I Want to Hold Your....No I Don't
Title: I Want to Hold Your....No I Don't
Summary: Well if I gave you the prompt word that would give it away a bit, wouldn't it? ;)
Rating: PG(13, but only if you're Amish or something) for implication
Notes: Written for the lovely, and currently ill, katherine_b
“So this is why you don't land on Sundays, is it?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“I thought it was because Sundays are boring.”
“Well....” He drew out the word and cocked his head. “Yes, that too.”
“But you're....Doctor, sometimes you make no sense.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Good point,” Donna muttered. She sighed heavily then rolled her eyes and turned to leave. “All right, I might as well join you. Nothing better to do.”
“Don't be too long!” the Doctor called as his pants slipped out of his hands. He quickly grabbed them off the floor, rolling them into a ball. “If we take all day the TARDIS will get too warm!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Donna yelled back. “I only need five minutes, so hush!”
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Exactly five minutes later Donna walked back in, hopping on one foot as she took off her other sock. “There, I'm ready. So how does this work?”
“About the same way as on Earth,” the Doctor said with a shrug. “Why would it be different?”
Donna shrugged back at him. “You're the Martian, you tell me,” she said with a grin, and dropped her clothes in a pile beside his. “So....I'm ready when you are.”
“Perfect,” the Doctor replied, grinning back. “Oh, I guess there is one thing I should mention....”
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“Please don't kill me,” he said twenty minutes later, once they were both covered in blue slime and had to scrape the soap off their arms in order to have enough to actually wash their clothes. She continued to glare at him, which looked even more frightening considering that her hair was now purple. It looked like she was about to explode, some of the gel on her head having turned to suds from when she had tried to get it out. He stared at her and gulped, backing away slightly. “I didn't know this was your last set of clean things, I promise.”
“Run,” she said simply. “You have exactly two minutes, and if you come anywhere near me between then and when I've something else to wear I'll....I'll....”
He realized she couldn't think of anything suitably frightening and smiled. “You'll what?”
“I'll dye your hair,” she said finally, and when he didn't look scared she added, “Gray.”
“Anything you say!” he said, and dashed out of the room as fast as he could go. “Bye!”
Donna just shook her head and slammed the door closed as she slid off her sticky shirt. She laughed as the lock clicked after a moment and looked up at the ceiling. “You don't trust him either, girl?” she asked, and a strange gurgling noise from the washing machine seemed to confirm her theory. “Yeah, well it's not his fault. He's got the attention span of a five year old who's had too much candy. It doesn't occur to him to ask if I'm decent, the git. At least he knows better than to come into the bathroom in the morning, so I won't completely kill him.”
The washing machine popped open and Donna dropped her clothes in it, then leaned uncomfortably against the wall and waited. “I wonder where he's run off to this time....”
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Two hours later the door unlocked and Donna walked around until she found the Doctor hiding under the console. Of course he claimed he was doing repairs but he'd tucked his whole body under the grating and when he first saw her he'd automatically covered his hair.
They made their way back to the laundry room in mostly silence, although once Donna made a comment about what the Doctor was wearing; since he'd put both his suits in the wash he only had his tux and considering that Donna was now in her pajamas (she planned to have a word with the TARDIS later about why they were dry first) he looked a bit out of place.
A few minutes later they were folding their respective clothes when the Doctor suddenly cleared his throat. “Remember when we got into that soap fight earlier?” he asked nervously.
“You mean when you attacked me and I had to defend myself?” she shot back, picking a loose string off her favorite pants. “Yeah, of course I remember. Why?”
“I think we got things a bit mixed up,” he replied. “Please don't slap me again.”
“What do you mean mixed up?” she asked, turning around. “And why would I-”
Her eyes widened as she saw what the Doctor was holding. “I didn't do it,” he said, holding up his arms in surrender, but considering that the article in question was suspended between his hands it looked....well, a bit awkward. “Might I point out, once again, I didn't do it.”
“Oh, shut up and just give it here, Spaceman,” she muttered. “It was an accident.”
He sighed in relief but dropped the object before he could hand it to her and when he picked it up he looked at her strangely. “You know, I can understand why you'd buy this,” he said. “It's very soft. I really like the bow, though I don't know why it needs it because I've never seen-”
“Hands!” she cried indignantly, and snatched it away from him. He made the mistake of giggling and she slammed the item down on the table, then marched out of the room.
“Donna!” he shouted after her. “Where are you going?”
She whirled around, glaring at him. “To get the hair dye,” she snapped. “I'll teach you to feel up my clothes when I'm not in them!” She suddenly realized what she'd said and her cheeks turned bright red. “Oh, you know what I mean!”