The road less travelled...

Title: Living Alone
Author: katherine_b
Rating: Adult (at least, it will be!)
Characters: Donna Noble and her family and friends
Spoilers: Various bits and pieces up to and including The New Doctor.
Summary: Donna’s life after the TARDIS departs
A/N: This is a rather unexpected sequel of sorts for Better Off Without You. In that story, the TARDIS boosted Donna’s ability to heal herself and recover from illness or injury. This story examines the impact that had on Donna once the Doctor returned her to Earth.

Prologue

For the first few visits, the Doctor chose to believe that it was sheer co-incidence that he hadn’t visited twenty-first century Earth. More urgent things had come up: that issue with the Cybermen and Jackson Lake; vampires in the thirtieth century; vondrax in the first century of modern time; Durac in the 1600s. By the time he finally summoned the energy to defeat Durac, the Doctor had begun to suspect that it was more than mere chance that was controlling his destination. And then, for every visit to Earth, he was making five or six to other planets. He could only suspect that he ship had something to do with it

To test the theory, he set the TARDIS co-ordinates for London and stepped back, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes roamed around the console room and he remembered Jackson’s astonishment at what he had seen. His gaze drifted between the places that his most recent companions had preferred to stand while they travelled. Rose mostly sat near him on the jumpseat. Martha watched the screen over his shoulder. And Donna stood opposite him, watching his face and sometimes pre-empting what he was about to ask her to do.

Caught up in his thoughts, the Doctor only just noticed as the co-ordinates he had entered into the TARDIS silently changed.

"Oi!" he yelped, pounding his fists on the console, but the sound of his own voice brought him up short.

That wasn't a Doctor thing to say. It was very much a Donna exclamation and showed that, no matter how much he might try to fool himself, there would be no getting away from his memories - or his guilt - any time soon.

Exhaling a sigh that was almost a prolonged sob, the Doctor leaned his hands on the console and hunched his shoulders, letting the TARDIS take him where it would.

He wasn't particularly surprised when he opened the door to find that his destination was as far away from Earth as it was possible to be in the entire Universe.

* * *
Chapter I

It didn’t take the world long to calm down after the excitement with the Daleks. Perhaps the various invasions by different species over the past couple of years – the Sontarans, the Adipose, the Titanic (everyone was certain that there had to be alien involvement of some sort) and everything else before – had dimmed the excitement of even something as major as a Dalek invasion and the abduction of the Earth. Within a few weeks, all comment had ended and Donna found that her headaches, which always started when people talked about the things she couldn’t remember, faded, too.

Weeks passed, then months.

And for Donna Noble, life carried on almost exactly as it had before.

There were a couple of strange things she noticed – or which, more accurately, thrust themselves under her nose so that she had no choice about seeing them.

First, her Mum had become positively nice. Sometimes Donna would catch Sylvia looking at her as if she was somehow fragile. Well, that lasted until their first row, which was, of course, about Donna’s work. After that, things returned to something approaching normal, which was a relief.

Second, Donna’s friends had mostly disappeared. And that wasn’t in the sense of ‘just not wanting anything to do with her’ disappeared, but properly disappeared. It was said that the Daleks had taken a lot of people away, and those who had gone never returned. Of those Donna had known best, only Nerys remained, and Nerys was often too busy with her children to go out for drinks.

And finally, Donna found that, when she and Nerys did go out for drinks, Donna didn’t really want to get plastered anymore. She preferred a quiet chat, a catch-up on the news of what was happening in each other’s lives, and perhaps a bit of a gossip about the quality of men in the bar and whether any of them were single.

“You’re growing up, love,” was how Wilf explained it when she told him. “Your mother was exactly the same.”

Donna wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The other strange thing was something that Donna didn’t know and no one on Earth could see – not without some impressive radiological technology, in any case – and that was Donna’s brain slowly repairing the damage caused by the metacrisis and the Doctor’s actions in wiping Donna’s memory. It took a little longer than healing the broken bones of her foot had done in the sick bay of the TARDIS, but it was happening.

Donna didn’t notice that, when the first anniversary of the defeat of the Daleks passed, her head didn’t ache at all, even though the events of a year ago were the main topic of conversation wherever she went.

She did notice that, when she got that horrible cough that seemed to go around the office, she recovered from it much faster than everyone else. And that was without the revolting cherry-flavoured cough medicine that her mother had given her to take, which Donna had conveniently ‘lost’.

She also noticed that, when she got hit by a car and broke her arm, it had healed by the time she got home from the hospital so she took the cast off herself with the angle-grinder in the back shed. The cut from that healed a lot quicker than it should have, too.

For a long time, she thought about informing someone about this newfound ability. She even found herself testing things, subconsciously most of the time, but she had more small hurts than ever before, even letting herself get sunburned on one occasion, just for the opportunity to watch her skin fade back to its usual freckled creamy complexion as she drove back home.

There were times when she wanted to tell someone, but in the end, she always stopped short. She knew that someone would want to know how she was doing it, and Donna had no idea. Still, it meant that she was saving a fortune on doctor's bills.

It was impossible to help noticing that her mother seemed to have terrible trouble with that little word ‘doctor’. It got to the point that Donna would suggest that she wasn’t feeling well, just to see Sylvia’s face turn more puce with every passing second. This problem turned out to be verging on the ridiculous when Donna began dating a neurologist, who in turn saved Wilf’s life after he had a stroke. And it became almost funny when they were sitting in the waiting room and Sylvia started every time the word was said – which was often.

And when Wilf recovered, even he joined in the teasing, protesting when Sylvia got upset, “Oh, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, love. Nothing’s, you know, happened. And after this long…”

Donna didn’t even bother to question them about what might have happened because, after so long of trying in vain to get information from them, she knew an answer wouldn’t be forthcoming. Instead she helped her boyfriend to deal the cards for a game of gin rummy.

* * *
It was the early hours of one morning when Donna suddenly woke up and lay for several minutes staring at the ceiling. Realising that she was thirsty, she got out of bed and padded quietly down the stairs to the kitchen. She knew that the kitchen door squeaked and opened it cautiously - but then stopped abruptly.

The sound was wrong.

She had subconsciously been waiting for a particular noise and the creak that this door made was different.

Now that she thought about it, the handle under her fingers was different, too. She had been expecting a smooth, cool, metal handle. Now she was holding one made of wood. It was familiar enough, but she found that she was longing for that other door, even if she had no idea where or what it was.

It was with a sense of loss that Donna got the drink she had come down to fetch and trailed miserably back to bed. She lay and stared at the ceiling once more, but sleep didn't come. The memory of that strange door lingered, but she couldn't place it. Closing her eyes, Donna focused, reaching out into the darkness and closing her hand around the non-existent knob. The door, too, appeared before her eyes. A solid sheet of metal with moulding in strange patterns. Not strange in the 'unknown' sense, but strange in the 'peculiar' sense, because Donna knew that she had seen them before.

Somewhere.

Desperate to remember, Donna imagined turning the doorknob and opening the door. That familiar creak in her ears. A slight breeze from the room she imagined she was about to enter. A kitchen. Lots of stainless steel and dark timber cupboards. A big fruit-bowl stood on the bench, but it only held bananas. Why bananas? She didn't like them. But Donna could even imagine what would be in those cupboards - tea bags, biscuits, jars of chocolate spread and jam with gouge marks as if the contents had been removed with a finger rather than a knife, bags of jelly babies - such mundane things, but they epitomised the occupant of the kitchen.

That individual stood at one of the counters. She could see his back, dressed in a brown striped suit, and his voice echoed in her ears.

"John Smith."

And if he turned around, she'd slap him silly for lying to her.

* * *
In spite of her short night, Donna was up and left for work at her usual time. She walked to the office - something about driving made her very uncomfortable - and settled in for her usual quiet morning.

"Morning, Donna," her boss said airily, his eyes focused on his newspaper, just as he had done for the past eight years.

And yet Donna was still a temp.

She grinned as she thought about it. This position was supposed to have lasted only a few months, but at the end of that time, Donna said nothing and simply continued turning up every day. No one ever questioned her and her wages were paid regularly every fortnight.

Perhaps it helped that, every day, she wore the same black business suit and shoes, only changing her shirt and, occasionally, her hairstyle. Donna couldn't explain why she did this, only that it seemed a natural thing to do. It certainly helped her both to blend in and to give the impression that no time was passing. Of course, her unchanging physical appearance also helped in that regard.

It was one of those horrible, slow mornings where it seemed like the clock never moved. By the time one o’clock arrived, Donna was desperate to escape the office, so, breaking her usual routine of eating her sandwich at her desk, she picked up her bag and slipped out of the room into the bright sunlight of a crisp autumn day.

It was half a mile to Sutton Court, but the walk only took her ten minutes and she arrived to find that the street was full of people. She strolled along the busy footpaths, casting glances into the various shop windows, until something caught her eye.

There was nothing strange about the pair of red converse in the shop window, but Donna felt a sudden longing to touch them. Entering the store, she was about the approach the window when an assistant came over.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Donna smiled. “I’d like to try those on,” and she waved at the shoes.

“Really…” The woman’s lip lengthened appreciably and she looked disapprovingly at the shoes. “We have much better things in stock - ”

“I want those,” Donna interrupted, feeling her desire for the shoes increasing as the saleswoman cast her a glance that took her in from head to toe.

“They’re terrible for your feet.” The other woman shook her head in apparent disgust. “No support. Completely flat soles…”

As she carried on complaining about the shoes, Donna felt that she was at something of a crossroads. On the one hand, she could give in, agree with the woman and buy another – probably more expensive – pair of shoes. Alternatively, she could insist on those shoes – that specific pair – which she somehow knew would fit perfectly.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

She folded her arms across her chest and waited for the shop assistant to talk herself out. It took a surprisingly long time, but as soon as she stopped,

“I want those.”

The saleswoman opened her mouth and then closed it firmly. With an obviously unwilling nod, she waved at a chair and Donna sat down.

“These are our final pair in stock,” said the woman. “If they don’t fit, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

“They’ll fit,” Donna replied, suspecting that the woman had wanted the shoes for herself as they were the last pair and, according to the sign in the window, heavily reduced.

And fit they did, astonishingly well. Donna walked across the floor of the shop and admired the look of them peeping out under her suit trousers. Somehow they looked just right.

“I suppose you want them then?” the saleswoman asked sarcastically.

“I certainly do!” Donna turned and scooped her other shoes into the empty shoebox. “I’ll even wear them now.”

Five minutes later, she waltzed out of the shop, the shoebox swinging in a plastic bag from her arm and tucking her purse back into her handbag. Turning in the direction of the office, she began walking back, but a quick glance at her watch showed that she had spent longer in the shop that she had thought and now she was late.

She broke into a trot, but quickly found that her legs stretched out into longer strides and her arms pumped at a steady pace. What perhaps should have surprised her – not that anything could really do that anymore – was how natural running seemed, and how much she was enjoying it.

Although it wasn’t quite the same on her own…

* * *
“Okay, how are you doing that?” Nerys demanded one day after Donna came to visit and the twins, who had just celebrated their twenty-first birthdays, had gone out.

“Doing what?” Donna looked up from the trashy magazine she was perusing with little real interest.

Nerys shot her a look of exasperation, got up from the armchair and dug around in her handbag, finally producing a small mirror. Donna stifled a groan, knowing exactly where the conversation was going.

“Here, you!”

Nerys crouched down beside the chair so that they could both see their faces – just – in the small mirror.

“Look, here.” Nerys pointed at things on her face. “Crows feet. Bags under the eyes. Grey hairs. But you…”

“Maybe I’ve just got good genes,” interrupted Donna, before Nerys could point out that Donna’s skin was still smooth, her hair auburn in spite of the fact that she had never coloured it, and she didn't look at day over thirty-five, despite the fact that more than two decades had passed since she celebrated her fourth decade.

“Hah! Not unless you’re adopted,” Nerys snorted. “Have you looked at your Mum lately?”

Donna giggled naughtily, pushing the mirror away. "Yeah, fair point," she agreed. "Although maybe Mum would be happier if that was the case. Maybe I was switched at birth and her real daughter is an actual success - good job, handsome husband, gaggle of kids..."

"Hey, no need to have a go at me!" Nerys dropped the mirror and raised her hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. "I'm not the one you can't please, no matter how hard you try."

Donna, brought up short in her tirade, stopped and shot Nerys a sheepish smile. "Sorry, it's just that I'm fed up, and now that Gramps is gone, there's no one to intervene."

"Yeah, he did well, your Gramps." Nerys smiled sympathetically. "As for your Mum - I thought you'd be closer now that there's just the two of you. I know it was like that when my Dad died."

"Believe me, I've tried!" Donna sighed. "The only time we ever really got on was after the Earth was stolen by the Daleks and after I came back, she treated me like I was made of glass for a while after that."

"Came back?" Nerys looked puzzled. "You've never said you were away when that happened before. Donna, what - ?"

However the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Nerys' children and it never resumed, much to Donna's relief.

Things like that had been happening a lot over the past few years. Tiny details seemed to slip into her mind at the strangest moments, often when she was in the middle of a conversation. The mention of her returning to the Earth after the defeat of the Daleks, for instance. Until now, she'd always assumed she slept through it, probably after a really big night out. But now she could remember flying back to Earth, although she had no idea how.

And how did she know that the Daleks had been defeated? Oh, and now that her mind was considering that problem, she was sure that she'd played a role in that occurring. Something big. No details yet, but she knew they would come. That was the way this memory loss thing was working.

It was with relief that she said goodnight to Nerys and left the house, strolling home through the dark streets. She always wanted to be alone when bits of memory came back. Finding a bench tucked away in a half-circle of trees, Donna sat down, closed her eyes and focused on the brief glimpse of light and noise that she now knew had something to do with the destruction of the Daleks.

A dark room.

Pinpoints of light.

Stars?

No, more like spotlights.

There were explosions, and fire, and Donna felt a kick in her chest, like she'd touched an electric fence. Her heart raced as if remembering the charge it received, but she knew it ended well, even if, for the moment, she couldn't remember why.

And, most importantly, she knew she hadn't been alone.

Chapter II