Doing Domestic
Thought I'd try for a little humor. It's not very long. But I hope you like it anyhow. Just a little snippet of domesticity for Ten and Donna. =)
As always, I don't own Ten, Donna or Doctor Who. The BBC does. Please read and enjoy...
Donna woke up to half the bed empty. She wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t a morning person and the Doctor was. Were they on Earth, and keeping to that time schedule she’d say he liked to wake up at arse o’clock in the morning. They hadn’t been sharing a bed and bedroom all that long, only for the past week or so. In that week, she’d discovered the Doctor had all sorts of habits and states of order for his room. At least once a day she’d almost killed herself tripping over the various Converse trainers strewn about on the floor. Three nights before she’d had to use the facilities quite badly and nearly lost her bladder all over the floor when she’d stepped on something that rolled, squealed incredibly loudly, and shot purple sparks out of the end (at least she thought is was the end). All the Doctor had done was roll over, and grumble about needing peace and quiet to get his required four hours sleep a night. She’d grumbled about needing to not have to cross a bloody minefield to get to the loo.
This morning she woke with a need to visit said loo urgently. Half opening her eyelids, she sat up, and yawned. Then forcing her eyelids open all the way because who knew what lay in wait for her on this floor, she got up and trudged to the loo. Not really paying attention once in the loo, she sat, and kept going until she screeched when cold loo water hit her backside, and her knees were about level with her eyes.
“Donna!” the Doctor came running in. “What’s wrong? Are you alri-,” the words died in his throat as he saw her. He covered his mouth, trying in vain to not laugh. Donna glared. He lowered his hand from his mouth, moving it to scratch the back of his neck. “Um, Donna?” he ventured. “Perhaps you should look before you sit?” He backed up as her glare deepened.
“Or,” she growled. “You could…oh…I don’t know…perhaps put the bloody seat down!”
“Or I could do that, yeah,” he said. He reached out a hand. “Would you like help…?” he backed away further as he could swear steam was coming out her ears. “Tea. I bet you’d like some tea wouldn’t you?” he steadily walked backwards out of the loo. “I’ll just go get some started. Now. Okay?” he watched her nod, without losing any of the glare. “Okay,” he turned and swiftly left the room.
“Bloody Martian’s as bad as a bloke,” Donna grumbled once alone. She got herself up and went right into the shower.
Half an hour later, she joined the Doctor in the kitchen and found he had a cup of tea and a couple muffins set out for her. Sitting across from him, she said nothing, just ate the muffins and sipped her tea. The Doctor fidgeted, waiting for her to talk, but seeing as she wasn’t going to, he decided to break the silence. “So.”
“So,” she muttered back.
“Tea good?”
“Yeah.”
“Muffins?”
“Lovely.”
“Good, good,” he tapped his finger on the table. She watched him suspiciously. Waiting. He grinned. “Would you like to take another swim? In an actual pool?”
The Doctor was left in the kitchen, Donna’s tea dripping down from his hair onto his suit, and what was left of her muffins, smashed onto his face.
As always, I don't own Ten, Donna or Doctor Who. The BBC does. Please read and enjoy...
Donna woke up to half the bed empty. She wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t a morning person and the Doctor was. Were they on Earth, and keeping to that time schedule she’d say he liked to wake up at arse o’clock in the morning. They hadn’t been sharing a bed and bedroom all that long, only for the past week or so. In that week, she’d discovered the Doctor had all sorts of habits and states of order for his room. At least once a day she’d almost killed herself tripping over the various Converse trainers strewn about on the floor. Three nights before she’d had to use the facilities quite badly and nearly lost her bladder all over the floor when she’d stepped on something that rolled, squealed incredibly loudly, and shot purple sparks out of the end (at least she thought is was the end). All the Doctor had done was roll over, and grumble about needing peace and quiet to get his required four hours sleep a night. She’d grumbled about needing to not have to cross a bloody minefield to get to the loo.
This morning she woke with a need to visit said loo urgently. Half opening her eyelids, she sat up, and yawned. Then forcing her eyelids open all the way because who knew what lay in wait for her on this floor, she got up and trudged to the loo. Not really paying attention once in the loo, she sat, and kept going until she screeched when cold loo water hit her backside, and her knees were about level with her eyes.
“Donna!” the Doctor came running in. “What’s wrong? Are you alri-,” the words died in his throat as he saw her. He covered his mouth, trying in vain to not laugh. Donna glared. He lowered his hand from his mouth, moving it to scratch the back of his neck. “Um, Donna?” he ventured. “Perhaps you should look before you sit?” He backed up as her glare deepened.
“Or,” she growled. “You could…oh…I don’t know…perhaps put the bloody seat down!”
“Or I could do that, yeah,” he said. He reached out a hand. “Would you like help…?” he backed away further as he could swear steam was coming out her ears. “Tea. I bet you’d like some tea wouldn’t you?” he steadily walked backwards out of the loo. “I’ll just go get some started. Now. Okay?” he watched her nod, without losing any of the glare. “Okay,” he turned and swiftly left the room.
“Bloody Martian’s as bad as a bloke,” Donna grumbled once alone. She got herself up and went right into the shower.
Half an hour later, she joined the Doctor in the kitchen and found he had a cup of tea and a couple muffins set out for her. Sitting across from him, she said nothing, just ate the muffins and sipped her tea. The Doctor fidgeted, waiting for her to talk, but seeing as she wasn’t going to, he decided to break the silence. “So.”
“So,” she muttered back.
“Tea good?”
“Yeah.”
“Muffins?”
“Lovely.”
“Good, good,” he tapped his finger on the table. She watched him suspiciously. Waiting. He grinned. “Would you like to take another swim? In an actual pool?”
The Doctor was left in the kitchen, Donna’s tea dripping down from his hair onto his suit, and what was left of her muffins, smashed onto his face.