The road less travelled...

Title: Dona nobis beatitas 5/?
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: The Doctor turns teacher.
Characters: Donna and the Doctor (Ten)

Part V

Donna comes downstairs to find her mother and Gramps sitting at the kitchen table, clearly deep in conversation, although it ceases when she appears.

“What are you going to do today then, love?” Wilf asks as she crosses to the kettle and pours herself some coffee.

“Got to get a job first, haven’t I?” she demands irritably. “I suppose all that rubbish with H.C. Clements didn’t work out, did it?”

“No,” Sylvia says abruptly as she carries her mug over to the sink. “It didn’t.”

“Didn’t think so.” Donna feels herself relax a little as the caffeine enters her system. “I’ll go and talk to the agency first thing then.”

Sylvia gives an annoyed huff and then turns on the water in the sink so violently that nobody can be heard over the rushing water. Wilf reaches across and gives Donna’s fingers a sympathetic squeeze and she smiles at him before leaving the table, dropping a kiss on the top of his head before leaving the room.

Nobody at the temping agency seems to remember Donna or gives any sign that they missed her during her apparent absence. The receptionist does raise her eyebrows as she glances over Donna's curriculum vitae, stopping at the same place everyone else does.

“100 words per minute?”

“My claim to fame,” Donna replies cheerfully.

“I'm sure we can find you something suitable,” the girl tells her, the moment of enthusiasm over.

Settling back into a new office is as easy as ever. In idle moments, as she adjusts to the peculiarity of her new employment, she wonders if she's put any of her skills into practice during the time she can't remember.

However she doesn't have much time for ruminating on that period as her new co-workers keep her fully occupied in learning the tasks for which she has been hired.

“Donna,” the accounts manager asks suddenly as he stops by her desk, “do you know where Jennifer is?”

“Jennifer? Oh, the senior secretary!” Donna shrugs apologetically. “I'm afraid she's out to lunch.”

“Then I'm going to need you to take down some letters I need ready by three o'clock.”

“I can do that for you, sir.”

Donna grabs the notepad on which she has been writing instructions and follows the man into his office. The half-dozen short letters don't take her long to copy down and when she comes out into the reception area, Jennifer has returned from lunch and greets her with a smile.

“Ooh, thrown in at the deep end,” she teases. “I'm sorry, I wouldn't have put you through that if I'd known.”

“It's fine.” Donna smiles and puts her notepad on the desk. “He spoke nice and slow, much better than some other people I've taken dictation for.”

“Let me do the letters and you can go to lunch.” Jennifer holds out her hand for the notepad, but happens to glance at the pages as Donna hands them over and her eyes widen. “What's this?” she demands, tapping her fingers against the page.

“It's – the letters,” Donna says in confusion.

“Is this shorthand?”

“No.” Donna is genuinely bewildered. “It's everything, word for word.”

“What language on this planet is made up of a series of interlinking circles and cogs and things?”

“I... I don't know.” She stares at the pages, and for a moment she can only see the same strange symbols that have confused her colleague. The next instant, however, it simply makes sense to her, although she had no idea where or how she learned something so complex. “It's just – just the letters, that's all.”

“Well, I can't read this.” Jennifer hands her back the notepad, her tones suddenly tart. “You'll need to type them up – in English, thank you! – before you go to lunch.”

Chuckling, Donna sits down and rapidly types up the letters, but after she passes them over to Jennifer to have them checked, she glances through the notepad on which she has been writing things down during the course of the day.

Just like before, for the barest instant, she seems to be staring at a page covered with meaningless, random symbols, but something in her brain seems to refuse to hide their meanings from her.

“Come on, Donna,” Clare, the other secretary, says suddenly, distracting her from her thoughts, “lunch!”

And she decides that she isn't going to find an answer now so she might as well go and get to know her new colleagues rather than worrying.

* * *
It's Saturday morning and Donna is relaxing in bed with a cup of tea that her grandfather has brought for her.

“Still having those dreams, darling?” he asks as he picks up the clothes that didn't quite make it into the laundry basket when she got changed the night before.

“Yeah.” She sighs and lets her head sink back against the pillows piled up behind her, thinking of the strange glimpses she has had of peculiar worlds every time she closes her eyes. “Every night so far.”

“You should write them down.”

“I've tried!” She sighs impatiently and glares at the notepad on her bedside table that holds her feeble attempts at describing the incredible scenes she saw in her mind. “I just can't get everything across, though. It all sounds so – empty!”

“Well, keep trying,” he tells her warmly. “You've got such a wonderful imagination, my girl, and you should share it with as many people as possible.”

He bends over to kiss the top of her head and she hugs him with one arm, the other still holding onto her tea. “Thanks, Gramps.”

As he leaves the room, she puts the tea onto her table and then picks up her notepad and pencil, opening at a fresh page with a sigh.

Closing her eyes, she focuses on the dream from that night – a sparkling world that she could almost believe is full of diamonds. But when she goes to write down the images she saw in her mind, she's frustrated by her inability to capture the details of how the stones gleam in the light and the way the heat shimmers across the planet's strange and alien surface.

Her hand moves across the page almost without her realising it, and when she looks down at the sheet of paper, it's not covered in small circles.

Instead – her breath catches in her throat as she realises – she's drawn the planet rather than trying to describe it.

The image is rough and not particularly clear, but she can get a sense of scale and an idea of how the diamonds sparkled in the light. Blocks of gleaming stone are piled almost haphazardly on top of each other, creating a strange city-scape like scene.

She frowns over the tiny lines that give each block of stone shape and contour, adding a little more shading, but she's not happy and she realises a moment later that it's because of the lack of colour.

Climbing out of bed, she finishes her tea while getting dressed and folds up the picture, cramming it into her bag as she leaves the room. Putting the empty cup into the kitchen sink, she's caught by her grandfather as she's about to leave the room.

“Where are you off to, darling?”

“Big of shopping to do.” She dots a kiss to his cheek and ducks around him out of the door.

“Have a good time.”

His voice follows her out into the sun-dappled garden. The week's rain has cleared up overnight to leave a sunny day with a light breeze. After being in an office all week, she's thrilled to be outside and takes several deep breaths as she wanders up the street to the shops.

Somewhat shyly, she enters a craft shop. She's grateful to find that the assistant is busy with another customer so that she has time to stroll around.

She goes towards the pencils first, but somehow she's disappointed by the range of colours the shop has. She can't see the vibrant blues and silvers that she has in her imagination.

Frustrated, she turns away, letting her eyes roam over the nearby racks. More pencils and pens, but still nothing she feels will help her create the scene she saw in her dreams.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, hi!” Donna turns to find the shop assistant beside her. “I'm hoping you can,” she admits, reaching into her bag and pulling out the paper. Unfolding it, she holds it out to the woman. “I'm trying to work out the best technique to bring this to life. In my head, it's all blue and white and silver, but these,” she gestures to the pencils, “aren't quite right.”

“You drew that?” the woman asks, taking the page and placing it on a board, smoothing it to get out the creases.

“It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Donna is tempted to snatch the sheet away and run out of the shop. After all, this is her, Donna Noble, a person with no real talent, whose only claim to fame is that she can type fast.

What on Earth is she doing?!

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