when exactly were you planning on telling me this? Or were you going to waltz into the bathroom like you do – without knocking, I might add – looking like someone completely different and making me clock you over the head with my hairdryer thinking you were an insane alien invader or something?”

“Noooo,” said the Doctor unconvincingly.

Donna took a deep breath. “But you’re saying now you don’t want to … what’s the word? Regenerate? After having already done it how many times?”

“Nine,” said the Doctor without blinking.

“NINE? How old exactly are you?”

“Ninehundredandthree.”

“NINE HUNDRED AND FLIPPING THREE?”

“Stop shouting!”

“I’ll bloody well shout if I want! I think I deserve to be shouting a bit at you right now, quite frankly! ESPECIALLY as you forgot what today is, which is why I was looking for you in the first place! For TWO HOURS!”

“Donna, STOP IT!”

There was a silence, during which a tear ran unchecked down Donna’s nose. The Doctor looked stricken.

“Um … what’s today again? Is it your birthday?”

Donna shook her head.

“Half birthday?” he tried again.

A sniffle.

“Quarter birthday?”

“If your next words are going to be 'eighth birthday', you can stop right there. I’m a human, Doctor, not a bloody ten thousand year old Time Lord.”

She wiped her eyes and looked at him angrily, but he just stared at his hands.

“Oh,” he said. “I do know what today is.”

“Yeah,” said Donna shakily, wiping away a few more tears.

“Come here,” said the Doctor quietly, putting an arm around Donna and pulling her against him until her head was settled on his shoulder. She reached out and plonked his splodgy chord, and felt him trying unsuccessfully not to smile above her. Well, at least she’d cheered him up, even if she felt like complete crap.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” she said. “I don’t even know why I care, really.”

“I’m a Time Lord, Donna,” he said gently. “I do know what day it is. And you’re right. One year since we started travelling together, isn’t it? Properly travelling, I mean.”

“Happy anniversary,” said Donna with a humourless chuckle. There was a pause. “It’s a long time,” she went on. “For me, anyway. I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much if you’re nine hundred.”

His arm tightened around her. “Of course it matters. You … you matter.”

“Yeah, ta.”

“No, I mean it,” he said earnestly. “In fact …”

* * *

“NO! I won’t let you do it,” exclaimed Donna. “Are you crazy? Getting rid of your last regeneration by giving the energy to ME? That’s like … like future Time Lord suicide, isn’t it? And as for doing THAT to me, I can’t even begin to imagine how you got the idea. Or the blinking NERVE to suggest it. And how would you even DO it?”

“Don’t you understand, Donna?” said the Doctor wildly, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t WANT to regenerate again. I like how I am right now. Do you want me to change? I mean, I’m a bit skinny and I know I talk a lot sometimes and …”

“No, of course I don’t want you to change,” conceded Donna, gripping his hands. “I love you just like this.”

They both froze and stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Um … as … as my best friend, of course,” Donna floundered. “That’s what I mean.”

“Mmph,” agreed the Doctor vaguely, still staring at her. Then he shook his head, as though to clear it. “Even … even so, what if I didn’t end up regenerating, and you just got older?”

“Charmer,” she yelped, hitting him.

“Ow! That’s not what I mean. I don’t want to lose you, Donna. My body doesn’t exactly get older, you know. Not at the same rate as humans, anyway.”

“I don’t want to lose you either, Doctor.”

“You promised me forever, Donna,” he said, taking her by the shoulders.

“Steady on, Spaceman,” said Donna, trying to laugh, though his eyes were too intense for that. “I haven’t even seen a ring and a pumpkin-style coach yet. Immortality seems some steps ahead, doesn’t it?”

But he wasn’t to be deterred. “Did you really mean it? When you said forever. I know what I said just now all sounds completely crazy, but I meant it. I understand if you need time to think about it.”

Donna just stared at him, speechless for once.

“Is that enough time?” said the Doctor, obtuse as always. “So, what do you think?

I'm taking a vote! ;) Does Donna say yay, or nay?
As the vote was an overwhelming yay ... part 2 here!

Detox Round Two

2008-10-10T08:21:01Z

Title: Detox Round Two
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Ten & Donna

Summary: Set after The Unicorn and the Wasp. “You haven’t been having a lot of luck with wasps lately, have you?” commented the Doctor, reaching over and taking her hand gently in his.
Disclaimer: I own it all. I am also in denial.

“Ow!” exclaimed Donna, whipping her hand up from the grass where she was lying.

“What is it? What?” said the Doctor, sitting bolt upright. His eyes flew from side to side in search of signs of danger.

“Wasp,” replied Donna, waggling her finger vigorously. Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away.

“You haven’t been having a lot of luck with wasps lately, have you?” commented the Doctor, reaching over and taking her hand gently in his.

“Tactful as always,” she half snorted, half sniffled.

“Sorry,” he said, examining her hand. “No, not a wasp. I think it’s a bee – I can see the sting. Hold on.”

Donna squeezed her eyes shut. A few seconds later she felt the pinch of the Doctor’s fingers and a small pin-prick of pain accompanied by a triumphant “Ha, got it!”

“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled, opening her eyes but not daring to speak because she could tell she was going to cry if she did. She could already feel a tear rolling down her face.

The Doctor looked at her in surprise, tossing away the sting and gently massaging her finger. “It’s only a sting, Donna. It’s not dangerous or anything. Won’t turn you into a … a bee zombie. Well, not on this planet.”

She tried to laugh but to her absolute shame the mere action prompted a flood of tears. The Doctor stared at her, but to her relief he said nothing, simply pulling her into a close hug as she sobbed.

“It’s not just the sting, is it?” she heard him murmur into her hair, and she shook her head into his coat. He didn’t say anything for a while, just made soothing noises and stroked her hair tentatively. Donna supposed she ought to feel embarrassed, but he didn’t seem to mind so she relinquished herself to the comfort of his embrace.

After a while her sobs eased into sniffles. The Doctor planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before drawing back a little to look at her.

“All good?”

Donna nodded. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

He eyed her. “You’ve been having dreams about it, haven’t you? The Vespiform.”

“What if I have?” said Donna, giving the Doctor a watery smile. “They’re just dreams.”

He didn’t buy it, she could tell.

“How long for?”

“Couple of weeks. Really, it's nothing. So where are we going next? You want to get ice cream? I really fancy some pistachio.”

But he wasn't going to be put off that easily.

“Dreams can be very real. That Vespiform would be more than enough to give anyone nightmares. You know, you were incredibly brave, Donna. So very brave.” She could hear the pride bubbling up deep in his chest, but she still felt so powerless.

“You didn’t get nightmares though, did you?”

“Well, no, but –”

“See?” she said. To avoid looking at him she picked up a corner of his coat and began wiping her eyes with it. She heard him take a deep breath.

“Sometimes …. sometimes I have other nightmares,” he said in a low voice. “Sometimes I live nightmares.”

The bitterness in his voice made Donna look up, but he wasn’t looking at her any more. His jaw was clenched and he was looking at the opposite hill. Donna knew he wasn’t really seeing it, though. Suddenly her own problems seemed insignificant to whatever his might be. Instinctively she dropped the coat and wriggled back to sit beside the Doctor, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing her hand reassuringly up and down his back. He let out a heavy sigh, snapping out of his daze.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Donna. “And you know, if you need to talk about … about anything, I’m always here. Anything at all. Any time.”

He tilted his head down and studied her with curiosity.

“You really are amazing,” he blurted out so genuinely that she blushed, but she held his gaze as her hand continued to rub comforting circles on his back.

“Aiming to amaze, that’s us humans for you.”

He grinned. “I wasn’t talking about humans. I mean, as a species you are amazing, of course. But I meant you.” Donna didn’t quite understand his tone, but before she could analyse it, her injured hand was taken back in his.

“Now,” said the Doctor lightly, lifting her finger up to his eye and peering close. “Doesn’t look like any harm done. But better safe than sorry.”

He brought her finger to his lips. Donna smiled warmly through the remnants of her tears as he placed a feather light kiss on the very tip.

She barely managed to suppress a gasp, though, as he followed that by slipping her finger into his mouth and sucking; the moist, warm pressure of his lips and tongue quelling the stab of the sting. She felt suddenly unsure, wanting to look away but not able to tear her eyes from the sight before her.

The Doctor’s eyes lifted under his long lashes. As his eyes met hers, his lips slowed to a stop. Her finger popped out of his mouth and her hand dropped with his as Donna gazed at her finger, then dragged her eyes back to the Doctor, her lips parted in shock. Her eyes asking silent, confused questions.

“Just … getting rid of any venom,” said the Doctor haltingly, his lips flushed red.

“Yes,” said Donna automatically, staring into those very brown eyes, fixed equally intently on her.

He swallowed, his lips moving wordlessly.

“Okay then,” said Donna.

“Right. Good,” said the Doctor.

“Right,” she repeated.

They both looked back down at her hand.

“Better?” Donna heard him murmur. Very close now.

“Much,” she breathed.

Bridget & Hamlet

2008-09-22T12:37:53Z

Title: Bridget & Hamlet
Rating: G
Characters: Ten & Donna

Summary: For the Relaxation prompt: The Doctor and Donna spend a day curled up reading books to each other.
Disclaimer: Very random conversation ensues ...

“I don’t care what you say, Donna. I am not Bridget Jones.”

“Except that you are.”

“Except I’m not.”

“So are.”

“So not!”

“Doctor, just hurry up and accept your Bridgetness so I can get on with my book.”

“I don’t have to accept it at all. In fact, I refute it.”

“Whatever you like.”

“All right. Just out of curiosity, and I know I might regret this. How am I Bridget?”

“Ha, knew you’d ask. Well, this bit, for instance: ‘Obsess about Daniel Cleaver as pathetic to have a crush on boss in manner of Miss Moneypenny or similar’.”

“Donna, you do realise you’re not my boss?”

“That’s debatable.”

“And I completely and utterly don’t have a crush on you.”

“Again, debatable. Cause why else does everyone keep calling us a couple? Old Toga-britches, Creepy Ood Lady, even bleeding Agatha Christie – you must be giving off some sort of signals, because I sure as hell am not, mister.”

“Rubbish. Couple just means two people, Donna.”

“In case you didn’t realise, Doctor, “couple” means “shagging like rabbits” and not just on Earth; it’s like, the universal definition of couple on every planet we’ve been to.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Well, duh. I mean, you are pretty skinny. Maybe some people see you, a Time Lord, and think, rabbit.”

“Thanks very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Let me see that book. Well, what about this one? ‘Make better use of time’. That's hardly me, is it? I’m a Time Lord, how can I possibly make better use of time?”

“You really want to know how? Well you can start by not letting my toast burn while you’re messaging Jack on Facebook.”

“Fine. From now on you can make your own toast.”

“Naw. I don’t want to deprive you of your little ways of showing your crush on me, loverboy.”

“Loverboy? Tell me why I keep putting up with you, again?”

“Because I’m your twenty-four-seven hug provider.”

“That’s true. Toast service reinstated.”

“Mind you I say twenty-four-seven. Though if you come in demanding a hug while I’m asleep again, you die.”

“Duly noted.”

“Thank you. And oh look, this is just you all over. ‘Not go out every night but stay in and read books and listen to classical music.’ Doth I see Hamlet perch-ed there on your knee, milord?”

“That doesn’t count, you’re reading too!”

“Yeah. But – and this is a big but – I don’t have an ORGAN in my spaceship that rises through the FLOOR and I don’t go and hunch over it insanely like I’m bloody Beethoven. And while I think of it your organ sounds really horrible, you need to get it tuned. I can practically feel the TARDIS cringing while you’re playing.”

“She does not! She likes it!”

“Then why does a great big pair of earmuffs appear on my bedside table whenever you’re getting stuck into it?”

“Does she seriously do that? Oh fine, I’m getting a new TARDIS. Did you hear that, you cantankerous scrapheap? Yeah, and I meant it too. One who likes my genius.”

“You really are delusional. Especially if you think she’ll leave a mint on your pillow tonight now."

“You’re just jealous of my talent. Wait, she leaves mints on your pillow?”

“Never mind that, listen to this. Page 92 if you’re interested. ‘Suddenly realise hair is drying in weird shape. Search for hairbrush. Locate in handbag.’ Do you even have a handbag? Oh, I suppose there are some in the wardrobe room, that counts. All right, ‘Locate in handbag. Blow-dry hair. Will not go right. Spray with plant spray and blow some more’.”

“I only used plant spray ONCE and that was because it said on the bottle that it was very vitaminey and luscious-making.”

“Repeat after me, Doctor. My hair is not a plant.”

“Myhairisnotaplant.”

“Very good. Now, what about this: ‘Behave sluttishly around the house, but instead imagine others are watching’.”

“No. NO. I mean, just – no. When have I EVER done that? Owch, I’m getting a migrane. Can we stop this now? At least tell me you’ve noticed I’m not a girl. Bridget is most definitely a girl.”

“I’m not saying you’re a girl. I’m just saying you spend a hell of a lot of time gelling your hair, that’s all.”

“Speaks the one who can’t ever step outside the door without perfectly straightened hair, regardless of what planet we’ve landed on.”

“Hair which I straightened with your straightener. Were you a barber in a past regeneration or something?”

“The Gleepgloks don’t even have hair, Donna. They didn’t care if your hair was perfect or not. I honestly didn’t want to have to tell you this, but – oh well, I’m going to anyway. You know when they encircled you, bowing in awe at your hair?”

“Hell yes. They seriously were in awe, weren’t they? Bless their little shiny conical scalps. They know a good head of hair when they see it. That’s it, stroke it and weep, Waxhead.”

“They thought your head was on fire.”

“WHAT?”

“And they were trying to put it out by waving at it. Like I said, I didn’t want to have to bring this up.”

“And yet, you just did.”

“Yup. Well you did call me Waxhead.”

“One, get your hand off my hair. Two, take that smirk off your face right now. Or I’ll take both hand and smirk off for you.”

“Nope, I’m enjoying myself. And come to think of it, if I’m Bridget, you’re Hamlet.”

“That is just ridiculous.”

“Picture this, Donna. It shouldn’t be hard, you do it every morning. You enter the room in one pair of shoes. Halfway through breakfast you disappear and come back in another pair of shoes. Sometimes you’ve added a hat. Then after breakfast you go and come back in another pair of shoes and usually carrying some sort of handbag. Often there’s a can of mace in it, or your pink lady taser. Now tell me this isn’t you: ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’.”

“Total, total crap.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“Give me that book!”

“Careful, it’s an original! You’re getting Curly Wurly on the pages.”

“So? Pop back a few centuries and get him to dash you off another one. All right, then, how about this? ‘The time is out of joint; O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!’ If that’s not you I’ll eat my hat.”

“I'm saddened.”

“Ha.”

“I'm saddened because I actually wanted to see you eat that hat. But it isn’t to be, given that I suggested that line to Will in the first place …”

“You didn’t! Seriously? Now you're just name dropping.”

“You did ask. ‘The rest is silence’. Precious little chance of that with you around. Can I please get back to my book? Please?”

“Fat chance, Bridget. We’re just getting started. Here’s a good one: ‘Learn to programme video’.”

“All right, you want me to say it? I can’t actually programme a video.”

“What you mean to say is that, despite all your technical whizbangery and Time Lordness, you can’t programme a video.”

“Yeah, that. Happy now?”

“A little, now you’ve actually admitted it. I’d be a lot happier if you could take us back in time to stop yourself recording over the tape of me coming in third in the chariot race.”

“No can do. No crossing personal timelines.”

“If Keanu Reeves can do it …”

“Firstly, that was fictional. Secondly, if you’re talking about that Bill and Ted movie, the writer completely stole their idea of time travel from me. Dumbed down to the ten billionth, I might add. Last time I take him for a ride in the TARDIS.”

“I know. I just wanted to bring it up to see you do that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you’re doing right now. Which brings us to: ‘Get annoyed with Mum, Una Alconbury or Perpetua’.”

“Aw, really? I don’t get annoyed with your mum, Donna. She’s … nice.”

“Sure. Last time we went home you didn’t look too pleased when she insisted on washing your darks.”

“Did I not look pleased? I thought I was doing a good job of looking pleased.”

“Not in my fuzzy pink bathrobe, no.”

“Is it my fault she practically ripped my suit off me where I stood? You have to admit it was a bit humiliating for me, Donna.”

“Was it her fault you were dripping slime all over the nice cream couch? Anyway, you really need to look around the wardrobe room for something else to wear. Otherwise, and I quote: ‘Give all clothes which have not worn for two years or more to homeless’.”

“Where does it say that?”

“Right here.”

“But it’s on the ‘I Will’ list. I’m not giving my clothes away. Ergo, I’m not Bridget.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the book, Doctor. The ‘I Will’ list is really the ‘I Won’t’ list.”

“What? Why? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone write the opposite of what they mean?”

“You know what? I take it back, Doctor. You’re not Bridget after all.”

“Really? Brilliant! Told you. Hey, where are you going? It’s a lot less comfy here without you to lean on.”

“Boo hoo. I’m off to get my copy of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. And you’re going to read it thoroughly, spaceman. And perhaps memorise it. And while I’m gone you can get yourself up and make me some toast.”

“Okay. Maybe after a tiny little snooze, for my headache ...”

“Pronto!”

“I’m going, I’m going!”