1.1.8 - In the end, all we have are our memories...
Season 5 AU
Episode: 2
Title: Thanks for the Memories
Prompt: who_topia 1.1.8
Characters: Wilfred Mott, Donna Noble, Dr. Harold Jones
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2152
(Takes place after Episode 1)
There are times that she thought she had been someplace before, seen someplace, before. When she watched the telly, there were shows that never appealed to her, in the past, that seemed not only interesting, but commonplace, now.
Donna Noble had never been one to draw outside the lines, or seek out new flavors. She still wasn't. Yet, there were times that she found herself trying the strange looking dish at the buffet, when she wouldn't have before, or walking home from the shops in a different path. Her mum had looked aghast when she bought trainers in a bright pink color, something she never did prior. It wasn't much, and anyone who didn't know her very well would never notice.
Except Wilfred knew her all too well. Wilfed Mott knew that the Doctor had left behind a ticking time bomb in Donna’s brain, and that someone, some place, some word would trigger the memories too brilliant to be kept hidden. If that day ever came, Donna would burn.
******
"Hello?" The man who came into the lighthouse museum was there just as Wilfred was locking the door, and immediately, Wilfred felt a sense of something being off. "Is Donna about?"
"Who are you?" That came out a bit more gruffly than he intended, but Wilfred was protective of his granddaughter, as well as suspicious of most people.
“Harold Jones. I’m a research scientist over at the base.” The crisp enounciation was in contrast with the man’s seemingly easygoing manor. “I met Donna on the beach, and wanted to see if she was feeling better.”
“She’s fine.” He shuffled over to flip the plastic sign on the door to ‘CLOSED’, hoping that the stranger would take the hint.
Jones’ smile seemed friendly, but his eyes held no humor, and he took in the demeanor of the old man, filing it away for use, as he did so often. Human behavior wasn’t complicated, but it did have a pattern that Harold found intriguing. “I was hoping to run into her. I wanted to invite her to a clambake.”
Mott didn’t get to speak, before the noise in the kitchen reached both men. There had been the clap of the back door slamming, and the rustle of paper, the thump of packages being set on a table. Both men only looked at each other, in the fading light of dusk, as Donna’s voice grew closer to the spot where they had faced off.
“Oi, the ferry was packed, just PACKED, with idiots! Why is it that people think that a boat, a ferry out on the open ocean, is the perfect spot to let their little brats run loose without supervision? The sailors had to grab someone’s little darling off the rail before they tumbled into the sea. Some people shouldn’t have children. I tell you, let one or two become shark snacks, and they’ll learn a lesson.” She appeared in the doorway, blinking and cocking her head at the sight of Dr. Jones. “Oh, hello. Doctor Jones, isn’t it? Grandad, this is the man I told you I met on the beach. How are you?” He really was a handsome bloke, she thought, nice and tall.
“Quite well, Donna. And you? Is your headache better?” Harold spoke easily, in a solitious manner.
“Headache? What sort of headache?” Wilfred forgot about the visitor for a moment, peering at his granddaughter with concern that was a bit much for just a normal headache.
Donna sighed, dramatically, and rolled her eyes. “I’m fine! Just a bit of a headache, nothing much. I’m not an invalid.”
Mott didn’t relax, not even when Donna nudged him. The dire warnings of the Doctor always remained in the back of his mind. She’ll burn. He looked over at Jones, frowning. “We’re closing up the museum for the night.” It was a not so subtle way of suggesting the man depart.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I came. Donna, I was hoping that you might join me for a New England clam bake. I had one prepared and brought over from the mainland, but there’s so much food in there, it would be a waste for just one person.” With a lift of his brow, and a half smile, Harold turned to Wilfrend Mott. “Of course, you’re invited, sir. More than enough.”
“I don’t like clams.” That was a lie. It was this man that Wilfred didn’t like, though he couldn’t say why.
“Grandad! Don’t be rude.” Donna nudged Wilfred on his arm, a bit less gently this time. “What, exactly, is a clambake?”
“Well, they take a pot, and layer potatoes, onions, carrots, lobsters, clams, oysters and other things, along with seaweed and beer, and you bury it in the ground with hot rocks and burning wood, so that it cooks up. Then you eat it.” Dr. Jones was amused at Mott’s reaction to him.
“Sounds lovely. Sandy. A bit daft, but lovely. Let me grab a coat.” Donna rushed out, up to her room, to get a coat and to run a brush through her hair. She put on a bit of lipstick, then wiped it off, because what if he kissed her? Not that she wanted this man to kiss her. Maybe she did. But lipstick could look like she was screaming ‘KISS ME’, and she didn’t want that. Next, she went to put on a bit of perfume, but then she wondered if it would clash with seafood. Oh, well. When she came out, she had her coat on over a thick fisherman’s sweater and her jeans. “Grandad, are you coming?”
Mott debated it. On one hand, he wanted to go and keep an eye on the bloke. On the other, poor Donna was entitled to a bit of fun. His rhuematism didn’t like the cold damp at night, and there was a good mystery book in front of the fire. “No. You young people go on. But don’t get into any trouble. I’ll look in on you from the top.” With his telescope, up in the lighthouse, Wilfred could see every creature on the island. That should keep the man in line.
Donna paused in the doorway, and looked at her grandfather, as though for the last time. “I love you.”
Wilfred felt something deep inside him clutch at his heart. But before he could say anything, she was gone. Just…gone.
*******************
Hours later, Harold Jones and Donna Noble were sitting on a blanket, next to a firepit, drinking ale and laughing at some story she was telling about her mother’s recent disaster in dating. Actually, Donna was laughing, and Harold was watching her, smiling.
“And it was like one of those bonker kid stories, you know? Like some silly villain that the blind mice or the little pigs all run from. I mean, he was scary, but in a rather stupid, oafish sort of way.” She sputtered, as she took a swallow of the ale. Her sides hurt from laughing, and she was quite happy. The meal had been delicious, and they both had eaten with gusto and pleasure. She was shivery, warm, a bit drunk and having a marvelous time. The man with her was charming, and intelligent, and he told her of his research into human brain activity, and how he believed that humans could communicate all over the world with just their thoughts. Oh, all right, so he might be nutters, but he was still a handsome bloke, and he had a job.
“I always like the bad guys in the stories, myself.” Jones leaned in closer to her, his voice dropping to sound almost dangerous. “The dark prince, the beast, the fox after the gingerbread man. Run, run, as fast as you can, can’t catch me…” His head tilted, and his breath was against her cheek, lips not quite touching her cheek.
“…I’m the gingerbread man.” Donna stammered the last words, quietly, as she set down her bottle. Then she put her hands on both sides of Harold’s jaw and neck, and kissed him boldly. It seemed like it had been forever since she had kissed, or been kissed.
The kiss was a surprise to Harold, but he went with it, opening up his lips and engaging tongue, along with lips and teeth, in a deep, long lasting exploration of Donna’s mouth. But it was Donna who was the aggressor, her hands roaming over his arms and chest as she enthusiastically kissed him. The moon was bright, the night crisp and clear, and the waves were lapping at the shore. Other than a bit of sand that had found it’s way into the waistband of her pants, this was pretty much as good as it gets.
When they broke apart, she was breathless, gulping in the salty sea air, but he just smiled at her in the shadows of the fire. Donna looked around, shaking her head. “Do you hear drums? Like a marching band? Drums?” It was faint, as though it had carried in on the breeze from the sea.
Jones leaned over her, looking into her eyes and enjoying the flames there, the burning reflected in those unseeing depths. “What’s wrong, Donna Noble? I thought you liked the villains. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the big, bad wolf.”
At the sound of those words, her breath caught, and she pushed him up, away, off her, shaking her head. Bad Wolf. “No. No, it’s not…what is…”
Jones watched her, surprised. Seduction was forgotten as he observed the reaction she was having to…what? The kiss? He was good, but was he that good?
Bad Wolf. Donna stood up, walking blindly to look out on the ocean. The full moon reflected on the water, rippling as her mind began to overload with information blocked, but now spilling into her consciousness.
”I think sometimes you need somebody to stop you.”
“No chance, Martian. You're the man who keeps saving my life. I ain't letting you out of my sight.”
“Is that what you said to her? Your friend? The one you lost? Did she trust you?”
“I'm in my wedding dress; it doesn't have pockets. Who has pockets? Have you ever seen a bride with pockets? When I went to my fitting at Chez Alison, the one thing I forgot to say was ‘Give me pockets’! “
“This friend of yours, just before she left, did she punch you in the face?”
Racknoss, Rose, Pompeii, Ood, Dalek, Jack, Martha, water pistol, library, River, children, Jenny, Messeline, numbers, Mr. and Mrs. Spartacus, Cobb, Gallifrey, Time War, Agatha Christie, Miss Foster, Adipose, turn left, Sontaran ships…
“Mad Martha, that one. Blind Martha. Charity Martha.”
“Brilliant, Fantastic, Molto Bene, Great big universe, packed into my brain. You know you can fix that chameleon circuit if you just try hotwiring the fragment links and superseding the binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary.”
“Because it's in your head. And if it's in your head, it's in mine. “
Slowly, she turned back to look at Jones, who was now behind her. “Donna…are you all right?”
“Of course.” She stared at him, for a very, very long time, as though searching data to put with his face. Slowly, she reached over and put one hand over his heart. Her eyes, reflecting the flames of the firepit behind Harold. “Oh, I’m always all right.” Then, slowly, Donna moved her hand over, until it rested over his other heart. “If it was in his head, it was in mine.”
“I know.” Harold Jones lifted his chin, watching her as she came to the knowledge that she should not have. He wondered what had triggered it, but it didn’t really matter. “Don’t worry Donna, I won’t let you burn.”
“Yes…Master.” It was all she said before her eyes closed and she collapsed in a heap, into the cold, wet sand.
Jones stood over her body, and then pulled his radio out, speaking slowly, but with a sneer of triumph. “Come fetch us. The Doctor Donna is remembering.”
***************************
Wilfred looked through his telescope, from the top of the lighthouse, searching for them. It was getting late, and a cold wind was blowing in from the East. He grew more and more worried, as the hours passed.
Down the beach, he saw a small, old-fashioned cabana appear, out of nowhere, with a sound not unlike that of the Doctor’s blue police box. Then a woman came out, and she held a door as Jones carried an unconscious Donna inside the tiny structure. The woman went inside, closing the door and never hearing Wilfred shouting across the wind. In seconds, the building and its occupants were gone, taking with them his granddaughter.
Mott sank into the cold plastic chair, and wondered how he was ever going to be able to find the Doctor.
to be continued…
Episode: 2
Title: Thanks for the Memories
Prompt: who_topia 1.1.8
Characters: Wilfred Mott, Donna Noble, Dr. Harold Jones
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2152
(Takes place after Episode 1)
There are times that she thought she had been someplace before, seen someplace, before. When she watched the telly, there were shows that never appealed to her, in the past, that seemed not only interesting, but commonplace, now.
Donna Noble had never been one to draw outside the lines, or seek out new flavors. She still wasn't. Yet, there were times that she found herself trying the strange looking dish at the buffet, when she wouldn't have before, or walking home from the shops in a different path. Her mum had looked aghast when she bought trainers in a bright pink color, something she never did prior. It wasn't much, and anyone who didn't know her very well would never notice.
Except Wilfred knew her all too well. Wilfed Mott knew that the Doctor had left behind a ticking time bomb in Donna’s brain, and that someone, some place, some word would trigger the memories too brilliant to be kept hidden. If that day ever came, Donna would burn.
******
"Hello?" The man who came into the lighthouse museum was there just as Wilfred was locking the door, and immediately, Wilfred felt a sense of something being off. "Is Donna about?"
"Who are you?" That came out a bit more gruffly than he intended, but Wilfred was protective of his granddaughter, as well as suspicious of most people.
“Harold Jones. I’m a research scientist over at the base.” The crisp enounciation was in contrast with the man’s seemingly easygoing manor. “I met Donna on the beach, and wanted to see if she was feeling better.”
“She’s fine.” He shuffled over to flip the plastic sign on the door to ‘CLOSED’, hoping that the stranger would take the hint.
Jones’ smile seemed friendly, but his eyes held no humor, and he took in the demeanor of the old man, filing it away for use, as he did so often. Human behavior wasn’t complicated, but it did have a pattern that Harold found intriguing. “I was hoping to run into her. I wanted to invite her to a clambake.”
Mott didn’t get to speak, before the noise in the kitchen reached both men. There had been the clap of the back door slamming, and the rustle of paper, the thump of packages being set on a table. Both men only looked at each other, in the fading light of dusk, as Donna’s voice grew closer to the spot where they had faced off.
“Oi, the ferry was packed, just PACKED, with idiots! Why is it that people think that a boat, a ferry out on the open ocean, is the perfect spot to let their little brats run loose without supervision? The sailors had to grab someone’s little darling off the rail before they tumbled into the sea. Some people shouldn’t have children. I tell you, let one or two become shark snacks, and they’ll learn a lesson.” She appeared in the doorway, blinking and cocking her head at the sight of Dr. Jones. “Oh, hello. Doctor Jones, isn’t it? Grandad, this is the man I told you I met on the beach. How are you?” He really was a handsome bloke, she thought, nice and tall.
“Quite well, Donna. And you? Is your headache better?” Harold spoke easily, in a solitious manner.
“Headache? What sort of headache?” Wilfred forgot about the visitor for a moment, peering at his granddaughter with concern that was a bit much for just a normal headache.
Donna sighed, dramatically, and rolled her eyes. “I’m fine! Just a bit of a headache, nothing much. I’m not an invalid.”
Mott didn’t relax, not even when Donna nudged him. The dire warnings of the Doctor always remained in the back of his mind. She’ll burn. He looked over at Jones, frowning. “We’re closing up the museum for the night.” It was a not so subtle way of suggesting the man depart.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I came. Donna, I was hoping that you might join me for a New England clam bake. I had one prepared and brought over from the mainland, but there’s so much food in there, it would be a waste for just one person.” With a lift of his brow, and a half smile, Harold turned to Wilfrend Mott. “Of course, you’re invited, sir. More than enough.”
“I don’t like clams.” That was a lie. It was this man that Wilfred didn’t like, though he couldn’t say why.
“Grandad! Don’t be rude.” Donna nudged Wilfred on his arm, a bit less gently this time. “What, exactly, is a clambake?”
“Well, they take a pot, and layer potatoes, onions, carrots, lobsters, clams, oysters and other things, along with seaweed and beer, and you bury it in the ground with hot rocks and burning wood, so that it cooks up. Then you eat it.” Dr. Jones was amused at Mott’s reaction to him.
“Sounds lovely. Sandy. A bit daft, but lovely. Let me grab a coat.” Donna rushed out, up to her room, to get a coat and to run a brush through her hair. She put on a bit of lipstick, then wiped it off, because what if he kissed her? Not that she wanted this man to kiss her. Maybe she did. But lipstick could look like she was screaming ‘KISS ME’, and she didn’t want that. Next, she went to put on a bit of perfume, but then she wondered if it would clash with seafood. Oh, well. When she came out, she had her coat on over a thick fisherman’s sweater and her jeans. “Grandad, are you coming?”
Mott debated it. On one hand, he wanted to go and keep an eye on the bloke. On the other, poor Donna was entitled to a bit of fun. His rhuematism didn’t like the cold damp at night, and there was a good mystery book in front of the fire. “No. You young people go on. But don’t get into any trouble. I’ll look in on you from the top.” With his telescope, up in the lighthouse, Wilfred could see every creature on the island. That should keep the man in line.
Donna paused in the doorway, and looked at her grandfather, as though for the last time. “I love you.”
Wilfred felt something deep inside him clutch at his heart. But before he could say anything, she was gone. Just…gone.
*******************
Hours later, Harold Jones and Donna Noble were sitting on a blanket, next to a firepit, drinking ale and laughing at some story she was telling about her mother’s recent disaster in dating. Actually, Donna was laughing, and Harold was watching her, smiling.
“And it was like one of those bonker kid stories, you know? Like some silly villain that the blind mice or the little pigs all run from. I mean, he was scary, but in a rather stupid, oafish sort of way.” She sputtered, as she took a swallow of the ale. Her sides hurt from laughing, and she was quite happy. The meal had been delicious, and they both had eaten with gusto and pleasure. She was shivery, warm, a bit drunk and having a marvelous time. The man with her was charming, and intelligent, and he told her of his research into human brain activity, and how he believed that humans could communicate all over the world with just their thoughts. Oh, all right, so he might be nutters, but he was still a handsome bloke, and he had a job.
“I always like the bad guys in the stories, myself.” Jones leaned in closer to her, his voice dropping to sound almost dangerous. “The dark prince, the beast, the fox after the gingerbread man. Run, run, as fast as you can, can’t catch me…” His head tilted, and his breath was against her cheek, lips not quite touching her cheek.
“…I’m the gingerbread man.” Donna stammered the last words, quietly, as she set down her bottle. Then she put her hands on both sides of Harold’s jaw and neck, and kissed him boldly. It seemed like it had been forever since she had kissed, or been kissed.
The kiss was a surprise to Harold, but he went with it, opening up his lips and engaging tongue, along with lips and teeth, in a deep, long lasting exploration of Donna’s mouth. But it was Donna who was the aggressor, her hands roaming over his arms and chest as she enthusiastically kissed him. The moon was bright, the night crisp and clear, and the waves were lapping at the shore. Other than a bit of sand that had found it’s way into the waistband of her pants, this was pretty much as good as it gets.
When they broke apart, she was breathless, gulping in the salty sea air, but he just smiled at her in the shadows of the fire. Donna looked around, shaking her head. “Do you hear drums? Like a marching band? Drums?” It was faint, as though it had carried in on the breeze from the sea.
Jones leaned over her, looking into her eyes and enjoying the flames there, the burning reflected in those unseeing depths. “What’s wrong, Donna Noble? I thought you liked the villains. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the big, bad wolf.”
At the sound of those words, her breath caught, and she pushed him up, away, off her, shaking her head. Bad Wolf. “No. No, it’s not…what is…”
Jones watched her, surprised. Seduction was forgotten as he observed the reaction she was having to…what? The kiss? He was good, but was he that good?
Bad Wolf. Donna stood up, walking blindly to look out on the ocean. The full moon reflected on the water, rippling as her mind began to overload with information blocked, but now spilling into her consciousness.
”I think sometimes you need somebody to stop you.”
“No chance, Martian. You're the man who keeps saving my life. I ain't letting you out of my sight.”
“Is that what you said to her? Your friend? The one you lost? Did she trust you?”
“I'm in my wedding dress; it doesn't have pockets. Who has pockets? Have you ever seen a bride with pockets? When I went to my fitting at Chez Alison, the one thing I forgot to say was ‘Give me pockets’! “
“This friend of yours, just before she left, did she punch you in the face?”
Racknoss, Rose, Pompeii, Ood, Dalek, Jack, Martha, water pistol, library, River, children, Jenny, Messeline, numbers, Mr. and Mrs. Spartacus, Cobb, Gallifrey, Time War, Agatha Christie, Miss Foster, Adipose, turn left, Sontaran ships…
“Mad Martha, that one. Blind Martha. Charity Martha.”
“Brilliant, Fantastic, Molto Bene, Great big universe, packed into my brain. You know you can fix that chameleon circuit if you just try hotwiring the fragment links and superseding the binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary.”
“Because it's in your head. And if it's in your head, it's in mine. “
Slowly, she turned back to look at Jones, who was now behind her. “Donna…are you all right?”
“Of course.” She stared at him, for a very, very long time, as though searching data to put with his face. Slowly, she reached over and put one hand over his heart. Her eyes, reflecting the flames of the firepit behind Harold. “Oh, I’m always all right.” Then, slowly, Donna moved her hand over, until it rested over his other heart. “If it was in his head, it was in mine.”
“I know.” Harold Jones lifted his chin, watching her as she came to the knowledge that she should not have. He wondered what had triggered it, but it didn’t really matter. “Don’t worry Donna, I won’t let you burn.”
“Yes…Master.” It was all she said before her eyes closed and she collapsed in a heap, into the cold, wet sand.
Jones stood over her body, and then pulled his radio out, speaking slowly, but with a sneer of triumph. “Come fetch us. The Doctor Donna is remembering.”
***************************
Wilfred looked through his telescope, from the top of the lighthouse, searching for them. It was getting late, and a cold wind was blowing in from the East. He grew more and more worried, as the hours passed.
Down the beach, he saw a small, old-fashioned cabana appear, out of nowhere, with a sound not unlike that of the Doctor’s blue police box. Then a woman came out, and she held a door as Jones carried an unconscious Donna inside the tiny structure. The woman went inside, closing the door and never hearing Wilfred shouting across the wind. In seconds, the building and its occupants were gone, taking with them his granddaughter.
Mott sank into the cold plastic chair, and wondered how he was ever going to be able to find the Doctor.
to be continued…