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Title: Rolling Out The Red Carpet 3/3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katherine_b
Rating:
Summary: The Doctor might have to do something that goes totally against the grain.
Part III
The Doctor opens the door of the TARDIS, half-expecting to see a cluster of small, sharp spears pointing at him. Instead he finds himself staring at an ornate carved door, the blue box neatly blocking the doorway, and he glances through a small gap between the TARDIS and the doorjamb to see how far along the corridor he is.
Eighth room from the right.
He gives the TARDIS a pat of thanks. Now he just has to hope now that he’s on the right level.
With some misgivings, he sonics the door and opens it a few inches, peering into the room – and then sighs with relief as he sees Donna sitting in an armchair, a knowing smile on her face as she watches him. As he steps over the threshold, he sees that she’s clad in an ornate velvet gown in emerald green that makes her hair glow. Silver rings glitter on her fingers and light bangles clink on her wrists as she moves.
He has to admit that she looks positively stunning.
“What kept you, Spaceman?” she asks as she gets up. “And where’s my bow?”
“Your bow?!” he exclaims scornfully as he closes the door behind him. “What, you expect me to fall on my knees – again, I might add – and worship you or something?”
“Why not?” She arches an eyebrow. “Everyone else here does.”
“Donna!” He glares at her. “Us! Leaving! Now!”
“No.” She smirks and sits on the bed. “I like it here. They respect me. For the first time in my many years of being constantly teased for being a ginger top, I finally get treated well because of it. And honestly, I like it!”
“What, so you’re just going to stay here forever?” he demands, folding his arms and feeling a surprising flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach. “Let them fawn all over you for the rest of your days?”
Donna reaches up to touch the silver tiara resting on her red hair, which reflects the burning torches and oil lamps that light the room. “Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not!” He takes a step towards her, trying to decide how hard she’d slap him if he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the TARDIS by force. Quite hard, he decides at last, and keeps his hands by his sides. “Because you can’t, that’s why! You don’t belong here! You’re out of your own time!”
She shrugs. “Never really felt as if I belonged there anyway.”
“What about your Mum?” he prompts, knowing that she’s not about to abandon her family, even if she seems astonishingly likely to let him fly away without her. “And Wilfred?”
“Brilliant!” Donna’s eyes sparkle. “You could bring them here! They’d love it! Mum would go mad for all the clothes they’ve got, and Gramps…”
“The TARDIS is not a taxi service!” he bursts out, exasperated. “I’m not here to fetch and carry for you!”
She pulls her legs up and hugs them so that he can see the delicate silver sandals on her feet. “Then why are you here?” she asks curiously.
“To rescue you!”
“But I don’t need rescuing,” she says with a gesture of demonstration. “I’m quite happy.”
“As soon as the TARDIS leaves,” he threatens, “she won’t be able to extend her translation circuits to help you anymore. You won’t understand a word they say.”
“I’ll learn.” She tilts her head on one side. “I’m quick at languages.”
“The squeaking will drive you crazy!”
“I’m used to your voice nattering away in the background, not to mention Mum going on and on and on. If I can deal with that, I can cope with anything.”
“Oi!”
Frustration is building so quickly in the Doctor that he wants to scream. He hates the calm manner in which Donna is defying him, but he’s even more furious about the fear that is building inside him. At first, particularly when she told him where her room was, he was certain that she would be ready to leave the moment he appeared. But now, he honestly can’t tell if she’s coming with him or not. And he hates how terrified the thought of leaving without her makes him.
“Donna,” he says in the iciest voice he can manage considering how rage is boiling inside him, “we’re leaving. Both of us. Right now.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Doctor,” she says smugly. “I’m more powerful.”
“What?!” he demands, disbelieving.
“A Queen outranks a Lord,” she points out. “Even a Time Lord.”
“You aren’t a queen!” He glares at her. “It’s just that these stupid little mousy people have decided that your natural hair colour makes you something special – as if you had any say in what you look like!”
She sits bolt upright, a look of horror creeping over her features. “You said they weren’t mice!”
“I was lying,” he retorts untruthfully, hoping she doesn’t pick up on it.
“I think you’re lying now.” Donna’s response is cool as she arches an eyebrow and relaxes back against the massive pile of cushions on the bed. “You’re just using any excuse you can think of that might make me leave with you.”
“What do you want me to do, Donna,” he demands angrily, “beg?”
“Actually,” she smirks, “yes. That’s exactly what I want. Because we both know you aren’t going to leave without me, but I want to know just how much you want me to come with you.”
He folds his arms, tilting his head up so that he can look down his nose at her. “You’re so sure about that?” he demands sarcastically.
She pulls her face into a pathetic-looking pout. “It’s a bit soon,” she says in what he suddenly realises is a mockery of what he said to her in the ATMOS factory. “I had so many places I wanted to take you!”
“Oh, all right,” he snaps in irritation at the fact that she knows him so well that she isn’t going to be taken-in by any fraudulent attempts he makes at leaving without her.
His secret fear is that he might not know her as well as he thinks – hopes! – he does, and that, against all of his expectations, she might actually be happy staying here on Zingiber forever. With or without him.
“Why are you being so difficult?” he demands in frustration.
“Honestly?” A light dances in Donna’s eyes. “I’m enjoying watching you squirm.”
“Gah!” He turns on his heel, stomping over to the far side of the room, knowing that, behind him, Donna is smirking. “You,” he declares, turning to point an accusing finger at her, “are impossible! Did you know that? Stubborn doesn’t even begin to cover it!”
“The unstoppable force meets the immovable object,” Donna says with a grin. “We did that in physics. Third Year Seniors, I think. But,” she muses in a tone that somehow only heightens his rage and frustration as she removes her tiara and swings it between her finger and thumb, “can the Oncoming Storm really be classified as an unstoppable force?”
“You’re mocking me!” he exclaims in disgust and fury. “Again! Just like you did with the Sontarans!”
She gives him her sweetest smile, laughter dancing in her eyes, and, his rage cooling faster than the speed of light, he realises just how silly he must have looked with his raging and fuming.
“Mmm hmm,” she agrees with a laugh. “And you’re jumping through exactly the same hoops as you did then. What’s that saying about ‘fool me once’…?”
“Shame on you,” he says sternly, trying to frown, but now that he’s no longer angry, it comes out more as a grimace.
She grins and tosses the tiara at him. He fumbles the catch, but finally manages to snag it between his hands and arches an eyebrow at her.
“Relinquishing the throne?”
“If there’s something better on offer,” she says with a shrug.
He grins. “What about the respect and the adoration and the power?” he asks.
“Meh.” She rolls her eyes. “I can manage without those.”
“Well, in that case,” he crosses the room and places the tiara on the bed beside her. Then, as she stares, he drops to one knee, “would your Majesty consent to accompany a lonely, and, at times, far too gullible, old Time Lord on his travels around the universe?”
Donna smiles and offers him her hand in a suitably regal manner. He presses his lips to the back of it, seeing her eyebrows dart momentarily upwards, before rising to his feet and offering her his arm as he did in the 1920s.
“Well, ma’am,” he suggests, “shall we depart before our murine hosts have a chance to catch wind of our escape?”
“Our what?” Donna demands. “Talk English, Spaceman!”
“Murine.” He grins. “Of or relating to a mouse. As with equine or lupine. Probably something you should have learned in Fourth Year Senior English, in fact.”
“Oh, give it a rest, show-off.” She rolls her eyes and stands up, sliding her arm around his and using the opportunity to give him a gentle nudge.
He grins, leading her towards the door, only to be pulled up short as she suddenly stops. The worry on her face as she looks down concerns him.
“What is it?” he asks anxiously. “Donna, we’ve mucked about enough. Someone is going to realize they can’t get into this room soon and then they’ll raise the alarm.”
“No, it’s just,” he realises the expression on her face is similar to the pain he saw when they were in Pompeii and suspects he knows what she’s going to say, “is it fair on them if I leave? I mean, they’ve been so nice, and I’m sort of abandoning them.”
The Doctor gently turns her to face him and places his hands on her shoulders. “Donna, the Zingiberians have been around for longer than humans have. Believe me, they had a perfectly reasonable system of government before you came along, and once they realize you’re gone, they’ll revert to that.”
He grins at the relieved look on her face.
“Someone might write a song about you or do a painting or something,” he suggests as he slides his arm around her shoulders, “and I’m sure they will remember their ginger-haired monarch very fondly, but for now,” he leans over and opens the ornate carved door to show the blue doors of the telephone box behind it, “the TARDIS and I are missing our own redhead queen. So if your Majesty would care to step aboard…?”
The door of the TARDIS swings open of its own accord, as if in confirmation of his words, and Donna looks from the console to the Doctor, uncertainty at war with delight in her eyes.
“You really missed me?” she asks somewhat hesitantly.
“You have no idea!” he swears solemnly, and the very last of his fears dissolves as Donna allows herself to be guided inside the TARDIS and he can finally close the doors behind them.
Author:
katherine_b Rating:
Summary: The Doctor might have to do something that goes totally against the grain.
Part III
The Doctor opens the door of the TARDIS, half-expecting to see a cluster of small, sharp spears pointing at him. Instead he finds himself staring at an ornate carved door, the blue box neatly blocking the doorway, and he glances through a small gap between the TARDIS and the doorjamb to see how far along the corridor he is.
Eighth room from the right.
He gives the TARDIS a pat of thanks. Now he just has to hope now that he’s on the right level.
With some misgivings, he sonics the door and opens it a few inches, peering into the room – and then sighs with relief as he sees Donna sitting in an armchair, a knowing smile on her face as she watches him. As he steps over the threshold, he sees that she’s clad in an ornate velvet gown in emerald green that makes her hair glow. Silver rings glitter on her fingers and light bangles clink on her wrists as she moves.
He has to admit that she looks positively stunning.
“What kept you, Spaceman?” she asks as she gets up. “And where’s my bow?”
“Your bow?!” he exclaims scornfully as he closes the door behind him. “What, you expect me to fall on my knees – again, I might add – and worship you or something?”
“Why not?” She arches an eyebrow. “Everyone else here does.”
“Donna!” He glares at her. “Us! Leaving! Now!”
“No.” She smirks and sits on the bed. “I like it here. They respect me. For the first time in my many years of being constantly teased for being a ginger top, I finally get treated well because of it. And honestly, I like it!”
“What, so you’re just going to stay here forever?” he demands, folding his arms and feeling a surprising flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach. “Let them fawn all over you for the rest of your days?”
Donna reaches up to touch the silver tiara resting on her red hair, which reflects the burning torches and oil lamps that light the room. “Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not!” He takes a step towards her, trying to decide how hard she’d slap him if he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the TARDIS by force. Quite hard, he decides at last, and keeps his hands by his sides. “Because you can’t, that’s why! You don’t belong here! You’re out of your own time!”
She shrugs. “Never really felt as if I belonged there anyway.”
“What about your Mum?” he prompts, knowing that she’s not about to abandon her family, even if she seems astonishingly likely to let him fly away without her. “And Wilfred?”
“Brilliant!” Donna’s eyes sparkle. “You could bring them here! They’d love it! Mum would go mad for all the clothes they’ve got, and Gramps…”
“The TARDIS is not a taxi service!” he bursts out, exasperated. “I’m not here to fetch and carry for you!”
She pulls her legs up and hugs them so that he can see the delicate silver sandals on her feet. “Then why are you here?” she asks curiously.
“To rescue you!”
“But I don’t need rescuing,” she says with a gesture of demonstration. “I’m quite happy.”
“As soon as the TARDIS leaves,” he threatens, “she won’t be able to extend her translation circuits to help you anymore. You won’t understand a word they say.”
“I’ll learn.” She tilts her head on one side. “I’m quick at languages.”
“The squeaking will drive you crazy!”
“I’m used to your voice nattering away in the background, not to mention Mum going on and on and on. If I can deal with that, I can cope with anything.”
“Oi!”
Frustration is building so quickly in the Doctor that he wants to scream. He hates the calm manner in which Donna is defying him, but he’s even more furious about the fear that is building inside him. At first, particularly when she told him where her room was, he was certain that she would be ready to leave the moment he appeared. But now, he honestly can’t tell if she’s coming with him or not. And he hates how terrified the thought of leaving without her makes him.
“Donna,” he says in the iciest voice he can manage considering how rage is boiling inside him, “we’re leaving. Both of us. Right now.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Doctor,” she says smugly. “I’m more powerful.”
“What?!” he demands, disbelieving.
“A Queen outranks a Lord,” she points out. “Even a Time Lord.”
“You aren’t a queen!” He glares at her. “It’s just that these stupid little mousy people have decided that your natural hair colour makes you something special – as if you had any say in what you look like!”
She sits bolt upright, a look of horror creeping over her features. “You said they weren’t mice!”
“I was lying,” he retorts untruthfully, hoping she doesn’t pick up on it.
“I think you’re lying now.” Donna’s response is cool as she arches an eyebrow and relaxes back against the massive pile of cushions on the bed. “You’re just using any excuse you can think of that might make me leave with you.”
“What do you want me to do, Donna,” he demands angrily, “beg?”
“Actually,” she smirks, “yes. That’s exactly what I want. Because we both know you aren’t going to leave without me, but I want to know just how much you want me to come with you.”
He folds his arms, tilting his head up so that he can look down his nose at her. “You’re so sure about that?” he demands sarcastically.
She pulls her face into a pathetic-looking pout. “It’s a bit soon,” she says in what he suddenly realises is a mockery of what he said to her in the ATMOS factory. “I had so many places I wanted to take you!”
“Oh, all right,” he snaps in irritation at the fact that she knows him so well that she isn’t going to be taken-in by any fraudulent attempts he makes at leaving without her.
His secret fear is that he might not know her as well as he thinks – hopes! – he does, and that, against all of his expectations, she might actually be happy staying here on Zingiber forever. With or without him.
“Why are you being so difficult?” he demands in frustration.
“Honestly?” A light dances in Donna’s eyes. “I’m enjoying watching you squirm.”
“Gah!” He turns on his heel, stomping over to the far side of the room, knowing that, behind him, Donna is smirking. “You,” he declares, turning to point an accusing finger at her, “are impossible! Did you know that? Stubborn doesn’t even begin to cover it!”
“The unstoppable force meets the immovable object,” Donna says with a grin. “We did that in physics. Third Year Seniors, I think. But,” she muses in a tone that somehow only heightens his rage and frustration as she removes her tiara and swings it between her finger and thumb, “can the Oncoming Storm really be classified as an unstoppable force?”
“You’re mocking me!” he exclaims in disgust and fury. “Again! Just like you did with the Sontarans!”
She gives him her sweetest smile, laughter dancing in her eyes, and, his rage cooling faster than the speed of light, he realises just how silly he must have looked with his raging and fuming.
“Mmm hmm,” she agrees with a laugh. “And you’re jumping through exactly the same hoops as you did then. What’s that saying about ‘fool me once’…?”
“Shame on you,” he says sternly, trying to frown, but now that he’s no longer angry, it comes out more as a grimace.
She grins and tosses the tiara at him. He fumbles the catch, but finally manages to snag it between his hands and arches an eyebrow at her.
“Relinquishing the throne?”
“If there’s something better on offer,” she says with a shrug.
He grins. “What about the respect and the adoration and the power?” he asks.
“Meh.” She rolls her eyes. “I can manage without those.”
“Well, in that case,” he crosses the room and places the tiara on the bed beside her. Then, as she stares, he drops to one knee, “would your Majesty consent to accompany a lonely, and, at times, far too gullible, old Time Lord on his travels around the universe?”
Donna smiles and offers him her hand in a suitably regal manner. He presses his lips to the back of it, seeing her eyebrows dart momentarily upwards, before rising to his feet and offering her his arm as he did in the 1920s.
“Well, ma’am,” he suggests, “shall we depart before our murine hosts have a chance to catch wind of our escape?”
“Our what?” Donna demands. “Talk English, Spaceman!”
“Murine.” He grins. “Of or relating to a mouse. As with equine or lupine. Probably something you should have learned in Fourth Year Senior English, in fact.”
“Oh, give it a rest, show-off.” She rolls her eyes and stands up, sliding her arm around his and using the opportunity to give him a gentle nudge.
He grins, leading her towards the door, only to be pulled up short as she suddenly stops. The worry on her face as she looks down concerns him.
“What is it?” he asks anxiously. “Donna, we’ve mucked about enough. Someone is going to realize they can’t get into this room soon and then they’ll raise the alarm.”
“No, it’s just,” he realises the expression on her face is similar to the pain he saw when they were in Pompeii and suspects he knows what she’s going to say, “is it fair on them if I leave? I mean, they’ve been so nice, and I’m sort of abandoning them.”
The Doctor gently turns her to face him and places his hands on her shoulders. “Donna, the Zingiberians have been around for longer than humans have. Believe me, they had a perfectly reasonable system of government before you came along, and once they realize you’re gone, they’ll revert to that.”
He grins at the relieved look on her face.
“Someone might write a song about you or do a painting or something,” he suggests as he slides his arm around her shoulders, “and I’m sure they will remember their ginger-haired monarch very fondly, but for now,” he leans over and opens the ornate carved door to show the blue doors of the telephone box behind it, “the TARDIS and I are missing our own redhead queen. So if your Majesty would care to step aboard…?”
The door of the TARDIS swings open of its own accord, as if in confirmation of his words, and Donna looks from the console to the Doctor, uncertainty at war with delight in her eyes.
“You really missed me?” she asks somewhat hesitantly.
“You have no idea!” he swears solemnly, and the very last of his fears dissolves as Donna allows herself to be guided inside the TARDIS and he can finally close the doors behind them.
embarrassed