MARTIAN MAN AND DONNA DUNGHEAD

Disclaimer: Characters belong to RTD. 'Cept the Boggart. That belongs to Jk. Rowling.

Author's Note: You see? This is what too much Chaucer and 'Spies' revision can cause...madness with Donna and a spatula! Just a one-shot. Let me know what you think.

Not even if the Queen came shuffling into her room in her bedroom slippers armed with a ratty-looking corgi and asked her nicely. Not even if a Sontaran came in sontar-ha-ring bloody murder. Or if the Doctor came in parroting on in a high-pitched squeak that the universe was going to implode. Or explode. Whatever. Not even if Daniel Craig came sloping in wearing nothing but his James Bond blue trunks and asked her if she fancied a dip; well actually, she might make an exception for Daniel Craig, but the point still stood that Donna was getting out of bed for no one.

Three nights she'd been locked up in a cow barn with a group of smelly peasants in 11th century England simply because the Doctor had let his mouth run away with himself and accused the wife of a rich Lord of being a Zipeen, (or was it a Slitheen?) whatever one of those was. Of course he had been perfectly right and the woman had in fact been a Zipeen/Slitheen with a flatulence problem worse than her grandfather after beans on toast, but the rich Lord hadn't been too happy about it and had thrown a bit of a wobbly and ordered for the Doctor and Donna to be locked up in his barn; for reasons unknown to anyone but himself. He had probably intended to sell them off as sheep farmers or…something as equally ridiculous. Finally though, the Doctor had got his brain in gear and had managed to get them out by creating a bit of a bang (well actually, it was a fairly big explosion which had left a gaping hole in the ground but Donna wasn't one to split hairs) using his sonic screwdriver and err…cow poo. Yes; manure, flower-flood, a little present…whatever you wanted to call it, it was still essentially cow poo and he had managed to get it plastered in her hair. The big, daft, banana eating, speccy, squeaky-voiced, geeky, lanky, hyper, idiotic, useless article of Martian Man. Who wasn't technically a Martian because he claimed that he wasn't even from Mars, but still, she was quite fond of calling him that.

Anyway, regardless of the fact that he had again, saved her life, (she'd have to try to remember to thank him for it in the morning…if she didn't still smell like a cow's arse. If she did, she wouldn't bother) she'd walloped him with her trainer for half an hour and then flounced off for a shower and her waiting bed, threatening to shove his own sonic screwdriver up his nose if he dared to disturb her for oooh, at least a good ten hours. Maybe even eleven.

Now, sinking back into her four soft pillows after a forty-minute shower, Donna felt blissfully happy and at peace with the world. She was in such a good mood that she even felt like letting the Doctor off the hook for covering her in muddy brown poo. She would draw the line at being nice to him though; she felt happy…not drugged. Who had invented the bed? What a lovely man! In fact, she might ask the Doctor to take her to visit The Man Who Invented The Bed sometime, just so she could give him a hug to say thank you for being sooo clever. For a man, that it. Oooh and she could even…stop coming up with such hare-brained ideas because they were nothing short of silly since sleep deprivation was making her go floopy. Floopy. Ahh; she loved Phoebe from F.R.I.E.N.D.S ; she was just so…so…floopy.

With a contented smile on her face and her duvet (a Little Britain one, which she'd somehow managed to spill her hot-chocolate on) knotted up and round her chin so that she resembled an over-grown flame haired baby, Donna fell into a deep, dreamy sleep…

Only to be woken up barely an hour later by the sound of a marching band, a car alarm going off, a toilet flushing, a dog barking, a plane coming in to land and, oddly enough, the Chipmunks yowling away to 'Milly Molly Mandy'…all at the same time, at such an ear-splitting volume that Donna felt sure that she would be as deaf as a post for the rest of her life.

" WOZZAT?" she yelped, getting out of bed so fast that she got her feet tangled up in her duvet and landed in a rather ungainly heap on the floor. Grabbing a handful of objects from her bedside table that she could use to arm herself if necessary, she ran out of her room into the corridor and found herself face to face with a mildly bemused looking Doctor.

" WHAT THE HELL IS THAT RACKET?" she demanded, putting her hands over her ears in attempt to block out the noise…which didn't really help, if she was being honest.

" I WAS ABOUT TO ASK YOU THE SAME THING!" shouted the Doctor, looking pained. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

" I'M NOT MAKING THAT NOISE!" yelled Donna, sounding outraged, " I THOUGHT YOU WERE?"

" Well, I'm not," replied the Doctor, rather unnecessarily and in his normal voice since thankfully, whatever had been making the noise had suddenly stopped.

Beautiful, glorious silence rang out through the corridor. All that could be heard was the low hum of the TARDIS.

" Hello!" said the Doctor brightly, as if it was perfectly normal to come across his companion wandering the corridors at 2am with her hair sticking up in every direction, carrying an alarm clock, a bottle of nail varnish (in 'groovy blue') and err…a spatula. "Having a little night time dander?"

" No I'm not!" said Donna, furiously, " I was woken up by that bloomin' great noise and so I got up to see what it was!"

The Doctor looked her up and down, trying to contain his amusement, taking in her pink cat patterned green pyjamas, wrinkled bed socks, messy hair, and the curious selection of objects in her hands. And her scowl of course; couldn't miss her scowl.

" So you decided to take your alarm clock, your nail varnish and err your spatula along for a little walk did you?" said the Doctor grinning, leaning against the wall.

Donna tutted.

" No, I picked them up in case I needed to defend myself," she said sheepishly, staring down at her feet and feeling very foolish.

" From what?" asked the Doctor in disbelief, raising his eyebrows at her.

" From whatever was making the noise!" she explained, impatiently. For such a brilliant man he couldn't half be slow on the uptake at times.

" And so you thought that the best way to defend yourself against whatever was making such a noise would be to paint its toenails and offer to do its cooking?" said the Doctor slowly, " Have a little girly chat?"

" Well it's your blue box isn't it?" reasoned Donna, determined to justify her stupidity. "Knowing you, it could be anything!"

She'd got him there.

" Very true," he admitted, running a hand through his hair, " It really could be anything couldn't it? Shall we go and find out?" he asked, flashing her a wide smile and holding out his hand.

" No thank you!" spluttered Donna, but the Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled him after him anyway.

" Come on, Sleeping Beauty!" he said cheerily.

Together they walked hand in hand down the dim corridor away from Donna's room, Donna still clutching her alarm clock, nail varnish and spatula protectively, like a security blanket.

They were walking past rooms that Donna had never really noticed before; the only rooms she really used were the kitchen, the bathroom and the console room. Oh, and she knew where the Doctor's room was as well, obviously…but only because he'd pointed it out to her. As they got further and further down the corridor, Donna noticed that each door looked like it hadn't been opened for a very long time. They all bore a thick layer of dust and murky-green looking cobwebs on their door handles.

" These rooms haven't been used in ages, have they?" whispered Donna. She wasn't really sure why she was whispering, but the eerily still, quiet atmosphere of the corridor made her feel like she was in a library. She gave a small shiver and couldn't quite shake off the feeling that she wasn't supposed to be there. She'd read somewhere that certain places could still keep a hold of memories of events that had happened, even after a long time and she wondered it this was indeed true; the corridor reeked of sadness and loneliness and a deep sense of abandonment.

" No," replied the Doctor, just as quietly.

Donna glanced sideways at him and saw that his face was stony and slightly paler than usual. Unconsciously, she gave his hand a tight squeeze. He squeezed back but made no comment.

Then, making Donna jump about a foot in the air, the noise started up again, just as horrendous and clashing as it had been before, but this time it sounded closer and much louder, if that were at all possible.

" BLIMEY O'REILLY!" shouted Donna, screwing up her face, her ears ringing. "WHAT IS IT?"

" A BIG NOISE!" yelled the Doctor, rather unhelpfully because she'd already worked that out for herself thank you very much.

The noise, or whatever was making it then stopped just as abruptly as it had before and it sounded like it was coming from one of the rooms just in front of them.

" That room there, Doctor" Donna informed him, pointing, " What do you keep in there? A flaming zoo?"

" No-o," said the Doctor slowly, " At least I don't think I do, anyway. These aren't my rooms."

He stopped in front of the room Donna had pointed at and regarded the door mistrustfully, as if it had offended him and he wished it nothing but ill.

Donna raised her eyebrows at him sardonically.

" This is your TARDIS," she told him as if he were stupid. " Whose are they then if they're not yours? The Pope's?"

Instantly, Donna realised that she'd said completely the wrong thing. Once again her ballsiness and her inability to think before she spoke had got into trouble, just like it always had. Why oh why did she always have to open her mouth?

" Sorry," she muttered, staring red-faced down at the floor.

" It's alright," said the Doctor quietly, " These rooms all belonged to people I've traveled with over the years. Looks like I've gone through more companions than you've gone through hot chocolate!" he joked feebly.

" I'm sorry," said Donna again, but this time they both knew that she was apologizing for something much more.

" Yeah," acknowledged the Doctor bitterly.

" So," said Donna, forcibly trying to keep her voice light, " Whose room's this then?"

" Rose's"

" Right," she said softly, biting her lip, feeling once again that she'd put her bed sock-clad foot right in it.

For want of something to say, Donna offered him her spatula, tentatively.

" Here…you'd better take this."

The Doctor stared at her, curiously.

" What do I want a spatula for?" he asked her incredulously, looking down at the cooking implement as if he'd never seen one before.

" I don't know!" shrilled Donna, " Just…just in case!"

" What, in case I feel like frying an egg in there?" he retorted, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

" I don't know!" repeated Donna, blushing furiously. Her red face with her red hair made her look alarmingly as if some one had set a match to her. All she needed was for steam to come billowing out of her ears.

A small silence fell between them as they stood in front of Rose's door. Neither of them particularly wanted to be the one to have to go in first.

" Maybe I should stay out here?" suggested Donna. She had the strangest feeling that going in would be like walking into the room of a dead girl. Even though she knew that Rose was still alive, it spooked her slightly. Perhaps the Doctor would want to go in on his own in any case and not have to have her lumbering around after him…touching Rose's stuff.

" Maybe you shouldn't" said the Doctor simply.

Donna recognised that longing, lonely look in his eyes. It wasn't a look she'd seen often, but she knew that it meant 'I-need-you-to-hold-my-hand-but-I'm-too-stubborn-to-ask-you'

" Come on then, Martian Man," she said, taking his hand again and pushing open the door. The door swung open, sadly, creaking pathetically to reveal a small, pale-coloured room holding a double bed with matching bedside tables, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Evidently, the room had not been disturbed since she'd left. Clean clothes sat stacked in front of the drawers, waiting to be put away, out of date copies of Heat, a pair of silver hoops and a pink I-pod lay on one bedside table, whereas a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a completed Rubik's cube, a notebook and a glasses case lay on the other. On the chest of drawers were two framed photos; one of a blonde woman and a fair-haired man on what was obviously their wedding day, the other was of the Doctor with his arm around a pretty blonde-haired woman with a wide smile and dark roots. This must be Rose. They were both wearing matching paper Christmas hats and were laughing at something the camera could not see. Donna didn't think she'd ever seen the Doctor look so carefree, so relaxed and…naturally happy.

" She's very pretty," said Donna, swallowing a lump in her throat, realising that she had been staring.

" Is she?" said the Doctor flippantly, avoiding looking at the photo. Instead, he was gazing at the wooden wardrobe in the corner, which was vibrating slightly.

Donna rolled her eyes at him

" You know she is," she began, but somehow she sensed that he didn't want to talk about her and so she changed the subject.

" What do you reckon is in there, then?" she said, eyeballing the wardrobe suspiciously, "A Boggart?" she suggested, sarcastically, the copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows catching her eye again.

" You've read the books?" asked the Doctor, turning to her in excitement; a wide grin transforming his face, " I wouldn't have had you down as a fan!"

He looked positively delighted with her.

" Keep your hair on!" said Donna, alarmed at his overenthusiastic response, but then, whenever was the Doctor not overenthusiastic? " My niece was into them, that's all."

" Oh," said the Doctor, looking mildly disappointed, " No, I don't think it's a Boggart."

In three strides he crossed the room and flung open the wardrobe doors, Donna creeping slightly behind him, her spatula raised, threateningly.

A faint whiff of perfume, wafted up her nose from the few clothes that were hanging in the wardrobe. There were a few comfy-looking hoodies, denim jackets, jeans and bright T-shirts hanging up; though Donna was surprised to see a few items of clothing that weren't at all female…. Spotting a few pairs of scuffed-looking trainers beside a pair of yellow converse, Donna was oddly pleased to realise that Rose was a trainers girl, just like her. It was weird to think that she and Rose might have something in common besides the Doctor, and coming from London, of course. If she'd been here, would she and Rose have got on, she wondered. She couldn't put her finger on why but she had a strange feeling that they might have done.

" S'at?" asked Donna, nodding at a dark grey suit with white pinstripes that was quivering slightly, her hands feeling sweaty around the spatula.

"That, Donna Noble," said the Doctor wonderingly " is the source of the racket that so rudely awakened you from your sweet slumber. Ohh I love alliteration!" he chirped, dipping his hand into the inside pocket of the quivering suit.

Pulling a face, and with an over exaggerated flourish he pulled out…a thing. A clear, red, medium-sized plastic ball, with a light inside it that was flashing ominously. Still a Thing.

" What is it?" asked Donna, peering anxiously at it, not wanting to go too near it, still not lowering her spatula.

" Oh Donna, put your spatula down!" ordered the Doctor, brandishing the red ball at her, " It's not going to take your head off!"

" Yeah well…it might take my ears off if it starts again," Donna pointed out, mutinously, watching it with narrowed eyes.

" Oooh! Good Point!" exclaimed the Doctor, whipping out his sonic screwdriver as a magician might take out a wand, and giving it a quick zap.

" Catch!" he said happily, throwing the red ball to her, which she dropped. Hand to eye coordination had never been one of her particular strong points. Handling it gingerly, she saw that it was no longer flashing; the light had frazzled out.

" What's it for?" asked Donna dubiously, handing the ball back to him and perching herself on the end of Rose's bed.

The Doctor hesitated, regarding the bed warily, as if it might fold up and eat him before sitting down beside her. He probably had a good reason to be wary though, knowing him he'd probably already encountered beds that tried to eat people. She certainly wouldn't put it past him.

" It's sort of a timer," said the Doctor, cryptically. " You know when you go…oh I don't know…swimming and you…"

" You're not telling me you've been swimming?" shrieked Donna, talking over him and bursting out into a fit of laughter at the thought of this tall, skinny man in a pair of Speedo's, " You'd scare people away…flailing around like a talking twig!"

She then proceeded to go into a fit of hysterics…that really was quite an alarming sight.

" You finished?" asked the Doctor in a dignified voice, after letting Donna finally quieted down."

" Yes, thank you," she said, giggling weakly and wiping her wet eyes, her face the colour of a tomato.

" When you go swimming-don't start, you're given a rubber coloured band…thing and when it's time for you to get out the corresponding light flashes, yes?"

" Yeah," hiccupped Donna, " But that's a really rubbish analogy. Absolutely pants."

"Oh, I know," he admitted, " But it's the same idea, really. Rose and I went to this fair…thing on Barcelona; a human-themed fair coz they're a bit obsessed with humans over there, bless them. Brilliant it was…they had chip flavoured cakes!" he gabbled, his eyes lighting up at the memory. " Rose was so surprised she almost choked on hers!" he remembered, a misty-eyed, faraway expression coming over his face, and Donna knew that he was a million miles away…lost in his memories. " Anyway," he continued, abruptly, clearing his throat, " that's the thing they gave us so we'd know when we'd outstayed our welcome. Clever innit?"

" Yeah," agreed Donna, " If you say so, but why's it going off now?"

The Doctor blinked at her.

" Because…it would have been time for us to leave, if we hadn't left already. Forgot I had it to tell you the truth ," explained the Doctor patiently, turning the ball over and over in his hands looking mildly nostalgic.

" Why's it made up of so many noises?" she asked, not quite getting it.

" Oh, because they think that's what Earth sounds like," said the Doctor, shrugging. "They've certainly got the car alarm and the plane bit right, haven't they? Not sure where 'Milly Molly Mandy' comes from…probably Jack's doing."

" Jack?" repeated Donna, tucking her legs up underneath her.

" Captain Jack Harkness," added the Doctor, " He used to travel with me."

Donna could not work out where the Doctor sounded mostly fond or critical of this Captain Jack Harkness, but the Doctor's faced had become curiously blank and expressionless so Donna decided to leave it.

" I take it you don't mean the city Barcelona, then?" asked Donna, giving him a faint smile. She'd been to Barcelona with Lance before, and funnily enough she'd never come across chip-flavoured cakes.

" Nah…the planet," said the Doctor casually, shifting himself slightly on the bed so that he was leaning back on his elbows, " I'll take you there sometime, if you want? You'd like it!"

Donna looked at the Doctor, at how relaxed and comfortable yet…so edgy he seemed in this room. He looked both haunted and happy at the same time. Probably because memories of Rose were all around him and yet she wasn't here. All he had was a gobby, spatula-wielding redhead who spent most of her time moaning at him and hitting him with her trainer.

" No, you're alright," she said firmly, " You went there with her; if you took me it'd just mess up your memories."

The look the Doctor gave her was one of shock and gratitude. He hadn't expected her to say that. He'd thought she'd say something about him using her as a rebound, just as Martha had; he certainly hadn't expected her to understand.

" You haven't touched anything in here, have you?" she asked him, looking around, a touch of pity in her voice as she fiddled with the quilt. " It's still exactly the same as she left it, isn't it? You don't want to move anything because…then she wouldn't have been the last person to touch it? My granddad was like that when my grandma died. Didn't move a thing. Not even her dentures, which was probably for the best actually coz who knows what…"

" She's not dead, Donna," said the Doctor, interrupting in a hard voice, his brown eyes, though shinier than normal were fiery and penetrating as he met her gaze.

" I know," she replied softly, placing one of her hands on his on top of the quilt. " You'd be in an even worse state then than you are now."

The Doctor looked at Donna questioningly, but she didn't elaborate further. For once, she kept quiet; which was probably a good thing because the Doctor was sure he wouldn't have liked hearing it, whatever it was.

Another silence fell between them and the Doctor found his eyes unintentionally drawn to the photo of himself and Rose. He purposefully never looked at photos of them together because… they were an aching reminder that he'd lost her, even when he'd sworn he wouldn't. He stared into Rose's eyes in the photo, his own eyes becoming glassy; he was aware that Donna was saying something to him but he couldn't make out what…The usual rubbish, no doubt.

" Sorry? What were you saying?" he said absentmindedly.

" I said, 'did you ever tell her?"" repeated Donna, studying his face.

" Tell her what?" asked the Doctor lightly, staring down at his hands, avoiding her eyes.

" Tell her that you…"

"No," said the Doctor shortly, cutting her off before she could finish. The regretful look he gave her was both sorrow filled and furious at the same time, and Donna found it suddenly difficult to maintain eye-contact with him so she picked up her nail varnish in embarrassment and began twiddling it round her fingers, as if it were the most interesting thing she'd seen since…sliced bread. She felt immensely guilty that she'd ever said anything. He always was sensitive about Rose.

" So!" said the Doctor loudly, going back to his usual cheery self and changing the subject faster than…a very fast thing. " Now that the nasty, noisy piece of plastic has been well and truly sonic-screwdrivered, would you allow me to escort you back to your bed chamber?"

With a creak of bedsprings he leapt to his feet and held out his arm in an excellent impersonation of a snooty English butler.

" Yeah, go on then, Jeeves."

She let him pull her to her feet, unable to stifle a large filling-revealing yawn.

" Oh, there's another ship in the Thames," remarked the Doctor, sounding just like her granddad, grinning at her as he led the way out. " A fleet of them in your case."

" Shurrup," she grumbled, tiredly.

They paused outside Rose's room as if they were waiting for a bus. Donna imagined that the Doctor probably did have a bus on board somewhere, complete with a grumpy bus driver and gossiping old ladies. It wasn't implausible.

" You know," she said quietly, seeing that the Doctor's hand was still lingering wistfully on Rose's door handle. " I could probably find my own way back if you want?" she trailed off.

" What? All the way down to the end of a corridor without a map?" he exclaimed in mock-horror. " Baby steps, Donna. Baby steps."

He pulled Rose's door shut behind him with a mournful click and, arm in arm, they made their way back to Donna's room, the Doctor's converse squeaking slightly and Donna muttering something about the Doctor being a 'sarky git' under her breath.

" 'Ere you go, miss," said the Doctor in a passable Cockney accent, sounding very much like a London-based taxi driver and disentangling his arm from hers." That'll be five quid."

Donna snorted.

" In your dreams, mate."

She pushed open her door with her hip but didn't go in, facing the Doctor awkwardly. Actually, she stared at a tiny mark on his collar, but it would have to do.

" Sorry I shouted at you and whacked you with my trainer before," she said grudgingly, going scarlet, fiddling with her sleeves self-consciously.

The Doctor rolled his eyes at her, leaning against the doorframe.

" What am I here for, if not to be hit with a size 5 trainer?" he asked, good-naturedly.

" Size 4, actually," corrected Donna, sheepishly.

" Size 4?" echoed the Doctor. " That's tiny," he squeaked.

" At least I haven't got great big boats for feet like you!" Donna shot back, " You could house a family of six in your shoes!" she chortled, shaking her head at him.

" Probably," mused the Doctor. " Anyway; can't stand around out here all night…"

"No," agreed Donna.

" I'll err, I'll know who to call on next time I have need of a spatula," the Doctor teased.

" Yeah, you will."

There was an awkward pause.

" Oh, come here you!" ordered Donna, letting her effects fall to the floor and pulling the Doctor into a tight hug. " You big, soft…sentimental girl," she reeled off into his shoulder as the Doctor hugged her back, just as tightly; clutching her to him, desperately.

" You're bloody useless, you are!" she scolded him, her voice slightly muffled. "You can't hide the fact that you're upset from me you…silly beggar!"

" Can," muttered the Doctor, but he still hung onto her.

" Can't," Donna argued back, realising that they sounded like squabbling children but not really caring. " You miss her, don't you?" she said, gently.

The Doctor stiffened in her arms and let go of her, wrinkling his nose up in disgust.

" Aaargh! You stink!"

" Of what?" she screeched defensively, thrown so off her guard that she didn't even notice that he was purposefully dodging the question.

" Cow poo!" moaned the Doctor, waving a hand in front of his nose. " Bleurgh!"

" Yes well, that's your fault!" she shot back at him, prodding him in the chest with her spatula. " What's funny?" she fumed, her hands on her hips as the Doctor burst into peals of laughter.

" Donna Dunghead!" he gasped between laughs, pointing at her. " That's who you are; 'Donna Dunghead'!"

He bent over double, resting his hands on his knees, his face going pink.

" Martian Man and Donna Dunghead!" he tittered. " Ohh that's brilliant!"

Donna pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

" Goodnight, Doctor," she said coolly, with as much dignity as she could muster.

" Night," laughed the Doctor, turning away and tootling off in the direction of the console room, chortling away to himself. " Oooh such a Dunghead…Donna Dunghead…"

Donna was about to give her door a good slam and climb crossly back into bed…but then a thought struck her. Her bed was a single.

" Doctor?" she yelled, poking her head around the doorframe.

" Oh, what now?" complained the Doctor, impatiently, turning around and coming back over to her with a disgruntled expression on his face. " Do you want me to tuck you in or something? Read you a bedtime story?

" No," said Donna in a clipped voice, then pointed at her bed. " That's my bed, look."

The Doctor gaped at her. Then at her bed. Then back at her, again.

" Ye-es, and I'm sure it's just lovely-jubbly too, so why don't you just hop back into it before…"

" It's single," she interrupted him.

" And?"

" And? And Rose's was a double!" she said dramatically.

" Was it?" asked the Doctor, sounding vague, rubbing a hand over his chin unconcernedly, and doing his best to maintain eye contact.

" Yeah it was! How comes her bed was a double, eh?"

" Ohh," said the Doctor distractedly. " Well, she was the world's worst wriggler…had to get her a double coz she kept falling out of her single. Sounded a bit like a pet elephant, really."

" Oh. Ok, then."

Donna shot him a skeptical look but didn't say anything else; just raised her eyebrows at him and shooed him back out. " See you in the afternoon."

" Hmm?"

" I refuse to get up any time before midday."

Her slammed door worked wonders to emphasize her point.

It was only after she had replaced her alarm clock on her bedside table, aimed her nail varnish at her dresser (missing, of course) and shoved the spatula safely under her pillow, (just in case, though how it had ended up in her room in the first place she still didn't know) that she finally crawled back into bed, sighing happily.

Now, if any more bizarre red flashy thingies, or anything else the Doctor happened to have lying around the TARDIS had the audacity to wake her up she'd…

Oooh! Now wait there just half a cotton-picking minute! The insufferable red thing that had so very nearly ended up being spatula'd had been in the Doctor's suit pocket along with his converse…hanging up next to a 1950's style pink skirt…in the wardrobe in Rose's bedroom. Which had a double bed. With a Rubik's cube and a glasses case on one bedside table….

" Oh my God," whispered Donna in the darkness, actually giggling out loud at her own sheer blindness. What was she, blonde? If that double bed was there purely because Rose had apparently been a bit of a wriggler…Donna was the Queen of Sheba.

" He shared a room…he shared a bed with her, the great plonker!" she told the ceiling, though it probably wasn't interested.

He'd certainly kept that quiet, hadn't he? Secretive, lonely, ridiculous little man. Well, tall man, actually.

" Ohh, you are such a bad fibber!" Donna scolded him, fondly, as if he could actually hear her, though in actual fact she was talking to herself. In the morning, no scratch that, in the afternoon she'd pull him up about it…actually no. She'd do nothing of the sort.

She and the Doctor; they shared the adventure together; shared a blue box together; shared breakfast together, even shared toothpaste. She was the Doctor's best friend; his hand to hold; though more often than not she was simply the fiery redhead puffing along behind him, moaning about her legs hurting; his companion. Perhaps though, there were certain things that he'd never be willing to share, no matter how close they became? Maybe Rose was one of them.

Frowning, it occurred to her that he hadn't given her an answer before when she'd asked him if he missed Rose; he'd just told her that she smelt of cow poo…

Then again, maybe she didn't need the Doctor to give her an answer. Quiet, slightly squeaking footsteps outside her room were all the answer she needed. Footsteps that were making their way down the corridor towards the empty, abandoned rooms of his past friends and companions… back towards Rose's old room.

Donna rearranged her duvet around herself and closed her eyes, sadly. She had a feeling that the Doctor wouldn't be returning to his own room tonight. He'd probably stay there…sleep surrounded by memories of her, breathing in the scent of her perfume that probably still lingered on her pillow. That was all he had left.

Back                         Home                              Doctor Who Main Page