FF: Rewriting the Script (Ten/Donna - PG)
Disclaimers: Not mine. Auntie’s. Although if David Tennant wants to come round to argue the point, I’d have no objections!
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble (Ten/Donna)
Rating: PG
Category: Humour, fluff, romance
Spoilers: Set post- S4. Please apply your fixit of choice!
Written for time_converges in the 2010 Secret Santa fication at doctor_donna and originally posted here
Thanks go to zinke and canterlevi for their suggestions and encouragement.
Prompt: Doctor/Donna romance. The Doctor decides to take Donna out for a proper date (maybe as a surprise), but as usual, things get in the way. Kissage is encouraged. The fluffier the better. Post-fixit is even better.
Well, I’m not sure if this is what she had in mind, but I had fun anyway. Enjoy!
A/N: “Oh, no - we’re not a couple.” The pair did oft protest too much, methinks. I know it was supposed to be a running gag, but we all know there was a perfectly good reason Ten and Donna got mistaken for a couple so often. She took the piss out of him, he let her and they didn’t have sex. (Well, not on screen anyway!) How much more married can two people be?!
Rewriting the Script
”You know, it occurs to me,” the Doctor says casually, “that we haven’t actually been - ” He pauses, clears his throat - but it doesn’t help what he’s about to say sound any less daft in his head.
Donna eyes him quizzically. “Been where?”
He rubs the corner of one eye and decides to just get it over with. “On - er - well. On a date.”
Donna snorts. “A date?”
“Yes. What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Doctor,” Donna says when she’s finished laughing. “You might be nine-hundred-and-odd years old, but sometimes,” she pats his hand, “you act just like a teenager!”
“Oi!” he says indignantly. “I do no such - anyway, I thought you lot went in for stuff like that. You know. Dinner. Dancing. That awful moment at the end of the night when you’re not sure whether to kiss or not to kiss and which way to lean if you do or how fast you can leg it if you’re not going to - what is it now?”
She’s chuckling again. “Blimey, you weren’t kidding when you said you lived your life in the wrong order.”
“So?”
“I hate to break it to you, Doctor,” she says carefully and very seriously. “But the dinner and dancing usually come before …” she pauses, waving her hand around to indicate the bed they’re currently sharing. “Before this. Not after.”
“Well, yes,” he says, trailing his fingers idly up and down her bare arm. “I know that, obviously. But we never really had the time, did we? I mean,” he slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, “I’ve only just got you back, and I just thought…” he shrugs lightly. “Oh well, if you don’t want to go - ”
She looks up at him and smiles fondly, reaching up to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I dunno,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Great big scary Time Lord’s a great big softie underneath it all.”
“Watch it!” he exclaims in protest, his grin belying the exasperation in his tone.
“It’s okay,” Donna says patting his chest lightly. “I won’t tell anyone. And anyway,” she concedes. “I never said I didn’t want to.”
“So..?” he says hopefully.
“So - yes. Okay.” She nods “It’s a date. Or it will be. Or - ” she puffs out a breath. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
He opens his mouth, the words ‘hardly ever’ on the tip of his tongue - when he thinks better of responding and closes it again. It seems he’s made the right decision when Donna turns onto her side, stretching the length of her warm, supple body against the length of his.
“So,” she begins, smoothing her palm slowly across his stomach. “Where are we going on this ‘date’, then?”
The Doctor turns his head on the pillow. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “Where would you like to go?”
“Oooh…” Donna sighs, her hand making its way slowly across to his hip. “Somewhere swanky, with nice food. And dancing. It’s been a while since I’ve been dancing and - ” she stops suddenly and pushes herself up onto one elbow. “Can you dance?”
“’Course I can,” he says confidently, tucking one arm behind his head. “Fred was dead impressed with those steps I taught him - said I was a natural.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “You are such a poser. I s’pose you taught Gene Kelly everything he knew an’ all.”
“Well…” he pouts. “I might have given him a tip or two.”
Donna sighs as she tucks herself back into his side. “You know, half the time I think you’re talking crap -”
“And the other half?”
“Oh, the other half, I know you are.”
With a contented chuckle, the Doctor puts his arms around her and glances down at the wealth of shining red hair nestled against his chest. Picking up a strand, he twirls it idly through his fingers, then leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes, a low moan emanating from the back of his throat as Donna’s fingers begin to trace the length of his thigh.
When she slides one leg over his and begins to press warm, wet kisses to his collarbone and the base of his throat, all thoughts of dinner and dancing flee his mind.
###
Even though Donna is putting the finishing touches to her hair, she can’t help noticing the wistful expression on the Doctor’s face as he finishes buttoning his crisp, white shirt.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says with a false brightness that she knows better than to question. “It’s just… ”
“What?” She comes to stand next to him, rubbing her hand gently over his shoulder and upper arm.
He offers her a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah,” he says. “Doesn’t matter.”
Donna cocks an eyebrow and decides not to press him about it. For a few, short moments, she’d had that knowledge in her head; had known everything he knew, but all that had gone when he’d restored her memory… and now it’s as though she’d never had it in the first place.
She thinks it’s better that way; better to know someone because they let you in rather than because there’s no alternative. And she knows that he’ll tell her what’s put that look of gentle melancholy into his eyes if he needs to or wants to, and for now - that’s enough.
She walks back to the dressing table to take a last look in the mirror, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he fiddles with his cufflinks. After a moment or two, she turns and walks back over to stand in front of him, takes the length of black silk he’s just picked up and reaches up to slip it around his shirt collar.
As she’d hoped, his expression clears and he smiles at her - a genuine smile this time, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and lights up his face.
“I can tie my own tie, you know,” he protests mildly as her fingers work quickly, deftly knotting and looping the fabric.
“I’m sure you can,” Donna says with a fond smile of her own as she fixes her eyes on her task.
The Doctor takes the opportunity afforded him to look at her unobserved and thinks again how lovely she looks. She’s wearing a long, deep blue dress in a silky fabric that shimmers all the colours of the rainbow as the light catches it - and which clings in all the right places. Her hair is swept up, exposing the creamy length of her throat, the nest of soft curls looped on top of her head threaded through with ribbons of the same colour as the dress.
“Hm,” he grunts, momentarily transfixed by the way the light is playing over Donna’s hair, the contrast of the glowing red with the multi-hued glimmer of the ribbons. He lifts his chin to allow her more room to work and lets his thoughts drift, content to just stand there and enjoy her closeness, breathing in her warmth and scent. He’s discovered that she’s not really one for wearing artificial perfumes, preferring instead to use shampoos and soaps that leave a lingering fragrance. Today it’s something fruity - strawberries, he thinks, and - yes, possibly mangoes in there somewhere, too.
He feels her making a final adjustment to her handiwork and takes the half-step that’s all that’s needed for them to be standing toe-to-toe. “I can,” he resumes his earlier train of thought. “But thinking about it,” he says softly, sliding an arm around her waist, “your way is better.”
She looks up at him through her lashes, a tell-tale flush beginning to creep across her cheeks. “Yeah?” she breathes, the huskiness in her tone causing one of his hearts to skip a beat.
“Yeah,” he echoes, pulling her close and bending his head so that he can kiss her. Her mouth is soft, warm and cherry flavoured and she makes that little sound in the back of her throat that he loves when he parts her lips with his tongue. She kisses him back enthusiastically and threads the fingers of one hand into his hair, her other palm resting against his chest - where he’s sure she’ll be able to feel the beat of his hearts speeding up through the fabric of his shirt. He deepens the kiss, moaning softly into her mouth when he feels her pressing her body more firmly against his, the hand on his chest sliding up slowly to wind itself around his neck - and he’s starting to wonder if staying in would be an option when she pulls back with, he’s pleased to note, a murmur of disappointment.
“I’ll have to redo my make-up now,” Donna grumbles half-heartedly, reaching up to brush her thumb across his bottom lip. “So much for stay-put lipsticks.” She sighs. “I think you’re wearing more than I am!”
He raises an eyebrow and turns to glance in the mirror - but all he can see is that his tie is a little askew.
Donna smirks. “Gotcha.”
The Doctor just rolls his eyes, turns to pick up his jacket and shrugs it on.
“I have to say,” Donna runs her eyes up and down the length of his body, then steps closer so that she can slide a hand slowly down the length of his lapel. “The Penguin Suit looks good on you.”
“Well. It’s a good suit.”
She gives his tie a final tweak into place. “Obviously. I mean, it’s hard not to look good in one of these, innit?”
Hands stuffed into his pockets, he grins saucily as he leans towards her. “’s okay,” he says, smugness exuding from every pore. “You can admit it, now.”
“Admit what?”
“That you might finally be succumbing to my many and varied charms.”
Donna sighs as she slips her arm through his. “Yeah. It’s the modesty I find most attractive.”
###
Donna tightens her grip on the Doctor’s arm, temporarily speechless as she surveys the grand ballroom that stretches out at the bottom of the staircase they’re about to descend.
“Can I take it,” he asks with a knowing smile, “that you’re suitably impressed?”
She nods slowly. “You weren’t kidding when you said this was gonna be swanky, were you?”
He rocks gently on his heels. “Nope.”
The room is literally magnificent - and full to the brim with people - aliens, Donna corrects - humanoid, reptilian and other designations she can’t put a name to; tall, short, fat, thin, bald, hairy, one-eyed, three-eyed, bug-eyed, green, blue, red… she’s never seen so many different species in one place before.
Six massive crystal structures that look rather like chandeliers - only bigger and more imposing than anything she’s ever seen - hang from the high, ornately decorated ceiling, while around the walls, masses of coloured lights have been woven through the intricate floral arrangements that fill the spaces between the marble pillars lining the room.
Off to one side is what appears to be a dining area. Donna can see tall, besuited, blue-skinned waiters bustling among the tables, while at the far end of the a small orchestra is playing, music she’s surprised to discover sounds not unlike the sort of thing she’d have expected to hear in a similar setting on Earth.
The whole place is buzzing and Donna stands transfixed as she watches the crowd milling about below them.
“What is this place?”
“It’s one of the Sarrusian floating hotels. A bit like… I dunno, the QE2 or the Ti - er…” the Doctor stops abruptly, sniffs, then continues. “The Sarrusians are famous in this part of the galaxy for knowing how to have a good time.” He nudges her arm. “What do you think?”
Donna lifts her skirts slightly as they descend the first flight of steps, a tiny bit envious of the way the Doctor, no matter what the situation, manages to exude confidence. He’s ambling down the steps with his hands in his pockets, looking as though he does this sort of thing every day.
“It’s fantastic,” she says, awed. Then - “hang on. You said it’s a floating hotel. Where are we floating, exactly?”
“We’re in orbit around Drak’han. It’s one of the Sarrusian colonies; nothing to write home about really,” he rubs the end of his nose. “But it’s quite pretty from up here. We should be able to get a good view from our table.”
Donna beams at him. “You actually booked a table?”
“Er…” he rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “Not as such, but - ” he digs around in his pocket and fishes out a familiar black wallet. “Best seat in the house,” he grins, “no problem.”
Donna shakes her head fondly as together, they make their way across the landing where they’re greeted by the maître d’, a squat, blue-skinned individual with a shock of black hair and a thick, handle-bar moustache.
“Good evening, Sir,” he says loftily, “Madam,” his manner as obsequiously oily as anything Donna’s seen on Upstairs Downstairs. “Might I have your names?”
“I’m the Doctor,” says the Doctor, “and this is Donna Noble.” He waves the psychic paper under the alien’s nose. “Here’s our reservation.”
“Very good, Sir,” says the maître d’ with a very stately incline of his head. “If you’ll follow me - Doctor Noble, Mrs Noble.”
“Oh, no,” the Doctor begins hastily, waving a hand between himself and his companion. “We’re not toge - ”
“We’re not a cou- ” Donna blurts out hurriedly - and they simultaneously come to an abrupt stop as they realise that their old script is badly in need of a rewrite.
“Married,” they finish lamely, turning to look at one another, each wearing a slightly nonplussed expression.
Then the Doctor shoves his hands deep into his pockets and turns back to the waiter with a grin.
“Just the Doctor and Donna Noble - that’s us.”
“Very good, Sir.” The blue-skinned alien shows no signs of perturbation as he inclines his head again and indicates that they should follow him.
The Doctor straightens his jacket and offers Donna his arm again as they descend the imposing main staircase.
“We’ll have to come up with something better than that now,” she suggests reasonably.
The Doctor nods, lips pursed. “Girlfriend?”
They stop and look at each other, horrified. “God, no,” Donna says as the Doctor shakes his head and they start walking again.
“Partner?” he tries, tugging at an earlobe.
Donna wrinkles her nose. “Makes us sound like a bank.”
“Significant Other?”
She shoots him a look.
“Okay, so maybe not.” Then he stops on the step below her, turns and leans in, a rakish smirk adorning his features.
“Lover?” he drawls, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Donna almost trips over her dress as she stifles a snort. “I’ll smack you in a minute.”
The Doctor shrugs and pulls a face. “Oh well. S’pose not then.”
They reach the bottom of the staircase where a much more humanoid-looking waiter is holding a tray of glasses containing a pale amber liquid.
The Doctor takes two. “We’ll think of something,” he says smiling, as he hands one to Donna.
She smiles back. “We always do.”
The Doctor cups her elbow in his palm as he begins to steer them through the crowd and into the dining area. They reach their table - which does, as the he had promised, have a rather spectacular view of the planet below - and set down their glasses. Donna is about to pull out her chair so that she can sit down when she finds that the Doctor has beaten her to it and is holding it ready for her. She knows it’s ridiculous, but she nonetheless feels a flutter at the pit of her stomach and can’t help a huge grin spreading across her face as she sits. The Doctor pushes in her chair and then takes his seat at right-angles to her.
“What?”
“Oh …” Donna dips her head, trying to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. “It’s just … ” and she stops, realising that while she might be sleeping with him, there’s no way she’s going to tell him that a such a simple, gentlemanly gesture has her so flustered. She’ll never hear the end of it
“Nothing,” she says brightly, looking up to find him watching her with an affectionate smile on his face. “What’s this, then?” she picks up her glass and twirls it around, watching the bubbles play and fizz in the pale amber liquid.
“’s perfectly okay,” the Doctor reassures her, taking a sip. “It’s a bit like Earth Champagne.”
Donna lifts her glass to her lips. The liquid is cold and very nice - bubbly and, she realises, quite heady.
“Here,” she nudges his arm. “You’re not planning to get me drunk on this stuff so you can have your wicked way with me, are you?”
The Doctor’s face is the picture of innocence. “Course not.”
Donna nods - not sure she’s not the tiniest bit disappointed at his denial when he puts his hand over hers, moves closer - and actually leers at her.
“I don’t have to get you drunk for you to let me do that.”
His voice is low and husky and he’s close enough for his breath to be warming her cheek. Donna ignores the little lurch at the pit of her stomach and lets out a resigned sigh. “You really do know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”
“Nah,” he says, his expression suddenly serious, his fingers curling around her palm. “You don’t need me for that. You’re special enough already.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him to shut up and stop talking such rubbish - but she bites back that response. Since he’d found a way to give her back her memories and she’d told him to stop being such a self-centred prat about not wanting to risk losing her again - she’s trying hard to learn to accept his compliments with grace. After all, she had saved the Universe, so she supposes that this is one of those times she can allow herself to think that maybe - just maybe - he’s got a point.
So she smiles at him instead and takes another sip of her drink. He gives her hand a squeeze and then releases it, picks up his glass and leans back in his chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Silently, they both survey the room.
“So what’s going on here, then?” Donna asks after a while.
“Our first date,” the Doctor says with a soppy grin.
“I know that, you dumbo,” she grins back. “But it looks to me like there’s a bit of a shindig going on over there,” she says, turning her head to look at the large - and rather noisy - gathering at the other end of the dining room.
“Well,” the Doctor draws himself up in his seat and cranes his neck so that he can see the group to which she’s referring.
“That’s the Drak’hari royal family,” he says, continuing to look over the top of Donna’s head.
“Blimey! Royalty?”
“Yep. My guess is that it’s their annual post-war bash.”
“Post war?” Alarmed, Donna turns to look at him.
“Don’t worry,” he says, reassuringly. “It was all quite a long time ago now. Terrible conflict, went on for decades. Centuries,” he corrects. “Generations were lost, planets and civilisations destroyed…” he sighs and looks at her, an expression of sadness filling his dark eyes. “Some things are the same no matter where you are in the universe.”
Donna doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right, of course - she’s seen it for herself time and time again - .and not for the first time wonders how he can have seen all he’s seen and done everything he’s done and yet manage to find a reason to keep going.
No-one knows how they’re gonna be remembered. He’d told her once. We can only hope for the best.
She supposes that’s as good a reason as any. He’s seen so much that would make a lesser man think anything but the best, and yet he still keeps looking for it. And that’s got to count for something.
He puffs out a breath and appears to shake himself out of it. “Anyway. The Drak’hari and the Varath made their peace a long time ago, and they commemorate it each year. Well, in your terms, it’s every six hundred and seventy-three days, but …”
“I get it,” Donna nods. “This is sort of an anniversary ‘do’.”
“Something like that,” the Doctor confirms and then, as he so often does, changes the subject at lightning speed. “So what would you like to eat?”
###
“You know,” Donna muses quietly some time later. ” I’m thinking that maybe I wasn’t specific enough about the terms of this date.”
“How so?”
“Well - ”
“You asked for swanky,” the Doctor points out reasonably. “And this is very - ”
“Swanky. Oh, it’s definitely swanky.”
“And you wanted dinner.”
“I did. And the food was excellent.”
“And there was dancing.”
“Sort of.”
He turns to face her, a frown creasing his brow. “What d’you mean - sort of?” he protests in a loud whisper. “You asked for dancing - we danced.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Well…” she begins, stringing out the vowel sound in a very familiar way. “I s’pose we did. Although if my mother had seen us, she wouldn’t have called it dancing.”
“No?” the Doctor’s frown deepens.
“No. She’d have said it was more like having sex on the dance floor but,” Donna shrugs, “you know.”
The Doctor shoots her a look containing more than a little bit of pride as he straightens his tie. Donna elbows him gently in the side.
“So what is it you weren’t specific about?” he asks again. “Exactly?”
She pulls a face. “I just can’t remember asking for dinner, dancing - and an army of shouty, megalomaniac, pointy-headed aliens with great big guns.”
As Donna finishes her sentence, there’s a loud clanging and tramping sound as three of those pointy-headed aliens take up a position in front of them and the small group of guests with whom they’re standing, their aforementioned great big guns pointing squarely at her and the Doctor.
“You were ordered to be silent,” a gravelly voice booms out from beneath a smooth, greenish-grey helmet.
The Doctor ignores the command and continues blithely to address Donna.
“You didn’t ask for that?”
“Absolutely not,” she responds casually. “I’m sure I’d have remembered.”
“It’s not really an army though is it? It’s more of a - ”
“Silence!” bellows the voice again as its owner makes a threatening gesture with its gun.
But the Doctor takes no notice other than to hold up a hand, palm facing out - in a universally recognisable gesture.
“Ssssh,” he hisses, without turning to look at his antagonist. “I’m talking.”
“You will cease at once,” another - even louder - voice snarls. “Your insolence is an affront to the - ”
“Blimey,” the Doctor interrupts loudly. “Some people…”
Stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, he turns slowly to face the angry owner of the voice and clears his throat.
“Okay - now I’m all yours.” He rocks on his heels, grinning. “What’s up, big fella?”
The alien levels his gun at the Doctor’s chest. “Enough,” he barks. “I am Commander Medrok of the Varath High Council. Your disobedience will not be tolerated.”
The Doctor tugs at an earlobe and pulls a face, glancing surreptitiously at the other Varath, their guns still trained on himself and Donna. “Well,” he begins, inhaling sharply. “See - that’s one of those things about me, disobedient to a fault. Never do as I’m told, me, do I, Donna?” Donna knows a rhetorical question when she hears one and watches a little uneasily as the Doctor continues to babble on. “I’m the Doctor, by the way. ‘allo.”
The alien commander is unimpressed. “The High Council of the Varath demands your respect,” he grates out imperiously.
Oh, I see,” the Doctor says, leaning forward slightly. “Well, this isn’t exactly the way to earn respect, is it?” His voice suddenly drops in pitch, he’s squared his shoulders and has become very still, signs Donna recognises as meaning he’s had enough.
“That is of no moment,” responds Medrok. “Prince Charan and his brothers of the royal house of Drak’han are wanted on Varath for crimes committed against the High Council.”
“Oh, well, of course, that’s alright then!” the Doctor declaims loudly, spinning around as he waves a hand to indicate the mass of scared people who are huddled together in groups, staring down the barrels of guns.
“Because it’s perfectly reasonable for you to burst in here and terrorise a ship full of innocent people!”
“Our methods are none of your concern, Doctor,” the alien barks. “This ship is harbouring fugitives from justice. Our retribution will be swift and just.”
The Doctor steps forward and fixes the Varath commander with an implacable stare.
“There will be no retribution,” he says slowly and emphatically, his tone one that could cut glass.
“I do not think you are in any position to make demands,” the commander grates out coolly. “Your life is now forfeit to the Council - they will decide the manner of your execution.”
“Nooo!” the Doctor‘s protest is almost a petulant whine as he puts both hands into the air in front of him. “Just - just hang on a minute and let me work this out.” Without giving the alien the opportunity to reply, he rattles on. “The war between the Drak’hari and the Varath was over ages ago,” he says quickly. “I know, ‘cause I was there when the treaty was signed,” he smiles suddenly. “That was one hell of a party they threw afterwards, I can tell you - although I don’t think the exploding cocktails were such a good idea.” He sucks in a breath. “Anyway - where was I? Oh yes - all this was over ages ago so,” his voice drops ominously, “what are you up to, eh?”
“The Drak’hari are in violation of that treaty,” Commander Medrok says gruffly. “They have refused to bring the offenders to justice for their crimes and now they must pay the price.”
“Wait!” cries the Doctor. “Can’t you just arrest them? I mean, there’s no reason to hold this entire ship hostage - ”
“Enough!” the commander barks, and the Varath guards that are surrounding the group of which Donna and the Doctor are a part raise their guns again and take a couple of steps closer. “This ship is now under Varath command. Your protests are of no consequence.”
“Let me help,” the Doctor persists. “I can - ”
“Your protests are of no consequence,” Medrok repeats, advancing a step which forces the Doctor to move backwards.
“Your actions are in direct violation of clause Seventy-One-B, subsection four of the articles of the Shadow Proclamation,” he argues desperately, “you can’t - ”
“Silence!” shouts Medrok, taking another step forward. “Your disobedience will no longer be tolerated.” He nods at the flanking guards, all of whom take another step forward.
The Doctor rolls his eyes and sighs melodramatically. “Why does nobody ever listen?” he mutters under his breath, flicking a meaningful glance at Donna.
As she shrugs in response, the Varath commander’s large, pointed head swivels in her direction.
“Your woman will be the first to pay the price for your insolence.”
“Oi!” Donna bellows. “Yes, I’m talking to you, you… great big tin can!” she takes a couple of steps forward, watched incredulously by the other members of the crowd.
“I’m getting fed up with this,” she says, moving to stand in front of the Doctor, arms akimbo. “People like you, thinking that all you’ve got to do is to threaten me to get Martian-Boy there to do what you want. Well, I’m telling you now, it won’t work. Never has.”
The Varath commander calls to his officers. “Take her - ” at the same time as the air is filled by a loud, high-pitched shriek - and then by the sounds of splintering glass and thunderous crashes as the two chandeliers at the far end of the room drop to the floor, clouds of dust billowing in their wake. Screams rend the air as the massive crowd begins to panic and to run in all directions, heedless of the orders being barked by the Varath guards. Another chandelier shatters as shots resound, but not even the threat posed by the blasts from the weapons is enough to contain the assembled throng in the face of the deadly, crushing weight of falling glass and stone.
The crowd surges for the exits as two more of the chandeliers crash to the ground; the guards nearest the Doctor and Donna are knocked aside by the stampede and, sonic screwdriver still in hand, the Doctor grabs Donna and tugs her with him, away from the crowd and towards a small, inconspicuous door at the back of the dining area.
“Kitchens,” he explains as they run towards it. “Useful things, kitchens. Just like little shops, only - ”
They duck as a blast from one of the Varath guns slams into the wall behind them, just above their heads. “Close,” breathes the Doctor. “Come on.”
###
Donna can still hear the screams and the sound of gunfire as they emerge from the kitchens and head down a plushly carpeted corridor.
“Where are we going?” she gasps. “We can’t just leave; we should - ”
Donna’s sentence is cut off as the Doctor drags her around a corner and flattens them both into a small alcove as a group of armoured Varath run past them and towards the ballroom. When they’ve passed, the Doctor peeks out to check that the coast is clear and then turns to face her, his hands on her upper arms.
“Believe me,” he says earnestly, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “I don’t like leaving them any more than you do, but we can’t do anything to help them from there.”
Donna takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “Okay,” she agrees. “So what now?”
“I’ll think of something,” he says, as he steps out into the corridor and looks up and down, evidently getting his bearings.
Donna rolls her eyes - then bends down and takes off her shoes.
“I knew I should’ve worn trainers,” she grumbles.
“Nah,” the Doctor says flashing her a cheeky grin. “They wouldn’t have gone with that dress.”
Donna huffs. “Says the man wearing Converse with a tuxedo.”
He preens just a little. “Works for me.”
Before Donna can reply, he’s grabbed her hand again. “Coast’s clear - come on!”
###
They burst through the door and close it quickly.
“Did… did we lose them?” Donna gasps, trying to catch her breath.
“For now.” The Doctor seals the door behind them with a few quick bursts from his sonic screwdriver. “That should hold them off for a bit.” He flips the sonic into the air and catches it deftly before putting it back into his jacket pocket, then spins on his heel to survey the room into which they’ve blundered.
Donna nods as she, too, looks around the room, which is packed with screens and consoles and panels of flashing lights; the surfaces are strewn with varying amounts of junk - lumps of metal, bits of wiring, spare parts, tools…
It has that ‘bomb’s just hit it’ look that’s not unlike the Doctor’s study in the TARDIS, now she comes to think of it.
She wipes a finger across one of the cluttered surfaces and wrinkles her nose in distaste. “So much for the swanky, state-of-the-art hotel,” she observes. “It needs a bloody good clean down ‘ere!”
“Probably can’t get the staff,” the Doctor deadpans, as he pulls at the ends of his tie and undoes the top couple of buttons on his shirt. Slipping on his glasses, he moves quickly to the large control panel at the far end of the room.
He drops to his knees and opens up a small door underneath the surface, then takes out the sonic again and aims a few bursts at the wiring he’s now holding in his other hand.
“Right. I’ve disrupted the communications channels,” he says, slamming shut the panel door, “so that should buy us some time - but we won’t have long.”
“Where are we?”
“It’s the auxilliary control room,” he explains as he jumps up, pulls a keyboard towards him and begins typing rapidly.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath. “Come on - oh… No.”
Donna walks over to him. “What?”
It seems as though he hasn’t heard her. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head slowly. “No. No, no no, no, no!” he almost throws the keyboard across the surface in annoyance, each denial louder than the last.
“Doctor,” she tries again. “What is it?”
.He turns to face her, aghast. “They’ve rigged this thing to self-destruct.”
Donna’s hand flies to her mouth. “But,” she begins. “They can’t. I mean, all those people - ”
The Doctor moves to stand in front of her, and takes both her hands in his giving them a hasty, reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay - I can fix it.” He releases her hands and moves to a smaller console at the other side of the room, pulling out another, dilapidated looking keyboard from underneath a pile of junk on one of the workstations. “I just need to divert the power from the main engines to the secondary drives, remotely hot-wire the main security system from here and reformat the - woah!“ he jumps back as a small shower of sparks flies into the air and puffs of smoke suddenly spill out of the terminal.
“Okay, well perhaps not that way then,” he says, waving his hand around to clear the smoke. “What else, what else, what else…?” he mutters, running his hand repeatedly through his hair.
Donna moves to stand next to him. “Will that stop it?”
“What?” he turns to look at her, puzzled.
“You know. Rerouting the power and hotwiring the whatever?”
“Oh, that,” he says with a grin. “Yes.”
Before he can bound off again, she grabs his arm. “Doctor?” she says softly, her eyes looking deeply into his.
He swallows hard. “Well,” - and cocks his head to the side. “Probably yes.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “Probably yes?”
He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m making this up as I go along,” he says, dropping to his knees again and opening up another panel of wiring beneath the surface of the workstation. “Aha!” he looks up and winks at her. “Have I ever let you down?”
She just arches a brow as his head and shoulders disappear under the console. A few seconds later, he’s dumping handfuls of wires and bits of metal on the floor next to him and then settles himself onto his back, arms above his head, as he continues to prod, poke and sonic at what Donna presumes is yet more wiring and circuitry inside.
She drops her shoes to the ground and sinks to the floor at his side, sighing at the thought that the gorgeous dress she’s wearing is going to be filthy by the end of the evening. She draws her knees to her chest and clasps her arms around them as she watches the Doctor work. He’s pulling out more wires, stripping them, joining them, pushing this, twiddling that; until finally, he pulls himself up onto his knees and presses some controls on the console. A screen set into the wall above him flickers into life - and he grins before ducking back underneath again.
“It’s really quiet in here,” Donna observes after a minute or two. The only response is a muffled grunt, and so she carries on nonchalantly. “Your yapping drives me up the wall sometimes, but now…” she hugs herself tightly. “This quiet is giving me the willies. I mean everyone up there… they might all be - ”
She can’t bring herself to finish that sentence - but she needs to do something. She knows that the Doctor will ask for her help if he needs it, but she can’t help feeling a bit useless, just sitting there watching him. She also knows that he might not be talking about it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about what might happening to the rest of the guests.
Fortunately, however, he’s never averse to chatting, even in the most stressful of situations - so perhaps there is something she can do to help, after all.
“Why is it,” she begins, changing the subject as assuredly as the Doctor ever does, “that that lot - and almost everyone else we meet - assumes we’re … you know?”
The Doctor’s head suddenly pops out from under the console. There’s dust and bits of cut wire in his hair, he’s got a large smudge on one cheek - and a puzzled frown creasing his brow.
“Well - we are… you know,” he says matter-of-factly, before disappearing again, leaving her staring at his long legs and his up-turned trainers.
Donna huffs. “Yes, I know we are now - but what about before?”
His response is muffled by the fact that he has his screwdriver in his mouth, but she can tell it’s along the lines of - “what?”
“It’s been like that since the first day,” she continues. “We turn up somewhere, introduce ourselves to people and it’s ‘hello Mr and Mrs whoever’.”
The Doctor scrambles to his feet again, and moves swiftly to the control panel at the other end of the room.
He lets the sonic drop into his hand. “You really want to talk about that now?” he says incredulously as he fiddles with the settings and then aims it at some of the wildly blinking lights on one side of the panel.
“Why not?” she pouts casually. “I mean if this goes wrong, it’ll be the last chance I ever get to ask you.”
The Doctor smiles as he returns to her side. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
She offers him an answering smile and swats his arm. “Get back to work.”
He thrusts two panels of circuitry into her hands. “Hold that,” and he’s back underneath the console, the sonic screwdriver whirring and screeching as he continues to work on disabling the self-destruct mechanism.
“It’s just…” Donna continues. “In all that time I spent looking for you, it never occurred to me that aliens could be sexist.”
“You what?”
“Sexist. You know - a chauvinistic belief in the inferiority of women.”
“Yes, I know what it means,” he says, holding out his hand. “It’s what you mean I don’t get.”
Donna hands over the circuits, one at a time. “Well, this lot, for instance. And on Messaline. And that planet with the purple people with the big ears - ”
"Gorrat?”
“Yeah, there. They want you to do something - they threaten me.”
“How - ” his voice tails off as he reaches further into the mess of wires - “ah, got it! - is that sexist?”
“They never threaten to ‘kill my man’, do they?” Donna points out. “So much for equality.”
The Doctor pulls himself out from underneath the console again and starts tapping rapidly at another keyboard; one - Donna’s pleased to note - that doesn’t blow up this time.
“It’s not sexism,” he counters, looking up at the screen as he types.
“So what is it then?” she asks, getting to her feet.
“It’s… I dunno… I mean, it all depends on where you are and how you look at it. On Melluous 4, females are sacred and I’d have to have a special dispensation to even talk to you. On Raxillar, they’d assume I was your slave and on Planet Zog they’d think I was - “
Donna sucks in a breath. “Oh, you’re kidding me. There really is a Planet Zog?”
“Oh, yeah.” The Doctor stops typing with a flourish worthy of a concert pianist and spins round to face her. “Well, strictly speaking it’s Zogaruellianoropolophicus - but we call it ‘Zog’ for short.”
Donna opens her mouth to ask just what they’d think on Zogaruell - Planet Zog - when she hears noises coming from outside. Glancing at the Doctor, it’s clear, from the stiffness in his posture that he’s heard it, too.
“What’s that?” she mouths slowly.
He shakes his head, a finger to his lips and moves quietly to the door. Digging around in a pocket, he pulls out an old stethoscope and uses it to listen intently for a few seconds - then puts it away and turns back to face her.
“It’s okay,” he says in hushed tones. “From what I could hear, it was some of the other guests trying to get to the escape pods.”
Donna lets out the breath she’s been holding.
“But,” the Doctor continues, “if they’re down here, it’s a good bet the Varath won’t be far behind.”
Snatching up something that looks a bit like a pair of pliers, he disappears underneath the console again.
Donna stands quietly, just listening for a moment or two - but when she doesn’t hear anything more coming from outside, she resumes their conversation.
“And?”
“And - what?”
“What would they think on Planet Zog?”
The Doctor doesn’t miss a beat. “About what?”
Donna rolls her eyes. “About us. You. You said that on Planet Zog, they’d think you were… something.”
“Did I?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “You did. And it’s got to be something really good, because I can tell that you don’t want to tell me.”
The Doctor just stares up at her for a couple of seconds before getting to his feet and attempting to brush some of the dust from the knees of his trousers.
“They’d think…” he begins, and, still speaking, rushes away to the other side of the room - but he’s facing away from her and she can’t make out what he says.
“Oh, this has got to be a good one. Come on, Time Boy - what is it? Oh, don’t tell me - they’d think you were my eunuch!”
The Doctor’s head whips around. “No!”
“What then?”
He grunts a reply - but Donna can’t be sure she’s heard correctly. “My what?”
“That’s the nearest translation!” he protests, his voice sounding unaccountably squeaky.
Donna starts laughing. “My concubine?!”
“Donna,” he cautions. “We’re supposed to be hiding? You know - being quiet?”
She claps a hand over her mouth. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve heard all week!” she gasps.
The Doctor pulls a face. “Well… there you are then.”
“We’ll have to visit Planet Zog sometime,” Donna says, still giggling faintly. “I rather like the idea of having you at my beck and call.”
“Like I’m not already?” he mutters, sonicking open another panel and pulling out a thick cable.
“Oi!” Donna chides him fondly. “But that still doesn’t explain why people take one look at us and - ”
“I dunno,” he says absently as he walks along unravelling the cable. “I s’pose,” he breaks off and bends down to plug it in among the wiring he’s been working on, “they just see a male and a female and… assume.”
“It’s alright for you,” Donna says gruffly. “You’re probably used to it by now.”
Without looking at her or stopping what he’s doing, the Doctor screws up his face. “What d’you mean, used to it, used to what?”
“You’ve travelled with lots of people - you told me.”
“Yeah, but nobody thought I was married to any of them!”
Donna is momentarily taken aback. “What? None of them?”
The Doctor stops this time, and turns his head to look at her, his brow furrowed. “Not now I come to think of it, no. Well, none of the females, anyway. Although I remember there was this one time with Jack when - ”
A loud, whooping sound blares out from across the room causing Donna to cover her ears and the Doctor to leap across to the main controls. He throws a lever, punches a large green button - and the sound dies as abruptly as it had begun.
“Ha!” he yells, spinning round with a huge grin on his face. “Job done!”
“What now?” Donna asks.
“We leg it.”
“Always assuming those… Varath - things - haven’t been waiting outside all this time?”
The Doctor cocks his head to the side. “Yeah. Assuming that. Because now I’ve spoiled their fun they’ll be really annoyed.”
He moves towards the door, but before he can open it, Donna’s grabbed his hand.
“Hang on, though. What about all those people? We have to - I dunno, can’t we call for help or something?”
The Doctor stops dead, and then, quick as a flash, takes her face between his hands and plants a loud, wet kiss on her forehead. “Oooh, I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he exclaims, dashing back to the main console and quickly typing a few commands.
Donna leans wearily against the wall. “You wear me out just watching you, you know,” she mumbles, sotto-voce.
“Hm?”
“Nothing.”
“Right,” the Doctor says a few seconds later. “I’ve dialled 999. But I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be here when the Judoon arrive.”
“There’ll be one hell of a pissing contest between them and the Varath, that’s for sure,” Donna says as he moves to the door and opens it, just a crack at first.
“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, pulling the door open a little wider so that he can survey the corridor outside. “Ready?” he takes her hand as he opens the door wide. “Allons-y!”
###
As soon as the TARDIS is in flight, Donna drops down onto the jump seat. “You took me on a date in a war zone,” she says, with a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
The Doctor looks up sharply. “No, I didn’t - ” he begins; then stops and scratches the back of his head. “Well, not on purpose. How was I to know half the Drak’hari royal family was on the run?”
“What do you mean how were you to know?” Donna says on a laugh. “You’re the Doctor, you’re supposed to know these things!”
“I can’t know everything,” he grumbles good-naturedly.
She shoots him a deadpan look. “Can I have that in writing?”
He chuckles and makes a few adjustments to the controls, then walks around the console and comes to a stop at her side. Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he crosses one ankle over the other and leans back, his eyes travelling slowly and appreciatively over her body.
“That’s a very nice dress,” he drawls, with a look that tells Donna he’s already thinking about how fast he can get her out of it.
“It’s filthy now,” she says, smoothing a hand slowly along one thigh, feeling his eyes following the path her hand is taking. She glances up at him through her lashes, only to see that his earlier lascivious look has been replaced by a slight frown.
“What happened to your other shoe?” he asks suddenly, nodding towards the single strappy sandal lying on the grating beneath her feet.
Donna wriggles her stockinged toes. “I dunno. I think I might have thrown it at those Varath guards who almost caught up with us on the way back here.”
The Doctor arches a brow. “You sure you didn’t leave it behind so’s one of those Drak’hari princes could find it and search the galaxy high and low for his Cinderella?”
Donna swings her legs over the side of the seat and slides off it slowly so that she’s standing in front of him.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say that you’re the only Prince Charming I’ll ever need?”
He tilts his head, lips pursed. “Weeeel…”
“Dream on, Spaceman,” she says, her voice low and sultry as she steps closer and takes the ends of his tie between her thumbs and forefingers.
Unsurprisingly, he’s smirking as he places his hands on her hips and leans in. “Oh, I do,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. Donna looks up into his eyes, which are twinkling wickedly - and decides that if they don’t get out of there soon, they’re going to break their ‘no-sex in the control room’ rule.
So she starts walking backwards, leading him gently by the black, silky fabric in her hands.
“Well, I don’t know about this, Ms. Noble,” the Doctor says lazily as he starts moving along with her. “That was only our first date, after all.”
She smiles seductively. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”
He slides a hand slowly across and around her hip, letting it come to rest very low on her back.
“Oh… I hope not.”
End.
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble (Ten/Donna)
Rating: PG
Category: Humour, fluff, romance
Spoilers: Set post- S4. Please apply your fixit of choice!
Written for time_converges in the 2010 Secret Santa fication at doctor_donna and originally posted here
Thanks go to zinke and canterlevi for their suggestions and encouragement.
Prompt: Doctor/Donna romance. The Doctor decides to take Donna out for a proper date (maybe as a surprise), but as usual, things get in the way. Kissage is encouraged. The fluffier the better. Post-fixit is even better.
Well, I’m not sure if this is what she had in mind, but I had fun anyway. Enjoy!
A/N: “Oh, no - we’re not a couple.” The pair did oft protest too much, methinks. I know it was supposed to be a running gag, but we all know there was a perfectly good reason Ten and Donna got mistaken for a couple so often. She took the piss out of him, he let her and they didn’t have sex. (Well, not on screen anyway!) How much more married can two people be?!
Rewriting the Script
”You know, it occurs to me,” the Doctor says casually, “that we haven’t actually been - ” He pauses, clears his throat - but it doesn’t help what he’s about to say sound any less daft in his head.
Donna eyes him quizzically. “Been where?”
He rubs the corner of one eye and decides to just get it over with. “On - er - well. On a date.”
Donna snorts. “A date?”
“Yes. What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Doctor,” Donna says when she’s finished laughing. “You might be nine-hundred-and-odd years old, but sometimes,” she pats his hand, “you act just like a teenager!”
“Oi!” he says indignantly. “I do no such - anyway, I thought you lot went in for stuff like that. You know. Dinner. Dancing. That awful moment at the end of the night when you’re not sure whether to kiss or not to kiss and which way to lean if you do or how fast you can leg it if you’re not going to - what is it now?”
She’s chuckling again. “Blimey, you weren’t kidding when you said you lived your life in the wrong order.”
“So?”
“I hate to break it to you, Doctor,” she says carefully and very seriously. “But the dinner and dancing usually come before …” she pauses, waving her hand around to indicate the bed they’re currently sharing. “Before this. Not after.”
“Well, yes,” he says, trailing his fingers idly up and down her bare arm. “I know that, obviously. But we never really had the time, did we? I mean,” he slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, “I’ve only just got you back, and I just thought…” he shrugs lightly. “Oh well, if you don’t want to go - ”
She looks up at him and smiles fondly, reaching up to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I dunno,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Great big scary Time Lord’s a great big softie underneath it all.”
“Watch it!” he exclaims in protest, his grin belying the exasperation in his tone.
“It’s okay,” Donna says patting his chest lightly. “I won’t tell anyone. And anyway,” she concedes. “I never said I didn’t want to.”
“So..?” he says hopefully.
“So - yes. Okay.” She nods “It’s a date. Or it will be. Or - ” she puffs out a breath. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
He opens his mouth, the words ‘hardly ever’ on the tip of his tongue - when he thinks better of responding and closes it again. It seems he’s made the right decision when Donna turns onto her side, stretching the length of her warm, supple body against the length of his.
“So,” she begins, smoothing her palm slowly across his stomach. “Where are we going on this ‘date’, then?”
The Doctor turns his head on the pillow. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “Where would you like to go?”
“Oooh…” Donna sighs, her hand making its way slowly across to his hip. “Somewhere swanky, with nice food. And dancing. It’s been a while since I’ve been dancing and - ” she stops suddenly and pushes herself up onto one elbow. “Can you dance?”
“’Course I can,” he says confidently, tucking one arm behind his head. “Fred was dead impressed with those steps I taught him - said I was a natural.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “You are such a poser. I s’pose you taught Gene Kelly everything he knew an’ all.”
“Well…” he pouts. “I might have given him a tip or two.”
Donna sighs as she tucks herself back into his side. “You know, half the time I think you’re talking crap -”
“And the other half?”
“Oh, the other half, I know you are.”
With a contented chuckle, the Doctor puts his arms around her and glances down at the wealth of shining red hair nestled against his chest. Picking up a strand, he twirls it idly through his fingers, then leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes, a low moan emanating from the back of his throat as Donna’s fingers begin to trace the length of his thigh.
When she slides one leg over his and begins to press warm, wet kisses to his collarbone and the base of his throat, all thoughts of dinner and dancing flee his mind.
###
Even though Donna is putting the finishing touches to her hair, she can’t help noticing the wistful expression on the Doctor’s face as he finishes buttoning his crisp, white shirt.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says with a false brightness that she knows better than to question. “It’s just… ”
“What?” She comes to stand next to him, rubbing her hand gently over his shoulder and upper arm.
He offers her a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah,” he says. “Doesn’t matter.”
Donna cocks an eyebrow and decides not to press him about it. For a few, short moments, she’d had that knowledge in her head; had known everything he knew, but all that had gone when he’d restored her memory… and now it’s as though she’d never had it in the first place.
She thinks it’s better that way; better to know someone because they let you in rather than because there’s no alternative. And she knows that he’ll tell her what’s put that look of gentle melancholy into his eyes if he needs to or wants to, and for now - that’s enough.
She walks back to the dressing table to take a last look in the mirror, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he fiddles with his cufflinks. After a moment or two, she turns and walks back over to stand in front of him, takes the length of black silk he’s just picked up and reaches up to slip it around his shirt collar.
As she’d hoped, his expression clears and he smiles at her - a genuine smile this time, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and lights up his face.
“I can tie my own tie, you know,” he protests mildly as her fingers work quickly, deftly knotting and looping the fabric.
“I’m sure you can,” Donna says with a fond smile of her own as she fixes her eyes on her task.
The Doctor takes the opportunity afforded him to look at her unobserved and thinks again how lovely she looks. She’s wearing a long, deep blue dress in a silky fabric that shimmers all the colours of the rainbow as the light catches it - and which clings in all the right places. Her hair is swept up, exposing the creamy length of her throat, the nest of soft curls looped on top of her head threaded through with ribbons of the same colour as the dress.
“Hm,” he grunts, momentarily transfixed by the way the light is playing over Donna’s hair, the contrast of the glowing red with the multi-hued glimmer of the ribbons. He lifts his chin to allow her more room to work and lets his thoughts drift, content to just stand there and enjoy her closeness, breathing in her warmth and scent. He’s discovered that she’s not really one for wearing artificial perfumes, preferring instead to use shampoos and soaps that leave a lingering fragrance. Today it’s something fruity - strawberries, he thinks, and - yes, possibly mangoes in there somewhere, too.
He feels her making a final adjustment to her handiwork and takes the half-step that’s all that’s needed for them to be standing toe-to-toe. “I can,” he resumes his earlier train of thought. “But thinking about it,” he says softly, sliding an arm around her waist, “your way is better.”
She looks up at him through her lashes, a tell-tale flush beginning to creep across her cheeks. “Yeah?” she breathes, the huskiness in her tone causing one of his hearts to skip a beat.
“Yeah,” he echoes, pulling her close and bending his head so that he can kiss her. Her mouth is soft, warm and cherry flavoured and she makes that little sound in the back of her throat that he loves when he parts her lips with his tongue. She kisses him back enthusiastically and threads the fingers of one hand into his hair, her other palm resting against his chest - where he’s sure she’ll be able to feel the beat of his hearts speeding up through the fabric of his shirt. He deepens the kiss, moaning softly into her mouth when he feels her pressing her body more firmly against his, the hand on his chest sliding up slowly to wind itself around his neck - and he’s starting to wonder if staying in would be an option when she pulls back with, he’s pleased to note, a murmur of disappointment.
“I’ll have to redo my make-up now,” Donna grumbles half-heartedly, reaching up to brush her thumb across his bottom lip. “So much for stay-put lipsticks.” She sighs. “I think you’re wearing more than I am!”
He raises an eyebrow and turns to glance in the mirror - but all he can see is that his tie is a little askew.
Donna smirks. “Gotcha.”
The Doctor just rolls his eyes, turns to pick up his jacket and shrugs it on.
“I have to say,” Donna runs her eyes up and down the length of his body, then steps closer so that she can slide a hand slowly down the length of his lapel. “The Penguin Suit looks good on you.”
“Well. It’s a good suit.”
She gives his tie a final tweak into place. “Obviously. I mean, it’s hard not to look good in one of these, innit?”
Hands stuffed into his pockets, he grins saucily as he leans towards her. “’s okay,” he says, smugness exuding from every pore. “You can admit it, now.”
“Admit what?”
“That you might finally be succumbing to my many and varied charms.”
Donna sighs as she slips her arm through his. “Yeah. It’s the modesty I find most attractive.”
###
Donna tightens her grip on the Doctor’s arm, temporarily speechless as she surveys the grand ballroom that stretches out at the bottom of the staircase they’re about to descend.
“Can I take it,” he asks with a knowing smile, “that you’re suitably impressed?”
She nods slowly. “You weren’t kidding when you said this was gonna be swanky, were you?”
He rocks gently on his heels. “Nope.”
The room is literally magnificent - and full to the brim with people - aliens, Donna corrects - humanoid, reptilian and other designations she can’t put a name to; tall, short, fat, thin, bald, hairy, one-eyed, three-eyed, bug-eyed, green, blue, red… she’s never seen so many different species in one place before.
Six massive crystal structures that look rather like chandeliers - only bigger and more imposing than anything she’s ever seen - hang from the high, ornately decorated ceiling, while around the walls, masses of coloured lights have been woven through the intricate floral arrangements that fill the spaces between the marble pillars lining the room.
Off to one side is what appears to be a dining area. Donna can see tall, besuited, blue-skinned waiters bustling among the tables, while at the far end of the a small orchestra is playing, music she’s surprised to discover sounds not unlike the sort of thing she’d have expected to hear in a similar setting on Earth.
The whole place is buzzing and Donna stands transfixed as she watches the crowd milling about below them.
“What is this place?”
“It’s one of the Sarrusian floating hotels. A bit like… I dunno, the QE2 or the Ti - er…” the Doctor stops abruptly, sniffs, then continues. “The Sarrusians are famous in this part of the galaxy for knowing how to have a good time.” He nudges her arm. “What do you think?”
Donna lifts her skirts slightly as they descend the first flight of steps, a tiny bit envious of the way the Doctor, no matter what the situation, manages to exude confidence. He’s ambling down the steps with his hands in his pockets, looking as though he does this sort of thing every day.
“It’s fantastic,” she says, awed. Then - “hang on. You said it’s a floating hotel. Where are we floating, exactly?”
“We’re in orbit around Drak’han. It’s one of the Sarrusian colonies; nothing to write home about really,” he rubs the end of his nose. “But it’s quite pretty from up here. We should be able to get a good view from our table.”
Donna beams at him. “You actually booked a table?”
“Er…” he rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “Not as such, but - ” he digs around in his pocket and fishes out a familiar black wallet. “Best seat in the house,” he grins, “no problem.”
Donna shakes her head fondly as together, they make their way across the landing where they’re greeted by the maître d’, a squat, blue-skinned individual with a shock of black hair and a thick, handle-bar moustache.
“Good evening, Sir,” he says loftily, “Madam,” his manner as obsequiously oily as anything Donna’s seen on Upstairs Downstairs. “Might I have your names?”
“I’m the Doctor,” says the Doctor, “and this is Donna Noble.” He waves the psychic paper under the alien’s nose. “Here’s our reservation.”
“Very good, Sir,” says the maître d’ with a very stately incline of his head. “If you’ll follow me - Doctor Noble, Mrs Noble.”
“Oh, no,” the Doctor begins hastily, waving a hand between himself and his companion. “We’re not toge - ”
“We’re not a cou- ” Donna blurts out hurriedly - and they simultaneously come to an abrupt stop as they realise that their old script is badly in need of a rewrite.
“Married,” they finish lamely, turning to look at one another, each wearing a slightly nonplussed expression.
Then the Doctor shoves his hands deep into his pockets and turns back to the waiter with a grin.
“Just the Doctor and Donna Noble - that’s us.”
“Very good, Sir.” The blue-skinned alien shows no signs of perturbation as he inclines his head again and indicates that they should follow him.
The Doctor straightens his jacket and offers Donna his arm again as they descend the imposing main staircase.
“We’ll have to come up with something better than that now,” she suggests reasonably.
The Doctor nods, lips pursed. “Girlfriend?”
They stop and look at each other, horrified. “God, no,” Donna says as the Doctor shakes his head and they start walking again.
“Partner?” he tries, tugging at an earlobe.
Donna wrinkles her nose. “Makes us sound like a bank.”
“Significant Other?”
She shoots him a look.
“Okay, so maybe not.” Then he stops on the step below her, turns and leans in, a rakish smirk adorning his features.
“Lover?” he drawls, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Donna almost trips over her dress as she stifles a snort. “I’ll smack you in a minute.”
The Doctor shrugs and pulls a face. “Oh well. S’pose not then.”
They reach the bottom of the staircase where a much more humanoid-looking waiter is holding a tray of glasses containing a pale amber liquid.
The Doctor takes two. “We’ll think of something,” he says smiling, as he hands one to Donna.
She smiles back. “We always do.”
The Doctor cups her elbow in his palm as he begins to steer them through the crowd and into the dining area. They reach their table - which does, as the he had promised, have a rather spectacular view of the planet below - and set down their glasses. Donna is about to pull out her chair so that she can sit down when she finds that the Doctor has beaten her to it and is holding it ready for her. She knows it’s ridiculous, but she nonetheless feels a flutter at the pit of her stomach and can’t help a huge grin spreading across her face as she sits. The Doctor pushes in her chair and then takes his seat at right-angles to her.
“What?”
“Oh …” Donna dips her head, trying to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. “It’s just … ” and she stops, realising that while she might be sleeping with him, there’s no way she’s going to tell him that a such a simple, gentlemanly gesture has her so flustered. She’ll never hear the end of it
“Nothing,” she says brightly, looking up to find him watching her with an affectionate smile on his face. “What’s this, then?” she picks up her glass and twirls it around, watching the bubbles play and fizz in the pale amber liquid.
“’s perfectly okay,” the Doctor reassures her, taking a sip. “It’s a bit like Earth Champagne.”
Donna lifts her glass to her lips. The liquid is cold and very nice - bubbly and, she realises, quite heady.
“Here,” she nudges his arm. “You’re not planning to get me drunk on this stuff so you can have your wicked way with me, are you?”
The Doctor’s face is the picture of innocence. “Course not.”
Donna nods - not sure she’s not the tiniest bit disappointed at his denial when he puts his hand over hers, moves closer - and actually leers at her.
“I don’t have to get you drunk for you to let me do that.”
His voice is low and husky and he’s close enough for his breath to be warming her cheek. Donna ignores the little lurch at the pit of her stomach and lets out a resigned sigh. “You really do know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”
“Nah,” he says, his expression suddenly serious, his fingers curling around her palm. “You don’t need me for that. You’re special enough already.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him to shut up and stop talking such rubbish - but she bites back that response. Since he’d found a way to give her back her memories and she’d told him to stop being such a self-centred prat about not wanting to risk losing her again - she’s trying hard to learn to accept his compliments with grace. After all, she had saved the Universe, so she supposes that this is one of those times she can allow herself to think that maybe - just maybe - he’s got a point.
So she smiles at him instead and takes another sip of her drink. He gives her hand a squeeze and then releases it, picks up his glass and leans back in his chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Silently, they both survey the room.
“So what’s going on here, then?” Donna asks after a while.
“Our first date,” the Doctor says with a soppy grin.
“I know that, you dumbo,” she grins back. “But it looks to me like there’s a bit of a shindig going on over there,” she says, turning her head to look at the large - and rather noisy - gathering at the other end of the dining room.
“Well,” the Doctor draws himself up in his seat and cranes his neck so that he can see the group to which she’s referring.
“That’s the Drak’hari royal family,” he says, continuing to look over the top of Donna’s head.
“Blimey! Royalty?”
“Yep. My guess is that it’s their annual post-war bash.”
“Post war?” Alarmed, Donna turns to look at him.
“Don’t worry,” he says, reassuringly. “It was all quite a long time ago now. Terrible conflict, went on for decades. Centuries,” he corrects. “Generations were lost, planets and civilisations destroyed…” he sighs and looks at her, an expression of sadness filling his dark eyes. “Some things are the same no matter where you are in the universe.”
Donna doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right, of course - she’s seen it for herself time and time again - .and not for the first time wonders how he can have seen all he’s seen and done everything he’s done and yet manage to find a reason to keep going.
No-one knows how they’re gonna be remembered. He’d told her once. We can only hope for the best.
She supposes that’s as good a reason as any. He’s seen so much that would make a lesser man think anything but the best, and yet he still keeps looking for it. And that’s got to count for something.
He puffs out a breath and appears to shake himself out of it. “Anyway. The Drak’hari and the Varath made their peace a long time ago, and they commemorate it each year. Well, in your terms, it’s every six hundred and seventy-three days, but …”
“I get it,” Donna nods. “This is sort of an anniversary ‘do’.”
“Something like that,” the Doctor confirms and then, as he so often does, changes the subject at lightning speed. “So what would you like to eat?”
###
“You know,” Donna muses quietly some time later. ” I’m thinking that maybe I wasn’t specific enough about the terms of this date.”
“How so?”
“Well - ”
“You asked for swanky,” the Doctor points out reasonably. “And this is very - ”
“Swanky. Oh, it’s definitely swanky.”
“And you wanted dinner.”
“I did. And the food was excellent.”
“And there was dancing.”
“Sort of.”
He turns to face her, a frown creasing his brow. “What d’you mean - sort of?” he protests in a loud whisper. “You asked for dancing - we danced.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Well…” she begins, stringing out the vowel sound in a very familiar way. “I s’pose we did. Although if my mother had seen us, she wouldn’t have called it dancing.”
“No?” the Doctor’s frown deepens.
“No. She’d have said it was more like having sex on the dance floor but,” Donna shrugs, “you know.”
The Doctor shoots her a look containing more than a little bit of pride as he straightens his tie. Donna elbows him gently in the side.
“So what is it you weren’t specific about?” he asks again. “Exactly?”
She pulls a face. “I just can’t remember asking for dinner, dancing - and an army of shouty, megalomaniac, pointy-headed aliens with great big guns.”
As Donna finishes her sentence, there’s a loud clanging and tramping sound as three of those pointy-headed aliens take up a position in front of them and the small group of guests with whom they’re standing, their aforementioned great big guns pointing squarely at her and the Doctor.
“You were ordered to be silent,” a gravelly voice booms out from beneath a smooth, greenish-grey helmet.
The Doctor ignores the command and continues blithely to address Donna.
“You didn’t ask for that?”
“Absolutely not,” she responds casually. “I’m sure I’d have remembered.”
“It’s not really an army though is it? It’s more of a - ”
“Silence!” bellows the voice again as its owner makes a threatening gesture with its gun.
But the Doctor takes no notice other than to hold up a hand, palm facing out - in a universally recognisable gesture.
“Ssssh,” he hisses, without turning to look at his antagonist. “I’m talking.”
“You will cease at once,” another - even louder - voice snarls. “Your insolence is an affront to the - ”
“Blimey,” the Doctor interrupts loudly. “Some people…”
Stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, he turns slowly to face the angry owner of the voice and clears his throat.
“Okay - now I’m all yours.” He rocks on his heels, grinning. “What’s up, big fella?”
The alien levels his gun at the Doctor’s chest. “Enough,” he barks. “I am Commander Medrok of the Varath High Council. Your disobedience will not be tolerated.”
The Doctor tugs at an earlobe and pulls a face, glancing surreptitiously at the other Varath, their guns still trained on himself and Donna. “Well,” he begins, inhaling sharply. “See - that’s one of those things about me, disobedient to a fault. Never do as I’m told, me, do I, Donna?” Donna knows a rhetorical question when she hears one and watches a little uneasily as the Doctor continues to babble on. “I’m the Doctor, by the way. ‘allo.”
The alien commander is unimpressed. “The High Council of the Varath demands your respect,” he grates out imperiously.
Oh, I see,” the Doctor says, leaning forward slightly. “Well, this isn’t exactly the way to earn respect, is it?” His voice suddenly drops in pitch, he’s squared his shoulders and has become very still, signs Donna recognises as meaning he’s had enough.
“That is of no moment,” responds Medrok. “Prince Charan and his brothers of the royal house of Drak’han are wanted on Varath for crimes committed against the High Council.”
“Oh, well, of course, that’s alright then!” the Doctor declaims loudly, spinning around as he waves a hand to indicate the mass of scared people who are huddled together in groups, staring down the barrels of guns.
“Because it’s perfectly reasonable for you to burst in here and terrorise a ship full of innocent people!”
“Our methods are none of your concern, Doctor,” the alien barks. “This ship is harbouring fugitives from justice. Our retribution will be swift and just.”
The Doctor steps forward and fixes the Varath commander with an implacable stare.
“There will be no retribution,” he says slowly and emphatically, his tone one that could cut glass.
“I do not think you are in any position to make demands,” the commander grates out coolly. “Your life is now forfeit to the Council - they will decide the manner of your execution.”
“Nooo!” the Doctor‘s protest is almost a petulant whine as he puts both hands into the air in front of him. “Just - just hang on a minute and let me work this out.” Without giving the alien the opportunity to reply, he rattles on. “The war between the Drak’hari and the Varath was over ages ago,” he says quickly. “I know, ‘cause I was there when the treaty was signed,” he smiles suddenly. “That was one hell of a party they threw afterwards, I can tell you - although I don’t think the exploding cocktails were such a good idea.” He sucks in a breath. “Anyway - where was I? Oh yes - all this was over ages ago so,” his voice drops ominously, “what are you up to, eh?”
“The Drak’hari are in violation of that treaty,” Commander Medrok says gruffly. “They have refused to bring the offenders to justice for their crimes and now they must pay the price.”
“Wait!” cries the Doctor. “Can’t you just arrest them? I mean, there’s no reason to hold this entire ship hostage - ”
“Enough!” the commander barks, and the Varath guards that are surrounding the group of which Donna and the Doctor are a part raise their guns again and take a couple of steps closer. “This ship is now under Varath command. Your protests are of no consequence.”
“Let me help,” the Doctor persists. “I can - ”
“Your protests are of no consequence,” Medrok repeats, advancing a step which forces the Doctor to move backwards.
“Your actions are in direct violation of clause Seventy-One-B, subsection four of the articles of the Shadow Proclamation,” he argues desperately, “you can’t - ”
“Silence!” shouts Medrok, taking another step forward. “Your disobedience will no longer be tolerated.” He nods at the flanking guards, all of whom take another step forward.
The Doctor rolls his eyes and sighs melodramatically. “Why does nobody ever listen?” he mutters under his breath, flicking a meaningful glance at Donna.
As she shrugs in response, the Varath commander’s large, pointed head swivels in her direction.
“Your woman will be the first to pay the price for your insolence.”
“Oi!” Donna bellows. “Yes, I’m talking to you, you… great big tin can!” she takes a couple of steps forward, watched incredulously by the other members of the crowd.
“I’m getting fed up with this,” she says, moving to stand in front of the Doctor, arms akimbo. “People like you, thinking that all you’ve got to do is to threaten me to get Martian-Boy there to do what you want. Well, I’m telling you now, it won’t work. Never has.”
The Varath commander calls to his officers. “Take her - ” at the same time as the air is filled by a loud, high-pitched shriek - and then by the sounds of splintering glass and thunderous crashes as the two chandeliers at the far end of the room drop to the floor, clouds of dust billowing in their wake. Screams rend the air as the massive crowd begins to panic and to run in all directions, heedless of the orders being barked by the Varath guards. Another chandelier shatters as shots resound, but not even the threat posed by the blasts from the weapons is enough to contain the assembled throng in the face of the deadly, crushing weight of falling glass and stone.
The crowd surges for the exits as two more of the chandeliers crash to the ground; the guards nearest the Doctor and Donna are knocked aside by the stampede and, sonic screwdriver still in hand, the Doctor grabs Donna and tugs her with him, away from the crowd and towards a small, inconspicuous door at the back of the dining area.
“Kitchens,” he explains as they run towards it. “Useful things, kitchens. Just like little shops, only - ”
They duck as a blast from one of the Varath guns slams into the wall behind them, just above their heads. “Close,” breathes the Doctor. “Come on.”
###
Donna can still hear the screams and the sound of gunfire as they emerge from the kitchens and head down a plushly carpeted corridor.
“Where are we going?” she gasps. “We can’t just leave; we should - ”
Donna’s sentence is cut off as the Doctor drags her around a corner and flattens them both into a small alcove as a group of armoured Varath run past them and towards the ballroom. When they’ve passed, the Doctor peeks out to check that the coast is clear and then turns to face her, his hands on her upper arms.
“Believe me,” he says earnestly, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “I don’t like leaving them any more than you do, but we can’t do anything to help them from there.”
Donna takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “Okay,” she agrees. “So what now?”
“I’ll think of something,” he says, as he steps out into the corridor and looks up and down, evidently getting his bearings.
Donna rolls her eyes - then bends down and takes off her shoes.
“I knew I should’ve worn trainers,” she grumbles.
“Nah,” the Doctor says flashing her a cheeky grin. “They wouldn’t have gone with that dress.”
Donna huffs. “Says the man wearing Converse with a tuxedo.”
He preens just a little. “Works for me.”
Before Donna can reply, he’s grabbed her hand again. “Coast’s clear - come on!”
###
They burst through the door and close it quickly.
“Did… did we lose them?” Donna gasps, trying to catch her breath.
“For now.” The Doctor seals the door behind them with a few quick bursts from his sonic screwdriver. “That should hold them off for a bit.” He flips the sonic into the air and catches it deftly before putting it back into his jacket pocket, then spins on his heel to survey the room into which they’ve blundered.
Donna nods as she, too, looks around the room, which is packed with screens and consoles and panels of flashing lights; the surfaces are strewn with varying amounts of junk - lumps of metal, bits of wiring, spare parts, tools…
It has that ‘bomb’s just hit it’ look that’s not unlike the Doctor’s study in the TARDIS, now she comes to think of it.
She wipes a finger across one of the cluttered surfaces and wrinkles her nose in distaste. “So much for the swanky, state-of-the-art hotel,” she observes. “It needs a bloody good clean down ‘ere!”
“Probably can’t get the staff,” the Doctor deadpans, as he pulls at the ends of his tie and undoes the top couple of buttons on his shirt. Slipping on his glasses, he moves quickly to the large control panel at the far end of the room.
He drops to his knees and opens up a small door underneath the surface, then takes out the sonic again and aims a few bursts at the wiring he’s now holding in his other hand.
“Right. I’ve disrupted the communications channels,” he says, slamming shut the panel door, “so that should buy us some time - but we won’t have long.”
“Where are we?”
“It’s the auxilliary control room,” he explains as he jumps up, pulls a keyboard towards him and begins typing rapidly.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath. “Come on - oh… No.”
Donna walks over to him. “What?”
It seems as though he hasn’t heard her. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head slowly. “No. No, no no, no, no!” he almost throws the keyboard across the surface in annoyance, each denial louder than the last.
“Doctor,” she tries again. “What is it?”
.He turns to face her, aghast. “They’ve rigged this thing to self-destruct.”
Donna’s hand flies to her mouth. “But,” she begins. “They can’t. I mean, all those people - ”
The Doctor moves to stand in front of her, and takes both her hands in his giving them a hasty, reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay - I can fix it.” He releases her hands and moves to a smaller console at the other side of the room, pulling out another, dilapidated looking keyboard from underneath a pile of junk on one of the workstations. “I just need to divert the power from the main engines to the secondary drives, remotely hot-wire the main security system from here and reformat the - woah!“ he jumps back as a small shower of sparks flies into the air and puffs of smoke suddenly spill out of the terminal.
“Okay, well perhaps not that way then,” he says, waving his hand around to clear the smoke. “What else, what else, what else…?” he mutters, running his hand repeatedly through his hair.
Donna moves to stand next to him. “Will that stop it?”
“What?” he turns to look at her, puzzled.
“You know. Rerouting the power and hotwiring the whatever?”
“Oh, that,” he says with a grin. “Yes.”
Before he can bound off again, she grabs his arm. “Doctor?” she says softly, her eyes looking deeply into his.
He swallows hard. “Well,” - and cocks his head to the side. “Probably yes.”
Donna rolls her eyes. “Probably yes?”
He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m making this up as I go along,” he says, dropping to his knees again and opening up another panel of wiring beneath the surface of the workstation. “Aha!” he looks up and winks at her. “Have I ever let you down?”
She just arches a brow as his head and shoulders disappear under the console. A few seconds later, he’s dumping handfuls of wires and bits of metal on the floor next to him and then settles himself onto his back, arms above his head, as he continues to prod, poke and sonic at what Donna presumes is yet more wiring and circuitry inside.
She drops her shoes to the ground and sinks to the floor at his side, sighing at the thought that the gorgeous dress she’s wearing is going to be filthy by the end of the evening. She draws her knees to her chest and clasps her arms around them as she watches the Doctor work. He’s pulling out more wires, stripping them, joining them, pushing this, twiddling that; until finally, he pulls himself up onto his knees and presses some controls on the console. A screen set into the wall above him flickers into life - and he grins before ducking back underneath again.
“It’s really quiet in here,” Donna observes after a minute or two. The only response is a muffled grunt, and so she carries on nonchalantly. “Your yapping drives me up the wall sometimes, but now…” she hugs herself tightly. “This quiet is giving me the willies. I mean everyone up there… they might all be - ”
She can’t bring herself to finish that sentence - but she needs to do something. She knows that the Doctor will ask for her help if he needs it, but she can’t help feeling a bit useless, just sitting there watching him. She also knows that he might not be talking about it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about what might happening to the rest of the guests.
Fortunately, however, he’s never averse to chatting, even in the most stressful of situations - so perhaps there is something she can do to help, after all.
“Why is it,” she begins, changing the subject as assuredly as the Doctor ever does, “that that lot - and almost everyone else we meet - assumes we’re … you know?”
The Doctor’s head suddenly pops out from under the console. There’s dust and bits of cut wire in his hair, he’s got a large smudge on one cheek - and a puzzled frown creasing his brow.
“Well - we are… you know,” he says matter-of-factly, before disappearing again, leaving her staring at his long legs and his up-turned trainers.
Donna huffs. “Yes, I know we are now - but what about before?”
His response is muffled by the fact that he has his screwdriver in his mouth, but she can tell it’s along the lines of - “what?”
“It’s been like that since the first day,” she continues. “We turn up somewhere, introduce ourselves to people and it’s ‘hello Mr and Mrs whoever’.”
The Doctor scrambles to his feet again, and moves swiftly to the control panel at the other end of the room.
He lets the sonic drop into his hand. “You really want to talk about that now?” he says incredulously as he fiddles with the settings and then aims it at some of the wildly blinking lights on one side of the panel.
“Why not?” she pouts casually. “I mean if this goes wrong, it’ll be the last chance I ever get to ask you.”
The Doctor smiles as he returns to her side. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
She offers him an answering smile and swats his arm. “Get back to work.”
He thrusts two panels of circuitry into her hands. “Hold that,” and he’s back underneath the console, the sonic screwdriver whirring and screeching as he continues to work on disabling the self-destruct mechanism.
“It’s just…” Donna continues. “In all that time I spent looking for you, it never occurred to me that aliens could be sexist.”
“You what?”
“Sexist. You know - a chauvinistic belief in the inferiority of women.”
“Yes, I know what it means,” he says, holding out his hand. “It’s what you mean I don’t get.”
Donna hands over the circuits, one at a time. “Well, this lot, for instance. And on Messaline. And that planet with the purple people with the big ears - ”
"Gorrat?”
“Yeah, there. They want you to do something - they threaten me.”
“How - ” his voice tails off as he reaches further into the mess of wires - “ah, got it! - is that sexist?”
“They never threaten to ‘kill my man’, do they?” Donna points out. “So much for equality.”
The Doctor pulls himself out from underneath the console again and starts tapping rapidly at another keyboard; one - Donna’s pleased to note - that doesn’t blow up this time.
“It’s not sexism,” he counters, looking up at the screen as he types.
“So what is it then?” she asks, getting to her feet.
“It’s… I dunno… I mean, it all depends on where you are and how you look at it. On Melluous 4, females are sacred and I’d have to have a special dispensation to even talk to you. On Raxillar, they’d assume I was your slave and on Planet Zog they’d think I was - “
Donna sucks in a breath. “Oh, you’re kidding me. There really is a Planet Zog?”
“Oh, yeah.” The Doctor stops typing with a flourish worthy of a concert pianist and spins round to face her. “Well, strictly speaking it’s Zogaruellianoropolophicus - but we call it ‘Zog’ for short.”
Donna opens her mouth to ask just what they’d think on Zogaruell - Planet Zog - when she hears noises coming from outside. Glancing at the Doctor, it’s clear, from the stiffness in his posture that he’s heard it, too.
“What’s that?” she mouths slowly.
He shakes his head, a finger to his lips and moves quietly to the door. Digging around in a pocket, he pulls out an old stethoscope and uses it to listen intently for a few seconds - then puts it away and turns back to face her.
“It’s okay,” he says in hushed tones. “From what I could hear, it was some of the other guests trying to get to the escape pods.”
Donna lets out the breath she’s been holding.
“But,” the Doctor continues, “if they’re down here, it’s a good bet the Varath won’t be far behind.”
Snatching up something that looks a bit like a pair of pliers, he disappears underneath the console again.
Donna stands quietly, just listening for a moment or two - but when she doesn’t hear anything more coming from outside, she resumes their conversation.
“And?”
“And - what?”
“What would they think on Planet Zog?”
The Doctor doesn’t miss a beat. “About what?”
Donna rolls her eyes. “About us. You. You said that on Planet Zog, they’d think you were… something.”
“Did I?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “You did. And it’s got to be something really good, because I can tell that you don’t want to tell me.”
The Doctor just stares up at her for a couple of seconds before getting to his feet and attempting to brush some of the dust from the knees of his trousers.
“They’d think…” he begins, and, still speaking, rushes away to the other side of the room - but he’s facing away from her and she can’t make out what he says.
“Oh, this has got to be a good one. Come on, Time Boy - what is it? Oh, don’t tell me - they’d think you were my eunuch!”
The Doctor’s head whips around. “No!”
“What then?”
He grunts a reply - but Donna can’t be sure she’s heard correctly. “My what?”
“That’s the nearest translation!” he protests, his voice sounding unaccountably squeaky.
Donna starts laughing. “My concubine?!”
“Donna,” he cautions. “We’re supposed to be hiding? You know - being quiet?”
She claps a hand over her mouth. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve heard all week!” she gasps.
The Doctor pulls a face. “Well… there you are then.”
“We’ll have to visit Planet Zog sometime,” Donna says, still giggling faintly. “I rather like the idea of having you at my beck and call.”
“Like I’m not already?” he mutters, sonicking open another panel and pulling out a thick cable.
“Oi!” Donna chides him fondly. “But that still doesn’t explain why people take one look at us and - ”
“I dunno,” he says absently as he walks along unravelling the cable. “I s’pose,” he breaks off and bends down to plug it in among the wiring he’s been working on, “they just see a male and a female and… assume.”
“It’s alright for you,” Donna says gruffly. “You’re probably used to it by now.”
Without looking at her or stopping what he’s doing, the Doctor screws up his face. “What d’you mean, used to it, used to what?”
“You’ve travelled with lots of people - you told me.”
“Yeah, but nobody thought I was married to any of them!”
Donna is momentarily taken aback. “What? None of them?”
The Doctor stops this time, and turns his head to look at her, his brow furrowed. “Not now I come to think of it, no. Well, none of the females, anyway. Although I remember there was this one time with Jack when - ”
A loud, whooping sound blares out from across the room causing Donna to cover her ears and the Doctor to leap across to the main controls. He throws a lever, punches a large green button - and the sound dies as abruptly as it had begun.
“Ha!” he yells, spinning round with a huge grin on his face. “Job done!”
“What now?” Donna asks.
“We leg it.”
“Always assuming those… Varath - things - haven’t been waiting outside all this time?”
The Doctor cocks his head to the side. “Yeah. Assuming that. Because now I’ve spoiled their fun they’ll be really annoyed.”
He moves towards the door, but before he can open it, Donna’s grabbed his hand.
“Hang on, though. What about all those people? We have to - I dunno, can’t we call for help or something?”
The Doctor stops dead, and then, quick as a flash, takes her face between his hands and plants a loud, wet kiss on her forehead. “Oooh, I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he exclaims, dashing back to the main console and quickly typing a few commands.
Donna leans wearily against the wall. “You wear me out just watching you, you know,” she mumbles, sotto-voce.
“Hm?”
“Nothing.”
“Right,” the Doctor says a few seconds later. “I’ve dialled 999. But I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be here when the Judoon arrive.”
“There’ll be one hell of a pissing contest between them and the Varath, that’s for sure,” Donna says as he moves to the door and opens it, just a crack at first.
“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, pulling the door open a little wider so that he can survey the corridor outside. “Ready?” he takes her hand as he opens the door wide. “Allons-y!”
###
As soon as the TARDIS is in flight, Donna drops down onto the jump seat. “You took me on a date in a war zone,” she says, with a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
The Doctor looks up sharply. “No, I didn’t - ” he begins; then stops and scratches the back of his head. “Well, not on purpose. How was I to know half the Drak’hari royal family was on the run?”
“What do you mean how were you to know?” Donna says on a laugh. “You’re the Doctor, you’re supposed to know these things!”
“I can’t know everything,” he grumbles good-naturedly.
She shoots him a deadpan look. “Can I have that in writing?”
He chuckles and makes a few adjustments to the controls, then walks around the console and comes to a stop at her side. Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he crosses one ankle over the other and leans back, his eyes travelling slowly and appreciatively over her body.
“That’s a very nice dress,” he drawls, with a look that tells Donna he’s already thinking about how fast he can get her out of it.
“It’s filthy now,” she says, smoothing a hand slowly along one thigh, feeling his eyes following the path her hand is taking. She glances up at him through her lashes, only to see that his earlier lascivious look has been replaced by a slight frown.
“What happened to your other shoe?” he asks suddenly, nodding towards the single strappy sandal lying on the grating beneath her feet.
Donna wriggles her stockinged toes. “I dunno. I think I might have thrown it at those Varath guards who almost caught up with us on the way back here.”
The Doctor arches a brow. “You sure you didn’t leave it behind so’s one of those Drak’hari princes could find it and search the galaxy high and low for his Cinderella?”
Donna swings her legs over the side of the seat and slides off it slowly so that she’s standing in front of him.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say that you’re the only Prince Charming I’ll ever need?”
He tilts his head, lips pursed. “Weeeel…”
“Dream on, Spaceman,” she says, her voice low and sultry as she steps closer and takes the ends of his tie between her thumbs and forefingers.
Unsurprisingly, he’s smirking as he places his hands on her hips and leans in. “Oh, I do,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. Donna looks up into his eyes, which are twinkling wickedly - and decides that if they don’t get out of there soon, they’re going to break their ‘no-sex in the control room’ rule.
So she starts walking backwards, leading him gently by the black, silky fabric in her hands.
“Well, I don’t know about this, Ms. Noble,” the Doctor says lazily as he starts moving along with her. “That was only our first date, after all.”
She smiles seductively. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”
He slides a hand slowly across and around her hip, letting it come to rest very low on her back.
“Oh… I hope not.”
End.