The road less travelled...

Title: Nightmares 7/8
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Characters: Donna and the Doctor (Ten)
Spoilers: All of Season 4 up to the end of Forest of the Dead
Summary: Donna has nightmares about the Doctor.

Part VII

“No,” the Doctor protests immediately at the sight of the wheelchair

“Well, it’s either that or another day in here,” Donna tells him smugly. “You can’t use crutches because they’ll hurt your shoulder. A cane would mean putting weight on your leg, and even you admit that’s not a good idea. Have you got any other suggestions?”

The smirk on her face widens as he remains silent.

She’s right – there is no other option.

“All right then,” she says briskly when it’s clear he’s going nothing to say.

Donna uses the controls to lower the bed so that his feet are resting on the floor. The tiles feel cold beneath his inflamed left foot, but before he can mention it, she kneels down and gingerly eases his sock on.

“Where’s my shoe?” he asks as she spreads one of the blankets over the chair.

“I had to cut it off to get to your foot,” she admits. “I might have to get you another pair.”

“Well, if the TARDIS knows what’s good for her,” he says, giving the ship a mental nudge, “she’ll do a stellar repair job on both that and my suit.”

“Just as long as you don’t expect me to sew it up for you,” she grins. “Right then, how are we going to do this? Arm around my neck, I suppose, and keep all your weight on your right leg.”

And a moment later he’s settled in the chair, a pillow tucked in behind his back and the blanket wrapped around him, his left foot held up by one of the foot rests. As soon as he’s comfortable, she pushes him into the kitchen, but when he puts his right hand on the wheel to help, she stops the chair.

“Do that and you’ll probably lose fingers.”

“I just don’t like that you’ve got to do everything for me,” he complains.

She steps away from the chair and folds her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly. “If I walked away right now, all you could do is roll around in circles,” she says with a grin.

He laughs, but while she’s cooking, he experiments and finds she’s right. In the end, it’s easier to wait for the meal that smells so good it’s making his stomach growl.

“You know,” she remarks as she checks on her cooking, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sitting so still before. I was expecting you to do wheelies and all that stuff.”

“One arm, Donna, remember?”

“Yeah, like that’d stop you if you really wanted to do it.” She rolls her eyes. “I know better than that, mate!”

He chuckles. “And I know better, too. If I ended up on the floor, you’d just leave me there!”

“And I’d get your puppy dog eyes and pouty lip until I picked you up again,” she tells him as she begins serving dinner before pushing the wheelchair over to the table.

His face falls, probably into those very puppy dog eyes she mentioned, as he sees that the food on his plate has been cut into small pieces.

He’s definitely pouting.

“What am I, three?”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that…”

She swaps their plates and hands him a spoon, smirking again as he looks helplessly from the shining silver object in his hand to the large steak on his plate.

“And if you spill anything, you’ve got to clean it up yourself,” she tells him.

“Now that’s not fair,” he complains.

“Then quit whining while you’re ahead,” she tells him, swapping the plates back and giving him a fork. “And be thankful it gets you out of the washing-up.”

That fact cheers him up immensely and he gets through the rest of the meal without a complaint.

“So what do you want to do now?” she asks as she puts the dried dishes away.

“TV?” he suggests. “Or maybe a book?”

“Right, living room then,” she says, pushing the chair into the hallway. “And you can sit on the couch, if you’d rather. It’ll be more comfortable than the wheelchair.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees cheerfully, and discovers she’s right – again – when she helps him into a corner of the couch, his legs on a footstool with the blanket over them.

Donna fetches his book and then settles herself next to him, flicking on the television. When she realised that the TV could receive transmission from England, she was delighted, but although he was happy enough to receive her hug of thanks, the Doctor knows it was actually the TARDIS that somehow managed it for her. Now she finds a makeover show and becomes rapidly absorbed.

He’s several chapters into his book when he glimpses movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to see that Donna’s eyes are drifting shut. She sits with her eyes closed for a moment before her head rolls forward, but the action rouses her and she opens her eyes again, focusing on the TV.

He can’t help watching her, even as he pretends to continue reading. He can see how exhausted she is, but he knows she would never agree to go and catch up on her sleep, particularly as she’s no doubt aware that he won’t be able to sleep for several days to come and there’s not much he can do without her help.

Her eyelids droop again and she sinks sideways before pulling herself into an upright position, giving her head a slight shake to wake herself up.

It doesn’t last long until she’s nodding again, but fighting every step of the way what he knows must be an almost irresistible urge to give in and sleep.

The Doctor is wishing there was some way he could help when an idea strikes him.

His eyes still fixed on the book, he leans back slightly against the couch, shifting so that his shoulder – his uninjured side, luckily – is closer to her. She doesn’t appear to notice, and when she continues to nod off, he moves close enough that their arms are brushing.

The pressure of his weight against the cushions behind them is enough that, when she begins to drowse again, her head sinks in his direction, finally rolling down to rest on his shoulder. He holds his breath, waiting for her to wake up and demand to know what he’s up to, but instead she sighs, almost in relief, he thinks, and nestles closer to his neck. The weight on his shoulder gradually becomes heavier as she relaxes.

“That’s right, Donna,” he murmurs, gingerly lifting the blanket off his legs so that he can drape it lightly over both of them. “Off to sleep.”

He uses the remote control to turn off the television and then picks up his book to continue reading, but the warmth of her body against his is a constant distraction. In the end, he puts the book aside and looks down, seeing that her lips have parted and he can hear her breath rustling softly in and out. He’s pleased at how deeply she’s sleeping, as it can only be good for her.

He eyes the bruises on her face and the dark shadows – he hopes that’s all they are – under her eyes. She looks absolutely worn out and he feels a pang of guilt at being the one to bring her to that state.

Although, he realises immediately, it’s not his fault as much as that of the TARDIS.

He closes his eyes and forges the link with that other mind in his.

So what was all that about, hey? he demands of the ship.

The TARDIS hums softly in his mind, but he doesn’t think she’s about to admit that she did anything wrong.

Look, he tells her with as much patience as he can muster, I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not going anywhere. But what if Donna decides enough is enough and demands to be taken back to Chiswick. Oh, all right, he goes on, in response to a splutter from the engine, we both know that’s not about to happen, but if she’d been injured as a result of your silly games, I’d have had to take her back to Earth. And what if she’d been killed?!

There’s silence, as if even the TARDIS is appalled by that suggestion.

Was it the shopping you didn’t like? he asks. Or Midnight? Oh, so that was it then, as there’s a low growl in the TARDIS engines. Fine, we’ll steer clear of Midnight. I thought about taking her to Shan Shen though. The markets there are some of the best she’ll ever – well, what’s wrong with that? he demands as the TARDIS whirrs viciously. You don’t like Shan Shen either, huh? Funny, you were happy enough last time I went there.

The whirring continues until the Doctor begins to worry that the TARDIS will split a vector fastener.

Okay, fine, he agrees grumpily. No Shan Shen.

The engine’s noise immediately drops back to what the Doctor knows is a smug purr.

Goodness only knows why I let you boss me around like this, he thinks snippily. Whatever you do, don’t tell Donna. She’d never let me hear the end of it.

There’s a soft rattle like a chuckle from the TARDIS and he grins.

It’s all right for you, he tells her. She likes you. No questions asked. I’m just a long streak of alien nothing, though, aren’t I? Oi! he goes on quickly, knowing what the TARDIS means by the various sounds she’s making. There’s no need to agree with her!

The object of his thoughts moves slightly and his eyes fly open, but, as he looks down at her, he’s glad to see that she’s still asleep. Greatly daring, he lifts a hand, easing it around behind her back, and strokes her hair, smoothing it down to her shoulder and leaving his hand resting there, his fingers drawing slow circles on her arm. She sighs and the last of the tension in her body dissolves as she relaxes fully against him.

For hours, the Doctor simply sits there, his fingers lightly rubbing Donna’s arm, as he watches her sleep. He’s done it before, of course, but usually when she’s in her own bed, not when she’s lying against him like this. It’s such an intimate situation that he doesn’t dare to move in case he wakes her up. He’s pleased to see how peacefully she’s sleeping.

No nightmares as far as he can tell.

Eventually, of course, she wakes up of her own accord, and he knows she’s not happy by the speed with which she shifts in to an upright position, almost flinging the blanket back at him, avoiding his gaze. He can’t help but be relieved that she clearly isn’t going to blame him for the situation in which she found herself, even though he knows she probably should. Still, he’s pleased to avoid a slap.

“I’m, er…”

“You’re embarrassed,” he says gently, grabbing her hand before she can move away. “But you don’t need to be.”

She frowns at the hands in her lap, his right one and both of hers. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m glad you did it,” he tells her softly, and finally she looks at him, although with an expression that suggests she thinks he’s barking mad, or possibly still feverish.

“Why?”

He smiles, although it’s hesitant and questioning.

“Because,” he says gently, “I want you to feel at home here, with me. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

He can feel a rush of warmth in his cheeks because he’s not used to talking about his emotions, but he’s got over the difficult beginning and he forces himself to continue because he really wants Donna to believe him.

“I love that I felt as if I’d known you forever on the first day we met, and I really love that that hasn’t changed in all the time we’ve spent together. But I’d hate to think you were somehow uncomfortable around me.”

“I’m not,” she tells him readily enough. “But that – that was me invading your space and inconveniencing you. And I don’t want to do that.”

“Not even if I want you to?” he suggests. “Because what happened there tells me that you trust me completely, at least subconsciously. And that’s something I really want to happen.”

“Doctor, I do trust you!”

“Then trust me to be telling you the truth now.”

He releases his hand and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears, brushing the tips of his fingers over the bruises that are slowly fading from her face.

“You being here with me, especially like that, shows me how you feel about me. That I’m not a stranger. That you’re not frightened of me, not anymore. And I value that more than anything.”

There’s a long moment of silence, with Donna staring at the floor and the Doctor waiting for her to react. He refuses to speak, holding himself back from moving, until finally she looks up.

“I’ll try.”

He smiles, cupping her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb along her bottom lip so that a tiny smile appears on her face at the ticklish sensation.

“I’m glad,” he says softly, before deciding that that’s enough of the soppy stuff.

As soon as he straightens, he can see the relief in her eyes.

“Now,” he says briskly, “let’s think about what we’re going to do today, because I think it’s time I tested these injuries of mine.”

“Sure?” she asks. And then, as he nods, “All right, shoulder first?”

He leans forward so that she can undo the strapping holding his arm against his chest, and he thankfully straightens his elbow as soon as it’s free before easing his arm away from his side and slowly rotating it to test the movement.

“Not bad,” he muses. “Bit stiff, but no real pain. Should be fine after a hot shower though.”

“Bloody Time Lord,” she says, a look of irritation on her face. “Why can’t we humans get over things like that so well?”

He chuckles and repeats the stretching on his ankle as soon as it’s free. Thanks to the splint, those injuries are even closer to being back to normal than his shoulder.

Donna gets up off the couch and offers him a hand, supporting him to his feet. He rests the left foot on the floor, gradually increasing the weight until he’s certain that the fracture has healed.

“All good,” he says with a cautious grin.

“You’re not walking yet,” she reminds him.

He obligingly takes a step forward, but his leg buckles and she grabs him to hold him up. He winks at her and straightens up, standing on his left foot and lifting the right one off the floor in demonstration, waggling it at her in a cheeky manner.

“Just kidding!”

She whacks him, fortunately on his right arm because his left shoulder does still ache a little.

“Shoo,” she snaps, waving him away and fighting to keep a smile off her face. “Go and have a shower and get dressed while I think of a sufficiently effective punishment.”

He grins, leans forward to brush a light kiss on her cheek, and then leaves the room as fast as his feet can carry him. And as he stands under a hot shower, several minutes later, he can feel the last of the stiffness fading away.

After perhaps the world’s quickest breakfast, because the Doctor’s had more than enough sitting around to last him for the rest of this incarnation, or at least the rest of the day he’s got planned for them, they head along the corridor to the console room. The Doctor’s arm is around Donna’s shoulders and hers is around his back. He can’t help but be delighted at this new state of affairs.

“Okay, so I’m impressed at the repair job your ship did on that suit,” she tells him, tweaking the brown fabric that looks as if nothing had ever happened to it.

“Well, she’s feeling a bit guilty about what happened,” he tells her. “That’s why she fixed the shoe for me, too.”

“And, apparently, tidied up the mess,” Donna says as they enter the console room.

“Yes, well, she’s not big on a mess,” he tells her as he strolls across to take his place at the console. “Except in my room apparently.”

Donna chuckles. “Right then,” she says, perching on the jumpseat. “Off to Midnight.”

“Nope,” he says with a grin. “Not this time. I’ve had – second thoughts.”

“So where are we going?” Donna asks, arching an eyebrow.

He beams at her. “Somewhere I haven’t been since I was a kid – the Medusa Cascade!”

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