Position Filled (1/1) Ten, Donna (Gen)
AUTHOR: sensiblecat
WORDS: 1479
A companion piece to wendymr 's lovely drabble "Situation Vacant". Hope you like.
SPOILERS: 4:1 Partners in Crime
DISCLAIMER: All the good bits belong to the BBC (with the possible exception of the contents of the hatbox)
RATING: Gen
CHARACTERS: Ten, Donna (other mentions)
xp'd to i_love_donna dwfiction and Teaspoon
PICTURE by mindcandy
She means business, this girl. She has a plan. Not his sort of plan, made up minute-by-minute on the hoof, but a serious strategy for getting where she wants to be. All because of him. It’s terrifying, in a way.
Here we go again.
He can’t believe that a person could change so much in - how long was it for her - two years? Yes, two years. She’s standing there with the boot of her car open and it’s full of luggage - there’s a hatbox in there, for goodness’ sake - where does she think she’s going? A garden party at Buck House?
She says she’s had it all packed up in there for ages, just in case. She means business, this girl. She has a plan. Not his sort of plan, made up minute-by-minute on the hoof, but a serious strategy for getting where she wants to be. All because of him. It’s terrifying, in a way.
Here we go again.
What is it about him that inspires this kind of obsession in humans? Is it a blessing or a curse that they can never see where it’s going to end up? Crying on a beach. Your family in chains. Killed over and over for sport when you could have run away.
He’s not worthy of it. It’s always his fault. Ruined lives. Broken hearts. Dreams trampled on. And occasionally - mercifully not that often, they don’t even live to tell the tale. One, in fact, didn’t even live long enough to see inside the TARDIS.
He never used to think about that. Couldn’t, because if he did he’d never let one of them anywhere near the TARDIS again. And he couldn’t bear the silence. All the brilliant thoughts rolling around in his mind, pouring from his lips, because despite everything he’s seen the universe is utterly, incredibly beautiful and brilliant, and having nobody to share it with is the saddest thing ever.
He isn’t used to things being this way around. Normally he’s backing away from people he’d fallen into an adventure with, making a run for it before their longing eyes and soaring hearts snag him in. People hardly ever blag their way aboard, and Donna’s doing more than that. She’s standing there waiting for him to pick up the cases like a bellhop at the Ritz.
When did she get so certain that he needs her? Last time he met Donna - not that he’d been in the best frame of mind to make a judgment - she’d had Victim stamped through her like Blackpool through a stick of rock. All the screaming and slapping was a defence mechanism, and a lousy one at last. As lousy as saying, “I’m always all right.”
Oh blimey, look at that look in her eyes as he tries to warn her what she’s getting into. “You asked me before.” Yes, and he was a fool. When he met Martha he was an even bigger one. He thought he could bat his eyes at a pretty girl, do a bit of clever showing off, and she’d hop aboard, just one trip, no hard feelings, no strings attached. Wouldn’t admit what he was doing to her, because it meant admitting he was going through the same himself.
But since then he’d had a lot of time to think about it. Three years on an ice planet. Three months in a tiny flat in 1969 with someone who was putting food on the table and expecting him to sleep with her in return, though she never said so. Didn’t have to. He could see it in her eyes.
And then the Year that Never Was. There was nothing to do except think then, however much it hurt to do it.
All he wants is a mate. Someone he can have a laugh with. Bounce ideas off. Someone who’ll make the TARDIS seem smaller and noiser and warmer than she had been lately. It depresses him, the way the TARDIS has stopped adapting to humans, turned down the ambient temperature, let him go for days without meals before arranging for him to pass the kitchen. She’s gone back to being a Time Lord’s ship. It’s lonely. Very lonely.
But if he tells her he just wants a mate and she says it’s okay, can he believe her? Probably not. Look at Martha. “I don’t go for aliens, anyway.” Not unless they’re you, she should have added. Why did humans so often say the exact opposite of what they were feeling? Was it some kind of game? Every time he seems to be getting the hang of it, someone skips a turn and rewrites the rules.
Oh, but he’d never do a thing like that, would he? Say one thing and mean another? What about that time in the ruins of New Earth? “Are you happy?” Martha had asked. “Yeah. Happy happy,” he’d replied, two minutes before he’d sat down and spilled out his bleeding guts to her.
What was it Donna had told him that Christmas? “Find someone to stop you.” Easier said than done. Martha, for all her admirable qualities, had been totally crap at stopping him. And he’d rarely been more miserable, or more destructive, in his life.
There’s probably a lesson there.
Right, now she’s yelling in his face. “You’re not mating with me, sunshine!” He’s glad they’ve got that sorted out. Stick that, Doctor! He prefers people who say what they mean, even if they do tend to yell it in your face and follow through with a slap. At least you know where you are with them.
Blimey. He just nearly hugged her. How did that happen? Oops. Well, at least she won’t be asking for a key to the TARDIS and his everlasting love just because of a minor transfer of genetic material.
He’ll try one more time. Try to warn her, give her a chance to back out without losing face. “It’s a funny old life, travelling in the TARDIS.” Lame, lame, doesn’t even begin to cover it. How can you cover it? Right, let’s see - you could end up in another universe, see the end of your world, get possessed by cat nuns or a psychotic trampoline, get tied up as a ritual sacrifice, upset Queen Elizabeth and never find out why. But that wasn’t the worst bit. None of that would be too bad, ‘cos he’ll save you from it. No, the worst bit comes when you get back and realise your life has changed forever.
But maybe it already has changed. She’s already met him; that was the start of it. Who will it help if he boots her out now, destroys that new confidence and sense of purpose she’s found, sends her back to her nagging mother and the typing pool? (Why do they always have to have mothers, anyway? Never used to happen in the old days. He never heard about Sarah Jane’s mother, or Jo’s or Tegan’s. Didn’t she have an auntie or something?)
Any minute now she’ll be saying, “Gonna stand there all day?” He decides not to argue about the hatbox. Not to argue about anything, in fact, for now. Time for that later, when they end up in the middle of some disaster and she expects him to destroy the timeline saving people. Or when she asks why he’s taking her to places he’s been with Rose. Won’t make that mistake again.
At least she already knows. Knows about Rose, about the Bigger on the Inside Bit, about him not being human, the name of his lost planet. He realises what he said to Mary Poppins a few minutes ago. “How can you lose a planet?” And it didn’t hurt. Not a twinge. Never thought that would happen.
He’d enjoyed having an adventure with Donna. Really enjoyed it, not just plastering on a grin and talking twaddle. In fact, the one time he’d started blethering, she’d quietly calmed him down and come up with exactly the right solution. (Of course, if he’d known she’d got that thing……But he hadn’t. Sometimes a brilliant brain isn’t as good as - well, one brilliant and one not-so-brilliant one.)
Funny, the way things work out. If Rose was here now, he’d enjoy telling her about it. How he’d met Donna, the mad Christmas Eve it had led to, all the twists and turns of fate that had reunited them.
Twists and turns and reunions - he likes the sound of that.
She’s made her choice. Made it a long time ago. In the end, only Donna can really decide whether he’s worth the monsters. He tends to go for people who dislike him making their choices for them. To be honest, that’s usually what attracts him.
He wonders what she’d think of Ancient Rome. He could tell her about the time Rose got herself turned into a statue and the way he’d got the gladiators working together to save their skins in the arena and…Oh, it would be good to talk about Rose without getting that look Martha used to give him.
“I’d love you to come,” he says. And he means it.
WORDS: 1479
A companion piece to wendymr 's lovely drabble "Situation Vacant". Hope you like.
SPOILERS: 4:1 Partners in Crime
DISCLAIMER: All the good bits belong to the BBC (with the possible exception of the contents of the hatbox)
RATING: Gen
CHARACTERS: Ten, Donna (other mentions)
xp'd to i_love_donna dwfiction and Teaspoon
PICTURE by mindcandy
She means business, this girl. She has a plan. Not his sort of plan, made up minute-by-minute on the hoof, but a serious strategy for getting where she wants to be. All because of him. It’s terrifying, in a way.
Here we go again.
He can’t believe that a person could change so much in - how long was it for her - two years? Yes, two years. She’s standing there with the boot of her car open and it’s full of luggage - there’s a hatbox in there, for goodness’ sake - where does she think she’s going? A garden party at Buck House?
She says she’s had it all packed up in there for ages, just in case. She means business, this girl. She has a plan. Not his sort of plan, made up minute-by-minute on the hoof, but a serious strategy for getting where she wants to be. All because of him. It’s terrifying, in a way.
Here we go again.
What is it about him that inspires this kind of obsession in humans? Is it a blessing or a curse that they can never see where it’s going to end up? Crying on a beach. Your family in chains. Killed over and over for sport when you could have run away.
He’s not worthy of it. It’s always his fault. Ruined lives. Broken hearts. Dreams trampled on. And occasionally - mercifully not that often, they don’t even live to tell the tale. One, in fact, didn’t even live long enough to see inside the TARDIS.
He never used to think about that. Couldn’t, because if he did he’d never let one of them anywhere near the TARDIS again. And he couldn’t bear the silence. All the brilliant thoughts rolling around in his mind, pouring from his lips, because despite everything he’s seen the universe is utterly, incredibly beautiful and brilliant, and having nobody to share it with is the saddest thing ever.
He isn’t used to things being this way around. Normally he’s backing away from people he’d fallen into an adventure with, making a run for it before their longing eyes and soaring hearts snag him in. People hardly ever blag their way aboard, and Donna’s doing more than that. She’s standing there waiting for him to pick up the cases like a bellhop at the Ritz.
When did she get so certain that he needs her? Last time he met Donna - not that he’d been in the best frame of mind to make a judgment - she’d had Victim stamped through her like Blackpool through a stick of rock. All the screaming and slapping was a defence mechanism, and a lousy one at last. As lousy as saying, “I’m always all right.”
Oh blimey, look at that look in her eyes as he tries to warn her what she’s getting into. “You asked me before.” Yes, and he was a fool. When he met Martha he was an even bigger one. He thought he could bat his eyes at a pretty girl, do a bit of clever showing off, and she’d hop aboard, just one trip, no hard feelings, no strings attached. Wouldn’t admit what he was doing to her, because it meant admitting he was going through the same himself.
But since then he’d had a lot of time to think about it. Three years on an ice planet. Three months in a tiny flat in 1969 with someone who was putting food on the table and expecting him to sleep with her in return, though she never said so. Didn’t have to. He could see it in her eyes.
And then the Year that Never Was. There was nothing to do except think then, however much it hurt to do it.
All he wants is a mate. Someone he can have a laugh with. Bounce ideas off. Someone who’ll make the TARDIS seem smaller and noiser and warmer than she had been lately. It depresses him, the way the TARDIS has stopped adapting to humans, turned down the ambient temperature, let him go for days without meals before arranging for him to pass the kitchen. She’s gone back to being a Time Lord’s ship. It’s lonely. Very lonely.
But if he tells her he just wants a mate and she says it’s okay, can he believe her? Probably not. Look at Martha. “I don’t go for aliens, anyway.” Not unless they’re you, she should have added. Why did humans so often say the exact opposite of what they were feeling? Was it some kind of game? Every time he seems to be getting the hang of it, someone skips a turn and rewrites the rules.
Oh, but he’d never do a thing like that, would he? Say one thing and mean another? What about that time in the ruins of New Earth? “Are you happy?” Martha had asked. “Yeah. Happy happy,” he’d replied, two minutes before he’d sat down and spilled out his bleeding guts to her.
What was it Donna had told him that Christmas? “Find someone to stop you.” Easier said than done. Martha, for all her admirable qualities, had been totally crap at stopping him. And he’d rarely been more miserable, or more destructive, in his life.
There’s probably a lesson there.
Right, now she’s yelling in his face. “You’re not mating with me, sunshine!” He’s glad they’ve got that sorted out. Stick that, Doctor! He prefers people who say what they mean, even if they do tend to yell it in your face and follow through with a slap. At least you know where you are with them.
Blimey. He just nearly hugged her. How did that happen? Oops. Well, at least she won’t be asking for a key to the TARDIS and his everlasting love just because of a minor transfer of genetic material.
He’ll try one more time. Try to warn her, give her a chance to back out without losing face. “It’s a funny old life, travelling in the TARDIS.” Lame, lame, doesn’t even begin to cover it. How can you cover it? Right, let’s see - you could end up in another universe, see the end of your world, get possessed by cat nuns or a psychotic trampoline, get tied up as a ritual sacrifice, upset Queen Elizabeth and never find out why. But that wasn’t the worst bit. None of that would be too bad, ‘cos he’ll save you from it. No, the worst bit comes when you get back and realise your life has changed forever.
But maybe it already has changed. She’s already met him; that was the start of it. Who will it help if he boots her out now, destroys that new confidence and sense of purpose she’s found, sends her back to her nagging mother and the typing pool? (Why do they always have to have mothers, anyway? Never used to happen in the old days. He never heard about Sarah Jane’s mother, or Jo’s or Tegan’s. Didn’t she have an auntie or something?)
Any minute now she’ll be saying, “Gonna stand there all day?” He decides not to argue about the hatbox. Not to argue about anything, in fact, for now. Time for that later, when they end up in the middle of some disaster and she expects him to destroy the timeline saving people. Or when she asks why he’s taking her to places he’s been with Rose. Won’t make that mistake again.
At least she already knows. Knows about Rose, about the Bigger on the Inside Bit, about him not being human, the name of his lost planet. He realises what he said to Mary Poppins a few minutes ago. “How can you lose a planet?” And it didn’t hurt. Not a twinge. Never thought that would happen.
He’d enjoyed having an adventure with Donna. Really enjoyed it, not just plastering on a grin and talking twaddle. In fact, the one time he’d started blethering, she’d quietly calmed him down and come up with exactly the right solution. (Of course, if he’d known she’d got that thing……But he hadn’t. Sometimes a brilliant brain isn’t as good as - well, one brilliant and one not-so-brilliant one.)
Funny, the way things work out. If Rose was here now, he’d enjoy telling her about it. How he’d met Donna, the mad Christmas Eve it had led to, all the twists and turns of fate that had reunited them.
Twists and turns and reunions - he likes the sound of that.
She’s made her choice. Made it a long time ago. In the end, only Donna can really decide whether he’s worth the monsters. He tends to go for people who dislike him making their choices for them. To be honest, that’s usually what attracts him.
He wonders what she’d think of Ancient Rome. He could tell her about the time Rose got herself turned into a statue and the way he’d got the gladiators working together to save their skins in the arena and…Oh, it would be good to talk about Rose without getting that look Martha used to give him.
“I’d love you to come,” he says. And he means it.