Fic: Close Call (7/8)
Title: Close Call (7/8)
Author: shining_moment
Characters/Pairing: Doctor, Donna
Rating: G
Summary: Of course she knew she’d have to let him help her for a while but she wasn’t quite prepared for just how completely useless, how weak it would make her feel.
Disclaimer: Nah, not mine.
Donna didn’t mean to shout at the Doctor, she really didn’t, not this time anyway. So now, as well as being irrationally annoyed with him, she is very rationally annoyed with herself. If she’s honest though, she’d been expecting this, had felt her frustration building a little more day by day so it was inevitable she’d hit her limit at some point.
She’s not frustrated with him though, it’s not his fault at all, he just happens to be the closest target. It’s herself she’s frustrated with- well, her situation, really, the fact that she is reliant on him for absolutely everything. Of course she knew she’d have to let him help her for a while but she wasn’t quite prepared for just how completely useless, how weak it would make her feel.
There’s barely a thing she can do for herself, he has to help her with the most simple of tasks- getting dressed, getting undressed…oh now that was fun the first time with him attempting to unhook her bra while she yelled at him not to even think about opening his eyes. He seems to have got much better at that as the time has gone on or maybe he just got brave and keeps his eyes open now, deciding that the ease it offers is worth the risk of her wrath. She doesn’t really care anymore anyway, there’s nothing quite like necessity to lower your inhibitions, if not get rid of them entirely.
There is one thing she actually enjoys though even if she doesn’t admit it and that’s him washing her hair. He’s surprisingly good at it, seems to use just the right amount of firm and gentle and he has fingers that were surely born for massage. She wonders if she can possibly persuade him to do it occasionally for her even when is able to do it again for herself. Martha was right too, he’s pretty handy with a hairdryer and usually does such a surprisingly great job with the straighteners that she’s willing to ignore the Princess Leia incident as long as he never tries it again.
The thought of him doing all these things for her and never complaining makes her feel even worse for yelling at him and she wouldn’t blame him if he decided to throw her out- not literally, they are in space after all and she doubts he’s quite that angry with her. She wouldn’t blame him though if he sent her packing, back to her mum’s with strict instructions not to come back until she’s ready to stop snapping at him.
It’s that thought that sends her back to the console room to apologise. When she gets there, the sight of only his feet suggests he’s tinkering with something under the central column, not that she will ever use the word ‘tinkering’ again to his face. He got very offended last time and very indignantly told her he was carrying out vital adjustments to the fundamental infrastructure of the ship, not tinkering. Ok then.
This is another situation that she can’t approach as she usually would. Normally, if they’d had a bit of a disagreement and he was lurking under there, she’d just march over and pull him out by the feet in one swift movement so they could talk. As skinny as he is, she’s under no illusions that she could manage it with only one good shoulder so instead she has to settle for clearing her throat loudly and, when that gets no reaction, hesitantly calling out to him, “Doctor?”
“Down here!” he calls back, just in case she’d maybe failed to notice his gangly legs stretched across the floor.
She doesn’t say anything more, just waits for him to appear from under the column. It’s only a few seconds before she hears a triumphant “Ha! That’s got it!” and he comes sliding out, grinning at her as she peers down at him.
“Everything ok under there? Vital repairs taken care of?”
“Vital repairs? Nah, just tinkering.”
“Right then,” she smiles, shaking her head, “Um, I wanted to say sorry, for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to, I’m just-“
“Stubborn, determined, independent and hating that you’re having to let me do everything for you, I know. Oh, except the hair washing- I get the impression you don’t mind that so much.”
Donna stares at him, open-mouthed and manages no more than, “Well…” before he jumps up and takes her hand, “Come on, I fancy some tea! I’ll let you make it and I promise I won’t interfere, not even once.”
She lets him lead her through to the kitchen and watches him fidget, so obviously wanting to help, as she makes tea for them, slowly and a bit awkwardly but successfully, all things considered. She hands him his mug and sits down opposite him,
“So…”
“So…”
They take simultaneous sips of tea, reflecting for a moment on what seems to be the Doctor and Donna equivalent of “I’m sorry”, “you’re forgiven.” The Doctor peeks over the top of the Marvin the Martian mug that always amuses Donna,
“You know, when you were in hospital, before you woke up, I promised you that when you got out of there we’d go somewhere nice, somewhere you could relax and get better.”
“Ooh, sounds lovely.”
“So, how does tomorrow sound, after your hospital appointment, once the sling is off?”
“Perfect. Go on then, I know you’ve already got somewhere in mind so where are we off to?” Donna grins at him, very aware that he probably formulated this little plan the moment she arrived at hospital.
“I spoke to Martha and she said somewhere warm and relaxing would be good and if it was somewhere you could swim that would be even better because swimming will be great for your shoulder.”
“Still liking the sound of this. Go on.”
“Well, what could be better for swimming, relaxing and recuperating than the ultimate spa planet? This time we’ll make sure we definitely try the anti-gravity restaurant-“
“No,” she cuts him off sharply, “No way, we’re not going back there, not after last time, no.”
“It’ll be fine this time. I won’t go hurtling off on any day trips, I promise. We’ll just relax, see the waterfalls-“
Donna interrupts again, “Of all the places we could go, why would you possibly want to go back there? It’s like me wanting to find whoever shot me so that I can tell them to give the other shoulder a try, it makes no sense!” she stops suddenly as though something has just made sense, “Oh hold on, I think I know what this is, this is you feeling guilty about what happened to me, which is ridiculous by the way, and thinking that if we go back to Midnight where you know how awful I felt about not being with you on that shuttle you might feel a bit better. A guilt shared is a guilt halved or something, is that it?!”
He doesn’t get angry, doesn’t raise his voice but the stricken look on his face tells her she’s right, that’s exactly what he was thinking but it also tells her that it was a completely unconscious thought and that he only realised it when she said it out loud. He sighs and closes his eyes for a second, “Donna, why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
When she replies, her voice is soft, sad, “Because I want things to feel normal again instead of you being so- well, so bloody nice to me all the time.”
The Doctor bites his bottom lip thoughtfully, “So, normal is me not being nice to you, is that what you’re saying?”
“I had a feeling that hadn’t come out quite right,” she smiles, “What I mean is I’m snapping at you left, right and centre but I can see you holding your tongue when you’d normally just snap back at me like you should and it’s driving me mad.”
“So,” the Doctor thinks before he carries on, “Are you saying you don’t want me to help you anymore?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I do want your help, I need your help but the rest of the time I need you to try and stop treating me like I’m about to fall apart,” she stands up to move away from the table and the Doctor flinches, almost instinctively, “See, that’s what I’m talking about! I’m getting up out of a kitchen chair, how much damage do you think I can do?!”
Donna walks over to stand beside where he’s sitting and places her good hand on his shoulder, looking at him in the same way she would look at a naughty puppy, knowing he needs telling off for his own good but still struggling in the face of the big, mournful eyes, “This is me, Donna. Not. Going. To. Break. Ok?”
The Doctor nods, “Ok, I’ll try, I really will.”
“Good,” Donna smiles, “Come here,” she takes his hand and slips it underneath the sling covering her injured shoulder and can’t help laughing out loud at the shocked expression on his face as she settles his hand on her chest, “Oh for crying out loud, you get me dressed every morning, it‘s not like you don’t know what I’ve got hidden under here! There, you feel that? Beating away quite happily, yeah?”
The Doctor nods, a little frantically, “Mm-hm, quite happily, yep.”
“Now, don’t think you can be trying that when you’re helping me get undressed. I’ve still got one hand perfectly capable of delivering a good slap. Got that?” she smirks at him.
“Got it,” he returns the smirk, “So, Midnight it is then?”
“You’re sailing very close to the wind here, Spaceman…”
He grins cheekily, “I was kidding. I know exactly the place to take you.”
“Where?”
“Ah, you’ll see.”
“You’ve got no intention of telling me, have you?” Donna takes a step back, realising that one hand on her hip is nowhere near as menacing as two but doing her best anyway.
“Nope.”
“And if I keep on at you, you’re going to refuse to wash my hair, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
She pouts and sighs theatrically, “I think I preferred it when you thought I was going to fall apart.”
Walking over to put her mug in the sink, she hears his voice behind her, “Just for record, I never thought you were going to fall apart Donna.”
She doesn’t turn around but she smiles anyway, “I know.”
Author: shining_moment
Characters/Pairing: Doctor, Donna
Rating: G
Summary: Of course she knew she’d have to let him help her for a while but she wasn’t quite prepared for just how completely useless, how weak it would make her feel.
Disclaimer: Nah, not mine.
Donna didn’t mean to shout at the Doctor, she really didn’t, not this time anyway. So now, as well as being irrationally annoyed with him, she is very rationally annoyed with herself. If she’s honest though, she’d been expecting this, had felt her frustration building a little more day by day so it was inevitable she’d hit her limit at some point.
She’s not frustrated with him though, it’s not his fault at all, he just happens to be the closest target. It’s herself she’s frustrated with- well, her situation, really, the fact that she is reliant on him for absolutely everything. Of course she knew she’d have to let him help her for a while but she wasn’t quite prepared for just how completely useless, how weak it would make her feel.
There’s barely a thing she can do for herself, he has to help her with the most simple of tasks- getting dressed, getting undressed…oh now that was fun the first time with him attempting to unhook her bra while she yelled at him not to even think about opening his eyes. He seems to have got much better at that as the time has gone on or maybe he just got brave and keeps his eyes open now, deciding that the ease it offers is worth the risk of her wrath. She doesn’t really care anymore anyway, there’s nothing quite like necessity to lower your inhibitions, if not get rid of them entirely.
There is one thing she actually enjoys though even if she doesn’t admit it and that’s him washing her hair. He’s surprisingly good at it, seems to use just the right amount of firm and gentle and he has fingers that were surely born for massage. She wonders if she can possibly persuade him to do it occasionally for her even when is able to do it again for herself. Martha was right too, he’s pretty handy with a hairdryer and usually does such a surprisingly great job with the straighteners that she’s willing to ignore the Princess Leia incident as long as he never tries it again.
The thought of him doing all these things for her and never complaining makes her feel even worse for yelling at him and she wouldn’t blame him if he decided to throw her out- not literally, they are in space after all and she doubts he’s quite that angry with her. She wouldn’t blame him though if he sent her packing, back to her mum’s with strict instructions not to come back until she’s ready to stop snapping at him.
It’s that thought that sends her back to the console room to apologise. When she gets there, the sight of only his feet suggests he’s tinkering with something under the central column, not that she will ever use the word ‘tinkering’ again to his face. He got very offended last time and very indignantly told her he was carrying out vital adjustments to the fundamental infrastructure of the ship, not tinkering. Ok then.
This is another situation that she can’t approach as she usually would. Normally, if they’d had a bit of a disagreement and he was lurking under there, she’d just march over and pull him out by the feet in one swift movement so they could talk. As skinny as he is, she’s under no illusions that she could manage it with only one good shoulder so instead she has to settle for clearing her throat loudly and, when that gets no reaction, hesitantly calling out to him, “Doctor?”
“Down here!” he calls back, just in case she’d maybe failed to notice his gangly legs stretched across the floor.
She doesn’t say anything more, just waits for him to appear from under the column. It’s only a few seconds before she hears a triumphant “Ha! That’s got it!” and he comes sliding out, grinning at her as she peers down at him.
“Everything ok under there? Vital repairs taken care of?”
“Vital repairs? Nah, just tinkering.”
“Right then,” she smiles, shaking her head, “Um, I wanted to say sorry, for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to, I’m just-“
“Stubborn, determined, independent and hating that you’re having to let me do everything for you, I know. Oh, except the hair washing- I get the impression you don’t mind that so much.”
Donna stares at him, open-mouthed and manages no more than, “Well…” before he jumps up and takes her hand, “Come on, I fancy some tea! I’ll let you make it and I promise I won’t interfere, not even once.”
She lets him lead her through to the kitchen and watches him fidget, so obviously wanting to help, as she makes tea for them, slowly and a bit awkwardly but successfully, all things considered. She hands him his mug and sits down opposite him,
“So…”
“So…”
They take simultaneous sips of tea, reflecting for a moment on what seems to be the Doctor and Donna equivalent of “I’m sorry”, “you’re forgiven.” The Doctor peeks over the top of the Marvin the Martian mug that always amuses Donna,
“You know, when you were in hospital, before you woke up, I promised you that when you got out of there we’d go somewhere nice, somewhere you could relax and get better.”
“Ooh, sounds lovely.”
“So, how does tomorrow sound, after your hospital appointment, once the sling is off?”
“Perfect. Go on then, I know you’ve already got somewhere in mind so where are we off to?” Donna grins at him, very aware that he probably formulated this little plan the moment she arrived at hospital.
“I spoke to Martha and she said somewhere warm and relaxing would be good and if it was somewhere you could swim that would be even better because swimming will be great for your shoulder.”
“Still liking the sound of this. Go on.”
“Well, what could be better for swimming, relaxing and recuperating than the ultimate spa planet? This time we’ll make sure we definitely try the anti-gravity restaurant-“
“No,” she cuts him off sharply, “No way, we’re not going back there, not after last time, no.”
“It’ll be fine this time. I won’t go hurtling off on any day trips, I promise. We’ll just relax, see the waterfalls-“
Donna interrupts again, “Of all the places we could go, why would you possibly want to go back there? It’s like me wanting to find whoever shot me so that I can tell them to give the other shoulder a try, it makes no sense!” she stops suddenly as though something has just made sense, “Oh hold on, I think I know what this is, this is you feeling guilty about what happened to me, which is ridiculous by the way, and thinking that if we go back to Midnight where you know how awful I felt about not being with you on that shuttle you might feel a bit better. A guilt shared is a guilt halved or something, is that it?!”
He doesn’t get angry, doesn’t raise his voice but the stricken look on his face tells her she’s right, that’s exactly what he was thinking but it also tells her that it was a completely unconscious thought and that he only realised it when she said it out loud. He sighs and closes his eyes for a second, “Donna, why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
When she replies, her voice is soft, sad, “Because I want things to feel normal again instead of you being so- well, so bloody nice to me all the time.”
The Doctor bites his bottom lip thoughtfully, “So, normal is me not being nice to you, is that what you’re saying?”
“I had a feeling that hadn’t come out quite right,” she smiles, “What I mean is I’m snapping at you left, right and centre but I can see you holding your tongue when you’d normally just snap back at me like you should and it’s driving me mad.”
“So,” the Doctor thinks before he carries on, “Are you saying you don’t want me to help you anymore?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I do want your help, I need your help but the rest of the time I need you to try and stop treating me like I’m about to fall apart,” she stands up to move away from the table and the Doctor flinches, almost instinctively, “See, that’s what I’m talking about! I’m getting up out of a kitchen chair, how much damage do you think I can do?!”
Donna walks over to stand beside where he’s sitting and places her good hand on his shoulder, looking at him in the same way she would look at a naughty puppy, knowing he needs telling off for his own good but still struggling in the face of the big, mournful eyes, “This is me, Donna. Not. Going. To. Break. Ok?”
The Doctor nods, “Ok, I’ll try, I really will.”
“Good,” Donna smiles, “Come here,” she takes his hand and slips it underneath the sling covering her injured shoulder and can’t help laughing out loud at the shocked expression on his face as she settles his hand on her chest, “Oh for crying out loud, you get me dressed every morning, it‘s not like you don’t know what I’ve got hidden under here! There, you feel that? Beating away quite happily, yeah?”
The Doctor nods, a little frantically, “Mm-hm, quite happily, yep.”
“Now, don’t think you can be trying that when you’re helping me get undressed. I’ve still got one hand perfectly capable of delivering a good slap. Got that?” she smirks at him.
“Got it,” he returns the smirk, “So, Midnight it is then?”
“You’re sailing very close to the wind here, Spaceman…”
He grins cheekily, “I was kidding. I know exactly the place to take you.”
“Where?”
“Ah, you’ll see.”
“You’ve got no intention of telling me, have you?” Donna takes a step back, realising that one hand on her hip is nowhere near as menacing as two but doing her best anyway.
“Nope.”
“And if I keep on at you, you’re going to refuse to wash my hair, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
She pouts and sighs theatrically, “I think I preferred it when you thought I was going to fall apart.”
Walking over to put her mug in the sink, she hears his voice behind her, “Just for record, I never thought you were going to fall apart Donna.”
She doesn’t turn around but she smiles anyway, “I know.”