Fic: To Err is Human (6/?)
Fic: To Err is Human (6/?)
Author: Lilac Summers
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG, language
Category: Humor, angst/drama
Characters: Donna/John Smith/Doctor
A/N: I'm jumping around like a crazed rabbit, from angst to humor, from Donna against a wall to placid walks on a hill, unicorns prancing around. I hope I'm not giving you all whiplash! I've also realized I love John Smith. I want to keep him; I'll take ever such good care of him!
Part 1 here
Part 2 here
Part 3 here
Part 4 here
Part 5 here
Part 6:
Donna sat, huddled in abject misery on the couch. She turned the watch in her hands, over and over. She should have opened it a month ago. She should open it now. Things had spiraled out of her control.
But if pity stayed her hand the first time, guilt stopped her this time around. She wasn't ready to face the Doctor after what had happened. He would be so angry; rightfully so. She'd ruined everything.
How was she supposed to face him when he was back to normal? She, who'd always been so adamant about just being pals. Who shouted “hands!” every time she even got a whiff of inappropriate touching. Who argued down anybody who even hinted at them being a couple. Who'd promised, so very emphatically, that if he just wanted “a mate,” then she was the gal for that. No mad Martha or puppy-love Rose, poor lovesick fools. No, not her. She was Donna, older and wiser, and she'd have none of that nonsense.
She was a hypocrite.
She flicked a fingernail under the watch's latch, braced herself...and couldn't do it. All she was able to do was sit here, think about how weak and stupid she was, and promise herself to not let anything like this happen again. How she would be able to do that, now that "John" thought she was receptive to intimacy, she had no idea. There weren't many men (or women, to be fair) who would patiently agree to not consummate their marriage; she had been very, very lucky. The Doctor's - John's - sense of gentle chivalry had been the only upper-hand she had. But after this morning, she was sure he thought she was finally ready. She had lost her only advantage.
She wanted badly to run to the TARDIS, but she was ashamed to go to the ship. Whatever stupid story the TARDIS had thought up, she had entrusted the Doctor to Donna's care. She had handed him over, innocent, with his romantic ideas and faulty memories, so that Donna would keep him safe from the Family of Blood.
But he hadn't been safe from her.
Donna wrapped the thin shawl she had donned tighter around herself. Her eyes were repeatedly drawn to the wall where she lost control, and every time she closed her eyes the entire scene replayed before her, making her shudder with a sickening mix of sensory memory and guilt. She fought it for a while, torn between her wish to escape the scene of the crime and her unwillingness to face the TARDIS' wrath.
But in the end, however much the TARDIS blamed her now, she couldn't stay here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Donna honestly thought her key would no longer work on the TARDIS doors, that the ship would have locked her out as punishment. But the lock turned smoothly as always and she stepped into the vast space, shutting the door behind her.
The lights were dimmer than ever, the TARDIS was completely silent, as if waiting for her to make the first move. Somehow, Donna knew the TARDIS was already aware of her failure. The TARDIS always seemed to know.
She slowly walked up to the console, set her fingertips on the controls. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
An array of lights winked on and off in quick succession. Donna had no clue what that meant. A scolding? An "I don't want to hear your half-assed excuses"? Or a request for clarification? Since she didn't know, she forged onward.
"Um," she tangled her fingers together, "I messed up really badly. The Doctor--you see, John has been wanting to--" this was so humiliating, she couldn't even say it out loud.
"I tried so hard not to be affected, I really did. But I'm tired and frustrated and before I knew it I was kissing him and he was kissing me and there was a wall and I...I let him. I let him."
She didn't know what she expected - a siren, sparks, something to show the ship's displeasure. And though the lights on the console continued to twinkle at her in a random array, there was no other reaction from the ship.
She stepped back, dropped heavily onto the jump seat. "God, he's going to hate me." She fell silent and lost herself in her dark thoughts, looking at the array of lights in front of her in mute appeal.
Gradually she became aware of a very low, tentative hum. She looked up to find the control room was still dim, but there was a light shining from the hallway. Donna sniffed wetly, wiped her nose on her sleeve like a child and followed the light, wondering what the TARDIS had in store for her after such a fantastic fail.
Confusingly, the light stopped right in front of her bedroom door, which was open a crack. Donna held her breath, pushed the door open the rest of the way, and felt her tears completely overflow as a sob escaped her in relief. All her stuff was still there. The light was soft and calming, and the bed was invitingly turned down.
Donna rushed to her bed and burrowed under sheets and blankets, not caring that her dress was confining and uncomfortable. For whatever reason, the TARDIS didn't hate her for being such a dismal companion, and hadn't kicked her out.
Emotionally drained, Donna let herself be soothed by the gentle hum of the TARDIS. She would have to think of something later, make some sort of plan; but for a little while, this was her escape.
It was her turn to run.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Doctor bounced into the flat with unmasked enthusiasm, all but tumbling over himself in his haste to get inside. But if he had been expecting his wife to attack him in quite the same manner she had in the morning, Donna had a rather different surprise in store for him.
He ground to a halt. "Darling? Are you all right?"
Donna reclined on the small couch, wrapped in a blanket and with a warmed brick placed tellingly over her stomach. She wore a dressing gown over the voluminous nightgown she had abandoned weeks ago.
"Oh, John." She didn't have to fake the sickly look on her face. "I'm not feeling well."
He dropped his books to the floor without a thought. They sounded loud as gunshots in the small room. Donna flinched as he rushed to her side, dropping on his knees besides the couch to place a dry hand on her forehead. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?! I'll get Nurse Redfern to come. No, I'll call for a doctor. You need a doctor--"
She managed to snag his arm with a surprisingly strong grip before he could take off in a panicked rush. "No, I don't need the doctor," she stated firmly. "This is normal. It's my monthly."
He paused, looked at her in confusion before realization dawned and his ears turned pink. "Oh!" he managed, then patted her arm awkwardly. "Of course, I never noticed...we have been here a while now, haven't we."
She nodded. As excuses went, it was one of the lamest, most cliched ones ever and she was half-ashamed that it was the best she could come up with, but she was banking on his being embarrassed enough with the subject matter that he wouldn't ask questions.
Such as how likely spontaneous menstruation was, given that there had been no indications of it that morning.
He continued patting her arm, as if she were a particularly skittish pony. "Do you need anything? Can I get you," he gazed at her, completely lost, "um, tea? Would that be good?"
Donna felt a smile stretch across her face, strained and insincere. God, this was pathetic. "Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you."
He smiled back, obviously relieved to have found something useful, and scampered off to make the tea. Donna dropped her head in her hands. The Doctor, scared away by the idea of a woman on her period.
It was laughable. The first month she'd been on the TARDIS and delicately broached the subject of stopping by an intergalactic Boots equivalent, the Doctor had marched her to the infirmary and proudly flung open a cabinet to display every kind of feminine hygiene product available in several human-populated galaxies. Then he'd cheerfully explained how the ones she didn't recognize worked.
When she'd looked baffled at some of them, he'd broken out the sock puppets.
Yet here was John, who couldn't face the idea of his wife on the rag without blushing like a schoolgirl. It only served to remind her how innocent and unlike the Doctor he could be, and why she'd been placed here to protect him.
She was lying now, of course. No force in the universe could convince her to deal with her period in a time before the invention of super absorbent tampons, at the very least. She had circumvented the whole ordeal by taking one of those nifty 28th century pills, one of the options the TARDIS kept stocked. A single tiny pill halted menstruation for three months with nary a side-effect, and had become one of Donna's personal favorite things about the future.
The Doctor hurried back with a brimming cup of tea. He seated himself at her side. "Here you go." He handed the cup over carefully, so evidently pleased to be of help that Donna felt another prickly stab of conscience.
He watched her drink her tea, playing with the fingers of her free hand and apparently more than happy to amuse himself with that indefinitely. Donna swallowed thickly, wondering if he would bring up what had happened in the morning, but he didn't say a word. When she finished her tea, he took the cup from her and toddled off to the kitchen with it.
"What would you like me to make for supper?" he asked from the kitchen.
Donna flailed and half fell off the couch. "What?!" She flung the blanket off her legs and sped to the kitchen. He was already taking off his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves. "You're cooking?!"
He looked at her oddly, obviously wondering at the shocked disbelief in her tone. "Of course I am. You are not feeling well."
"But..but you don't cook," she blurted out. It's not that the Doctor didn't know how. She figured after 900+ years of life, you learned to make something. But he avoided the task like the plague (just like she did) -- probably used to too many companion willing to feed him. He'd really struck out on that plan when he picked her up.
He walked over to her, smoothed a hand down her hair. "I can manage, and you can rest." He took her arm solicitously and steered her back towards the couch, settling her down and tucking her in with as much care as if she were suffering from the bubonic plague.
"It's really not that bad. You don't have to do any of this," she protested, shame gnawing at her over his gentle treatment.
"Nonsense. And I like taking care of you. Don't worry, I know how much you love being in charge of the kitchen; I will gratefully cede it over once you feel more yourself."
Donna was thankful she had finished her tea; if she were still drinking it she would have spewed it all over the couch. Loved being in charge of the kitchen. Right. Absolutely.
When he returned to the kitchen, she stealthily slid out of her cocoon to follow him. He pulled out vegetables and began to scrub them clean, then reached for a knife and carefully set to dicing.
Donna was agog, watching a man (in 1913!) cooking (willingly!) while a woman (her!) was in the same building. It was like watching a magnificently bizarre circus act.
She must have made some noise, because he turned and caught her once more. He sternly directed her back to the living room to continue her “rest.”
So she returned to her couch to brood. He'd believed her act without question, but her course of action would buy her a week's time at the most. What was she supposed to do after that? She'd have to cross that bridge when she got there. At least she could use this week to distance herself, and break some of the habits she had allowed to form.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The simple meal he cooked was a million times better than any effort she'd ever made. Her hum of appreciation at the first warm, soothing spoonful of broth made him beam as if she'd awarded him a medal of honor.
Afterward he seated them again on the small couch and leaned her against him. She squirmed fitfully when he wrapped an arm around her.
“All right?” he asked her gently, running a hand soothingly down her arm.
“Erm. Hot. S'hot in here.”
He rose to bank the fire burning in the small fireplace, saying nothing when he returned to the couch to find she had appropriated the opposite corner and stretched out her legs a little. She buried her nose in a book and acted like she didn't notice he wouldn't be able to sit next to her that way.
Instead he placidly sat on the unoccupied end, and then lifted her feet onto his lap to start a gentle foot massage. Donna dropped her book, gripped the side of the settee.
“Oh! You don't, you don--”
“I want to, you look tired,” he cut in before she could voice a protest. “You've always loved foot massages.”
Well yeah, who didn't. That was like exclaiming that someone loved fluffy kittens that turned everything they touched into gold.
Donna bit her lip, hands clenching in the fabric of her dressing gown, and could find no kind way to refuse something she had apparently allowed before.
He dug his fingers into a sensitive spot on her heel and Donna's eyes fluttered closed without her permission. Well, it was an innocent foot rub. She'd paid many a random pedicurist for one. And it felt sooo good.
Which was how this whole mess had started.
Donna jerked herself out of the pleasant haze. She didn't deserve even this tiny bit of indulgence. She had to stay vigilant.
Donna steeled herself, fisted her hands at her side, and strengthened her resolve.
And she didn't enjoy a minute of the foot-rub. Mostly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When nighttime fell, Donna raced to excuse herself. The Doctor had spent the evening massaging her feet, then reading to her in a low, melodious voice that had come close to lulling her to sleep. It had been too much time spent in his presence, his attention solely on her, and she needed to escape.
So when she closed her bedroom door behind her, she did it with a sigh. At least she would have the nights to herself now.
Donna changed from the hateful nightgown into the more comfortable pajamas, brushed her hair, and was turning down the sheets on the bed when she heard her door open behind her.
She froze, then turned with sick certainty to find the Doctor entering her room, ready for bed.
“Oh, D-John! I...I didn't think you would be staying here tonight.”
He smiled gently at her. “I wouldn't leave you just because of your, umm, 'woman's time,' love.”
Donna's felt the color drain from her face as she saw her only plan crumbling. “But I - it's not right for you...”
“Oh, sweetheart. No cause to be embarrassed. We are married; you shouldn't have to hide yourself away. I don't mind that--”
“But I do,” she cut him off harshly. “I'm not comfortable with you in my bed at this time. I think it would be best if you stayed in your room from now on."
He startled at her sudden sternness. He half turned, and Donna gave a soft sigh of relief.
But he simply closed the bedroom door, not leaving. "No," he said quietly.
Donna's sigh of relief turned into a sharp inhale. "Excuse me?"
"I said no, I am not leaving. I am sleeping here."
Donna, who had not been expecting him to fight back, gaped soundlessly before gathering her anger around her like a shroud. "But you can't. It's my room. I don't want you here."
He flinched, but then faced her with grim resolve. "I don't care. I am your husband and I am not leaving."
She felt a wash of cold fear climb up her spine. She wasn't an idiot; she knew enough about the time period to know that married men had expected sex to be their right, a wife's “duty” to submit -- lay back and think of England and all that rubbish. "John," she said carefully, moderating her tone. "I'm not feeling well and it's...well, you know it's my time. I don't...we're not...you can't expect me to be ready to receive you," she euphemized stiffly.
The Doctor stared at her, aghast, before drawing himself up in injured dignity. "Madam, I assure you I would never press my attentions on my unwilling wife, nor was it my plan to inconvenience you during your delicate state! But I'm not leaving you alone at night. I shall sleep on the floor if it offends your sensibilities that I share your bed during this time."
He marched out of her room as she stood frozen by her bed, only to reappear minutes later with armfuls of blankets and pillows taken from his own room. He dropped the mess on the floor and began to arrange a small pallet for himself.
"This is ridiculous. You have a perfectly good bedroom. There's no reason to stay here with me; I'm fine. I don't understand why you're being so stubborn."
"I worry," he answered shortly.
Donna threw her hands up in frustration. "About what? We're in this tiny town," middle of bumfuck nowhere, "and the only danger is that I may be trampled by sheep as I cross the road. Your room is right next door; I'll call out if a particularly nasty mosquito gets inside."
He looked at her, his hands stilled where they were smoothing out the blankets. His jaw clenched, upset at her flippant tone, she could tell. She would have felt badly except that all her carefully constructed excuses were crumbling around her.
"I have dreams," he said quietly, eyes dropping to refocus on his task. "I have told you about a few of them. But some of them are...horrible." He turned to her, pinned her with worried eyes. "You...bad things happen to you. You cry. There are fires and floods and cages, and you are trapped by all of them." He took a moment, swallowed hard. "In one, I keep seeing your face painted on a mechanical doll, and you are gone because I sent you away, alone. I know it's childish; they're just dreams. But I....I'm not leaving you alone again."
Donna hadn't known. She knew he dreamed of being the Doctor, of course, but she didn't know he worried so much about her. "John, I'm alone all day," she reminded him softly.
"I know that; I can't help that," he said stubbornly. "But you will not be alone at night."
He resolutely climbed into his nest. Donna stood, chastened, by the bed for a few minutes. Other than trying to bodily haul him from the room there was really nothing else she could do. Donna got into her own bed and turned off the lamp, leaving the room awash in moonlight. She heard him shift around. The floor was wood, with no carpet. It must have been very uncomfortable.
Well it was nobody's fault but his.
There was a bit of a thump, the sound of an elbow or knee hitting floor as he moved. Donna brought her hands to her face to scrub hard. She'd wait it out; sooner or later he'd find an okay position.
Another hollow thud.
“Bad things happen to you...I'm not leaving you alone again.” And so the big idiot was sleeping on her floor.
The rustling continued. There really wasn't any padding on that man, was there? Every one of those long, bony limbs must be digging against the floor. Donna sighed gustily. Why can't things ever be simple?
"John, get up here."
The sound of movement stilled. "I am perfectly well down here. You made it clear you would rather I not--"
"GET UP HERE!" she roared.
The sound of hurried scrabbling, and then the Doctor was sliding clumsily into bed beside her, careful to stay away from her as if she might detonate if they accidentally brushed. No doubt, like all men, he was thinking her hormones were making her irrational.
They laid side-by-side for a few moments, Donna so aware of him that it was making her itchy. It was as if the universe itself was hell-bent on making as hard as possible what should have been the simple decision to distance herself.
The Doctor shifted infinitesimally closer and Donna jumped as if he'd attacked her. She knew how this was going to play out -- he was going to keep his distance until he fell asleep, and then he'd snatch her up again and she'd be back at square one.
Well not this time.
Donna abruptly left the bed.
"Donna, where are--"
Donna gathered the mass of pillows on the floor and returned. She felt him watch her, bemused and struck dumb, as she began an architectural feat with pillows that rivaled the Wall of China, neatly separating their sides of the bed.
Finished with the pillow fort, she met the gleam of his eyes in the gloom. "You kick," she said, before he could ask any questions, and settled herself down on her side.
She heard a huffy, offended "hmph!" but didn't care. She felt safer. He was safer. She resolutely closed her eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, she was woken up by the sound of muffled screaming. She peered over the wall of pillows to find the Doctor moving fitfully, arms clutched tightly around himself and his face buried in the wall between them, muffling his words. She recognized her name, then a stream of gibberish she didn't understand.
The dreams again, of course. Well, they would pass. It's not like she could do anything about them.
She watched his arms loosen from around himself, grasp out, clutch at pillows. That was fine; he could grab on to all the pillows he wanted.
She made herself lie back down, turn the other way, tune out his frantic mumbling. It was just nightmares. People had them all the time.
But then he began to recite pi.
Oh god. Midnight.
Each recited number got louder than the last, until he was almost screaming them. Donna shut her eyes and covered her ears, curling into a little ball, aching to reach out but unable to do so.
Abruptly the screaming stopped. Donna's eyes snapped wide, relieved and half-scared by the sudden silence. She sat up warily and looked over at him. The Doctor lay still on his side, eyes closed and breathing labored. His hands moved, clutching at air. But he'd stopped talking. Maybe it was all over--
"Donna?" he called plaintively.
Donna's breath caught in her throat.
"Where are you?"
Dread unfurled heavily in her stomach.
She hadn't been there, at Midnight. She'd left him alone. He was searching for her. She hadn't stopped those people from hurting him.
"No...leave me...Donna!" her name was a wail, choked off in the end as if someone had grabbed him by the throat.
With a cry she scattered pillows, throwing herself into his arms. "I'm right here. I'm sorry, I'm right here now. Shhh. You're safe, they can't get you."
His arms closed tightly around her, his body folding over hers, settling almost immediately.
And Donna was back to square one.
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Next Part: the Doctor begins to doubt