The road less travelled...

Title: Dressing to Impress
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: The Doctor is need of some new clothes
Word Count: 3,500 words
Characters: The Doctor and Donna
A/N: Written for juliet316, who bid on me for the Support Stacie auction and gave me the prompt [spoilers; highlight to see] Nine and Donna 'chance encounter'

Donna gathers her coat around her as a sharp gust of wind whirls down the street and then she happens to glance down an alleyway to see a man leaning against the wall, his hands pressed to his close-shaven head and his eyes closed as if in pain.

For a moment, she stands and stares at him, but in spite of her somewhat indifferent exterior, Donna has never really been able to resist the sight of someone in pain. She’s also got a somewhat embarrassing soft spot for small, furry animals that she knows her friends, not to mention her mother, would mock her mercilessly for, although she’s sure her father and granddad would approve.

Finally she walks up to him, seeing as his eyes snap open just before she reaches him, his gaze wary and intimidating.

“Are you all right?” she ventures, unaccountably nervous at the expression in his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he snaps back, his voice a clipped, Northern accent.

“Maybe because you look as if you’ve just been dragged backwards through a hedge that was trying to kill you at the same time,” she suggests, reasonably enough, leaning comfortably against the nearby wall as she folds her arms.

“Oh, get lost!” he snarls, looking as if he’s about to stalk off.

She looks him up and down before arching an eyebrow.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” he demands incredulously. “Nobody says no to me!”

“Then it’s probably time they did,” she says with a snort. “And I’m not going to walk away from somebody who looks as if he needs someone to take him home, put him into pyjamas and tuck him into bed for a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re – patronising me!” he spits, as if he’s disgusted by the mere suggestion.

“Well, I tried being nice to you and that didn’t seem to work,” she retorts. “What else do you suggest – and no,” she hurries on before he can speak, “me leaving you alone isn’t an option. So don’t even bother.”

“Hmph.”

There’s an instant of silence. Perhaps this stranger realises that he isn’t going to get rid of her just by snapping at her. Honestly, she’s not really sure what’s made her decide to stick around. It’s obvious he’s uninjured. He can clearly take care of herself. And yet she’s still here. Maybe she’s just being obstinate.

“You look ridiculous, you know.” She tugs at the ragged, torn, charred collar of his shirt, ignoring the way he pulls back away from her. “You definitely shouldn’t be wearing that outfit with that haircut. An open shirt would be just soft. Even a dark suit and a tie would just make you look like a controlling business mogul. That look you’ve got going on, from the neck up anyway, is kind of – rebellious, take-no-prisoners, a bit dangerous. You need something that works with it.”

“Dangerous.” A light twinkles in his dark eyes. “Yup, I like that.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t scare me, chum,” she snorts. “Right now you look as if a good gust of wind would blow you over.”

“Nothing strong enough in the area,” he replies. “You’d have to go a long way to find one. In fact,” he goes on seriously, “if that’s your cup of tea, I’d try the Bahamas in late August. Just don’t get too close to New Orleans.”

“What are you on about?”

“Never mind,” he shrugs, and Donna can’t help wondering if he’s completely sane.

Somewhat unnerved, she straightens and begins to walk back in the direction of the street.

“You could help me find something else to wear,” he suggests, falling into step beside her.

“You need to find a better pick-up line.”

A light dances in his eyes for the first time. “What about ‘hey, baby, I can show you the mysteries of time and space’.”

“Promising,” she admits, “but I hate being called ‘baby’.”

He chuckles at this sally. “Oh, come on!” he says, actually taking her hand, which brings her up short as she stares at him. “I really would appreciate your help. You’re right – I do need other things to wear. This doesn’t really fit anymore, even if there was a way to repair it.”

“You were trying to get rid of me not five minutes ago,” she reminds him, none too gently pulling herself free of his hold.

“Ah, but that was before I realised how useful you can be,” he says happily.

“So I’m just ‘useful’, then, am I?” she snaps.

“We-ell,” he drags out the word, “probably not ‘just’ useful, but that’s a good start!”

“You don’t even know me!” she argues. “You don’t know what I like and I don’t. I could come up with stuff you hated! Then what?”

“Ah, that’s the clever bit,” he tells her, holding up a finger as if to illustrate the greatness of his idea. “You can be as honest as you want, and I’ll know you’re not just being nice ’cos you’re my mate.”

“I’m not mating with you, sunshine!” she exclaims in horror, backing away again, although as she’s only moving further down the alley and away from the street, it’s not as if she can get away.

“I didn’t mean like that!” he retorts heatedly “Don’t be daft!”

“So you wouldn’t be interested then,” she shoots back, getting angry now, as well as frightened. “What’s so bad about me?”

“Oh, for the love of – Nothing!” He rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing bad about you! Look, let’s get this clear. I’m not talking about mating, you stupid ape! I’m talking about mates. You know – friends.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly.” He glares at her one final time before the anger fades from his eyes and they sparkle again. “So you can be as honest as you want and I reserve the right to tell you where to go and how to get there if you try to make me wear something I don’t like.” He offers her his hand. “Deal?”

For a few seconds, as she looks at him and his proffered hand, she considers, before deciding that she’s probably spent stranger days – although not many – and she does love shopping, so this could be interesting.

“Deal,” she agrees, somewhat warily offering her hand to be shaken.

“Fantastic!” He grins widely and, without letting go of her hand, almost drags her down the street.

“Oi,” she protests, struggling to get free from his vice-like grip. “Hey. Hey!”

She finally slams her bag on his fingers and he lets go so abruptly that she has to take a step back to keep her footing.

“What did you do that for?” he demands, flexing his hand as if in pain.

“There’s no need to drag me around like an idiot,” she snaps. “I’m quite capable of keeping up with you. And,” she adds, moving closer so that she can hiss her next few words into his ear, “people are staring. They probably think you’re trying to kidnap me or something!”

A profoundly hurt expression flowers in his eyes. “I don’t kidnap people!”

“Then don’t give people the idea,” she replies, unable to help smiling at the hangdog look on his face. “And you really don’t need to hold my hand. We’re not mates, as you rightly pointed out. Beside,” she adds,” do you have any idea where you’re going? Because the best shops are that way.”

And she turns to point behind them, seeing as a faint colour flushes the man’s cheeks.

“Right, fair point,” he says briskly. “Lay on, McDuff.”

“Isn’t it ‘lead on’?” she demands. “That’s what my Dad always says anyway.”

“That’s what you lot have changed it to,” he agrees. “But if you check the original, which you can’t, because it’s been destroyed – and I really must go and see him one day…”

“Who, McDuff? Isn’t he just a made-up character?”

“No, not him!” He looks at her as if she’s mad. “Shakespeare!”

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes, deciding he probably is a bit mad after all. “Why not?”

“Exactly.” He grins at her again, that slightly manic expression that she finds more than a little unnerving. “Got it in one.”

“Here we are!” Ignoring his words, she suddenly grabs his arm, conveniently forgetting everything about him not needing to touch her, and almost drags him into Henrik’s. “This should be perfect.”

“D’you ever wonder about the safety of those things?” he asks suddenly, his voice distracted, and she looks up to find him staring at one of the shop dummies.

“Honestly?” she asks, and he turns to look at her, his eyes curious. “No. Now come on!”

They end up in the men’s department and Donna begins flipping through the racks while the man strips off a couple of the more damaged outer layers of his clothing, including the ripped back velvet jacket and the remains of the silk scarf around his throat as well as the charred vest, all of which he piles on a nearby chair.

“Here, hold these,” she orders, piling the first few items into his arms. “They should fit. I’m good at sizes.”

“Should be fine,” he agrees, glancing through them. “Not much in the way of colour, though, is there?”

“I thought you wanted to look dangerous,” she reminds him idly as she continues to search.

“Well, yeah, I suppose, but not all goth and depressed,” he agrees. “There’s a fine line.”

It’s now Donna’s turn to flash a grin at him. “Trust me,” she says cheerfully and returns to her search.

Ten minutes later, she’s waiting outside the changing rooms for him to reappear. He’s promised to show her everything, even if he hates it. She can’t remember the last time a male friend was that accommodating. In fact, she doesn’t know the last time she took a man shopping for clothes, period.

Still, learn something new every day.

He opens the door to show the black zippered top she had thrown in because she had a vague thought it might work.

It clearly doesn’t.

“The collar’s wrong.” She tweaks it, but it doesn’t sit any better. “And I don’t like the zip.”

“You don’t like it?!” he demands, as if unable to believe the way she’s taken over.

She arches an eyebrow. “Do you?”

For a moment he looks down at him and then his nose wrinkles in obvious unhappiness. “It looks as if I’m waiting for someone to come along and undo it to see what’s underneath.”

Donna chuckles as she picks up another top from the pile and holds it out to him before pulling the curtains shut. His bare arm appears a moment later over the door with the zip-up top and she hooks it onto the hanger and drapes it over a nearby rack to be returned to the shelves.

His next choice is another dark top, this time with a white line around the neck.

“The white’s all wrong,” she decides. “Off!”

“Do I at least get to shut the door first?”

“Oi, no cheek!” she warns. “And hurry up, chum. I don’t have all day!”

He disappears with another grin and reappears a moment later in a top with a round neckline, which she can’t help thinking makes his face look far too gaunt.

“You look even more like you could be blown away in a strong wind,” she tells him. “Unless that’s what you’re going for, of course.”

“It’s not easy to confront dangerous aliens if you look like that,” he agrees, ducking back into the change room again.

She rolls her eyes, but decides not to point out that aliens don’t exist.

“What about a tuxedo?” she suggests after a moment, able to glimpse the eveningwear section from where she’s standing.

“Got one,” he replies curtly. “Bad things happen when I wear it.”

“It might be worth seeing anyway,” she proposes. “But then it wouldn’t do for everyday wear – people would keep asking if you were off to a party! – and I don’t much fancy this building exploding around me or something if it really is as unlucky as you say.”

“This – no,” he tells her, even as the doors open to reveal him in a heavy brown coat that hangs past his knees with huge brass buttons.

“Definitely not,” she agrees. “You look like you should be on horseback or playing Hamlet in a modern-day production or something.”

“This jumper isn’t bad,” he says as she hands him the next thing off the top of the pile and he turns it this way and that in the light. “Bit of colour. Could be good.”

“Try it on, let me see,” she directs.

He grins at her again and disappears back into the changing room. Donna stares at the pile of clothes, trying to think of other options. She can’t imagine him in a normal shirt and pants, not with his vaguely threatening appearance. He needs something that will give him a bit of an edge.

The doors swing open and he steps out.

The fine lines on the burgundy jumper seem to add to his already considerable height. He’s pulled it down to cover his slender frame and the length suits him.

“Not bad,” she admits.

“Needs something else though,” he tells her, turning to peer into the mirror at the far end of the row of changing rooms. “It just feels – unfinished.”

“Jewellery? A thick chain around your neck or something?”

He responds to this suggestion almost with indignation. “Not on your life!”

“All right, no need to get hot under the collar!” She rolls her eyes. “It was only an idea!”

“Can’t you come up with something else?”

“Try on the rest of those things and I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re trusting me to make up my own mind then? About what I want to wear?”

“Oh, get off!” She grins at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He returns her smile and then disappears back into the cubicle with an armful of clothes as she heads back out among the racks.

“Can I help you?” a young, blonde female sales assistant asks as she looks up from arranging a new display on one of the raised stands.

“Just browsing thanks,” Donna assures her.

She finds herself at the shelves where she found that auburn jumper and notices a few more of the same item, but in bottle green, aubergine, black and dark blue. She picks up one of each.

It’s as she’s heading back to the change rooms that she notices the selection of jackets on a nearby stand.

With a muffled yelp of delight, she pounces on a black leather jacket and then turns to the small cubicles.

The man is waiting for her, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the wall, the auburn jumper and black pants on again.

“All rubbish,” he says firmly. “Sorry, but it looked terrible.”

“That’s what I thought.” She dumps everyone on a convenient chair. “That’s why I got you these. Just for a bit of variety.”

“Oh, yes!” He sweeps the jumpers up to examine them in the harsh light, his smile widening. “I like them!”

“I think I found your ‘something else’, too,” she tells him. “Here, put those down for a minute and try this on.”

He glances at her as she picks up the coat and then, somewhat surprisingly, does as she’s said without argument.

As he turns his back to her, she holds up the jacket and he shrugs into it.

For a moment they stare at his reflection in the mirror.

Then he turns to her.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Good.” She nods, turning away from the huge pile of clothes they’re leaving behind, and picks up her bag. “Let’s get those paid for then and you can head back off to whatever you were doing while I go home before my mother calls the police to find me.”

For a moment, he simply stares at her, and she’s confused by the hurt bewilderment in his eyes.

“You know,” he says slowly, hugging his jumpers closer to his chest, “I sort of meant it before when I asked if you wanted to come.”

“Yeah, well, while I might go shopping with some random bloke in the street, I don’t just head off with them into the wild blue yonder,” she retorts. “Come on, just pay for it all and let’s get out of here.”

“Oh.” His face drops and he suddenly pats his pockets. “Pay. Yes. Right.” He looks a touch sheepish. “I’m going to have to go and get my, you know, my…”

“Wallet,” she fills in for him. “Or are you one of those super-modern blokes that carries a bag everywhere? Whatever it is, I’ll hang about here as insurance that you’re coming back. Just don’t be long, okay, or they’ll probably have you up for theft.”

“Won’t be a minute!” he promises, and then heads out of the shop at a run.

After a second, and just as he’s out of sight, Donna realises that the security tags are still on the clothes she’s selected for him. Clearly he won’t get far, and she heads off in the direction of the entrance, expecting him to return any moment.

She’s still standing there, checking that nobody’s called her phone while she was gone and waiting for him to come back, when she faintly hears a clanking, grinding noise from somewhere nearby. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a gust of wind billow down the road, sending a scattering of leaves dancing in front of it. And when she finally peers out of the window to check if he’s coming back, the street is so clearly empty that she knows he’s done a runner.

Growling under her breath, Donna Noble goes over to the counter to pay for the clothes she doubts she will ever see again, cursing the ingratitude of useless men and her own soppiness and inability to turn away from those who are suffering.

It’s only at that moment that she realises she never even asked his name.

* * *
Donna stops dead in the doorway of the room she has just opened.

It’s somewhere she has never been before – clearly the TARDIS is indulging in her usual game of moving rooms around – but the space is full of huge racks of clothing that seem to reach up to the ceiling and beyond, with a circular staircase in the middle.

However even that isn’t enough to have halted her like this, her mouth actually hanging open as if she’s trying to catch flies.

What has achieved it, though, is the sight of a black leather jacket and a series of v-neck jumpers hanging on the closest rack.

It’s an outfit she hasn’t seen since she looked at the reflection of a man with very short hair who, prior to her finding him new clothes, looked as if he had been dragged backwards through a hedge that had apparently been attacking him.

A man she hasn’t seen since.

And perhaps for the very good reason that, as she’s now realising, that face no longer exists.

Donna swallows hard, about to call out to the Doctor, when she hears his footsteps from behind her.

“There you are! I was wondering if you’d gone and got yourself lost again!”

“Actually, I just found this room,” she tells him, her tone full of meaning as she nods at the large wardrobe, keeping her gaze fixed on his face.

A variety of expressions dances across his face: surprise, shock, confusion, gradual understanding, and finally a look of concern and then horror.

Finally he turns back to face her, his expression shamefaced and rather woebegone, as if he’s expecting her to blow up at him in a rage and demand to know why he hasn’t told her the truth before.

In fact, now that she thinks about it, that’s probably not an unreasonable question, but she’ll save it for later.

Instead, she leans against the doorjamb, her arms folded over her chest, and arches an eyebrow as she gazes at him.

He stares at the floor, one converse-clad foot tracing meaningless patterns on the floor, and then finally lifts his gaze a little to look at the black leather jacket and dark pants that she had selected so long ago.

“I was going to tell you,” he mumbles in the end.

“Really,” she says coolly.

“I was!” he protests indignantly. “Just – I don’t know – at the right moment!”

“It just hasn’t come yet, has it?”

“No.” He nods and then musters a shy grin, venturing it in her direction. “Um, thank you?”

“Better late than never.”

“I wasn’t the most grateful person then,” he admits, before suddenly reaching out and pulling her into such a strong hug that the breath is momentarily knocked out of her. “But you can’t possibly imagine how much that meant then. It’s like you always said. I needed someone – just one person to feel like they cared, like I mattered somehow.”

For a moment, she considers arguing with him, pointing out that he’s always mattered, suggesting how impossible life would be without the Doctor there to save the day.

But she suspects he already knows all of that, and besides, she isn’t used to boosting his already substantial ego. Instead she just wraps her arms around him and hugs him back, resting her head on his shoulder as she remarks,

“Well, at least now you can pay me back!”