Doctor Who fic - Last Call
Title: Last Call
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Summary: Donna really shouldn't have eaten all that fruit...
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters are the property of the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
Note to self, the Doctor thought ruefully as he fumbled for his key, rather awkwardly, due to the fact that the hand not involved with searching his coat pockets was busy holding his companion upright. Never leave a human alone with a bowl of keelash fruit. And if you do, never believe them when they say they only had one.
Really, though, it wasn't his fault. Well, it might be. Technically. Humans were really quite frighteningly fragile creatures, when you came right down to it, and to top it off they were appallingly ignorant, for the most part, of the universe at large, at least in the eras he usually got them from. He, on the other hand, was the Time Lord. The designated driver. Which made everything that happened to them while they were traveling with him ultimately his responsibility.
Still, how was he to know that she was going to eat three of the things the minute his back was turned, when he'd warned her explicitly that unprocessed keelash juice had a notoriously intoxicating effect on certain species, including hers, and that if she ate one, she would be best off stopping at one if she wished to retain any control of her faculties for the rest of their last night on Nakaal?
Not to mention that she was the one who had insisted that they stay and let the natives honor them while they celebrated the rescue and return of the royal family, it having been due mainly to her bureaucratic know-how combined with his typically brilliant off-the-cuff plan which had not only saved the queen, the prince consort, and the crown princess but prevented the destruction of the entire planet. So, not his fault at all, then. Absolutely not.
As he finally found the key and managed to pull it out, Donna swayed, leaning heavily against him for a moment. "Whoa!" She let out a bray of laughter as she unsteadily righted herself. "Nearly lost it there! Silly. You'd think the people woulda had enough of silly love songs," she sang. "I look around me and I seeeeee it isn't so. Oh no."
He smiled. "Paul McCartney and Wings? Now I know you're pissed. I thought you preferred him as a Beatle." He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, then maneuvered her inside, stopping just long enough to shut the door behind them.
Donna peered up at the coral ceiling. "It's bigger on the inside. Did you know your ship's bigger on the inside?"
"I think I've heard people mention it on occasion, yes. Thanks for noticing. Come on, let's get you to bed." He started to guide her across the room, but she stumbled and almost fell on the way. Only his quick reflexes saved her from hitting her head on the central console. The TARDIS' hum changed pitch slightly, and he sent a quick mental reassurance as he steadied his companion. "On second thought, maybe I'd better carry you."
"You, carry me? Ha!" She snorted. "I'd like to see you try tha -- AAH!" This as he swept her up into his arms and started off toward the inner door, as she clung to his neck, giggling madly. What with the TARDIS shortening the way to her room, it was only a few moments before he was gently depositing her on her bed, still giggling. "Whoo! Who'd've thought, skinny spaceman like you?"
"Full of surprises, me." He sat on the edge of the bed and concentrated on undoing the strap on one of her shoes.
"I'll bet you are."
The Doctor paused in the middle of removing her shoe. Was it his imagination, or had there been a sort of flirtatious purr in there somewhere? He glanced at her face and saw her smiling up at him a bit dreamily, though her eyes were unfocused, the blue-green irises almost completely contracted. Shaking his head, he slid the shoe off and reached for the other one. She helpfully raised it toward him, almost kicking him in the head as she did so.
"Sorry," she said. "D'you remember when I snogged you?"
"How could I forget? Hold still." He caught her foot and went to work on the tiny buckle.
"You tasted terrible."
"Hmm, that was the anchovies, probably. Sorry about that." He removed the second shoe, then started to rise.
She grabbed at his hand, flailing in the air for a moment as she missed. "Don't go just yet. Stay with me. Wanna talk a bit."
He lifted an eyebrow at her, but complied, settling once more on the edge of the bed. "All right."
"Lie down. Right here." She scooched her body to the far side of the bed, and patted the other side with her hand. When he hesitated, she gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Oh, come on. Not gonna bite ya."
After a moment, he shrugged. She'd probably be asleep in a few minutes anyway. Carefully, he stretched out on the bed beside her, facing her. He was reminded of a similar situation with Martha, though this bed wasn't nearly as narrow as that one had been, and neither one of them had been intoxicated.
Donna turned on her side, head propped up by one hand, watching him. "You know what? You're tall, but it's all in the middle. Your legs -- " she waved her free hand toward them, " -- aren't really much longer than mine, but your torso goes on for miles. You're just this side of freakish, y'know?"
"Thanks."
"And you're skinny. God, you're skinny. You're like a pipe cleaner with hair."
He smiled wryly, amused despite himself. He was actually rather proud of his current body; he'd really lucked out this time around, in his opinion. But leave it to Donna to stick a pin in his ego, even while drunk. "Are you finished?"
She continued her appraisal as if he hadn't spoken. "But with all that, you're actually not a bad-looking bloke. Not my usual type, mind. I like 'em quite a bit more... solid. Big shoulders and that." She gestured at her own shoulders. "Not so many freckles. Still, you smell good. Like... I dunno, like bananas, and -- and time. And you've got really nice hands. D'you know that?" She reached out and took one, tracing her thumb up the length of a finger. "Long. Skillful. Graceful. I watch 'em sometimes when you're fixing something, or flying the TARDIS, or even just waving them about while you're babbling on about whatever. And d'you know what, there's times I think there's other things you might be using 'em for."
The Doctor found himself watching, almost frozen, as she drew his hand toward her and laid it, firmly and deliberately, on her breast. He swallowed. "Donna..."
"Bet you don't taste like anchovies now." With that, she leaned toward him, and suddenly her lips were mashed up against his, moving hungrily if rather clumsily, her tongue bullying its way in. It was every bit as shocking here and now as it had been in Lady Eddison's kitchen in front of Agatha Christie. If not more so, since this time there was no poison involved. He couldn't help going rigid with surprise, letting her have her way for just as long as it took him to process it.
Well, this was certainly an interesting new side to her character. But he really couldn't allow this to continue. She'd never forgive him if he did. He pulled back, ignoring her urgent mewl of protest. "Donna, no," he managed, a bit breathlessly.
"Why not, Spaceman?"
"This isn't you. It's the keelash. You're not even attracted to me. Long streak of alien nothing, remember?" It was then that he realized his hand was still on her breast. Hastily he removed it. She grabbed it and put it back where it was, then snogged him again, pressing her whole body against his whole body. Her fingers worked busily at his tie, and despite her impairment she managed to get it off him before he quite realized what she was doing, overwhelmed as he was by the scent of her jasmine cologne and the lingering taste of keelash inside her mouth.
A moment later, she broke off and grinned sloppily at him. "Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket, or are you -- "
"Donna..." As a matter of fact, he wasn't entirely unaffected. This incarnation possessed probably the strongest libido he'd ever had. But that didn't mean he couldn't control himself. He was still a Time Lord, after all. As gently as he could, he disengaged himself from her and struggled to his feet. She groaned and flopped over onto the spot where he had lain.
"Go on, then," she mumbled petulantly.
She looked so perfectly miserable that against his better judgment he came back and kneeled beside the bed. "Not until I know you're going to be all right," he said.
"'M all right. Not great. Not even good enough. Just all right. Not good enough for my mum. Not good enough for university. Not good enough for a permanent job. Not good enough for Lance. Now, 'm not good enough for you either." She sniffled, her face contorting, and he realized she was crying.
"Donna. Oh, Donna. You know that's not true. Why would you say a thing like that?" He stroked her hair, which had mostly escaped from the bun she'd had it in for the celebration dinner.
"Am I that ugly?" she wailed.
"Ugly? No! It's just -- Donna, you're a beautiful woman, all right? And I'd be lying if I said it hadn't ever crossed my mind to wonder what it might be like if... But not like this. Not when you can't even see straight. You're far too important to me for that. You're my chance to get it right. I screwed it up with Rose. I screwed it up with Martha. I am not going to screw it up with you, not if I can help it."
He paused suddenly. He'd rather surprised himself there, but he was even more surprised to realize he meant every word.
He realized something else, too. She had gone silent.
"D'you hear me? Donna?"
Just as he was leaning closer in concern, she gave a mighty snore.
The Doctor sighed and began carefully undoing what was left of her bun.
***
Ohhhh, my head.
I'm in bed. I don't remember going to bed.
I'm wearing a nightshirt. I don't remember putting on a nightshirt.
What's this tie doing here?
Oh, my God.
Donna sat bolt upright, and winced. A little of it was the spike from what was already the grandmother of all headaches, but most of it was horror. Had she really...? No, she couldn't have. He wouldn't have. No way. Would he? Why couldn't she remember?
All she could piece together were little snippets of memories, like film clips. A party, with music and dancing, and food. The most delicious fruit she'd ever eaten, as if a kiwi and a grape had had a threesome with a chocolate drop. Paul McCartney singing. The TARDIS control room ceiling floating and dancing above her head. The indefinable, vaguely banana-y scent that could only be him, closer than she'd ever smelled it before. Cool flesh against her lips. A cool, long-fingered hand on her breast. Oh, my God.
"Good morning!" The Doctor chose that moment to come into the room, without bothering to knock. He looked as if he was wearing the same suit as last night, though she knew he actually had several identical ones, the only variation being the blue ones he sometimes put on. In his hands was a tray containing a plate of toast and a cup of what she instinctively knew to be tea, just the way she liked it.
Guilty conscience, she assumed.
"The TARDIS alerted me that you were waking up." He gestured with the tray. "Something for your head. Figured you'd be wanting to saw it off right about now, so to stop you doing that, here's a special blend guaranteed to clear it up instead." He set the tray on the nightstand, and plonked himself beside her, grinning his most infernally bright-eyed grin.
She slapped it right off his face.
"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing his cheek. "What was that for?"
Donna held up the tie she had found in her bed. "I'll tell you when you tell me what this was doing here, and you'd better make it good, Spaceman, or you'll be eating it!"
"Ah. Well, I imagine it was here because I forgot it when I left last night."
She slapped him again. "You what?! You didn't even have the decency to stay, after -- after we..." Oh great, now she was crying. That would really help her hangover. Damn him!
"Oh. Oh. Donna, look -- I'm a lot of things, but I'm not -- I wouldn't -- oh, just drink the tea. I'll explain, but you've got to drink the tea first. Here." A handkerchief dabbed at her cheeks, and her hands were forcibly wrapped around the cup. Feeling too weak to resist, she sipped at it. It didn't taste much different to the teas she was used to, except it was a little tangier. She drank a little more. It was actually pretty good.
The headache melted away as if by magic, and at the same time the film clips suddenly spliced together, with all the missing bits filling themselves in and resolving into a full-blown movie.
Donna had never thought of herself as the blushing type, but now she felt her cheeks flood with heat. They must be redder than her hair. She set the tea down, and buried her head in her hands.
"Donna?"
"Go away."
"Donna, please. It's not as bad as all that. Donna, look at me."
"I can't. God, you must think I'm a complete loon!"
"Which evens us up nicely, don't you think? Donna, I've traveled with a lot of people over the years. But you're the first one to not only get that I'm not perfect, but accept it as well. I can't even begin to tell you how much I treasure that. I'm not about to give it up. So, please don't get any mad ideas in your head about packing up and going home, at least until you've given us a chance to get back what we've been. All right?"
She didn't reply, and after a moment she heard him sigh.
"I'll be in the control room if you need me. The Zeiton crystals need replacing, and the time rotor is getting a bit wobbly, and... yeah." With that, she felt the bed shift as he got up, followed by the soft slap of his Converses against the floor as he left the room.
***
She had to face him sometime, of course. It took her three days, but finally as she was wandering the corridors, she found her feet taking her to where she knew he'd be. The control room. Knowing him, the silly Martian had probably never left it in all that time. Or if he had, he'd been as intent on giving her space as she had been on taking it.
Which was sweet of him, really.
And she actually had begun to let go of her mortification at her behavior, and see the humor, a little bit.
No, she wasn't going to pack up and leave. He'd lost so much -- his world, his people, his children, his friends. It was all too easy sometimes to think of him as more than a little lacking in the sanity department, but the wonder of it was that he still had any sanity at all. Could she really force yet another loss on him, and over something so stupid?
He was standing there alone, silhouetted by the light of the time rotor as it rose and fell, a motion which often reminded her of breathing. She didn't think she'd made any sound as she stepped into the room behind him, but he turned anyway. He just looked at her for a long moment, with those deep dark eyes of his, a gaze that held no anger, or ridicule, or reproach. Just relief, mixed with a cautious hope, and a touch of fear. This wasn't a mask, one of the faces he put on to charm or distract or manipulate. This was him. The Doctor. Her best mate. She'd said forever, and she'd meant it.
Donna walked up to his side without hesitation and took his hand.
"Where to next, Spaceman?"
His face lit up in perhaps the biggest, maddest, most enthusiastic grin she had ever seen on him, or anybody else, for that matter.
"There's a bazaar I've been thinking about taking you to. Food, shops, music, huge foamy drinks. You'll love it. It's on a planet called Shan Shen..."
~end
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, Donna
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Summary: Donna really shouldn't have eaten all that fruit...
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters are the property of the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
Note to self, the Doctor thought ruefully as he fumbled for his key, rather awkwardly, due to the fact that the hand not involved with searching his coat pockets was busy holding his companion upright. Never leave a human alone with a bowl of keelash fruit. And if you do, never believe them when they say they only had one.
Really, though, it wasn't his fault. Well, it might be. Technically. Humans were really quite frighteningly fragile creatures, when you came right down to it, and to top it off they were appallingly ignorant, for the most part, of the universe at large, at least in the eras he usually got them from. He, on the other hand, was the Time Lord. The designated driver. Which made everything that happened to them while they were traveling with him ultimately his responsibility.
Still, how was he to know that she was going to eat three of the things the minute his back was turned, when he'd warned her explicitly that unprocessed keelash juice had a notoriously intoxicating effect on certain species, including hers, and that if she ate one, she would be best off stopping at one if she wished to retain any control of her faculties for the rest of their last night on Nakaal?
Not to mention that she was the one who had insisted that they stay and let the natives honor them while they celebrated the rescue and return of the royal family, it having been due mainly to her bureaucratic know-how combined with his typically brilliant off-the-cuff plan which had not only saved the queen, the prince consort, and the crown princess but prevented the destruction of the entire planet. So, not his fault at all, then. Absolutely not.
As he finally found the key and managed to pull it out, Donna swayed, leaning heavily against him for a moment. "Whoa!" She let out a bray of laughter as she unsteadily righted herself. "Nearly lost it there! Silly. You'd think the people woulda had enough of silly love songs," she sang. "I look around me and I seeeeee it isn't so. Oh no."
He smiled. "Paul McCartney and Wings? Now I know you're pissed. I thought you preferred him as a Beatle." He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, then maneuvered her inside, stopping just long enough to shut the door behind them.
Donna peered up at the coral ceiling. "It's bigger on the inside. Did you know your ship's bigger on the inside?"
"I think I've heard people mention it on occasion, yes. Thanks for noticing. Come on, let's get you to bed." He started to guide her across the room, but she stumbled and almost fell on the way. Only his quick reflexes saved her from hitting her head on the central console. The TARDIS' hum changed pitch slightly, and he sent a quick mental reassurance as he steadied his companion. "On second thought, maybe I'd better carry you."
"You, carry me? Ha!" She snorted. "I'd like to see you try tha -- AAH!" This as he swept her up into his arms and started off toward the inner door, as she clung to his neck, giggling madly. What with the TARDIS shortening the way to her room, it was only a few moments before he was gently depositing her on her bed, still giggling. "Whoo! Who'd've thought, skinny spaceman like you?"
"Full of surprises, me." He sat on the edge of the bed and concentrated on undoing the strap on one of her shoes.
"I'll bet you are."
The Doctor paused in the middle of removing her shoe. Was it his imagination, or had there been a sort of flirtatious purr in there somewhere? He glanced at her face and saw her smiling up at him a bit dreamily, though her eyes were unfocused, the blue-green irises almost completely contracted. Shaking his head, he slid the shoe off and reached for the other one. She helpfully raised it toward him, almost kicking him in the head as she did so.
"Sorry," she said. "D'you remember when I snogged you?"
"How could I forget? Hold still." He caught her foot and went to work on the tiny buckle.
"You tasted terrible."
"Hmm, that was the anchovies, probably. Sorry about that." He removed the second shoe, then started to rise.
She grabbed at his hand, flailing in the air for a moment as she missed. "Don't go just yet. Stay with me. Wanna talk a bit."
He lifted an eyebrow at her, but complied, settling once more on the edge of the bed. "All right."
"Lie down. Right here." She scooched her body to the far side of the bed, and patted the other side with her hand. When he hesitated, she gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Oh, come on. Not gonna bite ya."
After a moment, he shrugged. She'd probably be asleep in a few minutes anyway. Carefully, he stretched out on the bed beside her, facing her. He was reminded of a similar situation with Martha, though this bed wasn't nearly as narrow as that one had been, and neither one of them had been intoxicated.
Donna turned on her side, head propped up by one hand, watching him. "You know what? You're tall, but it's all in the middle. Your legs -- " she waved her free hand toward them, " -- aren't really much longer than mine, but your torso goes on for miles. You're just this side of freakish, y'know?"
"Thanks."
"And you're skinny. God, you're skinny. You're like a pipe cleaner with hair."
He smiled wryly, amused despite himself. He was actually rather proud of his current body; he'd really lucked out this time around, in his opinion. But leave it to Donna to stick a pin in his ego, even while drunk. "Are you finished?"
She continued her appraisal as if he hadn't spoken. "But with all that, you're actually not a bad-looking bloke. Not my usual type, mind. I like 'em quite a bit more... solid. Big shoulders and that." She gestured at her own shoulders. "Not so many freckles. Still, you smell good. Like... I dunno, like bananas, and -- and time. And you've got really nice hands. D'you know that?" She reached out and took one, tracing her thumb up the length of a finger. "Long. Skillful. Graceful. I watch 'em sometimes when you're fixing something, or flying the TARDIS, or even just waving them about while you're babbling on about whatever. And d'you know what, there's times I think there's other things you might be using 'em for."
The Doctor found himself watching, almost frozen, as she drew his hand toward her and laid it, firmly and deliberately, on her breast. He swallowed. "Donna..."
"Bet you don't taste like anchovies now." With that, she leaned toward him, and suddenly her lips were mashed up against his, moving hungrily if rather clumsily, her tongue bullying its way in. It was every bit as shocking here and now as it had been in Lady Eddison's kitchen in front of Agatha Christie. If not more so, since this time there was no poison involved. He couldn't help going rigid with surprise, letting her have her way for just as long as it took him to process it.
Well, this was certainly an interesting new side to her character. But he really couldn't allow this to continue. She'd never forgive him if he did. He pulled back, ignoring her urgent mewl of protest. "Donna, no," he managed, a bit breathlessly.
"Why not, Spaceman?"
"This isn't you. It's the keelash. You're not even attracted to me. Long streak of alien nothing, remember?" It was then that he realized his hand was still on her breast. Hastily he removed it. She grabbed it and put it back where it was, then snogged him again, pressing her whole body against his whole body. Her fingers worked busily at his tie, and despite her impairment she managed to get it off him before he quite realized what she was doing, overwhelmed as he was by the scent of her jasmine cologne and the lingering taste of keelash inside her mouth.
A moment later, she broke off and grinned sloppily at him. "Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket, or are you -- "
"Donna..." As a matter of fact, he wasn't entirely unaffected. This incarnation possessed probably the strongest libido he'd ever had. But that didn't mean he couldn't control himself. He was still a Time Lord, after all. As gently as he could, he disengaged himself from her and struggled to his feet. She groaned and flopped over onto the spot where he had lain.
"Go on, then," she mumbled petulantly.
She looked so perfectly miserable that against his better judgment he came back and kneeled beside the bed. "Not until I know you're going to be all right," he said.
"'M all right. Not great. Not even good enough. Just all right. Not good enough for my mum. Not good enough for university. Not good enough for a permanent job. Not good enough for Lance. Now, 'm not good enough for you either." She sniffled, her face contorting, and he realized she was crying.
"Donna. Oh, Donna. You know that's not true. Why would you say a thing like that?" He stroked her hair, which had mostly escaped from the bun she'd had it in for the celebration dinner.
"Am I that ugly?" she wailed.
"Ugly? No! It's just -- Donna, you're a beautiful woman, all right? And I'd be lying if I said it hadn't ever crossed my mind to wonder what it might be like if... But not like this. Not when you can't even see straight. You're far too important to me for that. You're my chance to get it right. I screwed it up with Rose. I screwed it up with Martha. I am not going to screw it up with you, not if I can help it."
He paused suddenly. He'd rather surprised himself there, but he was even more surprised to realize he meant every word.
He realized something else, too. She had gone silent.
"D'you hear me? Donna?"
Just as he was leaning closer in concern, she gave a mighty snore.
The Doctor sighed and began carefully undoing what was left of her bun.
***
Ohhhh, my head.
I'm in bed. I don't remember going to bed.
I'm wearing a nightshirt. I don't remember putting on a nightshirt.
What's this tie doing here?
Oh, my God.
Donna sat bolt upright, and winced. A little of it was the spike from what was already the grandmother of all headaches, but most of it was horror. Had she really...? No, she couldn't have. He wouldn't have. No way. Would he? Why couldn't she remember?
All she could piece together were little snippets of memories, like film clips. A party, with music and dancing, and food. The most delicious fruit she'd ever eaten, as if a kiwi and a grape had had a threesome with a chocolate drop. Paul McCartney singing. The TARDIS control room ceiling floating and dancing above her head. The indefinable, vaguely banana-y scent that could only be him, closer than she'd ever smelled it before. Cool flesh against her lips. A cool, long-fingered hand on her breast. Oh, my God.
"Good morning!" The Doctor chose that moment to come into the room, without bothering to knock. He looked as if he was wearing the same suit as last night, though she knew he actually had several identical ones, the only variation being the blue ones he sometimes put on. In his hands was a tray containing a plate of toast and a cup of what she instinctively knew to be tea, just the way she liked it.
Guilty conscience, she assumed.
"The TARDIS alerted me that you were waking up." He gestured with the tray. "Something for your head. Figured you'd be wanting to saw it off right about now, so to stop you doing that, here's a special blend guaranteed to clear it up instead." He set the tray on the nightstand, and plonked himself beside her, grinning his most infernally bright-eyed grin.
She slapped it right off his face.
"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing his cheek. "What was that for?"
Donna held up the tie she had found in her bed. "I'll tell you when you tell me what this was doing here, and you'd better make it good, Spaceman, or you'll be eating it!"
"Ah. Well, I imagine it was here because I forgot it when I left last night."
She slapped him again. "You what?! You didn't even have the decency to stay, after -- after we..." Oh great, now she was crying. That would really help her hangover. Damn him!
"Oh. Oh. Donna, look -- I'm a lot of things, but I'm not -- I wouldn't -- oh, just drink the tea. I'll explain, but you've got to drink the tea first. Here." A handkerchief dabbed at her cheeks, and her hands were forcibly wrapped around the cup. Feeling too weak to resist, she sipped at it. It didn't taste much different to the teas she was used to, except it was a little tangier. She drank a little more. It was actually pretty good.
The headache melted away as if by magic, and at the same time the film clips suddenly spliced together, with all the missing bits filling themselves in and resolving into a full-blown movie.
Donna had never thought of herself as the blushing type, but now she felt her cheeks flood with heat. They must be redder than her hair. She set the tea down, and buried her head in her hands.
"Donna?"
"Go away."
"Donna, please. It's not as bad as all that. Donna, look at me."
"I can't. God, you must think I'm a complete loon!"
"Which evens us up nicely, don't you think? Donna, I've traveled with a lot of people over the years. But you're the first one to not only get that I'm not perfect, but accept it as well. I can't even begin to tell you how much I treasure that. I'm not about to give it up. So, please don't get any mad ideas in your head about packing up and going home, at least until you've given us a chance to get back what we've been. All right?"
She didn't reply, and after a moment she heard him sigh.
"I'll be in the control room if you need me. The Zeiton crystals need replacing, and the time rotor is getting a bit wobbly, and... yeah." With that, she felt the bed shift as he got up, followed by the soft slap of his Converses against the floor as he left the room.
***
She had to face him sometime, of course. It took her three days, but finally as she was wandering the corridors, she found her feet taking her to where she knew he'd be. The control room. Knowing him, the silly Martian had probably never left it in all that time. Or if he had, he'd been as intent on giving her space as she had been on taking it.
Which was sweet of him, really.
And she actually had begun to let go of her mortification at her behavior, and see the humor, a little bit.
No, she wasn't going to pack up and leave. He'd lost so much -- his world, his people, his children, his friends. It was all too easy sometimes to think of him as more than a little lacking in the sanity department, but the wonder of it was that he still had any sanity at all. Could she really force yet another loss on him, and over something so stupid?
He was standing there alone, silhouetted by the light of the time rotor as it rose and fell, a motion which often reminded her of breathing. She didn't think she'd made any sound as she stepped into the room behind him, but he turned anyway. He just looked at her for a long moment, with those deep dark eyes of his, a gaze that held no anger, or ridicule, or reproach. Just relief, mixed with a cautious hope, and a touch of fear. This wasn't a mask, one of the faces he put on to charm or distract or manipulate. This was him. The Doctor. Her best mate. She'd said forever, and she'd meant it.
Donna walked up to his side without hesitation and took his hand.
"Where to next, Spaceman?"
His face lit up in perhaps the biggest, maddest, most enthusiastic grin she had ever seen on him, or anybody else, for that matter.
"There's a bazaar I've been thinking about taking you to. Food, shops, music, huge foamy drinks. You'll love it. It's on a planet called Shan Shen..."
~end