Friends or Strangers Part II - Chapter 4
Title: Friends or Strangers Part II - 4/12
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Characters: Donna, the Doctor (John Smith)
Disclaimer: If the Doctor and Donna were really mine, this story wouldn’t even need to exist!
Spoilers: Up to and including Planet of the Dead
Summary: The Doctor is feeling lonely.
Chapter 3
Donna is definitely different, the Doctor muses as he finishes shaving. Of course, some parts of her - the best parts - haven't changed. She still has her fascination with other people that he loved when they first met, and that undying curiosity, as he knows to his cost. He'd tried to guess what questions she might ask and pre-empt them, but she constantly surprises him with the things she wants to know about him.
And then there's her hair - he can’t honestly deny how much he loves those ginger tresses.
But he can see that the things that once frustrated him so much have greatly reduced. She's far more confident than she was. Not as sure of herself as when she was the DoctorDonna, of course, but so much better than the closed-minded woman who had first appeared on the TARDIS.
There's also the fact that she seems willing to change. He couldn't help expressing his disappointment when he found her stumbling drunkenly out of a bar early one morning, even if he had said very little to her at the time, but since then he's seen how she has reduced the amount she drinks. She's done the same with other activities that he feels were detrimental to her health, and although he's not sure if it was always his influence that caused her to change, he's so pleased by the result that the reason for these changes shouldn't matter to him as much as they do.
And yet - why should he care?
He was puzzled when this question occurred to him, after seeing Donna home the night before, having met her by chance at the market where he's taken to shopping, because it's near the alley where he parks the TARDIS.
Because he's finally eating properly - or at least regularly - again.
Which he hadn't done for some time after leaving Donna behind.
And she'd called him on it after their second or third meeting, suggesting that she thought he was skinny before, but that she was positive he'd lost weight and it wasn't becoming.
And then her cheeks had burned scarlet and she'd avoided his eye for about twenty minutes, which he thought most definitely was becoming.
He has to admit that he loves those moments when he feels an unexpected tap on his shoulder and the sound of her voice as she greets him. It's so much better than those times when he follows her.
Those times are starting to feel very uncomfortable for him.
And it's only during quiet moments like this, as he hurries through the rain-soaked streets to meet Donna at her office, that he wonders why.
Of course, he hates deceiving people, but that never stopped him in the past if it was absolutely necessary.
It just feels different with Donna.
Uncomfortable.
Even more so than it was when he used to do it while she travelled with him.
And he finds himself remembering those times with increasing frequency, not least because so many things that Donna will say or do reminds him of what she was like then.
Reaching the office, he's still thinking about her as he lets himself in through the revolving doors. For a moment, he eyes the splay of his fingers on the silvery metal, remembering when he took Donna's hand for the first time since he got her back.
It wasn't something he'd meant to do, but she had stepped out into the street without paying attention and he grabbed her hand to stop her from moving into the path of a car.
Her fingers curled around his just like they always did.
She'd stopped and looked from their linked hands up into his face, an expression of confusion and surprise obvious in her eyes. He could feel the tension in her arm and was about to let go when the hand in his relaxed and a smile appeared on her face.
From that moment, they had often held hands during their meetings, just as they do as they leave Donna’s office behind them.
And, each time, there's a minuscule instant when she tenses, before relaxing and continuing with whatever conversation they're having at the time.
He knows why, of course.
It's one of those things he couldn't remove, the instinct that connected him taking her hand to them being in a dangerous situation. He can feel the echo of the adrenalin that courses through her when his fingers intertwine with hers - in fact, whenever he touches her.
Like now, as he places a hand on her shoulder to steer her into the bowling alley.
“I should warn you,” Donna says, a wicked twinkle in her eye as she turns to look at him over her shoulder. “I'm very good at this sort of thing.”
“You seem to be very good at most things,” he replies, paying for their entry before Donna can object.
“Flatterer,” she retorts, a smile curling her lips. “And wasn't today supposed to be my treat?”
“It is.” He chuckles. “I'm treating you. Hey,” he objects, letting go of both hands to hold them up innocently in front of him as she takes a step towards him, “I can't help it that you didn't explain exactly what you meant.”
“I'll 'explain' you,” she threatens. “Whatever we do next, I'm paying for. Got it?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he agrees with an awkward salute. “Now, are we going to play?”
“Oh, yes!”
And she grabs his hand and they run through the alley to the lane reserved for them.
This is their eighth proper 'date' and the Doctor is discovering that, while he always enjoys the occasions when he has the chance to see Donna, the planning and organisation that goes into arranging these sorts of meetings is oddly appealing.
Once or twice, he's even used the TARDIS to skip straight from one date to another.
Today, however, isn't going to be up there with his favourite dates, because he's just discovered that he's absolutely rubbish at bowling. More than half the time, his bowling balls end up in the gutter and his mood is heading in the same direction when Donna, probably out of sympathy, suggests they go and do something else.
“Good idea,” he growls, jamming the scorecard as deep into his pocket as he can so that he hopefully won't be able to find it again.
Donna takes his hand and reaches up to brush a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Don't tell me you're a sore loser,” she teases.
“Maybe a bit,” he admits with a shrug, although he can feel the unhappy look fading from his face.
“Well, we'd better find something else to do that you'll be good at to make you feel better,” she says with a laugh. “Any ideas?”
“Dinner first,” he says firmly. “And then we'll make more definite plans.”
She takes his hand as they leave the bowling alley and doesn't let go until he's holding open the door of the restaurant they decided on for dinner.
He wonders if she picked up on just how much it hurt his pride to find something he wasn't good at. However she definitely can't appreciate how annoyed he is to have found something that several of his past regenerations could do, but that he can't. His fifth self, in particular, excelled at it. The Doctor wonders idly if he's still any good at cricket.
“Ooh, I know what we can do after we finish eating,” Donna says suddenly, and he turns his eyes on her.
“Oh, yes,” he says with a smile. “What's that then?”
“That,” she says in triumphant tones, pointing out of the restaurant window at the small fair that has been set up on a vacant block nearby, and the lights of which are clearly visible from their table.
“All right.” He smiles. “We'll see if there's something I can do as well as you.”
He's delighted to find, after their meal, that there is something he can do better than Donna - dodgem cars. Perhaps it's because he's had so much practice with a recalcitrant TARDIS, or maybe it's the very slight use he makes of the sonic screwdriver on the steering mechanism - which definitely isn't cheating! - but he has far better control over his car than Donna does over hers.
And when they finally run out of their allotted time, he's unable to wipe the smug smile completely off his face.
“You've done that before,” she says as they walk away from the noisy ride.
“Well, maybe once or twice,” he admits, adding as he squeezes her fingers, “But it was never as much fun without you.”
And he doesn't mean just the funfair rides.
* * *
Teaser for the next part
He momentarily forgets to breathe as she lowers her head to rest against his shoulder.
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Characters: Donna, the Doctor (John Smith)
Disclaimer: If the Doctor and Donna were really mine, this story wouldn’t even need to exist!
Spoilers: Up to and including Planet of the Dead
Summary: The Doctor is feeling lonely.
Chapter 3
Donna is definitely different, the Doctor muses as he finishes shaving. Of course, some parts of her - the best parts - haven't changed. She still has her fascination with other people that he loved when they first met, and that undying curiosity, as he knows to his cost. He'd tried to guess what questions she might ask and pre-empt them, but she constantly surprises him with the things she wants to know about him.
And then there's her hair - he can’t honestly deny how much he loves those ginger tresses.
But he can see that the things that once frustrated him so much have greatly reduced. She's far more confident than she was. Not as sure of herself as when she was the DoctorDonna, of course, but so much better than the closed-minded woman who had first appeared on the TARDIS.
There's also the fact that she seems willing to change. He couldn't help expressing his disappointment when he found her stumbling drunkenly out of a bar early one morning, even if he had said very little to her at the time, but since then he's seen how she has reduced the amount she drinks. She's done the same with other activities that he feels were detrimental to her health, and although he's not sure if it was always his influence that caused her to change, he's so pleased by the result that the reason for these changes shouldn't matter to him as much as they do.
And yet - why should he care?
He was puzzled when this question occurred to him, after seeing Donna home the night before, having met her by chance at the market where he's taken to shopping, because it's near the alley where he parks the TARDIS.
Because he's finally eating properly - or at least regularly - again.
Which he hadn't done for some time after leaving Donna behind.
And she'd called him on it after their second or third meeting, suggesting that she thought he was skinny before, but that she was positive he'd lost weight and it wasn't becoming.
And then her cheeks had burned scarlet and she'd avoided his eye for about twenty minutes, which he thought most definitely was becoming.
He has to admit that he loves those moments when he feels an unexpected tap on his shoulder and the sound of her voice as she greets him. It's so much better than those times when he follows her.
Those times are starting to feel very uncomfortable for him.
And it's only during quiet moments like this, as he hurries through the rain-soaked streets to meet Donna at her office, that he wonders why.
Of course, he hates deceiving people, but that never stopped him in the past if it was absolutely necessary.
It just feels different with Donna.
Uncomfortable.
Even more so than it was when he used to do it while she travelled with him.
And he finds himself remembering those times with increasing frequency, not least because so many things that Donna will say or do reminds him of what she was like then.
Reaching the office, he's still thinking about her as he lets himself in through the revolving doors. For a moment, he eyes the splay of his fingers on the silvery metal, remembering when he took Donna's hand for the first time since he got her back.
It wasn't something he'd meant to do, but she had stepped out into the street without paying attention and he grabbed her hand to stop her from moving into the path of a car.
Her fingers curled around his just like they always did.
She'd stopped and looked from their linked hands up into his face, an expression of confusion and surprise obvious in her eyes. He could feel the tension in her arm and was about to let go when the hand in his relaxed and a smile appeared on her face.
From that moment, they had often held hands during their meetings, just as they do as they leave Donna’s office behind them.
And, each time, there's a minuscule instant when she tenses, before relaxing and continuing with whatever conversation they're having at the time.
He knows why, of course.
It's one of those things he couldn't remove, the instinct that connected him taking her hand to them being in a dangerous situation. He can feel the echo of the adrenalin that courses through her when his fingers intertwine with hers - in fact, whenever he touches her.
Like now, as he places a hand on her shoulder to steer her into the bowling alley.
“I should warn you,” Donna says, a wicked twinkle in her eye as she turns to look at him over her shoulder. “I'm very good at this sort of thing.”
“You seem to be very good at most things,” he replies, paying for their entry before Donna can object.
“Flatterer,” she retorts, a smile curling her lips. “And wasn't today supposed to be my treat?”
“It is.” He chuckles. “I'm treating you. Hey,” he objects, letting go of both hands to hold them up innocently in front of him as she takes a step towards him, “I can't help it that you didn't explain exactly what you meant.”
“I'll 'explain' you,” she threatens. “Whatever we do next, I'm paying for. Got it?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he agrees with an awkward salute. “Now, are we going to play?”
“Oh, yes!”
And she grabs his hand and they run through the alley to the lane reserved for them.
This is their eighth proper 'date' and the Doctor is discovering that, while he always enjoys the occasions when he has the chance to see Donna, the planning and organisation that goes into arranging these sorts of meetings is oddly appealing.
Once or twice, he's even used the TARDIS to skip straight from one date to another.
Today, however, isn't going to be up there with his favourite dates, because he's just discovered that he's absolutely rubbish at bowling. More than half the time, his bowling balls end up in the gutter and his mood is heading in the same direction when Donna, probably out of sympathy, suggests they go and do something else.
“Good idea,” he growls, jamming the scorecard as deep into his pocket as he can so that he hopefully won't be able to find it again.
Donna takes his hand and reaches up to brush a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Don't tell me you're a sore loser,” she teases.
“Maybe a bit,” he admits with a shrug, although he can feel the unhappy look fading from his face.
“Well, we'd better find something else to do that you'll be good at to make you feel better,” she says with a laugh. “Any ideas?”
“Dinner first,” he says firmly. “And then we'll make more definite plans.”
She takes his hand as they leave the bowling alley and doesn't let go until he's holding open the door of the restaurant they decided on for dinner.
He wonders if she picked up on just how much it hurt his pride to find something he wasn't good at. However she definitely can't appreciate how annoyed he is to have found something that several of his past regenerations could do, but that he can't. His fifth self, in particular, excelled at it. The Doctor wonders idly if he's still any good at cricket.
“Ooh, I know what we can do after we finish eating,” Donna says suddenly, and he turns his eyes on her.
“Oh, yes,” he says with a smile. “What's that then?”
“That,” she says in triumphant tones, pointing out of the restaurant window at the small fair that has been set up on a vacant block nearby, and the lights of which are clearly visible from their table.
“All right.” He smiles. “We'll see if there's something I can do as well as you.”
He's delighted to find, after their meal, that there is something he can do better than Donna - dodgem cars. Perhaps it's because he's had so much practice with a recalcitrant TARDIS, or maybe it's the very slight use he makes of the sonic screwdriver on the steering mechanism - which definitely isn't cheating! - but he has far better control over his car than Donna does over hers.
And when they finally run out of their allotted time, he's unable to wipe the smug smile completely off his face.
“You've done that before,” she says as they walk away from the noisy ride.
“Well, maybe once or twice,” he admits, adding as he squeezes her fingers, “But it was never as much fun without you.”
And he doesn't mean just the funfair rides.
* * *
Teaser for the next part
He momentarily forgets to breathe as she lowers her head to rest against his shoulder.