The road less travelled...

Title: Daydreams 4/6
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Characters: Donna and the Doctor (Ten) (may become Ten/Donna)
Spoilers: All of Season 4 up to the end of Forest of the Dead
Summary: The Doctor has nightmares about Donna.

Part IV

“Well?”

The Doctor looks up from his search in the cupboard. “Well, what?”

“Well, are you going to explain what you’re doing?”

He frowns. “I’d have thought that was obvious. I’m – aha!” His fingers find the device he was looking for and he flourishes it triumphantly. “I’m helping you,” he finishes.

“And you’re going to stick that where?” she demands in what he can hear is a very dangerous voice.

He looks down at the device in his hand and chews on his bottom lip before realising that it does look somewhat dangerous, especially the long, thin part with the tiny rods on it.

“I’m not going to ‘stick’ it anywhere,” he protests. “You have the most suspicious mind I’ve ever – Look, just come over here and sit down so I can show you what it does!”

“You can tell me what it does while I stay here,” she warns. “And if I feel safe enough, then I’ll come.”

“Fine.” He sighs and puts the object down, yanking off his jacket and then rolling up one of his sleeves. “It’s a cellular rejuvenatory accelerator,” he tells her as she arches an eyebrow at the sight of him apparently undressing in front of her.

“You just made that up on the spot, didn’t you?” she accuses him. And then, as he gives a sheepish nod, “Fine, what’s it do?”

“Like so.” He holds out his arm, which still bears the shadow of bruising, and holds the accelerator over it, brushing it lightly across his skin. There’s a warm, ticklish sensation and he can feel the cells repairing themselves. When he lifts the device away, his skin is its usual clear colour. He holds it out proudly for inspection. “Et voila, it’s gone!”

Donna steps closer, peering at his arm, but remaining far enough away that he can’t grab hold of her. “How’s it work then?” she demands. “And,” she cuts him off before he can speak, “I don’t want the scientific version. Simple words.”

“Makes you heal quicker,” he says in the end, having wrestled with several sentences that all got a bit complicated.

She sighs. “And the TARDIS didn’t give me that to use on you because?”

“It doesn’t work with bones.” He waves impatiently in the direction of the bed. “Oh, come on, Donna, I want to make you better!”

With another sigh, she sidles across the room and, with visible reluctance, sits down on the very edge of the bed. After eyeing him for a moment, she pushes up the sleeve of her shirt.

“If this doesn’t work, there’s no way you’re getting anywhere near the rest of me with it.”

“It’ll work,” he promises, swallowing an exclamation of horror at the extent of the marks on her arm, some of which are fading to yellow and green, but other areas of which are still black. He places a pillow on her lap and rests her arm on it. “Just hold still.”

He’s pleased to see the slight smile on her face as the device begins to work and some of the tension drains from her shoulders.

“Ooh, that’s nice.”

“Told you,” he says with a grin. “And it’s working – see?”

He lifts it off to show her the area that is now free of the discolouration that marred it a moment earlier.

She pokes him affectionately. “Okay, Martian man, you’ve convinced me. Go on then.”

“I want to do your back as well.”

She arches an eyebrow as he resumes treating her arm. “Is this just an excuse to see me with my top off?”

He chokes and stares at her in astonishment. “What? No! Of course not! And besides,” he shoots her a cheeky grin, “you’ve seen me without my trousers!”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who took them off. So much for you just wanting to sleep.” She rolls her eyes, but the next sound out of her mouth is a soft moan as the accelerator passes over a particularly nasty bruise, which vanishes almost at once. “Oh, that’s nice!”

“I hate to say ‘I told you so’…”

“Actually, you usually love saying that,” she tells him.

“Well, I don’t like sleeping in my clothes,” he admits, diplomatically ignoring her last comment as she rolls her first sleeve back down and pushes up the other. “And,” he goes on as he begins work on her second lot of bruises, “I wanted to give the TARDIS a chance to repair them.”

“Lucky for you she did,” Donna teases, before looking down to see that the skin on her arm is clear. “Ooh, that was quick!”

“Less bruising on that side.” He steps away from the bed, waving a vague hand in the direction of the door, feeling suddenly too warm. “I’ll going to, um, go out for a minute. If you want to take, you know, everything off and lie on your front…”

She snorts, unable to help grinning, presumably at the uncomfortable look on his face, as he rapidly leaves the room. “And you call yourself a doctor.”

“‘The’ Doctor, Donna,” he calls back to her. “There’s a difference.”

“Hah!” There’s a moment of near-silence, although he can hear the rustling of fabric and he fights the almost overwhelming urge to peep in and check if she’s all right. “Okay,” she calls a moment later. “You can come back now.”

He re-enters the room, rather surprised to find himself swallowing nervously, to see Donna lying face down on the bed, her arms by her sides, and her bare back almost completely black and blue. His nervousness is instantly replaced by horror at the extent of her injuries.

“Oh, Rassilon!” he exclaims. “Donna, this is awful! Why didn’t you say something?”

“That’s like taking the Lord’s name in vain, I suppose,” she says, and then, presumably referring to her back, “It’s not so bad now.”

“It would have been agony when you were looking after me,” he retorts, beginning to smooth the accelerator over her back. “All that twisting and lifting must have hurt like anything.”

“Oh, I just sort of woke you up and got you in here,” she says lightly, and he realises she’s indirectly accusing him of lying.

“Hey!”

“True, though, isn’t it?” She smirks at him over his shoulder. “Well, get on with it then, Spaceman!”

He falls silent, focusing on treating each patch of skin and listening to the small sighs of relief Donna heaves as they fade away. The freckles on her back appear one by one out of the bruised areas. The Doctor can’t help thinking that it’s rather like watching the stars come out as the sun sets.

He lingers over the task, wishing that he could take away the mental scars left by the accident as easily as he’s removing the physical ones. However he finally has to admit to himself that there’s not a single area of discoloured skin left on her back and turns off the accelerator, stepping away from the bed.

“All done! I might, uh, go and get that tea you wanted before, while you, you know, get dressed again.”

And he bolts out of the room before she can say anything else, almost out of breath as he reaches the kitchen – to find Donna entering from another door, doing up the last button on her shirt.

“But – how did you…? What?”

She grins and points back at the door behind her. “The TARDIS put it in for me when you were unconscious so that I could keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, that’s just cheating,” he complains, sagging against the bench.

“Come on then, finish fixing that kettle while I clean up the cups and then we can actually have tea,” she tells him, waving at mess he left behind when they went to the medical bay.

“It’s nearly finished.” He spies the place for the homeless screw and then grins in satisfaction as he attaches it and turns the kettle on. “Done!”

He’s even happier two minutes later when it begins to boil and he’s able finally to make the aborted tea in new mugs. However the delight fades somewhat as he returns empty-handed from a rummage in the cupboard for biscuits.

The last shards of china are in the bin when they finally get to sit down at the table.

“Special treat,” Donna smiles, pushing a tin across to him. “I made them while you were getting over your injuries.”

“Ooh!” He peers into the tin, but his nose tells him what’s inside before his eyes do. “Banana muffins! Donna, you’re brilliant!”

She chuckles and sips her tea. “Thought you’d like them.”

He takes a bite and closes his eyes in delight. “Umm, gorgeous!” he mumbles around the mouthful. Then, as he chews and swallows, he thinks hard, squinting suspiciously at her through narrowed eyes. “Hang on, just when did you make these?”

Is it his imagination, or is Donna looking a little sheepish?

“You know that time when you told me to go and sleep? After you woke up properly and said I looked like rubbish?”

“Mmm?” he prompts her, arching an eyebrow.

“I did sleep.” She half-smiled. “But only for about half an hour. Then I got up to check on you and didn’t want to go back to bed. So I got up and made those.”

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