Finding A Way Home: Making Sense
Title: Finding A Way Home: Making Sense
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: One Doctor is on tenterhooks.
Characters: Donna and the Doctors
A/N: This is a sequel to Finding A Way Home - The Heart of Things and it’s ALL loves_glamour’s fault! So Kayla, you can blame her (and not me)…
Groaning, the Doctor rolls out of bed and heads for the shower. His arms and legs still bear witness to the way he held back the walls of the cell they had found themselves in the previous day, while the Time Lord made the surprising discovering that the sonic screwdriver actually could undo deadbolts, but apparently only if its owner was in danger of being crushed or fatally wounded in some other way.
As Donna had pointed out while they were making their escape back to the TARDIS, that wasn’t particularly helpful in everyday situations.
The hot water is delicious agony on his body and he stretches as the tension begins to leave his stiff, sore muscles. Ducking his head under the streaming flow, he scrubs his hair to free it of the lingering scent of stone and mould, hopeful that this second wash will remove the lingering traces that his bath the previous night had failed to remove.
Once he’s feeling better, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, towelling himself off and wrapping his bathrobe around himself. Styling his hair takes a little longer than usual as his arms ache when he has to hold them up for long periods, but he gets there in the end and painstakingly dons his usual blue suit.
The TARDIS is surprisingly silent as the Doctor comes out of his bedroom, settling the collar of his shirt over the tie he has just knotted. What’s even more surprising is that he doesn’t bump into Donna as she’s on the way to bed, since this has become something of a daily (well, okay, not ‘daily’ because there’s no days on the TARDIS as such, but still…) ritual.
He heads for the kitchen, expecting to find the others there, but a voice coming from the library sends him off on a detour in that direction.
Stopping just outside the door, which is standing ajar, he happens to glance up at the mirror on the wall running adjacent to the door, which hangs at something of an angle and, on this occasion, serves to reflects the cosy scene inside.
At the sight that greets his eyes, the man in the blue suit stops short.
The Doctor is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, with Donna’s head resting on his lap. There’s nothing unusual about this - it was a habit they fell into after a few weeks on the TARDIS, particularly after the Doctor proved to be the better of the two at reading aloud.
And yet the man standing in the hallway can’t help feeling that there’s something different about it this time.
Maybe it’s all a figment of his imagination, the weight of the secret he carries about the two people in that room making him more wary of interrupting the rare, quiet moments during which, he can’t help thinking and hoping, they might come to a better understanding of each other’s feelings.
With an inward chuckle, he wonders when he became such a terrible romantic.
Leaning against the doorframe, he folds his arms over his chest, content to watch.
The Doctor reads on, his glasses halfway down his nose, but the man on the other side of the door can see that Donna isn’t paying attention. She blinks drowsily several times before her eyes close. As she falls asleep, her lips part with a soft sigh that draws the attention of the Time Lord beside above her.
For several long minutes, the Doctor simply gazes down at the woman lying against him, his eyes glowing with adoration as he studies her features, before he marks the page of the book and places it on the table at his elbow. His hand hovers for a moment over the ginger hair spread out along his legs before he allows his fingers to brush the long, shining locks with the lightest possible touch.
When Donna doesn’t react, he clearly becomes braver, smoothing a stray strand here and there as he slides his hand along the length of her hair, his fingers creeping ever closer to her face. The other Doctor could almost believe that the Time Lord has ceased to breathe in case he disturbs the sleeping woman.
And when he finally makes contact with her skin, he draws back as if he’s received an electric shock.
She doesn’t wake, though, and he clearly gathers his courage, lowering his hand once more and lightly dusting his fingers across her hairline. Slowly he applies a little more pressure, drawing small circles, Gallifreyan letters that spell out ‘love’, onto Donna’s clear skin.
Gradually the shapes become larger, more confident, moving from Donna’s forehead to her temple and down her cheek, finally brushing across her parted lips.
Donna’s mouth moves as if in response, her lips pursing into a lazy kiss against his finger.
The Doctor snatches his hand away, his eyes widening as he stares at her, clearly waiting for her to wake up and perhaps demand to know what he’s doing.
For a moment, Donna remains motionless.
Then her lips part again, and the man watching from the hallway sees the beginnings of a frown between her eyebrows. Her head moves slightly as if she’s searching for something, the frown deepening, and a soft whimper comes from her mouth.
The half-human man’s hand closes on the door handle and he unconsciously tightens his grasp on the brass knob, willing the Doctor to realize that Donna wants him to continue that light touch that, even in her sleep, made her feel so loved.
It seems to take an age, in which it seems as if, every moment, Donna will wake up.
Finally, though, the Doctor lowers his hand, smoothing the tips of his fingers over her cheek, which silences the unhappy sounds and cause the frown to vanish.
Her eyes open before the Doctor has a chance to react.
For a moment they sit motionless, the silence in the room growing until the man outside almost wants to scream.
It’s perhaps inevitable that it should be Donna who breaks the silence, because the Doctor, giving his best impression of a deer in headlights, is clearly incapable of putting a coherent sentence together.
Her words are soft, but somehow, perhaps because the TARDIS is as much of a romantic as the Doctor, they carry across to the hidden listener.
“You used to have that look in your eyes when you talked about Rose.” She places her hand on his, her gaze intense as she looks up at him. “When did you start looking at me that way?”
A soft smile flitters across the Doctor’s face and he relaxes a little as it become obvious that an immediate slap isn’t headed his way. “When I fell in love with you,” he admits in a low voice.
“You did?” There’s a look of bewilderment, mixed with delighted pride, in Donna’s eyes.
“I am,” he agrees, more confidence in his voice, perhaps because Donna doesn’t seem horrified by the mere idea.
Tears suddenly sparkle in Donna’s eyes, and although the Doctor watching the scene can understand her feeling of immense relief, it’s clear that the man who has just admitted his feelings for her takes a very different view of things.
“No, Donna, don’t!” The words tumble out of his mouth in a horrified stream. “Please don’t! I’m sorry! I mean, not sorry that I feel that way obviously, although I sort of am if you don’t like it, but I’m sorry that it upsets you so much to hear me say it. I just - I mean, I could have come up with some lie about why I was doing, you know that, but you always see right through me when I lie to you, and I hate doing it anyway because you deserve better than that. And I don’t even know when it all started really, but definitely before I lost you after the Daleks, although I think I only let myself realize it properly after I got you back again. So this…”
In obvious exasperation, Donna reaches up and places her hand over his mouth. He mumbles a few more incomprehensible words against her palm before falling silent, his eyes wide.
When he finally stops talking, she moves her hand away and pushes herself into an upright position, turning to face him.
“I’m not crying ‘cos I’m upset or angry with you,” she tells him, her hands coming to rest on his chest over his two hearts, smiling so happily that the other Doctor’s single heart soars at the sight of it, and he can only imagine how the Time Lord must be feeling, knowing that he prompted this emotion.
“I’m crying,” she says slowly, “because I feel the same way.”
“Donna…” The Doctor’s voice is anxious, full of hope and concern and fear all mixed into one.
Before he can continue, however, Donna’s fingers tighten on his lapels, gently pulling him closer to her. His hands lift, coming to rest on either side of her waist as if assuring himself that she’s really there.
Her movements, like his, are slow and hesitant, and the concealed watcher can see how Donna nervously catches her bottom lip between her teeth for an instant before her mouth brushes the Doctor’s.
For a second, they remain almost frozen to the spot, before the Doctor slides his arm around Donna’s back, the other hand coming up to cup her cheek as her eyes close. In response to his ministrations, one of Donna’s hands moves through his hair to the back of his head, her lips parting to deepen the kiss as her other hand slides down to rest on his chest above his right heart.
To the man in the doorway, holding his breath as he watches, the kiss seems to last an eternity, even if the Time Lord part of his mind know that that isn’t possible. But finally the Doctor pulls back, although his hold around the woman in his arms doesn’t relax at all.
Donna’s eyes fall as she pulls away, suddenly busy examining the brown fabric of the jacket beneath her fingers and a faint colour flushing her cheeks. The Doctor leans forwards, brushing the hair back from her face so that he can whisper in her ear.
The other man can’t hear what they’re saying, and he’s suddenly quite glad of the fact because he realises that he’s intruding on what is - or should be - a very private moment.
Turning away, unable to help giving a satisfied chuckle, he heads for the kitchen and his breakfast, wondering when one of them - and which one! - will summon up the courage to tell him that they’ve finally come to their senses.
Back to 'Normal'
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: One Doctor is on tenterhooks.
Characters: Donna and the Doctors
A/N: This is a sequel to Finding A Way Home - The Heart of Things and it’s ALL loves_glamour’s fault! So Kayla, you can blame her (and not me)…
Groaning, the Doctor rolls out of bed and heads for the shower. His arms and legs still bear witness to the way he held back the walls of the cell they had found themselves in the previous day, while the Time Lord made the surprising discovering that the sonic screwdriver actually could undo deadbolts, but apparently only if its owner was in danger of being crushed or fatally wounded in some other way.
As Donna had pointed out while they were making their escape back to the TARDIS, that wasn’t particularly helpful in everyday situations.
The hot water is delicious agony on his body and he stretches as the tension begins to leave his stiff, sore muscles. Ducking his head under the streaming flow, he scrubs his hair to free it of the lingering scent of stone and mould, hopeful that this second wash will remove the lingering traces that his bath the previous night had failed to remove.
Once he’s feeling better, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, towelling himself off and wrapping his bathrobe around himself. Styling his hair takes a little longer than usual as his arms ache when he has to hold them up for long periods, but he gets there in the end and painstakingly dons his usual blue suit.
The TARDIS is surprisingly silent as the Doctor comes out of his bedroom, settling the collar of his shirt over the tie he has just knotted. What’s even more surprising is that he doesn’t bump into Donna as she’s on the way to bed, since this has become something of a daily (well, okay, not ‘daily’ because there’s no days on the TARDIS as such, but still…) ritual.
He heads for the kitchen, expecting to find the others there, but a voice coming from the library sends him off on a detour in that direction.
Stopping just outside the door, which is standing ajar, he happens to glance up at the mirror on the wall running adjacent to the door, which hangs at something of an angle and, on this occasion, serves to reflects the cosy scene inside.
At the sight that greets his eyes, the man in the blue suit stops short.
The Doctor is sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, with Donna’s head resting on his lap. There’s nothing unusual about this - it was a habit they fell into after a few weeks on the TARDIS, particularly after the Doctor proved to be the better of the two at reading aloud.
And yet the man standing in the hallway can’t help feeling that there’s something different about it this time.
Maybe it’s all a figment of his imagination, the weight of the secret he carries about the two people in that room making him more wary of interrupting the rare, quiet moments during which, he can’t help thinking and hoping, they might come to a better understanding of each other’s feelings.
With an inward chuckle, he wonders when he became such a terrible romantic.
Leaning against the doorframe, he folds his arms over his chest, content to watch.
The Doctor reads on, his glasses halfway down his nose, but the man on the other side of the door can see that Donna isn’t paying attention. She blinks drowsily several times before her eyes close. As she falls asleep, her lips part with a soft sigh that draws the attention of the Time Lord beside above her.
For several long minutes, the Doctor simply gazes down at the woman lying against him, his eyes glowing with adoration as he studies her features, before he marks the page of the book and places it on the table at his elbow. His hand hovers for a moment over the ginger hair spread out along his legs before he allows his fingers to brush the long, shining locks with the lightest possible touch.
When Donna doesn’t react, he clearly becomes braver, smoothing a stray strand here and there as he slides his hand along the length of her hair, his fingers creeping ever closer to her face. The other Doctor could almost believe that the Time Lord has ceased to breathe in case he disturbs the sleeping woman.
And when he finally makes contact with her skin, he draws back as if he’s received an electric shock.
She doesn’t wake, though, and he clearly gathers his courage, lowering his hand once more and lightly dusting his fingers across her hairline. Slowly he applies a little more pressure, drawing small circles, Gallifreyan letters that spell out ‘love’, onto Donna’s clear skin.
Gradually the shapes become larger, more confident, moving from Donna’s forehead to her temple and down her cheek, finally brushing across her parted lips.
Donna’s mouth moves as if in response, her lips pursing into a lazy kiss against his finger.
The Doctor snatches his hand away, his eyes widening as he stares at her, clearly waiting for her to wake up and perhaps demand to know what he’s doing.
For a moment, Donna remains motionless.
Then her lips part again, and the man watching from the hallway sees the beginnings of a frown between her eyebrows. Her head moves slightly as if she’s searching for something, the frown deepening, and a soft whimper comes from her mouth.
The half-human man’s hand closes on the door handle and he unconsciously tightens his grasp on the brass knob, willing the Doctor to realize that Donna wants him to continue that light touch that, even in her sleep, made her feel so loved.
It seems to take an age, in which it seems as if, every moment, Donna will wake up.
Finally, though, the Doctor lowers his hand, smoothing the tips of his fingers over her cheek, which silences the unhappy sounds and cause the frown to vanish.
Her eyes open before the Doctor has a chance to react.
For a moment they sit motionless, the silence in the room growing until the man outside almost wants to scream.
It’s perhaps inevitable that it should be Donna who breaks the silence, because the Doctor, giving his best impression of a deer in headlights, is clearly incapable of putting a coherent sentence together.
Her words are soft, but somehow, perhaps because the TARDIS is as much of a romantic as the Doctor, they carry across to the hidden listener.
“You used to have that look in your eyes when you talked about Rose.” She places her hand on his, her gaze intense as she looks up at him. “When did you start looking at me that way?”
A soft smile flitters across the Doctor’s face and he relaxes a little as it become obvious that an immediate slap isn’t headed his way. “When I fell in love with you,” he admits in a low voice.
“You did?” There’s a look of bewilderment, mixed with delighted pride, in Donna’s eyes.
“I am,” he agrees, more confidence in his voice, perhaps because Donna doesn’t seem horrified by the mere idea.
Tears suddenly sparkle in Donna’s eyes, and although the Doctor watching the scene can understand her feeling of immense relief, it’s clear that the man who has just admitted his feelings for her takes a very different view of things.
“No, Donna, don’t!” The words tumble out of his mouth in a horrified stream. “Please don’t! I’m sorry! I mean, not sorry that I feel that way obviously, although I sort of am if you don’t like it, but I’m sorry that it upsets you so much to hear me say it. I just - I mean, I could have come up with some lie about why I was doing, you know that, but you always see right through me when I lie to you, and I hate doing it anyway because you deserve better than that. And I don’t even know when it all started really, but definitely before I lost you after the Daleks, although I think I only let myself realize it properly after I got you back again. So this…”
In obvious exasperation, Donna reaches up and places her hand over his mouth. He mumbles a few more incomprehensible words against her palm before falling silent, his eyes wide.
When he finally stops talking, she moves her hand away and pushes herself into an upright position, turning to face him.
“I’m not crying ‘cos I’m upset or angry with you,” she tells him, her hands coming to rest on his chest over his two hearts, smiling so happily that the other Doctor’s single heart soars at the sight of it, and he can only imagine how the Time Lord must be feeling, knowing that he prompted this emotion.
“I’m crying,” she says slowly, “because I feel the same way.”
“Donna…” The Doctor’s voice is anxious, full of hope and concern and fear all mixed into one.
Before he can continue, however, Donna’s fingers tighten on his lapels, gently pulling him closer to her. His hands lift, coming to rest on either side of her waist as if assuring himself that she’s really there.
Her movements, like his, are slow and hesitant, and the concealed watcher can see how Donna nervously catches her bottom lip between her teeth for an instant before her mouth brushes the Doctor’s.
For a second, they remain almost frozen to the spot, before the Doctor slides his arm around Donna’s back, the other hand coming up to cup her cheek as her eyes close. In response to his ministrations, one of Donna’s hands moves through his hair to the back of his head, her lips parting to deepen the kiss as her other hand slides down to rest on his chest above his right heart.
To the man in the doorway, holding his breath as he watches, the kiss seems to last an eternity, even if the Time Lord part of his mind know that that isn’t possible. But finally the Doctor pulls back, although his hold around the woman in his arms doesn’t relax at all.
Donna’s eyes fall as she pulls away, suddenly busy examining the brown fabric of the jacket beneath her fingers and a faint colour flushing her cheeks. The Doctor leans forwards, brushing the hair back from her face so that he can whisper in her ear.
The other man can’t hear what they’re saying, and he’s suddenly quite glad of the fact because he realises that he’s intruding on what is - or should be - a very private moment.
Turning away, unable to help giving a satisfied chuckle, he heads for the kitchen and his breakfast, wondering when one of them - and which one! - will summon up the courage to tell him that they’ve finally come to their senses.
Back to 'Normal'