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love-in-the-time · 2 months

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I Get to Keep You: Fourteen/Donna, M for all kinds of things

Title: I Get to Keep You Author: love-in-the-time Rating: M for language, sex, violence, etc. Summary: Donna has a specialized task that no one else is truly capable of accomplishing, since it requires the willing participation of the Doctor. Fourteen/Donna DOMESTIC BLISS.

UNIT hires Donna in the days following the Toymaker's disappearance, signing a contract for a hundred-fifty thousand pounds a year, five weeks vacation, and an annual bonus. She can relax, finally, about money. It's part of why she is so excited to help the Doctor pick a house; he decides on the French countryside, to Donna's delight and enchantment.

Kate Stewart explained that if the Doctor was going to live on earth permanently, it would be safer for all involved if it was as unobtrusive as possible. A French garden with a bit of land around it would be an ideal place for a blue box that would blend gently into its surroundings. She also explains that UNIT has indeed been paying the Doctor for the past seventy years, and he has an Earth bank account with several million pounds in it, just waiting for his use.

So he chooses a pretty country house outside of Montresor, in the Indrois Valley, and buys it outright. It's surrounded by lush green land, with an enormous enclosed garden. There are many more bedrooms than he needs, and the floors are all polished wood, with high windows and charming details everywhere. Donna moves through the house with the same excitement as the TARDIS, exclaiming over the views and the crown moldings and the polished wood floors and the stained glass. UNIT provides him with furniture and a car, all official and licensed, so that he is within easy reach of the agency should it be needed. Rose is enrolled in an international school, where she is boarded with the children of UNIT employees from all over the world, and thrives in the specialized environment of the school. Location undisclosed, of course, to all except the families.

The Doctor, upon closing the contract to the house with Donna next to him, proceeds to hand her a key immediately. "This is your home too, for the rest of your life, just like the TARDIS," he tells her. "Thank you for coming to help me pick it out."

Donna just smiles. "Welcome home, Spaceman," she says.

"Promise me you'll stay here," the Doctor says. "And bring your family with you."

"As often as I can," Donna says.

"And you can come by yourself too," the Doctor says hopefully, half a question. "Just to hang out? I'll take you by TARDIS, of course."

Donna looks over the lovely house and says, "It'll be my joy."

On a Friday in late August, when the Doctor has been settled into the new house for a few months and Donna has spent the last few days with him planting a garden, she is called for a meeting at UNIT headquarters in Paris, which by train would have taken hours from either London or Montresor. But since the Doctor is Scientific Advisor Number One to UNIT and is naturally also invited to the meeting, he of course takes her by TARDIS. "Exclusive transport," he tells her, grinning. "Go man your station."

Still not quite able to believe what her life has become, Donna circles the TARDIS console with a smile on her face. She knows what to do, she can hear the TARDIS hum under her hands, and within a minute she meets the Doctor at the middle of the console, the central line wheezing away as always.

She smiles at him for a moment, and he says, "God, I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," Donna says. "I can hardly even absorb what's happening."

"Well you'd have to know that UNIT would be interested in you," the Doctor says. "And very interested, too, if that contract is any indication."

"Did you read it?" Donna asks, surprised.

"I helped write it," the Doctor says. "You don't know everything, Donna Noble."

"Is that how I got a hundred fifty instead of a hundred twenty?" Donna asks.

"Oh, I told them a million," the Doctor shrugs. "They wouldn't go for it, of course, but they know who you are. You're needed. You're good. You're fast. You can do anything, and you can help."

Donna nods. "I can help," she says. "That's all I ever wanted to do." She looks down at herself. "What d'you think, am I professional enough for it?" She's wearing an elegant slim navy suit with a soft white blouse.

"You're beautiful," is all the Doctor says. With its new Arrival Alert System in place, the TARDIS gives a bright ding as they land inside a UNIT garage. They are met by escorts who bring them to the conference room where the French delegation is assembled. They are greeted enthusiastically by everyone, and Donna is bemused to find herself in the middle of a true agency meeting, in a clean and minimalist blue-and-white conference room. But she has her credentials clipped to her jacket, and so does everyone else, even the Doctor, still wearing his brown-and-blue checked suit. Everyone is provided with standard issue tablets and there is a screen for everyone to consult on the wall.

They undergo an extensive briefing concerning the most recent events in Europe, and an American consultant joins them via the big screen to discuss international issues. At the conclusion of that, the agents file out in orderly line, leaving Donna and the Doctor with the commanding officer, Major Paulette Marnier.

"We've been informed by Brigadier Stewart in London that you're being directly trained by the Doctor," the major says. "That's better than anything we could offer you anyway, so your protocol has been adjusted and you're free to take your training aboard the TARDIS." She looks down at her tablet. "The next order is the record of Miss Noble as the other TARDIS traveler on our books. She needs to be appointed as a licensed TARDIS pilot. It's quite a sophisticated piece of machinery."

"I'll sign off on that," the Doctor says. He's beaming.

"Right," Paulette says. "I'll need to see Miss Noble alone in my office for a moment, so we are adjourned."

Donna looks to the Doctor, who rises alongside her from the table. "I'll wait for you," he says. "That's what I do now."

The major watches the two of them smile at each other as if there is no one else in the room. She thinks this woman must be extraordinary indeed if the Doctor is attached to her in this way.

Inside the lovely, wood-furnished office of the major, Donna seats herself across from the older woman. "First of all, welcome," Paulette says. "You can't imagine how pleased we are to have you join us."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Donna says. "Thank you. It's been an amazing change."

"I'm consulting with you in private regarding the Doctor," Paulette says. "We've never had him in permanent residence on Earth before, and regardless of his provenance, we are committed to the safety and security of your family since he has decided to live with you." She folds her hands. "For all intents and purposes you are our liaison to him, and in the interest of security we ask that you remain in that position for as long as you are able, even when you retire from UNIT."

"I don't know if he'll stay with me forever," Donna says.

"Oh, I think we can be pretty confident he will be around for a long time," Paulette says, with certainty that is both professional and personal.

Donna doesn't say anything in response, but her expression speaks for her. The mix of hope, fear, and joy on her face is vulnerable. She clears her throat. "Anyway," she says. "Yes, I will serve as permanent UNIT liaison to the Doctor."

"You have a specialized task," Paulette continues. "And a completely unique one, since it requires his willing participation. You're the one who will give this Doctor a reason to retire. Who will ensure that this Doctor, in order to ensure the safety of all other Doctors, will retain his peace of mind. A French countryside garden with a meadow and a view of the river is an ideal place for that, wouldn't you say? But even more important, Donna, is that the said French garden contains you. As often as possible."

"I think that won't be a problem," Donna says, her voice a little threadbare from self control. She's wanted to cry from relief a million times since he's been back and neither of them have had the chance.

"It means that you will receive information about things UNIT doesn't know," Paulette continues. "This information is released at your discretion, of course, we make no presumptions on your personal interactions with the Doctor. You are his closest contact and as such you retain specific rights."

"What does that mean?" Donna says. "That I have no privacy concerning him if necessary?"

"Quite the opposite," Paulette says. "Rather that all of your interactions are privileged, no matter personal or professional. You aren't property of UNIT, you are our most valuable consultant."

Donna has never had power in her life, and now she is humbled by the idea that UNIT seeks to protect and privilege her life with the Doctor, essentially turning their relationship into a state secret. The ultimate safety in history, she thinks. Only they two will know the truth. Even her family will have no access.

It's a terribly lonely idea, she thinks, and only not lonely because she will share it, as she has shared her mind, with the Doctor. The momentousness of the idea is a little overwhelming.

Even in her personal life she hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that she will never actually be without the Doctor again. Sometimes she lies awake at night in her room in France, looking out the window at the blue box parked in his garden, in a corner bursting with flowers and a sturdy old tree whose branches gave shade. It's like walking into Eden when she goes to the TARDIS, a feeling that she hasn't assimilated yet.

"I can agree to that," she says.

"Good," Paulette says. "It's a heavy task, but I have to emphasize the necessity of it. Your discretion is paramount in order to maintain the safety of yourself, the Doctor, and your family. It will be a contingency for your job that you maintain your silence. Any leaks are dangerous for all."

Donna nods. "I understand," she says.

"It's pretty standard for UNIT," The major says. "Well, thank you, it's been a very exciting day for us. We'll be in touch for your next in-person report, and meanwhile you and the Doctor can operate from aboard the TARDIS at your discretion." She stands up with Donna, and gives her a salute. "Good luck. Look after him."

Donna finds the Doctor sitting patiently in the vestibule of the building, reading a book he'd probably had stashed in the dimensional pocket of his coat, a suspicion confirmed to Donna when he sees her and drops it right back into his inner pocket. "We're off," Donna says cheerfully to him, and he offers her his arm. The same escort comes to bring them back to the garage to the TARDIS.

"What d'you fancy?" the Doctor asks. "Lunch in Paris? Say... seventeenth century? We're here anyway."

"Lunch in Paris sounds glorious," Donna says. "Today. Here. Now."

So the Doctor parks the TARDIS on the Rue de Richelieu, where they have an exquisite lunch at Juveniles, one of Paris's best restaurants. It's small, charming, and private. They drink wine and eat duck and steak. They talk quietly and intimately between them, since they can't discuss work, and render each other helpless with laughter over their food. At the end of it the Doctor pulls out a magnetic strip card Donna recognizes. "Oh, the intergalactic bank card," she says to him. "I remember that."

"Unlimited funds," the Doctor shrugs. "Money is a stupid concept."

On the streets of Paris, Donna takes his arm again and says, "You're going to have to wear something besides that suit, you know. People will think you're mad. Or dirty."

"I am one of those, but not the other," the Doctor says contentedly. "But fair point."

"You know I don't care what you wear at home, but for going out in public you can't be in the same thing all the time. It makes you recognizable. We're trying to avoid you being 'that skinny bloke who's always in the same suit,' you know."

"Are there any boutiques you prefer?" the Doctor asks her teasingly. "Anywhere I should go and get my suits?"

"Have you ever thought about ordinary clothes? Like a pair of jeans? You can keep those ratty trainers. Maybe a band t-shirt?"

"A what?"

"You know. A t-shirt. With The Pogues on or something."

"You mean like that Scooby Doo shirt you have?"

Donna laughs. "Yeah," she says. "Like that. Ordinary. Normal."

"Normal's a stupid word," the Doctor says. "Wanna walk along the Right Bank?" He gestures. "The Seine is right there."

"What is it with you and rivers?" Donna asks. Then she grins. "Oh. River Song, of course."

The Doctor smiles. "The Thames, the Loire, the Seine, they're all one to me now as long as you're there."

They sit at a small café on the Right Bank for hours, in comfortable silences interspersed with laughter and conversation. When the sun starts to set, Donna puts her coffee cup down and sighs. "You know we'd better go back," she says.

"All right." The Doctor gets up and offers her his hand instead of his arm this time. Donna looks from his hand to his face and they walk away hand-in-hand along the bank.

Inside the TARDIS they move quietly alongside the console, piloting the ship into stable flight. Donna sighs and steps back, leaning against the railing. She looks contemplatively at the Doctor, who catches her eye when he looks up. "What?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," Donna says. "Just... filling my mind up with the idea that you're here to stay for a while."

He comes to her to hug her close, wrapping her up the way he always used to do. Donna sighs again, burrowing into his embrace and clutching him the way she wants to. "D'you have to be married, Donna?" the Doctor murmurs into her hair.

There's a little silence. Donna wraps her arms more tightly around him. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't lost you."

"Are you happy?"

Another little silence. "I thought we were, living the ordinary way we did. But I always knew I wasn't doing enough. I always knew I was missing something," Donna says.

"Do you love him?"

"In my way," Donna says. "He was there for me when I forgot. He was kind to me and he's been wonderful to me. He accepted me as I am. As I was. I can't speak for now until I see how this new life affects us." She unravels herself from his embrace to look up at him. Again, her face is vulnerable. "These are circumstances all beyond our control, right?"

"I s'pose some of them are," the Doctor says.

"What about Rose?"

"She is your beautiful daughter, and anything that is part of you is something and someone I love beyond measure," the Doctor says.

"But not Shaun?"

The Doctor smiles. "He's not part of you."

"You called him your brother-in-law," Donna says, exasperated but smiling.

"And so he is, as long as he's married to you. Just a useful human label to characterize," the Doctor shrugs. "So! Are you allowed to tell me what the Major briefed you about?"

"Er," Donna says. "She made our relationship a matter of national security. Everything we say and do together is entirely privileged, and UNIT has no access to anything except what we choose to tell them. Nor anyone else without a security clearance."

"That means your family," the Doctor says. He gives her a little compassionate look and says, "That could be lonely, Donna."

"Not with you around," Donna says firmly. "That's my compensation, even more than the money. So you don't go anywhere, or it all means nothing."

The Doctor starts to smile, then, big and delighted. "So now everything between us is only between us by international and intergalactic statute," he says. "That sounds like a lot of fun, Donna Noble. We can do anything, remember?"

"It sounds monumental," Donna says. "It sounds like infinite possibility, even more than it did the first time around."

"You all right with it?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Yeah. I am. It's right."

"Good!" says the Doctor brightly, to disguise his emotions. "Let's go home, eh?"

"Yes, please," Donna says.

So when they land in his garden once more, the little ding signal chiming their arrival, Donna settles back against the railing. "Aren't you going to go back in the house?" the Doctor asks, his eyebrows raising.

Donna shakes her head, smiling a little. "Not yet," she says. "I'm going to my room for a minute. I have some things I want to get."

In an instinctive gesture, he follows her down the hallway to the first door on the right, where the TARDIS always puts the door to where its inhabitants want to go.

Donna's room has been stored in the TARDIS memory banks since Donna left, and has been preserved in the state it was ever since, down to the page in the book Donna was reading on her bed. She opens the door into what was her sanctuary, a room where she had everything she could imagine, everything she wanted, everything she needed, and best of all, the Doctor to make her laugh.

"Remember?" Donna asks, and the Doctor nods wordlessly, as if he could speak around the lump in his throat.

"We slept in that bed a lot," Donna says, pointing to her giant, purple-covered bed with the plethora of pillows and huge plush blankets.

"Yeah," he says. "We did. Best sleep of my life."

"You need more of it," Donna says.

"Maybe I'll get more of it now that you're around," the Doctor replies, and Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Anyway, it's an intergalactic secret whether I sleep or not," the Doctor adds.

"Well, what you need is plenty of good food, and lots of sleep," Donna says.

"And joy, and laughter," the Doctor says. "And you."

"I've got all those things," Donna says, putting her hands on her hips. "I just want to grab a few things from here for the house."

In a few minutes she comes out with her clothes changed into comfortable leggings and a sweater. She has an armful of things, including her giant purple blanket to give to Rose for her bed. She has a box full of jewelry and clothing, and a set of Shakespeare editions she'd hidden away because they were seventeenth-century prints, beautifully and expensively bound. "Just some treasures," she tells the Doctor, who smiles at her proudly. "The rest of it can stay here."

She carries them herself to the TARDIS doors and leaves them just inside so she'll remember to take them with her when she goes back to London. "Meanwhile," she says. "What d'you say, should we crack a bottle and sit in the library?"

"Oh, you know I always loved doing that," the Doctor says.

"Me too," Donna says. "Something about being surrounded by books. Comforting. Like sitting in your imagination."

Inside the TARDIS library, somewhere between a medieval archive, a university library, and a cathedral, Donna sits down in the same spot in front of the enormous fireplace (merrily lit as usual) that she always used to, on the red Persian rug that was always soft and comfortable. A moment later the Doctor joins her with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"You should think about picking an Earth name," Donna says. "People will want to know even if they call you Doctor."

The Doctor shrugs. "Whatever," he says, filling the glasses and handing her one. "I'll pick something serviceable. It'll take me a while to answer to it anyway." He gives her a sideways smile. "I always liked the way you said 'Doctor' anyway."

Donna clinks her glass with him. "To knowing who you are."

"Hear, hear," he says feelingly, and they both take a good deep drink. Donna grimaces and puts her glass down.

"Did you ever in your life?" she asks next, turning herself to face him.

"What?" He does the same so that they are facing each other, sitting cross legged.

"Did you ever, ever think we'd be here again?" Donna asks, and suddenly, unexpectedly she is crying. She surprises herself and the Doctor with the force of her sobs, burying her face in her hands so that she doesn't make noise.

"Oh, god, Donna--" the Doctor says, leaping forward immediately to embrace her. "God, it's all right, I'm here."

Her arms go around him tightly, a feeling he'd been crying out for since the last time she hugged him, and she buries her face in his shoulder. He lets her cry until his shirt is soaked and she is collapsed against him. She never lets go of him, and he draws his hands in long, comforting caresses up and down the length of her back. "Where have you been?" she asks him, her voice thick with tears. "Where did you go, why did you leave me? I was dying without you."

"I died without you," he says back. "And that's why I'm going to live with you now." He holds her against him so that she knows he means it. "And I am so sorry that you were lonely without me. I'm sorry that your hands were ever empty. I'm sorry that you cried. It was my fault for not listening to you, but I couldn't have lived with myself if you'd died back then."

Donna shivers. "I've died twice now," she says.

"But now you live," the Doctor says, kissing her hair. "Now you live with me."

"I've never been so happy in my life," Donna says, echoing him from days before in their garden, eating dinner with everyone around. That makes the tears flow from his eyes, so that Donna wraps him up again and presses her lips to his cheek.

"You can stay," she tells him. "I need you to stay."

They stay in that embrace for a long time. Finally Donna pulls back and moves back onto the floor. "Sorry," she says. "I've wrecked your shirt."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," he says immediately. "I have lived much too long without you to waste our time with that nonsense."

Donna reaches for her glass of whiskey and drinks deep before she speaks again. "I suspect that's going to happen a few more times before I really feel like I've processed it," she says.

"That's okay," the Doctor says. Then he reaches for her hand. "I don't want to make you cry."

"Way too late for that," Donna says. She watches him kiss her hand again, the same way he had so unhesitatingly done on the ship, and feels a few fresh tears roll down her face. "It's all right." She gestures to his glass. "Drink up," she says. "And then you're going to tell me whatever I ask about. The truth." She holds his gaze. "The truth. Even if it's ugly and horrible. Even if you think it makes you look bad." She sees the way he drains the whiskey at that. "And then another day you're going to tell me about everyone who flew on this ship with you." She picks up the bottle and refills both their glasses. "We're going to get that pain out of you one way or another. A million years my arse."

"There's going to be a lot of crying," the Doctor says. "And I've only just got you back."

"Maybe we have got a lot of grief to work through," Donna says. "Maybe you will have to stop being a crazy Martian for long enough that we can take care of each other. Maybe I am the safest person in the universe to tell your secrets to."

There is a little silence then, when the Doctor works furiously to keep his eyes from overflowing again. "Why do you still want to be my friend?" he asks her.

"Why do you want to be mine?" Donna shoots back immediately.

"Because I love you."

"It's the same for me," Donna says. "Fuck you, Spaceman, you're going to make me cry again," she adds, with a slap to his arm that has no force behind it.

"I watched you die," the Doctor says. "I held you while you died. I've only just got you back and I--" He stops to swallow hard. "I still can't understand, but I am so, so grateful to you."

"I understand," Donna says. "I told you." She breathes deeply. "I'm not going to cry again," she says. "I'm not. I swear." She has to stop, which belies her words. "I shared your mind. You and I were one. I've never had that experience before and I never will again. But we were us. There was no line between you and I, however long or short the time was. I can't go back to living the half-a-life I had without you." A thousand yard stare blooms in her eyes that makes the Doctor feel so desolate. "I stared into an abyss for a while," Donna says finally. Then she seems to gather herself. "And now I don't have to anymore," she says. "So I just have to adjust to that."

"So what did you want me to tell you about?" the Doctor asks next. "No more abyss."

"The Flux," Donna says. "I saw it in your head. The Toymaker mentioned it. You can start there."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, and the whole awful story pours out of him like a lanced boil, the infection of grief draining from him in small measure. Donna listens with her hands in his, alternately wiping away tears and wiping away his tears. When he's finished Donna moves back into his embrace, this time climbing into his lap and holding him tightly. "I've waited fifteen years to do this again," she says. Wordlessly the Doctor clings to her so that they can absorb the comfort and still, the astonishment and joy, of being together again.

"D'you want me to take you back to London or do you want to stay here?" the Doctor asks eventually.

"No," Donna says. She doesn't move for a little while longer, and the Doctor huffs a small laugh into her shoulder, his arms going back around her.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Remember when we went to that little island with the campfire city?" Donna asks. "And we just danced by the fires and ate good food and had a good time?"

"Meridion Ten, yes," the Doctor says. "That was beautiful."

"Can we do things like that from now on?" Donna asks. "You told me a long time ago you had so many places you wanted to take me. Can we just do those things?" He can feel her fingers caressing through his hair in the back, the same comforting feeling from so long ago. She used to do this and it made him feel--

"You'd better stop that," he tells her. "I'll take you anywhere but if you don't let go of me I'm going to kiss you, Donna Noble, and we both know that is not a good idea."

"Oh, it's such a good idea," Donna says, starting to laugh. "It's the best idea. I want to so badly."

"To answer your question," he says, pulling back and away from her so that he doesn't tip her over onto her back and kiss her on the floor of the library the way he used to all those years ago, "is yes. I will take you to all those places and more. And you can bring whoever you want."

Donna slides back onto the floor and sighs. "Good," she says. "I need a nap," she adds. "Between the whiskey and the crying I've worn myself out."

"Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asks, unfolding to his feet. He holds out his hand. "C'mon."

Donna gets to her feet and adjusts her clothes. "I think I'd better go back to London," she says. "No one's home in France, right?"

"Nope," he says.

Donna nods. "Fine," she says, smiling a little. "I'd better go back then." She leads him back to the console room, hand in hand, and the Doctor feels an old magnetism in their contact.

At the console, instead of starting the flight sequence, Donna pulls him down by the collar and kisses him deeply, hard, greedily. He responds immediately, pulling her up against him from knee to mouth. "Yes," he says in between kisses.

"Mm-hm," Donna answers, and kisses him until she's finished, both of them a little out of breath afterwards.

"Don't you dare cheat on your husband," the Doctor says, his hands pushing her sweater off her shoulders with the complete opposite intention.

"I won't, I won't," Donna says. She steps back from him, shrugs her sweater back on, and starts to move around the console.

"Swear on my life I'll fuck your brains out," he tells her as he turns the ignition dials.

"I know," Donna says. She smiles at him, a million watts.

"It's a new body," he continues. "All my faculties are fresh."

"So why haven't you gone and tried them out on some French ladies?" Donna asks cheekily. They circle the console, flipping levers, pushing buttons, always a few feet apart.

"Don't want to try them out on anyone but you," the Doctor says. "Bit of a problem, that."

"Ah, well, we can work on that," Donna says. "Our relationship's a state secret after all." The TARDIS hums into stable flight and Donna steps back from the controls. She leans on the railings and says, "You know, the other Doctor was right. You do need a chair in here."

Instead of answering, the Doctor just puts his hands in his pockets. "Stop distracting me with your chair talk." He regards her with a look full of intent. "What about Shaun?"

Donna nods. "I know," she says. "I have to figure out how to explain it to him."

"Has he asked?"

"If we've had sex? No."

"D'you think he suspects?"

"No," Donna says. "He knows as much as my mum and grandfather could tell him, but some things only I know."

"So you're going to ask his permission?"

"Maybe," Donna says. "I haven't decided." She shrugs. "Lots of new things are happening now."

"Don't ruin your marriage," the Doctor says.

"Spaceman," Donna says, coming to stand right next to him. "I won't do anything of the sort."

"Listen," he says. "Look at me."

Donna regards him with the most amused and affectionate face, and he can't help smiling back. "I want you to know that I want you as much as I did before and more," he says. "If you weren't married you'd never have made it out of your room in my house. You'd always be there."

"I'm always there anyway," Donna says.

"Yes. And I love it," the Doctor says. "And I would shag you in every room of that house if I could. You know that."

"I do know that," Donna says. "Would be an absolute joy." She looks him over with the same kind of approving desire she always used to. The Arrival Alert System dings brightly, and Donna smiles. "Right, then, Spaceman," she says. "I'm going to get some sleep. Because I won't sleep if I stay around you." She kisses him many little times on each cheek and then his lips, and adds, "I'll be back."

"You better come back, Donna Noble," the Doctor says, dropping his hands to pull her hips up against his. "Good night."

He watches her pick up the boxes she'd left at the door and leave, his mind moving at light speed as usual. The first time around they'd worked hard to keep their relationship a secret, for fear of exploitation. This time around UNIT has made their relationship an actual secret, for the same reason and more. There was never any concern of pregnancy or risk of disease, so they were free to do as they pleased then.

It won't be different this time. He can already tell.

In the kitchen of the London house, Rose is sitting at the table reading a book. "Hello, darling, I love when you come home for the weekend," Donna says, dropping a kiss on her head.

"Hi, mum," Rose says. "Where've you been, then?"

"Work," Donna says. "Had a briefing. I changed my clothes on the TARDIS." She indicates the boxes in her arms. "Look. I've brought us some treasures."

"From space?" Rose asks, and Donna laughs.

"From space," she says. "And this blanket is for you."

"Ooh, purple, lovely," Rose says. They go upstairs together and spread it onto her bed, where it hangs onto the floor and pools around the bed frame. Rose laughs and jumps right into it, wrapping herself up. "Oh, it smells like you," she says to Donna. "Like your perfume and your shampoo."

"Oh, good," Donna says. "It's been out of use for fifteen years."

"No, I love it," Rose says. "Now. What's in those boxes you brought?"

So Donna settles herself on Rose's bed, and she and her daughter go through the two boxes, laughing like best friends. Donna puts the Shakespeare books aside for her bookshelf, and she and Rose pull out the jewelry box Donna had kept in her room aboard the ship.

"Ohh, wow," Rose says when Donna lifts the lid. "Oh, mum. Look at this, it's a treasure trove." She picks up a necklace, with an intricate pendant of precious stones. "Where's this one from?"

Donna proceeds to tell her the story of each piece; each pair of earrings, each necklace, what was a gift and from who, why she has a collection of Amaran bangles (a story she tactfully edits as they had been part of an offering made to her for something she and the Doctor had done together that was decidedly not saving the universe), the pendant she'd made of a sapphire from the waterfall of Juno's Tears, and finally the simple gold band, at the very bottom, that the Doctor had put on her hand all those years ago.

"A biodamper?" Rose asks. "Mum, this is a wedding ring."

"Yes, it looks like one," Donna says. "But it suppresses biological signal so you can't be tracked."

"Why is it a wedding ring, though?" Rose asks.

"I was in my wedding dress, you know the story," Donna shrugs. "It made sense at the time."

"Nothing makes sense with the Doctor," Rose says. "That's my favorite part of all of it." Then she gives her mother a knowing look. "But he could have given you anything and he chose a ring. Interesting."

Donna smiles wryly as she replaces the jewelry back into the box and shuts the lid. "If you ever want to borrow any of it," she says, "just ask me." Then she yawns, the tiredness from aboard the TARDIS returning in the wake of her excitement. "I need some sleep," she says. "Where's your father?"

"He's out driving," Rose says. "He says he'll be back around nine."

"Right," Donna says. "I'm going to have a kip and I'll start dinner when I get up."

Sleep, of course, is easier said than done for Donna, and has been for fifteen years. For the last fifteen years she's been a bad sleeper, waking every few hours, restless with fear and anxiety. Now with her memories back, she knows what her dreams are, but they are still terrifying. She'd thought those would subside now that the Doctor is back, but it seems it's her own problem. So as tired as she is, it's often hard for her to get into bed and sleep.

So she crawls under her covers and sighs, resting her head on her pillow and attempting to breathe her way into sleep. She is tired, has been tired for as long as she can remember. Even half an hour would be nice, she thinks.

After ten long minutes of lying there discontentedly, Donna goes back to Rose's room to retrieve her blanket. "I'll bring it back," she says, and Rose just smiles and says okay.

Back in her bed, Donna pulls the purple blanket over herself and sighs. She closes her eyes, and tears slip from beneath her closed lids. The instant relief and comfort she feels under that blanket has eluded her for fifteen years. She wipes at her eyes and turns over onto her stomach. In a few minutes she actually drifts off to sleep.

And dreams. She dreams of terror, of running, of things exploding. And then she dreams of pleasure, vividly, of hands and mouths and tongues and the way she would embrace the Doctor with all four limbs, both of them focused entirely on each other. She dreams of sunrises and vistas of sky, and the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning.

When she does finally wake up, it's dark. She looks over at the clock and it says 2:43 AM. She sits up immediately, looking around herself. Shaun is asleep next to her under their regular blanket, and the house is quiet. Donna gets out of bed softly, so as not to disturb him, and goes down the hallway to check on Rose, who is also asleep in her room. So she goes downstairs to the kitchen since she's missed dinner.

In the fridge there is a container of pasta and meatballs, probably made by Rose when she realized her mum wouldn't be up to cook herself. The dishes are done and the counters are clean, so Donna flips on a low light and puts the leftovers into a bowl to heat up. She sits alone at her kitchen table to eat, thinking, thinking, thinking.

It isn't that she doesn't love Shaun-- she does. In fact in a big way she owes him a lot, since he'd taken on the burden of knowing her without hesitation. With her memories back she'd been able to understand more why he'd been so accommodating. But he knows only as much as Wilf and Sylvia, and would never be able to know everything Donna knows. And now, in the face of UNIT's directive, he would know even less. Donna contemplates the unfairness of that, how it would exclude the person who is supposed to be closest to her from the inner workings of her life. It is a lot to ask of one person, and she thinks guiltily she's already asked so much of him. First when she gave away her lottery winnings, she'd been mad with grief and confusion. Then when Rose wanted to grow into herself and Donna insisted, insisted her last name be Noble and not Temple. He'd put up with her, put up with all of it, and complained to no one. For that alone he deserves her love forever. But for that reason he will also be excluded from any future knowledge of her life and her work.

And now, after fifteen years of an unfathomably heavy burden of embarrassment and shame and tears for her perceived ineptitude, for a breakdown she didn't even have, Donna is ready for some joy and some good work. She's ready to stop seeing herself as someone other people only tolerate. She's ready to stop feeling like she only tolerates herself.

And for all his generosity and easygoing spirit, Donna isn't sure how much longer Shaun will be willing to be on the outside of her life. He's been on the outside for so much of her thought process for as long as she's known him that in the end she has to admit she isn't quite sure what made her marry him. She thinks he will probably come to that same conclusion at some point, if not soon at least in the near future.

"Donna?"

Donna looks up from her bowl of pasta to see Shaun standing in the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing up?" he asks. "It's 3 AM."

"I didn't eat," Donna says.

"Yeah, you were sleeping pretty good so Rosie knocked up dinner before I came home," Shaun says, coming to sit at the table with her. "I didn't want to wake you. I've never seen you sleep so deeply."

"I needed it," Donna says, taking another bite of her food. "You want some?" She offers him her fork.

"Nah," he says. "I just came down to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," Donna says. She smiles at her husband gently. "I actually got some decent rest."

"Where did that purple blanket come from?" Shawn asks. "I've never seen it before."

"It was on my bed on the TARDIS," Donna says, without thinking.

"Oh. You had a bed on that ship?" Shaun asks.

"Well, yes," Donna says. "It was my home for a year." She's gotten herself into it now, no doubt. "I had a very nice room and a nice bed, and that blanket was my favorite." She breathes deeply to steady herself. "I've been told by UNIT that I can't tell you anything about what goes on aboard the TARDIS. Intergalactic directive."

"Oh," Shaun says again, and he is quiet. "So you can't tell me anything you do at work? Or with the Doctor?"

"No," Donna says, aware of how he must feel.

"Oh," Shaun says again. "Er. I guess that's for safety?"

"Yeah," Donna says. "State secrets."

"That's quite a directive," Shaun says. "So this means I'm on the outside of your work, too. Like everything else."

"What do you mean?" Donna asks, in spite of having the same thought.

"Donna." Shaun takes one of her hands. "I have known you for fifteen years. And now I feel like I don't know you at all. You saved the world again, you saved the universe, and I have no idea how you did it or what happened. And now you can't tell me." He lets go of her hand. "I want you to know that I see how the Doctor looks at you. I see how you look at him. And this is one of those major life decisions you've made without me. Again."

"I didn't--"

"I'm not angry at you," Shaun says, holding up a hand. "But you obviously have something very big to do with your life, Donna. Something beyond all of us. Something you can't do tied to me."

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks again. She's glad the light is low so he can't see her blushing-- she can feel her cheeks are hot.

"I mean that I've watched you make life decisions that affect both of us without you ever consulting me," Shaun says. "And I've accepted it. I accept you. I always have."

"So then what are you saying?" Donna asks, feeling her heart constrict all at once.

"I'm saying, Donna, that maybe it's time for me to go. I can't keep feeling like I'm going to be a permanent outsider in your life."

There it is.

Donna doesn't know whether to be happy or devastated. "I don't understand," is all she can say.

"I'm nothing here," Shaun says. "I'm no one. Your mum and your grandad know nothing more than I do, but they're old and they're not obliged to know. You're my wife and I don't know you anymore. You're different."

Donna is quiet. "So was it easier when I was the sad one?" she asks. "When I had to depend on you?"

"No," Shaun says. "I hated seeing you suffer. Maybe you don't believe me anymore when I say I love you. But I love you enough to let you go and do this thing that you have to do with your life." He shrugs. "I've accepted you for who you are as long as I've known you. But I don't know you anymore, and even if it hurts, and it hurts--" His voice splits along the seams a little, "I know it's right. You know it's right."

"I don't know that," Donna says, feeling as though she could cry too. Again. More tears. She's so tired of tears.

"Yes, you do," Shaun says. "I think it's time for me to cut my losses. I can't ever smile at you the way the Doctor does. It's not possible. I don't know you the way he does. I didn't share his mind or his ship. And you had a bed on that ship. Am I supposed to believe the two of you never shared that bed?"

Donna knows for sure she is blushing red now. "I..." she says, and then: "No. You aren't."

"All right then," Shaun says. "Look, Donna, we both know this is better."

"Do we?" Donna asks.

"Everything will be all right," Shaun says. "We can sell the house and split the money and Rose can come and stay with me whenever she wants."

"Keep the house," Donna says. "You can have it. We don't have to sell it. It's yours."

Shaun nods silently. "Fine," he says. "That's good too."

"It's the one thing I did right by you," Donna says unsteadily.

"No," Shaun says. "You gave me a child. You made me happy. Now things have changed in ways that none of us could anticipate. But you can't think I haven't seen the two of you in the garden, or when you sit up late at night in the living room just talking. You can't think I don't see that. Where does that longing come from?"

"I can't explain it to you," Donna says.

"I know, your job."

"No, it's not that," Donna stops him. "It isn't work. I couldn't explain it to you before, because I didn't remember. Now I think I understand it even less, because he was gone for so long and he came back for me, and I never expected--" And she is crying, just quietly, because she is so relieved. An unexpected relief. "I never expected any of this. I never asked for any of this."

"So don't you think it's time for you to ask for what makes you happy?" Shaun asks. "If it isn't me, or it can't be me, why would I hold that against you? In the face of all this... space work you do? This is all so much bigger than us. And you are so clearly needed, by the Doctor and by our planet. And we had no idea until now."

Donna lowers her face into her hands.

"It's time to stop being ashamed," Shaun says. "I'm sorry that things aren't going the way you expected but you should know by now that they never will. And I just can't take that kind of danger or that uncertainty."

"I understand," Donna says from behind her hands. She picks her face up. "I said the same thing to him when I first met him."

"But then you spent your life looking for him," Shaun says. "And the two of you keep finding each other in this vast, stupid, unfathomable universe."

Donna nods wordlessly, more tears falling.

"And I've seen you cry so much over these fifteen years," Shaun says. "I've never once seen you have any relief from it and now I think you do." He sighs. "I know you, Donna, or I did at one point. I see the weight off you. I see the way you actually smile with your eyes now. I see how you are different. And because I love you, I want only what will make you happy. Can you want the same for me?"

"I always did," Donna says. "I always did. I never wanted to hurt you or exclude you."

"I believe you," Shaun says. "None of this was your choice, I believe you on that front."

"And I never, ever cheated on you," Donna says.

"I believe that too," Shaun says. "You hardly know which way is up at this very moment. I can't imagine you'd want to go shag some alien bloke when you've had your life upended again."

Donna wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says.

"I know," Shaun says. "You just have to see if from my perspective. I've been on the outside the entire time. I've done my best and so have you. But this is bigger than all of us." He smiles a little painfully. "I thought I knew what you looked like in love, but now... I really know. And I can't be part of it."

"Okay," Donna says. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Shaun says. "But I can't do this life. We have a child we need to keep safe. I can't be shuttled back and forth between two houses and watch you look at that man like there is no one else around you. I see you. There's nothing for me here. So it's time for me to just... have a life I can accept. I'll drive my taxi and I'll do whatever it takes to make a life for myself."

"You won't be alone," Donna says. "I can help you."

"I don't want your help," Shaun says. "I want you to go and do what it is you need to do. That will be the way you pay me back for all these years. Fulfill your purpose. You married me because you didn't know better. Now you do. So be free."

"Is this really what you want?" Donna asks.

"Yes, I think it's right," Shaun says. "We can sit down and tell Rose tomorrow morning so she has the weekend to absorb it before she goes back to school."

"Oh, god," Donna says. "I think this might be the worst night of my life."

Shaun smiles a little bittersweet smile. "No," he says. "That's already happened to you. This might be the best thing that's ever happened to us as a couple. To just... not be one anymore."

So Donna takes her pillow and blanket from the master bedroom and goes to sleep in the spare bedroom, her bowl and cup in the sink unwashed. Shaun stays in the master suite.

In the morning over breakfast they sit down with Rose together and explain what they'd talked about. After her initial surprise, Rose's face turns sad. "And there's no way you can see to work it out?" she asks her father.

Shaun shakes his head. "I can't live like this," he says. "I need stability and I need safety, and as long as I am here, I will have neither of those. And I won't even be allowed to know what your mum does for work. It's too much."

Tears fill Rose's eyes. "Are you sure?" This is to both her parents.

"I think so," Donna says. "I'm sorry. But I think so."

"So what will happen next?" Rose asks.

"I'm going to move to France permanently," Donna says. "And your dad will keep the house in London, and if he decides to sell it, he can. Wherever he goes you'll have a home with him, and you always have a home in France with me."

"Where are you going in France?" Rose asks. "With the Doctor?"

Donna nods. "It's my other home," she says. "Well... it's my home too."

"Does the Doctor know?" Rose asks.

"No," Donna says. "But I will talk to him. He's coming to take you back to school on Sunday."

As it turns out, Donna is not home when the Doctor arrives to bring Rose back to school. She's out at the supermarket, and Rose is big-eyed and anxious when the TARDIS wheezes and groans into the back garden. She gives her father a huge, tight hug. "I love you, Dad," she says. "I'll always love you and I support your decision and I will always be your child no matter what."

Shaun tears up at that. "Thank you, darling. I'll see you when you come home again?"

"I'll be back," Rose promises. "I'll be around. You won't be alone."

"Your mum said that too," Shaun says. "Go. I love you. See you next weekend."

Inside the TARDIS Rose hugs the Doctor too. "You look less than chipper," the Doctor says. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "Just thinking about something I can't change." And she says little else until the TARDIS lands with a smooth thump in the side courtyard of the UNIT school campus.

"Thank you," Rose says, gathering her things. "I'm coming home next weekend, if you want to get me. I can always take transport."

"The other kids will be jealous if they see you traveling by TARDIS all the time," the Doctor says. "I'll be back on Friday. Behave yourself."

"Never," Rose says, smiling, and walks off the TARDIS back to school.

For the next week, Donna operates awkwardly around Shaun, moving into the spare bedroom and going to London UNIT headquarters on the tube every morning instead of in his taxi so they can start their work day together. They have small conversations with no malice or arguing, just sadness. Donna comes home to an empty house, and Shaun starts staying out later to drive, so they miss each other in the mornings and evenings.

After the first awful night, when Donna sobbed into her pillows for a while after, she begins to accept that this is a time to move forward. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Shaun to decide to leave.

But then what? she thinks. I would have been wearing two wedding rings? Or sleeping with both of them? Or cheating on my husband? Or what? She honestly doesn't know. What she does know now is that she's free. It's terrifying to be standing at the precipice of everything she wants and needs. She isn't sure she's brave enough to take it for herself. She contemplates just being alone, and almost right away has to let the thought go, because it's too late for that. And the thought of being without the Doctor again makes her heart tighten painfully and constricts her breath.

So that next Friday, when Donna has been texting with Rose all day to arrange her dropoff in London, the Doctor comes to collect Rose from school. She still has the same look of worry on her face, and the Doctor frowns a little.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asks.

Rose takes a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you something, but it's personal."

"Well, you are my favorite niece, and I'll decide what's too personal," the Doctor says.

So Rose just decides to ask it, no hesitation. Better not to. "Do you love my mum?" she asks.

"Well, of course," the Doctor starts, but Rose holds up a hand.

"Are you in love with her?" Rose clarifies.

"Oh," the Doctor says, his hands stilling on the console. "Er, I'm not sure that's--"

"I mean it," Rose says. "I need to know."

"She is married to your father," the Doctor says, resuming the flight sequence with a grimace. "I would never come between that."

"My parents broke up last week," Rose says, and the Doctor freezes. "So she didn't tell you. I thought not. I was wondering where you were."

"What?"

"My father decided he doesn't want this life and they broke up," Rose says. "I think they did the right thing."

The Doctor would be lying if he denied the painful pang of desperate hope and wanting he felt at those words. Instead he just clears his throat. "Is your mum all right?" he asks.

"You're glad," Rose says. "I can tell. You weren't happy she was married."

"Don't be angry with me," he says.

"No," Rose says. "I'm not angry. It's just another big thing we didn't expect. I think my dad is right. And I think my mum is right. So really, this is good."

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asks, knowing he should have asked this first.

Rose smiles a little. "There you are," she says. "You asked about my mum first. That alone tells me what I want to know."

The Doctor sighs. "Well," he says. "Let me get this ship in flight and I'll drop you home. And I'll talk to your mother. If she'll let me."

He enters the Noble house tentatively to find Donna standing in the kitchen, wearing a soft cream-colored dress and slippers. She looks like home. "Hello," she says, waving her spoon. "Staying for dinner?"

Rose kisses her mother on the cheek and disappears up the stairs with a meaningful look at the Doctor, who misses it because he's looking at Donna.

"I could do that," he says. "If you want."

Donna gestures to the kitchen table. "Sit," she says. "Thanks for bringing her home."

"I always will," he says. A short silence elapses. "I heard what happened." He sees Donna's shoulders drop, and she bows her head a little.

"Right to business, aren't you?" she asks him, turning around. "How did you know?"

"Rose," he says.

"Ah, I should've known."

"She loves you, Donna, she wants you to be happy."

"Well," Donna says, turning the heat down on her stovetop. "She told you Shaun doesn't want to be married anymore."

"Do you?" the Doctor asks. "That's the real question. I know you."

Donna takes a moment before she answers. "I don't," she says. "Can I tell you the truth?"

"It's all I ever want from you."

"I would never have married him without losing you," Donna says. "And if I have you back I have what I want, so in a way, it's not so bad." She watches the smile grow on his face, like a break of sun through clouds. He gets out of his chair, takes the spoon out of her hands, puts his hands in her hair, and kisses her. It's a kiss of memory, because they both know this in their bones. And it's a kiss for a new beginning, because they know that too.

"You'd really leave him?"

"He left me," Donna says. "He said he wanted to go. And that he didn't know me anymore, and that he didn't want the life. So I'm letting him go. I want him to be happy, and if he's not happy here, I want him somewhere he's happy."

"So what are you going to do next?" he asks.

"Thought I'd go home with you, didn't I?" Donna says, and this time she's ready for him when he kisses her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to fuck off to France forever and you can work it out?" he asks her, hoping, hoping, hoping.

"Don't you dare," she says. "I would die without you. Knowing what I know. How could you even ask me that? Fuck's sake." She says it with no rancor, but only half-teasing. She moves to stir the fragrant pot of beef mince she'd been working on for a pie. The Doctor winds an arm around her waist.

"Smells nice," he says. "When are you coming home, then?"

Donna smiles in profile, adding a bit more fresh thyme into the mix. "I'll wait til Shaun gets in from driving and I'll bring my things."

"What do you really need from here, anyway?" the Doctor asks. "You have clothes on the TARDIS."

"It's tacky not to move my things," Donna says. "Too much of a reminder. Besides, I always make sure he has a hot dinner when he's out late."

"Wife material, Donna Noble," he says, and she gives him a sidelong look.

"You have no idea," she says, and the tone of her voice makes it something much more naughty and fun. "I'll tell you what you can do," she says, "is not be here when Shaun gets here. Just wait for me on the TARDIS. I won't take long. Rose wants my books and knickknacks so I'll just empty my side of the closet and pack my jewelry."

Shaun gets home around eleven, the Doctor having disappeared back into the ship an hour before, so that Donna is alone in the living room reading. "Hello," Shaun says when he comes in. He sounds normal. Donna smiles a little.

"Hi," she says. "Dinner's in the oven warming up if you want it."

"What's on?"

"Beef mince pie," Donna says. It's an imitation of a conversation they've had a million times, but it's lost its savor.

"Sounds lovely."

"I thought I'd move my things out tonight," Donna says next.

"Oh," Shaun says. "Yeah, okay. Do you want help?"

"Nah," Donna says. "I've got it in hand."

"Are you getting picked up?" Shaun asks.

"Yeah," Donna says, and leaves it at that. "I just wanted to be sure you got home okay before I left. Didn't want to leave Rose alone."

"Ah, she's big, she'd be fine," Shaun says. He goes to the kitchen to dish himself up a plate and Donna goes upstairs to get her bags and goes to Rose's room with her purple blanket. She covers Rose gently, so as not to wake her, and goes downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase she looks back towards the kitchen. "Shaun?"

"Yeah?" he says, looking up from his plate.

Donna rushes into the kitchen and embraces him hard. "Thank you," she says. "I know you don't think I do, but I love you so much. You have no idea how you saved my life."

Shaun hugs her back and she feels his breath hitch. "I'll miss you," he says.

"I know, me too," Donna says, her own voice coming apart at the seams. "You will always be Rose's father, and you'll always have whatever you need. I will never let you go without. I'll make sure." She kisses his cheek, and holds him tight.

"Okay," he says. "I hope you're happy in France, Donna, I just want you to be happy."

"Me too for you," Donna says. She takes a few fortifying breaths before she lets go of him, which hurts much more than she expected, and wipes her eyes. "Well. I'm off, then."

"Yeah," Shaun says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Be careful."

"Bye," Donna says, her face so sad. But as she takes her bags towards the back door to the garden, where the TARDIS is waiting, she feels herself start to smile. Even through the tears, the joy of knowing that she'll be somewhere she's known and safe and loved, it's all priceless. It's all worth it.

She uses her TARDIS key to get in, and the Doctor helps her move her bags, just like he had fifteen years before. He sees the tears in her eyes and the brilliant smile on her face and gives her a long hug. "Welcome home," he says, the way she had all those months ago when he found his house.

"Oh," Donna says when he lets her go. "That was so much easier than I thought it would be. Thank god."

"Because it's what's supposed to happen," the Doctor says.

"Innit," Donna says, in her very Donna way. "Let's go to France, Spaceman."

"Let's go to France," he agrees. They circle the console in their usual way, and within three minutes they are landed in his back garden in Montresor. It's nearly midnight, so they decide to light the fire pit and sit out in the balmy night air for a while. There isn't much around so the stars are plentiful, and Donna settles herself on one of the loungers.

A free woman, she thinks. That is what I am right now. It wasn't Shaun who was the trap, of course, it was her own memory loss, but still, she feels like something very good is beginning. And though she feels horrible for hurting Shaun, she knows he is right when he says all of this is bigger than them. And though she had never expected him to leave her, she couldn't blame him. She knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't have said anything if he didn't really feel it.

"You all right?" the Doctor asks her, pulling his chair next to hers.

"Yeah," Donna says softly. It's actually true. "It was time."

"it was time," he says. "It was more than time." He takes her hand. "I'm so glad you came home. I was hoping you would." He stops himself. "I mean, I wasn't hoping you'd get divorced, but I was hoping you'd stay with me instead, and I--" He stops again. "Sorry. I'm saying that completely wrong."

"I know what you meant," Donna says, smiling. "Spaceman."

The affectionate nickname has always stuck with him. "I was thinking about something," the Doctor says after a while. "Why this face? Why this me?"

Donna nods. "Any breakthroughs?"

"Yeah," the Doctor says. "I know why this face is back. You were right. I wanted to come home, but you are my home. I wanted to be that man that you loved back then, so here I am again. This is the face you know. It was for you. All of it."

"D'you know what I love?" Donna asks him by way of an answer. "The way you say 'my Donna.' Makes me so happy. Even the not-thing knew about that."

He just smiles. "It's true," he says, shrugging as if it's the most well-known fact in the world. "You are. You always have been."

"I think something is happening here that has never happened before," Donna says. "I think that I am getting exactly what I want and need at the same time for the first time in my life."

"It's all yours," the Doctor says. He sits up. "Hey," he says. "Grandad gave me some biscuits last time he was here, do you want some?"

Donna smiles again at how he calls Wilf "Grandad" now, like real family. "Let's have some," she says. "Why not?" He brings her back a box of Jaffa cakes and another of Chocolate Hobnobs, and Donna laughs. "The most basic British biscuits to exist," she says. "You like a Hobnob?"

"Love a Hobnob," the Doctor says. "Simple and delicious."

"Well," Donna says, taking a Jaffa cake from the box, "we are in France and as such, we will be eating French pastries just as often as these little things." She turns onto her side on the lounger to look at him as he sits down next to her again. "We'll go walking, and we'll take little trips when I have holiday time, and we'll just be." She takes a bite. "It's all I ever wanted anyway," she adds. "Mm, raspberry jam."

"What'll I do while you're at work?" the Doctor asks. Donna smiles with her whole heart at this.

"Oh, will you miss me? Whatever you want except running off to fight aliens," she says. "Don't you have any hobbies, Spaceman?"

"Not Earth hobbies," he says.

"Ah, so something for you to explore," Donna says. "Even the weird stuff. No one has to know what you do."

The Doctor starts to laugh, looking at her earnest face. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah," Donna says. "You can... tinker, you know? Build things. Paint things. Pick up the guitar. Something like that."

They stay out in the garden talking until nearly sunrise, when Donna drifts off in the middle of a sentence, finally tired. The Doctor, who has different needs for sleep than humans, wakes her up to go get into her bed. "It's Saturday," he says. "You can sleep as late as you want."

Donna's room in the house in France is her own now, furnished with a big comfortable bed, an armchair, tall, rounded airy windows covered with white curtains, and plush rugs. She climbs into her bed with relief and buries herself in her blankets, so that she looks like a little kid peeking out from the covers. "You gonna join me?" she asks him.

"To sleep?" he asks, and shrugs. "Sleep is boring."

Donna smiles immediately, both their faces full of intent. "All right," she says. "I'll be boring for a while." She's still wearing her clothes from the night before, so she discards them piece by piece and tosses them on the floor. "See you, Spaceman. Join me or don't, but I'm definitely going to sleep."

He pulls the blankets down off her to get a good look at her, and kisses her. "I'll never let you sleep like this," he says. "So good night. Or good morning. Come back to me when you're rested."

"Your self-control is something else," Donna grumbles good-naturedly, laying back on the bed without covering herself back up.

"Er, it's not," he says. "It's killing me. But you need to sleep."

"You need to sleep," Donna says.

"Later," he says. "I'm going to go watch some telly and make breakfast. You eat whenever." And with another kiss, his thumb making a short, electric circle on her right nipple, he goes back downstairs. Donna rolls over onto her stomach and actually sleeps.

She finds him at noon in the garden sort of just looking off into the distance. She comes outside in just her bathrobe and slippers, joining him on the chair next to him. "What're you looking at, then?" she asks, and he seems to come out of deep thought.

"Nothing," he says. "Slept well?"

"Never better," she says, exhaling contentedly. "Haven't slept in fifteen years."

"Right," he says, with a laugh of recognition.

"Nice day," Donna comments.

"Gorgeous," he says, looking at her instead of the sky. "Want a coffee?"

"Yes," she says. "Would be amazing."

So he gets up and brings her out a hot coffee with cold milk, just like she likes it, in a flowered mug she'd bought at a shop in their little town. He hands it to her and kisses her forehead so that she tilts her chin up to him to kiss him properly. "Don't spill it," he says to her against her lips.

"Fuck off," Donna says, smiling, skimming her tongue along his bottom lip. She puts the mug down on the little glass topped table next to her. "What do you do on Saturdays, then?" she asks.

"That question has a different answer now that you're here," the Doctor says.

"Oh," Donna says, interested.

"For example, if you weren't here, I might just spend the day doing nothing," he says. "But since you're here, maybe we should take a little trip to Prague or something. See some castles? Have lunch on a tropical island somewhere?"

"Ooh, Spaceman, you do know how to talk to a woman," Donna says, laughing.

"We also don't have to go anywhere, given that robe you're wearing," the Doctor says, giving her a good once-over. "That's all you're wearing, Donna Noble."

"That's true," Donna says. "Get used to it. I live here now and I never had the chance to just be naked. I always had people around me."

"Oh, you'll never hear me object," he tells her. "You're home. I'll have you in every room of this house."

Donna just regards him contentedly, full of desire and happiness. "So," she says. "Did you think any more about that Earth name?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Do I have to?"

"People will ask," Donna says. "They might accept Doctor as a nickname, but you need some kind of name for your registrations and everyday interactions."

The Doctor shrugs. "What are you going to call me? Are you going to stop calling me Doctor?"

"Not unless you want me to," Donna says. "But for other people it's just handy. I'll tell you what; you should ask Rose. She picked her own name. You should see what she says."

"I'll do that," he says, smiling.

"Right," Donna says, draining the last of her coffee. "I'm going for a shower." She gets up and says, "Are you joining me, Spaceman?"

He grins at her. On the TARDIS they never cared to stop their conversation or interrupt themselves for something as trivial as bathing, so the Doctor would often sit by her bathtub or outside her shower, or they would keep a video link open so they could keep talking. "C'mon, then," he says.

Donna has her own bathroom now, since the floor with her bedroom has Rose's room on it and no other. The Doctor's room is on the third floor, a sprawling master suite with an attached bathroom that was nearly as glorious as the one Donna had made for herself on the TARDIS. Her own bathroom is large and airy, with a tub and a shower, and Donna drapes her robe over the towel rack, standing there naked and adjusting the shower to her liking. It's not like the TARDIS which knew her preferred temperatures and which soaps she liked. It's ordinary, and comforting, and the Doctor seats himself on the counter the way he always used to, just watching her with a smile.

“We’ve got to find a little café,” she says, “to be our spot.” She steps into the shower behind the glass door. The glass begins to steam up from the heat of the water so Donna swipes away a swath. “Can you fix it?” she asks. “I can’t see you.”

The smile on his face grows even wider and he pulls out the sonic to press it to the glass so that it won’t retain stain or steam. “Better,” Donna says, as she reappears from behind the steam. “Didn’t have that issue on the TARDIS. Anyway.” She gives him a smile in return. “What was I saying?”

“There’s a café in town,” the Doctor says. “That can be our spot.”

"All right," Donna agrees. "I should work out a schedule with Shaun for when Rose is here. She can decide, of course, but I want to make sure he doesn't miss out on her."

"Her dorm mother says she's coming out of her shell a lot," the Doctor says. "She's a lot happier."

Donna nods, sighing. "Yeah," she says. "She's so smart, but she got tortured by those boys at school and it got in her way."

"You'd never know she had any issues from her grades," the Doctor says.

"That's my girl," Donna says. She lathers her hair with shampoo.

"Now this is what I missed," the Doctor says, watching her as she moves around the shower.

"Ah, you were always the best company," Donna says. She scrubs herself clean, her hair glossy with conditioner. "When are you going to take a shower?" she asks.

"Do I stink?" he asks.

"No, but what's the standard?" Donna asks.

He smiles. "I'll shower every day if it makes you happy, but it's not necessary for me."

"Martian," Donna says, stepping under the water to rinse herself off. She turns off the water and steps out of the shower, her hand out for her towel. The Doctor doesn't move. Donna smiles.

"Are you trying to get a look at me naked or something?" she asks.

"Always," he says. He wraps her towel around her and pulls her up against him.

"I'm all wet, Spaceman, you'll get your clothes wet--"

"Don't give a fuck," he tells her, with an openmouthed kiss that proves his words. He follows a bead of water with his tongue, down her neck to her right breast, and Donna inhales. "Don't even know why you wear clothes around me," he adds. "Especially now."

"Told you, I always had people around me," Donna says, her voice breathless. "Oh, Doctor."

"You want me to pick an Earth name when you say 'Doctor' like that?" he asks, and Donna bites her lip. "You always said it so nice."

"Oh, I'll call you whatever you want," she says, watching him use her towel to dry her body for her. She tilts her head to the side, regarding his bent head. "Having fun?" she asks.

"Mm," he answers, flicking a look in her eyes and going back to massaging the towel along her hips and waist.

She thinks that he looks thin, and tired, but less than he did before. She thinks that even though he is thin and tired, he is filled with a kind of wanting that he's clearly suppressing to the best of his ability. That must be hard work, she thinks. "Oh," she says a moment later, when she feels him rub the towel between her thighs. "You'll never get that dry around you, Spaceman," she tells him, and his eyes snap to her face.

"Good," the Doctor says. Donna gasps again, rising on her toes a little bit when he dips his fingers between her legs. Then he sticks those fingers in his mouth, like he's been in a jam jar, and says "Still delicious."

"You remember," Donna says.

"As if I could ever forget," he says. "I've waited a long, long time for you, Donna."

"Then how long are you gonna make me wait for you?" Donna asks.

"I didn't want to move too fast," he says. "I've only just got you back. Couldn't live with myself if I fucked it up."

"Impossible," Donna says immediately. "You're fucking stuck with me, Spaceman. I'm not going anywhere."

He takes the towel back from around her and rubs his face with it. She gives him a look of scandalized delight. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go and shop?" he says. "It's Saturday, we should party. Get a bunch of wine and pastries."

"You're no fun," Donna says.

"Oh, I'm so much fun," he says. "I think I made you a promise, something about every room in this house?"

"You did," Donna says.

"But I also promised Grandad some of the green beans from the market, and they're only here today," the Doctor says. "Otherwise he has to wait a week."

"Oh, no, a week," Donna teases, but she is so moved by his care for her grandfather. They're thick as thieves, the two of them, and though the Doctor looks younger he is not. The combination of boyish silliness and wonder alongside the soldier's broken heart in both of them makes them comrades. They can relate, having seen the worst of the worst and still believing in the best. She loves them both to overflowing for it.

"Fine, we'll buy some wine and pastries and beans," Donna says. She turns to go without her towel and the Doctor follows her immediately. In her bedroom he turns her to face her full-length mirror so she can see herself. He stands behind her, his hands on her hips.

"I won't make you wait forever," he says, and points at the mirror. "Watch." And he dips his fingers back down between her legs and doesn't stop until Donna is begging for more and mercy at the same time. "See?" he tells her. "Look at how you look. That's you and me and this is what we're supposed to be doing."

"Yes, yes," she moans. "I want it."

"It's yours," he says. "For as long as you want it."

Donna is pretty sure she can hardly stand for pleasure, but he's holding her up so she won't collapse. "That'll hold you over," he says to their reflection. "Get dressed," he adds. Donna reaches up to kiss him hard, to make him fuck her then and there, but even though he is ready for her (has been ready for her for millions of years) and even though she gets a hand down below his belt and she knows exactly what he likes, he steps back from her.

"So you're just going to edge me all day?" Donna asks.

"Trust me," he tells her, and licks his fingers again. "Put your clothes on, Donna Noble. Otherwise we're getting nothing done today and we need food." Donna grumbles about responsibilities, but gets dressed, the Doctor sitting contentedly on her bed watching.

They are about twenty minutes outside of the town proper, along a bright country lane lined with fields on either side. Donna has bags and a basket, a hat and a pretty blue dress. The Doctor offers her his arm and they make the walk together for a leisurely half-hour.

The farmer's market is in the square of the town, and there are various stalls set up. Donna makes the obvious jokes about the cucumbers and corn on the cob but only so the Doctor can hear since she knows the TARDIS translation circuit means everyone will be able to understand her. Donna notices him squinting in the afternoon sun and hands him her sunglasses. They get a generous portion of green beans along with the rest of the produce and then they stop at the butcher for chicken, the boulanger for fresh bread, and the patisserie. Donna picks out a bunch of tarts and pastries, as well as a big bag of freshly ground coffee beans.

On the walk back Donna takes his hand instead of his arm, and the Doctor takes two of the bags from her so that she's only carrying the basket. "Should we bring him the beans or have him over?" Donna asks.

"Tomorrow he can come over for dinner," the Doctor says. They walk quietly for a while in the warm sunshine. These moments are so ordinary for a human, but there is something golden about it for both of them; aware that in the broad, unfathomable scope of time and breadth of the universe they are on the same path again. And that path is a sunny country lane in one of the most beautiful places in the world, just them. The elegant simplicity of it convinces him this is the right place to be.

Instead of dinner, they eat pastries in the garden like two kids, drinking coffee and laughing over everything and nothing. Afterwards the Doctor keeps his promise about every room in the house (except Rose's room). They end up in his bedroom, Donna asleep with an arm flung over him while the TV plays a movie. The Doctor sits at his ease in a robe, something he's got to try and become accustomed to, his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed. He has his glasses on, providing him subtitles and analysis and tracking his surroundings as he watches. In his left peripheral the glasses keep a running track of Donna's vital functions and sleep pattern.

After an hour or so he moves and Donna makes a sleepy noise of discontent as she feels him start to shift. Her eyes open. "Don't go," she says. "I want you."

The words wrap around his heart like an embrace. "Okay," he says hoarsely, and moves back into the warm spot he'd been in. Donna settles back against him.

“Can’t sleep without you,” she murmurs. She picks up one of his hands and presses his fingers against her temple, then sleepily places hers against his, caressing his cheek as she does so. Instinctively he entrains onto the psychic connection, built of the remnants of their shared consciousness. In the past they had used this connection for sex, among other things, but now Donna just breathes, her sleepiness and contentment in his arms communicated to him without words. So he can feel what she does. She sends him the feeling of sleeping in his arms, so he knows. She sends him little images of them asleep together like a wave of sedative joy. And among all of it is the feeling of wanting, the word stay, the feeling of being protected. And then she sends him a memory of sleepy, easy sex in the dark, aboard the TARDIS in her bed. She drops her hand to wind her arm around him again.

“That too,” he says softly to her.

“Mm-hm,” she says, and her breathing evens out a moment later. He presses three kisses to the top of her head and closes his eyes to see if it works.

When his eyes open again the sun is up, painting stripes of bright light across the polished wood floor. Donna is sound asleep next to him, so he scoots out of the bed quickly and unobtrusively. Just enough time to go to that one bakery on that one street on that one planet that made those moonfruit tarts that Donna loved all those years ago.

Donna's eyes fly open immediately at the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning. She's out of bed faster than she can remember in years, and down the stairs. In the kitchen the Doctor is standing there setting up the French press for two fresh cups of coffee, and Donna nearly skids to a halt. She pushes her hair out of her face, trying to act as though she had not just run down the stairs in a panic that he'd decided to disappear off into danger.

But the Doctor knows her. He gives her a wry, affectionate look and says, "Good morning."

"Morning," Donna says, moving to sit at the kitchen table. "Where've you been, then?"

"Might have been off getting us a little breakfast," he says. He hands her a green paper box from the counter. "Have a look?"

Donna lifts the top and looks for a moment. "Oh!" she says, realizing. "I remember these! They were fruit tarts. From that planet... Alabria. I remember that!" She looks up at him with shining eyes. "Moonfruits! These were so good, weren't they?"

"You remember," the Doctor says.

"Yeah," Donna says. "And no blowing up my head to remember it."

So they eat a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen, and spend the day cleaning and tidying in preparation for Wilf. Around five PM Donna starts to cook. She sets up her Bluetooth speaker and phone and starts to prep and wash. She has filets of chicken, a bag of potatoes, the bounty of haricots verts, and a fresh loaf of bread in the bread box. She puts her chicken in a bowl to marinate, then pulls out a very expensive wooden cutting board. All of her kitchen equipment is top of the line; expensive, high-quality items she'd synthesized on the TARDIS to spare the expense of buying them. She has cast iron everything, chef-quality knives, a stand mixer, a pasta-maker, a waffle iron, everything she ever wanted in a kitchen. She makes quick work of the onions and rinses the beans, spreading them on a baking sheet with olive oil and salt to roast in the oven. She chops fresh herbs, even chiffonades some basil for extra fanciness. In a pan she puts butter, fresh garlic, chopped onions, rosemary, thyme, basil, and tarragon.

The Doctor hears music from where he is standing in his bedroom looking through his top drawer for something he wanted to show Wilf. He looks up from his perusal and follows the sound down the stairs. He goes through the living room towards the kitchen and stops a few paces back. In the kitchen is Donna, dressed in a long green-and-white patterned dress, dancing between stove and counter, her red hair glinting in the light, her hips swaying to the beat. The air smells delicious and comforting. She doesn't notice him, so he stays there for a bit, thinking that he'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

Partway through a turn Donna spots him and stops, embarrassed at being caught. "Hello, Spaceman," she says, smiling ruefully. She can tell by the silly smile on his face and the look in his eyes he's been standing there for a bit. He always gets that soft-eyed expression when she isn't looking and he thinks she hasn't noticed. "How long have you been standing there, then?"

The Doctor only shrugs and comes into the kitchen, inhaling appreciatively. "The combination of the music, the food, and the beautiful woman in my house just... brought me down here." He melds himself to Donna's body, her back to his front, finally free to be as intimate with her as he pleases. "What's all this?" he asks, resting his hands warmly on her hips as he surveys the chicken sizzling merrily in its herbed butter sauce.

"It is poulet au Provence," Donna says, in perfect French. "And I have the beans in the oven and the potatoes on to boil. So we can go get Grandad when it's just about ready so he doesn't have to wait." She points to the counter. "We have wine, and we have lemons for his water, so besides dessert I think we're pretty set. What do you think?"

"I think that I love you," the Doctor says, pressing a kiss to her head. "I'll go get Grandad and we'll bring you back dessert, deal?"

"Deal," Donna says, and looks up over her shoulder at the Doctor. "I love you too, Spaceman." She puts her hands over his to savor the moment before he moves away.

Half an hour later she hears the Doctor and her grandfather laughing in the garden, the Doctor pushing Wilf's wheelchair along their path to the back door. "Hello, Donna, my love!" Wilf greets his granddaughter cheerily from the door. He's holding a box that turns out to have a strawberry shortcake in it, frosted in fresh whipped cream. Once inside the house, Wilf eases himself into his comfortable chair in the sunroom, and Donna comes to give him a hug.

"Hello, Gramps," she says, smiling. "We got you those beans. It's about twenty more minutes until we eat, so you make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything?"

"I'm going to talk to your Doctor for a while," Wilf says. "If you don't need him."

Donna smiles, flicks an affectionate glance at the Doctor and says, "I never need him for anything, he's all yours." She goes back to the kitchen, humming along with her music.

In the living room Wilf looks around and says, "Looks lovely in here."

"We haven't changed anything since you were here last," the Doctor says.

"I know," Wilf says. "Just homey, that's all. Anyone else here?"

"Nah," the Doctor says. "Don't know if you know what happened?"

"Oh," Wilf says. "Yes, with Shaun. About that. How is she?"

The Doctor sighs, shrugging a little, remembering how she'd looked with her head thrown back in pleasure the night before, wrapped around him in his lap on the sofa where he is sitting. "She's here permanently now," he says. "I think she's going to be all right once the shock wears off."

"She looks happy," Wilf says. "I'm glad she seems to be all right. She sleeping?"

"Now she is, yes," the Doctor says. "She says she wasn't before."

"Yeah, yeah," Wilf says, nodding. "She'd be up most nights until about 4 AM. It made the newborn stage easy with Rosie, though. She was just... awake. She said she had nightmares all the time and that sleeping wasn't restful for her anyway. She refused to take sleeping medicine and just lived with it."

The Doctor looks over his shoulder at Donna in the kitchen, still shaking her hips to the music as she whisks the mashed potatoes into fluffy peaks and adds butter and salt. "My poor Donna," he says. "She's been through a lot."

"She used to say she felt like a refugee," Wilf says. "She blamed herself for forgetting, and she worked really hard to make sure we didn't feel like she was dependent on us in any way. She went right back to work and she married Shaun and soldiered through."

"She must be tired," the Doctor says.

"Not like you and me of course," Wilf says. "But yeah. My girl. She deserves a break." He smiles and chuckles a little. "When she was wee she looked like Little Orphan Annie. Just a head full of red curls like you've never seen before. The other girls used to call her Carrots and make her cry."

"I'd love to see pictures of her," the Doctor says.

"I'll show you some when you take me home," Wilf says. "She tried to cut all her hair off one day but I caught her before she could make the first cut. Sylvia was furious of course, but no harm was done. We asked her why and said she didn't want to be ugly anymore. She was about six, I think."

"My Donna? Ugly?" the Doctor says.

"She was convinced," Wilf shrugs. "She never really got over that hurt, I think. It's always affected her. Ugly and stupid, that was usually her line. And Sylvia was no help, so she never really listened to anyone that told her otherwise."

"I mean, have you seen her?" the Doctor says, pointing towards the kitchen.

"I know," Wilf says. "She's my only granddaughter, she's always been my favorite. She just can't remember." He sniffs appreciatively. "Smell that good food," he adds. "She's got such a talent for cooking." He smiles at the Doctor. "So? How's living with her?"

Wilf can tell by the look in the Doctor's eyes that he's happy. "It's only been a few days of her being here permanently but I never wanted her to go in the first place, so you can imagine how I feel," the Doctor says. He looks as if he could cry from joy again, a look Wilf has seen so often since he returned. "But I think we're going to be great."

"Take care of her for me," Wilf says. "You don't have to marry her--"

The Doctor huffs a laugh. "I wasn't planning on asking, but I doubt she'd say yes to me anyway."

"Just make her happy," Wilf says. "She's been through so much, and she needs you so badly. It's been like watching a horror movie to see her live the last fifteen years. Even with Rosie and all."

"She hasn't said much," the Doctor says.

"I hope she will someday," Wilf replies. "My poor girl."

"You make it sound like she suffered a lot," the Doctor says. "What happened?"

"She tried to kill herself a couple of times before she found out she was pregnant," Wilf says. "But for god's sake don't tell her I told you."

The Doctor is horrified. "What?"

"Yeah, we had to talk her out of it a few times," Wilf says. "Luckily she spoke up every time, but--"

"Every time? How many times was this?"

"Four," Wilf says. "Twice within the first year or so. She kept insisting that she had no reason to live. And this was before Shaun and the wedding." Wilf grimaces. "She was so matter-of-fact about it. She said she'd obviously lost everything and was insane and had no reason to stay alive any longer. She used to sneak out to the garden at night when she thought I couldn't hear her crying. She used to look through my telescope for hours, but she never could say what she was looking for."

Donna comes into the room with a plate of cheese and crackers. "Stilton?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with happiness. The Doctor and Wilf are both looking at her with such tenderness, the Doctor's face a bit helpless with love. Donna's smile fades a little. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Wilf says. "We were just discussing something."

"Oh," Donna says. "Have a snack, Grandad, it's an appetizer. We'll be at the table in ten minutes. D'you want to eat outside?"

"Sure," Wilf says. "Go on, roll me outside now so I can enjoy the garden while you get ready. Don't you want my help?"

"Absolutely not," Donna says, smiling again.

The Doctor helps Wilf back into his wheelchair and rolls him outside to the table on the patio. He pats Wilf on the shoulder and goes back into the kitchen where Donna is plating up big clouds of mashed potatoes and topping them with chicken and vegetables. She sprinkles fresh parsley on top with a mock flourish and says, "Dinner is served, monsieur."

He takes the little container of herbs out of her hand, buries his hands in her hair, and kisses her thoroughly. Donna relaxes into him after a moment, and when he lets her go she's a little shiny-eyed. "What was that for?" she asks.

"For being here," the Doctor says simply. He picks up two of the plates. "Come on, Donna Noble. Another ordinary night awaits us."

They give Wilf half a glass of wine since he isn't technically supposed to be drinking with his medications, but Donna doesn't have the heart to deny him at least a few sips of the best French vintage they have to offer. The evening is balmy and warm, populated with crickets and cicadas singing in the foliage. They talk and laugh and eat cake, and Wilf stays up until about midnight. Around then he asks the Doctor for a lift back to London instead of staying the night, and murmurs, "I've got a photo album for you." So Donna kisses her grandfather goodnight and lets her two favorite men go off on a ship through space and time, knowing soon enough the Doctor will be back. Wilf's hands are full of fresh green beans in a bag and an extra slice of cake in a tupperware container.

When the Doctor returns he's holding a leather-bound photo album and a little box. Donna has finished the dishes and put away the food and is sitting in the kitchen with another glass of wine and her laptop, just browsing Facebook idly. So he joins her at the table and says, "Look what Wilf gave me."

Donna looks up from her screen and says, "Oh, that's his photo album!" She looks happy. "He loves that old book."

"He said he wanted me to look through it," the Doctor says. "Maybe we can do that."

"What's that?" Donna asks, pointing to the small box.

"Ah," the Doctor says. He pushes the box towards her. "That, is for you."

"From Grandad?"

"No," he says. "From me." He regards her with a bit of trepidation, his tongue braced against his bottom lip.

"Oh, you don't have to--" Donna opens the box and stops. "That's a ring, Spaceman," she says, looking up at him.

"It's not a wedding ring," he hastens to assure her. "it's not an engagement ring or anything like that. It's just... a ring. Made it for you on the TARDIS. I was just thinking."

"It's gorgeous," Donna says, as the low kitchen light catches the stone and metal. It's an exquisite blue sapphire, round and perhaps a carat and a half in weight, set in yellow gold flanked with finely tooled blossoms on either side. Small, perfect diamonds wink at their centers.

Blue for her eyes, blue for the TARDIS, blue for the limitless sky they travel together, and flowers because ever since he met her his path has been strewn with them. He wishes the same for her, since she has brought joy and beauty into his life again.

"It's not a wedding ring," he says again, and Donna takes the ring out of the box. She hands it to him.

"You were the first man to put a ring on me," she says. "It's only fitting you should be the last."

He gives her a speaking look, his eyes full of many emotions, and Donna expects him to pick up her left hand. Instead he goes for her right hand, sliding the ring onto her ring finger and kissing the back of her hand reverently. "So you remember that you're here by choice," he says, tugging her left ring finger gently. "And that you are my right hand."

"I am here by choice," Donna says, a few big tears springing up and rolling down her face. "Sorry," she adds. "I wasn't expecting that." She gets up to get a napkin to wipe her eyes and the Doctor follows her to the counter. She wraps him up tight around his middle. "I don't care about your ship or your time travel or any of it," she says, resting her head against his chest. "I just want you. I choose you."

He props his chin on the top of her head. "Thanks," he says quietly. "I know it's only been a week--"

"Oh, I think Shaun might have made his mind up a while ago," Donna says, her voice a bit unsteady. "I don't blame him. I don't want him to be sad. I don't want him to think I picked UNIT over him."

"You picked me over him," the Doctor says. "Whether you realized it or not, you did. And he saw it. He could have chosen to stay, but then what?"

"I had the same thought," Donna says. She doesn't dispute him. "Where is the line between us?" she asks. "What would I have done? Have two husbands? Worn two rings and pretended like you were a boarder or something? Imagine what Nerys would have to say. I bet she already has the rumor mill at full speed back in London."

"D'you think she'll put a move on Shaun?" the Doctor asks.

"He'd rather eat his own foot," Donna says with certainty, and the Doctor bursts out laughing. Donna sighs. "He's such a good bloke. He's good, down to his bones. He accepted me for who I was, he didn't blame me the way I blamed myself. He stayed when I gave away the money. He stayed when Rose transitioned, and he loves her still just as much. He works hard, and he cares about his family."

"Do you miss him?" the Doctor asks.

"Of course," Donna says. "Yes. But not in a way that would make me want to force him back here. He said he doesn't want this." She sighs, inhaling the scent of his soap and cologne, Earth habits he'd picked up long before he met her. The dual heartbeats thump in concert against her ear. "I s'pose there really is no line between us, eh, Spaceman?" she murmurs.

"Nah," he says, and she can hear his voice resonating in his chest. "Who needs it?" His hands move in comforting circles on her back. "Would you want both of us?"

Donna laughs against him. "Who has time or energy for that?"

"Ah, well," the Doctor says. "I'd rather have you entirely to myself anyway. Don't really want to share."

"Would you have?"

"Of course, if you wanted," the Doctor says. "I would have done anything for you. Anything to keep you in my life. Even stayed away, if that's what you wanted."

"Impossible," Donna says.

"I would also have given up the sex if that's what you wanted and just been your friend."

"Impossible," Donna repeats, and he smiles to himself, glad that she can't see the relief and triumph on his face.

"That's quite hot," he says, tapping her behind lightly and letting her go. "So. Hope you like the ring."

Donna looks down at her hand. "I love it," she says, and she means it. "I will wear it forever."

The next morning Donna reports to the London headquarters of UNIT for work, dropped off as usual by the Doctor in the TARDIS. She makes it her business to get her morning work done quickly, and goes to the Transport Division garage around lunch time. There she quietly puts Shaun's CV and a job application in, and in a week he's been hired as a Transport Supervisor at a salary of seventy-five thousand pounds a year.

Shaun will never know it was Donna who got him hired.

Rose visits every other weekend, always happy to see her mother and always willing to update both the Doctor and Donna on how her father is doing. She tells them about the new job at UNIT, and how Shaun is thriving in his position as supervisor, and how he seems to be settling into the house without Donna more easily than expected. The Doctor leaves Donna and her daughter to talk in Rose's room.

"The two of you should talk," Rose says to her mother. "He's doing okay, but I know he's sad."

"Does he want to talk to me?" Donna asks. "He seemed so final about everything. Like he didn't have anything left to say to me." The thought makes her throat close with grief. "I didn't know what he'd want," she finishes.

"I think he just wants to settle down into a life that's not going to keep being upended," Rose says. "And I can't say I blame him, Mum. We... you did sort of make his life chaos."

To Rose's surprise, tears start to well in her mother's eyes. "I know," Donna says. "I know. It was wrong of me." She wipes her eyes. "Is he angry at me?"

"No," Rose says. "He misses you. But he told me he has no regrets."

Donna lowers her head for a moment. "I hope he knows that I love him anyway."

"Yeah," Rose says, and she feels like she could cry too. "He does. He says he loves you, but that he stepped back for a reason."

There is a little silence. "All right," Donna says. "This is a conversation I can have with him when I see him again. Your birthday is coming up. I want to have a party for you here and your father should be part of it." She sighs. "What is he doing with himself outside of work?"

"He's got friends," Rose says. "He goes down the pub on Wednesdays and last week he took Grandad with him for trivia. He's joined a football league at work, too." She notices her mother seems relieved to hear it.

"And school? How are you?"

Rose shrugs a bit. "You've seen my grades."

"Yes, but your friends? Are they treating you all right?"

"Mum, it's light years away from public school in London," Rose says. "There are other girls like me around. It's just another world."

"And you're happy?" Donna asks.

"Mum, you ask me this all the time," Rose says, smiling. "I'm happy. I'm happy there. I can be myself. And I'm safe."

"All right," Donna says. "I can't ask for anything more."

Rose's eyes fall on Donna's right hand. "What a gorgeous ring," she says. "Where did you get this?"

Donna's eyes go to the Doctor before she can help herself, and Rose smiles. "He has very good taste, doesn't he?" She sees the glow of happiness in her mother's smile, something that she had rarely seen in the past. There is an emptiness about her that has been filled, a sense of completion. Donna just looks... different.

They spend a quiet weekend together, the three of them taking a few trips locally to sit by the river for a picnic. Sunday night Donna is standing in the kitchen cooking while Rose and the Doctor are sitting in the garden, talking rather seriously if their postures are any indication. From inside the warm, airy kitchen, Donna thinks she'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

The nights are starting to cool off as they approach mid-October, so Rose is wearing a giant hoodie over her clothes and sitting bunched up in one of the lounger chairs. She has been sitting in contented silence with the Doctor for a few minutes, just enjoying her coffee and the evening.

"So," the Doctor says. "What kind of mother is your mum?"

Rose smiles at the look in his eyes. He wants to know everything he missed. She looks over her shoulder at her mother, who is absorbed in her cooking. "She's the best mother I could have asked for in this world," Rose says, and he can tell she means it. "She has been by my side at absolutely every point in my life. She has been my strongest advocate and she has never failed me."

"That's my Donna," the Doctor says, and Rose can hear the warmth with which he says it, the easy possessiveness.

"I would be nowhere without her," Rose says. "She has always accepted me for who I am and protected me as I became myself. I'm safe with her, unconditionally, and that's all a child needs from their mother."

Safe with her, unconditionally, the Doctor thinks. That's my Donna. "What was she like when you were little?"

"The most fun!" Rose says. "She played sports with me, she taught me to read books and music, she taught me to cook and bake." Rose shrugs. "I can't remember a single hurt I had as a little kid that my mother didn't fix."

"That's my girl," the Doctor says again.

"You really love her," Rose says.

The Doctor doesn't hide the fact that he's blushing a little. "Yeah," he says. "She's safe with me, unconditionally." He points a finger at her. "And so are you, miss."

"Yeah, about that," Rose says. "I have to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Mum says you contributed some of my DNA?"

The Doctor grimaces. She had known the answer to this before the metacrisis released itself, but he has to explain it again to her now that it's gone. "Your mum underwent a biological metacrisis, yes," he says. "Her DNA and mine were fused through an energy collision that resulted in a human hybrid being created, that had her humanness and my Time Lord consciousness."

"What?" Rose asks. "So she had a baby with you?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Er... that hybrid was an adult and it grew out of a spare... body part I had lying around."

Rose's face is just like Donna's when she'd heard those words. "So... you're like starfish?" Rose asks. "You lop a bit off and a new one grows?"

It's so like what Donna had said all those years ago that the Doctor has to laugh. "Yes," he says. "In the simplest terms."

"And that means your DNA is in me too?"

"Well... it altered your mum's mind and body forever," the Doctor says. "She ended up with my consciousness too, and my DNA fused to hers. So technically... you have some of my DNA in your makeup. No 23 and Me for you, young lady."

"That's fucking weird," Rose says after a silence. "So do I have two fathers?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor hastens to assure her. "Your father is Shaun Temple. You couldn't exist without him contributing his DNA to father you. You just... have some extra makeup from me."

"So can you reproduce with humans?" Rose asks.

"No," the Doctor says. "I'm physically analogous to human males, but genetically I'm completely incompatible. Even if an egg was fertilized, it wouldn't implant or begin to develop because it lacks the necessary chromosomes."

Rose looks over her shoulder at her mother and then back to the Doctor. "So you two don't have any risk," she says, and the Doctor blushes for real this time. "Well, Mum's also fifty, so she's not getting pregnant."

"Er," the Doctor says again. "Not sure what to say to that."

"Don't," Rose says, starting to giggle like the teenage girl she is. "Don't. Gross. Ew. Disgusting."

The Doctor laughs. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's not important anyway." He leans back comfortably in his chair. "Your mum said I should ask you about picking an Earth name."

Rose smiles at him. "Well, I picked my own name, so I'm good at that."

"That's what your mother said," the Doctor says.

"Told you, she's the best," Rose says. "What kind of name do you want?"

He shrugs. "I don't care." The fact of the matter is that Donna knows the name he grew up with, his real name, from having shared his mind. She knows that name and she never uses it because she also knows he won't say it. "Sometimes I've called myself John Smith."

Rose scrunches her nose. "Boring. John's not bad, I guess, but not Smith."

"What about Noble?" the Doctor asks. "John Noble?"

"Not bad," Rose says. "Want a middle name?"

"A what?"

"A middle name," Rose says. "My middle name is Margaret."

"Rose Margaret Noble," the Doctor muses. "Pretty. Why not Temple?"

Rose shrugs. "Just seemed... wrong. Mum was okay with it, she told Dad that it didn't really matter as long as I was happy and he'd still be my father no matter what sounds I strung together to identify myself."

That's my girl! he thinks again, so proudly. "What did he say?"

"I think he was a little hurt," Rose says. "But I've always been really clear with him about how I feel about him and that no matter what he'd always be my father and I would always love him."

"Maybe," the Doctor says. "Something with a D. Something for her."

"There's no male equivalent of Donna," Rose says. "Maybe Donald?"

"No," the Doctor grimaces. "Awful name. What about David?"

"John David Noble," Rose says. "Doctor John David Noble. Ooh, Doctor J.D. Noble. Sounds like a physicist or a famous surgeon."

So when Donna leans out the garden doors to tell them supper is ready, Rose gets up and pulls her mom outside. "I think we have an Earth name," she says.

"Oh?" Donna says. "It's about time. Let's hear it." Rose watches her smile soften as she looks at the Doctor, who gets to his feet and clears his throat.

"John David Noble," he says, making her a little bow. "Nice to meet you." He takes her hand and kisses it.

"Doctor John David Noble," Rose chimes in. "Or J.D. Noble, if you want to be mysterious about it."

"I wanted to be sure there was a D. Noble in my name," the Doctor says. He still hasn't let go of Donna.

"Well," Rose says. "I'm going to wash my hands." She sees the look that passes between her mother and the Doctor. She looks over her shoulder as she goes to the kitchen and sees the Doctor wrap her mother up in an embrace. Anyone who cares to look at them can see the devotion between them.

Around the dinner table they laugh and talk as always, and Rose has a glass of wine with them. "I'm supposed to get an assignment at work on Monday," Donna says. "My first."

"Ah," the Doctor says delightedly. "Any ideas?"

"Well, Kate has me under the impression there is a kind of social work department for UNIT?" Donna says. "She referred to it as Intergalactic Humanitarian Relations."

"That sounds good for you," Rose says. "I think you'd be amazing at that, mum. It sounds like you'd be helping people."

"Yeah," Donna says. She looks to the Doctor. "What's it mean?"

"IHR is one of the most important departments in UNIT," the Doctor says. "You'll be the first contact for a lot of people coming to Earth. Most of them will be refugees or victims of crimes. Some of them will be witness protection cases. Some of them will be accidents. It all depends." He takes a sip of wine. "Oftentimes the first contact those people have with Earth can determine their entire future."

"I assume this means I'll need more familiarity with the Intergalactic Code as it pertains to those issues," Donna says. "Have to study up."

"That and the policies on assimilation, protection, identity classification," the Doctor says. "Lots to learn."

"Sounds like school, but infinitely more interesting," Rose says.

"Yeah, better than algebra," Donna says.

"Having bamboo shoved under my fingernails would be better than algebra," Rose says, and everyone laughs.

"You need a maths tutor?" the Doctor asks.

"I don't know why," Rose grumbles. "If my DNA is part-genius, maths should be easier."

Rose goes to bed around eleven PM, and Donna follows the Doctor to the TARDIS parked in the back, where they go to the library and pull out the Intergalactic Code, the Interplanetary Refugee Charter, the Shadow Proclamation's Manual on Interstellar Diplomacy, and several textbooks on the theory of interspecies assimilation and cultural diffusion. There are language manuals and translations for countless cultures contained in Interstellar Diplomacy. It's a massive amount of information. UNIT has designated the Doctor as Donna's training supervisor, so she will take her training aboard the TARDIS and attend in-person seminars as instructed. All told, the department trains for three months after the initial six-month probationary period. This means Donna has reached the end of her probationary hire and is officially appointed to IHR for her 90 days of training.

"We have some options," the Doctor says, spreading the books out in front of them on the big table in the TARDIS library. "We can read, of course."

"Right," Donna says. "And what else?"

"We could... use the psychic connection," the Doctor suggests, raising his eyebrows. "We'd have to go slow to avoid a headache, but you can technically just... learn what I know."

Donna's eyebrows also raise. "And it saves us all the reading?"

"Technically, yes."

"Spaceman," Donna says. "How long have you known me now? Do you think that if I can save myself some trouble I won't go for that option immediately?"

The Doctor grins. "Come here, Donna Noble. Sit down."

"Doctor J.D. Noble," Donna teases him as she settles herself on the sofa. Her smile is full of affection and mirth. "Where'd you get your PhD?"

"Right," he says, tweaking her nose gently. "You'll get used to it soon." He sits down next to her on the sofa and turns her to face him. He touches his fingertips to her temples and Donna flinches away, fast as lightning.

"Ow," she says, and the smile falls off his face.

"Oh, sorry--" he says, and Donna grins.

"Just kidding," she says. "Just payback for that gloop." She settles herself again and gives him a cheeky look before closing her eyes again. His fingers descend on her temples again, and she reaches out to do the same for him. They entrain onto the connection immediately, like stepping from one room to another, and the Doctor can feel Donna's bright, electric, joyful presence in his mind. He feels wrapped in her consciousness like a warm embrace, as always.

Right, he says to her in their minds. I'm going to transmit the contents of the Intergalactic Code. I'll go slow.

Good luck, Donna says.

Tell me if it hurts, he says, and Donna's eyebrows raise but she doesn't open her eyes.

Hurts?

You could get a headache if we go too fast, he responds. Get ready.

He keeps his word about going slowly, so much so that at one point Donna interjects and says, You can't speed it up a little?

Instead of an answer or any acceleration in transmission, the Doctor adds on a second layer of image and sensation, so that Donna gets a full picture of them having sex on the library floor, their clothes scattered around them. That's what I really want, he says. I'll be done soon.

Ooh, that's a nice multitask, Donna says. That'll make this much more fun.

So instead of making his transmission faster, the Doctor simply retains the second layer of sex and sensation to it. By the time he's finished with the code and is sure that Donna has absorbed it, both of them are a little out of breath when they open their eyes. "Right," he says, smiling at her with intent. "Now for your quiz."

He asks her as many questions as he can think of regarding interplanetary refugee policy and cultural crossovers. He quizzes her on the duties of the officers of IHR and where they are limited in their jurisdiction and why. When they get done, Donna settles herself on the sofa comfortably and says, "You do realize, of course, that this makes you my first and most important case?" Her smile is languid and content.

"Oi," the Doctor says indignantly. "I'm not a case, I'm your favorite person to ever exist!" Off her teasing smile he adds, "I don't think caseworkers are supposed to have my cock between their tits on a Wednesday night."

Donna laughs uproariously. "Fair play, Spaceman," she says. "But no, seriously, you're my case number one. My most important, my most personal. My most precious."

"Ah," the Doctor says, waving a hand. "But your file on me is top secret anyway, so it doesn't count."

"Shall we do another?" Donna asks, picking up Interstellar Diplomacy.

"If you like," the Doctor says.

"Yeah, and this time can you also do the sex thing again?" Donna asks. "It's much more fun that way."

It takes about three and a half minutes to transmit the entirety of Interstellar Diplomacy and its appendices, and when he's finished the Doctor leans forward and gives her an openmouthed kiss. "Done," he says. "That's enough for one sitting, you'll get a migraine."

"Well, that saves us a ton of time," Donna says, rolling her shoulders. "And it's fun. I love your active imagination, Spaceman."

"And I love this little telepathy game," he says. "Pretty great."

"Mm-hm," Donna agrees.

"I think it is very fucking hot that you can do that, Donna Noble," he tells her. "You know you're the only human alive who has this ability. Makes you special."

Donna shrugs. "All the better for me."

The Doctor leans back at his ease on the sofa and regards her contentedly. "You're gorgeous, you know."

"Shut up, Spaceman," Donna says. "You don't have to flatter me, I'm already fucking you."

"Oh, now, wait a minute," the Doctor says. "Hang on. Hear me out."

Donna smiles indulgently at him. "Go on, then."

"Do you know what it's like for me to have someone I can talk to?" he asks her. "And it's you, Donna. I missed so much time with you. And best of all you're still you but better." He gives her a once-over she can positively feel. "And you still have all that red hair." Another man would have made her blush but Donna just smiles, a million watts. "The point is," he says, "time is precious and joy is having the time to spend with those you love."

"God, if you are not the wettest, most sentimental--"

"Oh, fuck off," he says, laughing. "I love you, Donna."

She reaches over and picks up his hand and kisses it, lingering for a moment with her vivid blue eyes locked with his. "I love you, Spaceman," she says. "Don't leave me again, eh?"

"You don't leave me," he says. "C'mon, let's go to bed." They lock up the TARDIS and go back into the house together, hand in hand. He's made a nightly habit of going to bed with her, even if he doesn't stay or sleep. The routine is comforting for both of them. Tonight they decide to sleep in her room.

The Doctor changes his clothes and watches Donna shed her clothes and get into pajamas. She brushes her hair through and goes to wash her face and brush her teeth in the ensuite. Just the sheer ordinariness of these actions is inexpressibly comforting to him. No more desolate silences or dark, solitary years. Just the chance to breathe and live in the present, surrounded by comfort. Donna comes back into the room massaging a bit of lotion into her hands and arms and elbows. She climbs under the duvet and holds out her arms. "Come."

He settles himself in her arms, resting his head on her chest. "I hope you stop thinking about how much time you lost," she murmurs to him, placing a kiss or two to the top of his head among the wild spikes of his hair. "It doesn't matter."

He listens to her single heartbeat, his most tangible reminder that she's human, and temporary, and he wants her to stay. He sighs. "I just don't want to lose any more time," he says. "It's been so much."

"And now we've had six months," Donna says. "And four of me living here permanently."

"Best time of my life," he says immediately, fervently.

"Well, it's not going to change," she says. "And I'm not going anywhere. So from here on out, Spaceman, it's you and me."

"And Rosie."

"And Rosie," Donna says, laughing a little. She thinks of her daughter asleep on the floor below them in her beautiful green and blue bedroom that the Doctor had let her decorate any way she pleased. For her upcoming birthday he'd been building her a workshop in the basement of the house, a bright and spacious area with new equipment: a sewing machine, an adjustable table, a comfortable rolling chair, and all kinds of notions and trims and fabrics. He's also building her a packing station, supplied with boxes, tape, tissue paper, a label maker, anything she could imagine. Everything is immaculately organized. Even Donna doesn't know about it yet.

"Donna?" he says into the comfortable silence.

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"D'you... maybe want to stay young?" the Doctor asks. "Like. Not age?"

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks, looking down at him. He tilts his head up to look at her.

"I mean... slow down the cell aging process so that you don't age like other humans and live an indeterminate amount of time with all your abilities and mental and physical health intact?" His eyes are very bare, and in earnest. "I've been wanting to ask you."

"Can you explain it?" Donna asks.

The Doctor makes as if to sit up, but she stops him, too comforted by his solid presence in her arms to let him go. So instead he burrows back into her side and says, "I can do that. And that way you and I can be together for a long, long time."

Donna sighs, and the Doctor feels her fingers carding through his hair gently, comfortingly. "Does that mean I live to a hundred and fifty?" she asks.

"Oh, more like five hundred," the Doctor says and Donna's fingers stop moving.

"What?"

"Yeah," he says. "More like five hundred. Or more. Don't really know."

"What?" Donna asks again.

"You don't have to, you can forget I asked, but I just thought--"

"No, wait," Donna says. "Wait." She sits up and so does the Doctor. "Wait. So you're offering me five times the human lifespan?"

"Or more," he confirms.

"Where was this the first time around?" Donna asks.

"I was much too stupid and young and inexperienced to know what I needed then," the Doctor says. "But you're back. And I just thought I'd ask. You don't have to."

"So what does that mean?" Donna asks.

"It means you will outlive everyone. Rose, Shaun, your mum, everyone you know," the Doctor says. "It's not for the faint of heart. But then again if I thought you were fainthearted, I wouldn't have offered. My Donna can handle the prospect."

Donna nods slowly. "All right, Spaceman. Let me think about what that means."

"Are you all right with watching Rose grow old?"

"Doesn't every parent want their child to live a long, happy life?"

"Yes, but you'll be young still."

"And you won't do it for her too?" Donna asks.

"No," the Doctor says, simply and matter-of-factly. There's nothing else to say. Donna nods again.

"Right," she says. The implications of his refusal are enormous, but then the implications of their entire existence and relationship are enormous. "So only me."

"You're part of me," he says, another factual, simple statement. "And I'm part of you. That's how we ended up here. And that's all I care about ultimately."

Donna is quiet for a few moments. "You know," she says. "This is like a marriage proposal but much more serious."

"I have no plans to ask you to marry me," the Doctor says. "You know how I am about Earth rituals. Rituals in general."

"Yes," Donna says. "But you're asking me to commit to an unknown lifespan with you, because if we were ever not together, I would just be some medical miracle lady who no one knew when I was gonna die. I don't want that. And I don't want to live indefinitely without you. So you'd have to be able to assure me we'd be together, because I can't live centuries without you. There's no point. I'd be lost."

"Right," the Doctor says.

"So I get to keep you?" Donna asks, her palms turned upwards in a gesture of inquiry.

"You will never lose me," he says, and the truth of the statement rings in its simplicity.

"Well," she says. "Then what else is there?"

He practically knocks her over with the force of his embrace. "Fuck's sake," Donna says softly to him. "You're mine, Spaceman. You can have a happy ending."

There is a short silence and then he bursts into heartrending sobs, more forceful than she has ever seen from him. She knows he works hard to keep himself in check, and the most she'd ever witnessed was a few tears, but this is real. She clutches him close, curling her fingers into his back until her knuckles are white. "I'm here," she murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm here."

He makes very little noise, but she can feel how the sobs wrack his body, the way his chest and stomach heave and wrench with the pain. She rocks him just a little, resting her cheek on top of his head. She wants to end the pain for him but she also knows he needs the catharsis. So she rides it out with him, never once letting go of him, only shifting to murmur softly to him or kiss his head or redouble her embrace. When he starts to calm down, she presses her fingers to his temple so she can send him comforting sensations and images. He refuses to reciprocate the connection to spare her the onslaught of emotions. "You're the only one," he says to her, his voice hoarse. "You're the only one that can do this for me."

"Do what for you?" Donna asks gently.

"Make me feel better," he says simply. "I don't know what I would do without you anymore." He sits up and takes both her hands in his. "If I'm going to live it has to be with you. I need you. I couldn't tell you that the first time because I had nothing to lose. Now I have everything and I need you. That's why I asked you."

"So what was that?" Donna asks. "Me saying yes made you cry."

"Relief," he says to her earnestly. "It's relief. I was terrified I'd have to watch you grow old and die married to another man, and when he left you I didn't dare hope, but now--" He sighs a great sigh and rubs his face. "I don't have to worry anymore. We can just be."

"I did wonder about that," Donna says. Then she gives him a little smile. "Too bad you couldn't have stopped me fifteen years ago, eh?"

"Oh, you look exactly the same," he says.

"You fucking liar," Donna says solemnly, and he laughs a little through his tears. "It's more about my knees and my back than my hair," she adds.

"Ah, I'll take care of that," the Doctor says, waving a hand. He reaches out to cup her cheek. "Take all the time you need," he says. "It's not a snap decision." He can feel how Donna turns her face into his palm, seeking comfort he knows she's been without. He leans forward to kiss her gently on the lips. "Take all the time you need," he says again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Can't take too long or I'll get even older," Donna says.

"You don't mind stopping at fifty," the Doctor says.

"No, I like myself," Donna says, and she can say that honestly now. "I know who I am, I love being a mother, and I love my work." She settles herself back among her pillows and holds out her arms. "Come back."

So he wraps himself around her again and breathes another great sigh of relief. "Tale your time," he tells her. "It's on offer. I just don't want to live without you."

In the morning they drop Rose off at school together. Just before they open the doors to the UNIT London office, the Doctor takes Donna's hand. "See you later?" he asks.

"Obviously," Donna quips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to explain this whole slowdown process to me when I get back."

"Don't worry," he says. "You'll get the full information."

"Oh, I know that," Donna says, and kisses his smiling mouth. "See you later."

He's had to learn to distract himself in different ways while Donna is working, so the Doctor has joined a local engineering club in a town about an hour north of Montresor. After attending a few meetings and deciding they're a good group of people, the Doctor had discovered at the last meeting that one of them was his neighbor. His name is Laurence Miller, and the Doctor had also met his wife Simone at the last meeting when she came to pick him up. They are both about sixty, married for forty years, have three kids who are all grown up and left the nest, and a retired life in the countryside after living in Paris and Nice for most of their earlier lives.

For an experiment in his ongoing trial of living like an ordinary human, the Doctor plans to invite Laurence and Simone for dinner that Friday evening. When he runs the idea by Donna at the end of her workday, her eyes actually fill up.

"Oh, Spaceman, you made a friend," she says proudly.

"Oh, fuck's sake," the Doctor says, grinning. "I have lots of friends."

"No, but," Donna says. "You made a friend that you can be a friend with for a long time. Someone who can stay around. Who is he?"

"His name is Laurence Miller, and he has a wife called Simone, and he's part of my engineering club," the Doctor says.

"What does he call you?"

"John, mostly," the Doctor says. "Jean-Davide doesn't really trip off the tongue, and the French rarely abbreviate. And 'le Docteur' is a bit off-putting."

Donna laughs as she circles the console, the flight sequence automatic under her fingers. "What do you think we should make?"

"They said they'd be interested in anything we have to offer," the Doctor says. "So I'd say priority number one is good wine."

"Ah, but of course," Donna says, in an exaggerated French accent. "Life is pain, zat is why we have wine."

"Exactly," he says. "I'll make lamb shanks and potatoes and you can handle dessert." He adjusts several dials. "Can you make more of that fresh whipped cream with the vanilla?"

"'Course," Donna says.

"Make extra," the Doctor says, giving her a smile full of intent.

"Right," Donna says, catching his drift. She throws the thrust lever and they take off with a smooth boost.

"You're so good at that," he says. "Great takeoff. If you can land her just as nice as me I'll let you fly her solo."

"Let me?" Donna raises an eyebrow. "Mate, I don't want to fly this ship without you unless it's an emergency."

"Fair enough," he says, and Donna turns her attention back to the console to prepare for landing. She manages it with a slight thud, and gives the Doctor a smile and shrug.

"That was easy," she says.

"Smug," the Doctor says.

"Fucking right," Donna says, and walks to the doors of the TARDIS. "I am going to change my clothes and collapse in front of the telly, what d'you say?"

"Telly's a bit boring for me," he says. "I'll sit with you but I'll probably do something else."

"Fair enough," Donna agrees.

They end up with Donna draped over him on the sofa, both of them covered with the same blanket, limbs tangled. He has a book and she is watching a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough. Donna listens to his heartbeats thrumming in concert, steady and calm. He feels solid, and less thin than he had been before. Well, she'd been sure to feed him rich meals and good wine, and ate all his experiments in the kitchen with him. She'd made him a regular at the patisserie and the boulangerie for bread and sweets. Between the sound of David Attenborough's voice and the steady drum of his heartbeats, Donna is lulled to sleep.

The Doctor notes the slower rhythm of her breath and moves his book aside to look down at the redheaded woman in his arms. Now moments like this don't have to be secret, confined to the TARDIS, snatched in moments of brief reprieve where the knowledge thereof could destroy their privacy. Now he can just be with her. So he tilts his head down to press a kiss to her head and goes back to his book. If he can have this, keep this... it will be all he needs.

When Friday rolls around the Doctor spends most of it cooking and shopping while Donna is at work. It's Shaun's week to have Rose in London so they are free for the weekend.

Donna, meanwhile, has been given her first cases as part of the IHR department. That day she witnesses shivering refugees from a war on a planet located in a star system adjacent to the Milky Way Galaxy. There are about 45 of them, mostly children, blank-eyed and numb. With Donna are a second agent from her department, and a team of nurses, doctors, and therapists. The refugees are people from the planet Harbara, which has been historically a target of invasion due to its location in its star system. Another invasion has taken place, this time by a more advanced civilization, and they are the last of their city. Donna is responsible for processing their intake, and helping to direct them to housing and medical care. She knows everything she needs to thanks to her training and the Doctor's work with her, but the impact of seeing these people leaves her shaken. They are confused and terrified, hungry, some injured, others seeming to have lost their grip on reality. One little girl won't talk to her at all, but only cries, clinging to Donna like a mother. That little girl has a bloody wound on her arm that stains Donna's shirt purple, but she won't speak. The nurses take her from Donna, whose eyes are streaming tears, and another IHR agent called Danielle Charles, a veteran of the department, reminds her to get herself together.

"You can cry later," Danielle whispers to her. "They need you now. Be strong." Her own voice is a little unsteady, and Donna breathes in and out a few times.

"Yeah," she says. "Let's help."

The intake lasts the rest of her workday, and when Donna finally gets back to her office, she is exhausted and worn out. She takes her things and goes to the garage to wait for the Doctor to arrive, which he always does, right on time. Almost as soon as the TARDIS wheezes into view Donna breaks down. She gets her key out and goes into the ship, shutting the door behind her and leaning on it.

His face, in his usual big bright smile to see her again, falls right away. "Oh," he says. "What happened, Donna?" He sees the bloodstains on her shirt and neck. "Oh, no. Come here." He wraps her up tight. "What happened?"

For a moment she considers telling him about the invasion. But she knows in her bones that her Spaceman will want to help, will want to go to Harbara and fix it, and that can't happen. So instead she turns her face into his chest and lets the tears fall, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't ask any more questions until she lets go of him. "Just work," she says. "Saw a lot of hard things today."

"Like what?"

Donna shakes her head. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Donna--"

"No," she says, cutting him off. "I don't want to tell you. You'll want to go running off to fix it and I can't have that, I need you--"

"Okay," he says gently. "Okay. Let's go home, then." He starts to circle the console. "You don't have to help me fly."

Silently Donna ignores him and starts to assist in the flight sequence. She throws the lever before he can and stands wordlessly, watching the central column of the TARDIS glow blue-white, its components working away. "D'you want to cancel dinner tonight?" the Doctor asks.

"No," Donna says. "It'll distract me. When are they coming?"

"About eight thirty, I think," he says. He kisses her temple and slips an arm around her as they wait for the TARDIS to land.

"Okay," she says. "It's fine, I'll be fine as long as I have you."

When they land in the garden in France, Donna goes straight to the bathroom to wash off. "There's no weird alien disease I can catch from this blood, is there?" she asks as she scrubs herself at the sink.

The Doctor, perched on the bathroom countertop, shakes his head. "It's just blood, like yours and mine."

"It's purple," Donna says.

"Yes, less oxygenated."

"Is our air safe for them to breathe?"

"Sure," the Doctor says. "Whoever it was might be a little lightheaded at first, but they'll adjust."

"What color is your blood?" Donna asks.

"Red, like yours," the Doctor says. "Maybe redder, with the two hearts and all. More oxygen being processed."

Donna flings her stained shirt aside and strips off the rest of her clothes. "Might as well change for dinner," she says. "I'm thinking I'll make a strawberry cake for dessert."

"Ah, what a good vehicle for that whipped cream I like so much," the Doctor says, attempting to lighten the mood. Donna smiles a little bit. "There's my girl," he adds.

Her bundle of clothes in one arm and her other hand holding his, Donna pulls him into the bedroom with her and seats him on her bed. She goes to her closet and pulls out two dresses. "Purple or blue?" she asks.

"Neither," he says, and Donna turns to put the dresses back. "Something else?"

"Nope," he says, looking her over. She smiles at him.

"Spaceman," she says. "You're no help."

"Thank you," he says. He gets up and slides his hands around her hips. "I like the purple," he says, giving her the lightest kiss. "You can wear that one without a bra."

"Spaceman," Donna repeats, scandalized and delighted as he goes out of the room.

"What?" he asks innocently over his shoulder. "No pants either, all the better," he calls as he starts down the stairs.

She hears him thump merrily down the stairs and smiles to herself. She decides to wear pants after all but no bra, just for him. She can always put a sweater on.

Down in the kitchen the Doctor starts to prepare his lamb shanks and potatoes, and Donna joins him, retrieving her apron from the pantry. "Ah, perfect," he says, turning from the pile of potatoes on the counter. "Just the way I like it." He reaches out and nudges the neckline of the dress aside so that one pink nipple is exposed. "Leave it like that."

"Spaceman," Donna says a third time. "There is fire in this room. Do not subject my breasts to fire. I thought that went without saying. It's a ground rule."

He laughs and leans down to kiss her nipple, pulling the fabric back into place. "Fair enough," he says. "Take what I can get." He slants her a cheeky look. "I'm determined to distract you tonight."

"It will be appreciated," Donna says. "Meanwhile, who are these people you've invited to our home?"

"Laurence is about sixty, I'd say?" the Doctor says. "So's his wife."

"Yeah, and they call you John," Donna says. "I'm gonna have to practice."

"Oh, speaking of that," the Doctor says, and Donna turns from the fridge where she is getting out the ingredients for a cake. "I know how you can practice." He dances her back against the kitchen island and hooks his fingers in her neckline again, dropping his mouth to her neck and collarbone. His hands pull her skirt up her thighs and his fingers skim between her legs. "Oh, you did wear pants," he says, lifting his mouth from her neck.

"I did-- oh, yes," she says when he runs his tongue along her throat. He's an expert at this now in a new way, a better way than before. He always did what she liked but now he can get her off fast and efficiently and deliciously. He sucks a nipple up into his mouth, laving it thoroughly. She doesn't say many more words until he feels her wind up and her mouth opens.

"Say my fucking name," he says to her, and Donna's eyes squeeze shut in utter pleasure.

"Oh, John," she moans. "Oh, fuck, yes."

"Amazing," he tells her, continuing the motion of his hand. "Sounds fucking great."

Donna gives him a lustful little smile. "You like it?"

"I love it," he says. "it was a good choice of a name." He pulls his hand out from under her dress and Donna covers herself back up. "There. Now you've practiced."

Donna goes back to the refrigerator. "I'll work on it," she says. "We'll need to do a bit more practice as we go." She sets out her ingredients: milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. She has an expensive stand mixer on the kitchen island and she whips up a simple sponge in no time. While her cakes are baking and the lamb shanks sautéing in the pan, Donna changes out her bowl and adds fresh vanilla and a bit of vanilla extract to a saucepan of cream on low heat to let the bean infuse the cream. When she's happy with it, she puts the cream in the mixer with sugar and whips it until there are stiff peaks.

The Doctor moves around her efficiently and within two hours there is a meal and a strawberry shortcake thickly frosted with whipped cream. Donna retrieves two bottles from their wine storage cabinet and the Doctor sets out four wine glasses. Then he faces Donna and holds out a hand. "John Noble," he says.

Donna looks down at his hand.

"Practice," he says.

"Donna Noble," she says, without shaking his hand.

"Rude," he says, shaking his head at her. "Can't even shake a bloke's hand after he's had it in your knickers."

Their doorbell chimes, and they both look to the front door.

"Perfect timing," Donna says, grinning. She goes for the door and on the threshold is an attractive older couple, smiling and holding a shopping bag. "Hello!" she says.

"Hello, darling," says Simone, the wife, and she and Laurence give Donna the customary two kisses on each cheek.

"Come in, come in," Donna says. "John's in the kitchen." She commends herself for how naturally she said his name. She makes Simone and Laurence comfortable in their living room, and they hand her the bag which turns out to be filled with cheese and bread, which she puts out for an appetizer. She pours everyone a glass of wine and seats herself comfortably with the couple.

The Doctor comes in to join them a minute later, taking a glass of wine from Donna and smiling contentedly. He seats himself next to her on the arm of her chair, one arm around her. "Welcome to the house!" he says to Laurence and Simone. "We've done lamb shanks, potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and strawberry shortcake."

"Ah," Laurence says, raising a glass. "Sounds perfect."

"Tell us about yourselves," Donna says. "We're so glad you're here."

"Well," Laurence says. "As you know I met your husband at our engineering club. He's extremely smart."

"Thank you," Donna says proudly, not bothering to correct the mistake as she would have previously. Even back then she'd been starting to give up, since everyone seemed to take for granted that she and the Doctor were married, even without rings. It doesn't matter anymore.

"He told me the two of you just moved here a few months ago," Laurence continues. "How are you liking our little French outback?"

Donna smiles. "I love it here. Private, quiet, everything we could ask for."

Simone nods. "That's what drew us here too when we retired. After our youngest son left home, we decided no more Paris."

"How many children do you have?" Donna asks.

"Three, two sons and a daughter," Simone says. "The youngest is twenty-six now, so we've done our jobs. Do you two have children?"

"I have a daughter from my first relationship," Donna says. "With my ex-husband. She's fifteen. And we don't plan on having any children." She looks to the Doctor. "John, what d'you say we light the fire pit and have all this wine and cheese outside?"

"I'll help you with that," Simone says, and she and Donna start to gather the wine and food. The Doctor opens the garden doors and goes to check on his lamb shanks. Laurence follows him to the kitchen.

Out in the garden, where the late October air is mellow and cool, Donna arranges the food and wine and takes the top off the fire pit. Simone stops her, taking her right hand. "What a magnificent ring," she says, looking at the sapphire. "And flowers, how lovely."

Donna smiles. "Yeah, he gave it to me about a month ago," she says.

"Ah, so you are married to a romantic," Simone says. "Lucky you."

"Isn't Laurence a romantic?" Donna asks. "John tells me you've been married forty years."

"Oh, yes," Simone says. "I never would have married him if he didn't have poetry in his soul."

"Well said," Donna smiles, arranging the wooden logs in the fire pit. It's a big round structure made of stacked stones and mortar, polished and rustic looking. She pulls out a long match and strikes it, setting a pile of tinder under the logs aflame. "There we go. Give her a few minutes and she'll be big and bright." One of her sweaters is already draped over the garden chair from earlier that day, so Donna puts it on over her dress. She makes herself comfortable with Simone and smiles. "Welcome."

"Merci, darling," Simone says. "You look very happy."

Donna takes a sip of wine through a smile. "I have, in fact, never been so happy in my life."

"Well, what woman doesn't want the privilege of saying that sentence?" Simone toasts Donna, who clinks glasses with her. "To loving the love of your life."

"Hear, hear," Donna says, looking back over her shoulder at the men in the kitchen. This little masquerade as an ordinary happy family is so achingly needed by Donna, who has waited so very long to feel this feeling. They are talking animatedly about something scientific, no doubt, and Donna smiles softly. He needs friends so badly, friends with no obligations or strings or betrayals. In all honesty, so does she.

"How long have you been married now?" Simone asks.

"Oh..." Donna says. "It's a very long story."

"Oh?" Simone says. "Do you care to share it?"

Donna takes a great deep breath. "I met him fifteen years ago, before my daughter was born, and he... we... fell in love. Tried to deny it. And then we were separated by force and we lived our lives apart, and he found me seven months ago."

"Oh, my god," Simone says, putting her glass down. "He came back."

"He came back," Donna says, and the enormity of it chokes her for a moment because she's seeing it from someone else's perspective since it all happened, and recanting it makes her realize she hasn't been living in a dream for nearly a year. She clears her throat. "Sorry," she says.

"That's quite a story," Simone says. "No wonder the two of you are so closed off here. Your home is like an enclave. A lovely hideaway."

"Yes," Donna says. That is entirely deliberate, even beyond the rules of UNIT for their safety. "I don't think we've really recovered from being apart for so long. We just don't want to be disturbed."

"How incredible," Simone says. "How did he find you?"

"I think he was looking," Donna says, and while that's not strictly true, it's how it had evidently played out. "And I just knew I had to be with him. He's part of me. There's no line." Then she seems to realize she's been pouring her heart out to this lady who barely knows her. "Excuse me," she says, a bit sheepishly. "I know I'm gushing--"

"Oh, no," Simone says. "Do you think I don't know what a woman in love looks like? It's lovely. I wish you happiness and peace, you've clearly earned it."

If you only knew, Donna thinks. Sometimes she sits in her garden and just looks at things. She knows that she is even still alive because of her own heroic actions, though she never seems able to really absorb that fact. It's part of why she's still so surprised to be so thoroughly loved by this brilliant man. She has never truly absorbed that she has saved the actual entire universe before in her life. Even without that he would love her, but that's an idea Donna can't yet accept. Maybe now knowing that she had saved everyone everywhere at one point in her life, even if it cost her half of herself, gives her a reason to think maybe she's earned his love and this life.

"Well surely you can see him with Laurence," Simone says. "He's alive with joy." The men are laughing in the kitchen while the Doctor plates the food for everyone.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Isn't he just." She's so glad. She looks back at Simone. "Me too."

"Mesdames," Laurence pokes his head out the garden doors. "Shall we eat around the fire?"

"We can do that," Donna calls back. "Do you need help?"

Laurence shakes his head. "No," he says. "You stay there. Entertain my wife. She gets up to no good when she's bored." He goes back inside the kitchen. "Your wife is quite a lady!" he says to the Doctor, who smiles proudly and doesn't bother correcting him.

"Isn't she just," he agrees.

"How long have you been married now?" Laurence asks.

"Tell you the truth, mate," the Doctor says. "We only found each other again seven months ago."

"Again?" Laurence says. "You were separated?"

The smile on the Doctor's face fades. "Yeah," he says. "And I didn't... I don't think either of us ever thought we would see each other again, but I had to look for her. I had to know she was all right."

"That's quite a love story," Laurence says. "If you don't mind me asking you, what separated you?"

"War," the Doctor says, which is as close to the truth as he can get.

Laurence's smile fades. "Oh," he says. "Forgive me, you don't have to say anything else."

The Doctor shakes his head. "Sorry for bringing the tone of the evening down. Why don't we get out there?"

Laurence puts a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that. Simone and I have always been grateful for our boring lives." He and the Doctor go out with two plates each, and join Donna and Simone around the fire.

And for the next few hours they laugh and talk with Simone and Laurence like any ordinary people, until around one in the morning. They've shifted position so that the Doctor is sitting behind Donna with his arms around her. "We'd best get on the road," Simone says, yawning. "What excellent wine."

"Thank you," Donna says, a bit tipsy herself. Laurence, ever the responsible driver, has nursed a glass for the last hour or so.

"You light an excellent fire," Simone says, getting to her feet. "An evening to be applauded."

Donna makes a little bow, and she and the Doctor see Simone and Laurence to the door. Once they're in the car and driven away, Donna turns to the Doctor. "So, John," she says playfully. "Did you like our little performance tonight? Our Regular People Show?"

"You did very well," he says, and Donna makes another little bow.

"And so did you, Spaceman," she says. "If I didn't know better I'd say you had a good time."

"Ah, but luckily you know better," he jokes, and Donna nods.

"I do," she says. "No, but really. Did you? We can do it again." She watches him go back to the garden to gather the dishes instead of answering her. "We can, if you want," she says again.

The Doctor puts the dishes into the sink. He turns to her. "You had to know that tonight was a dream come true for me," he says. "I can't remember the last time I felt so at peace." He goes back out to get the wine glasses to avoid the moment, and Donna takes them out of his hands when he gets back inside the kitchen.

"Spaceman," she says, and the word is filled with so much love. It makes him stop and listen. She's really the only person he'll listen to anyway. And it helps that she looks so pretty just then, in one of his favorite dresses with a cozy sweater over it, her hair shining in the warm kitchen light. She smells like perfume and wine and that essence that is entirely hers, one that humans can't detect but that he can, and that comforts him.

"We'll do it again eventually," he says, ambivalent about it all.

"Don't you like them?"

"Yes," the Doctor says. "Of course. Laurence is a good bloke. I just... maybe we don't really want a bunch of people around us?"

Donna smiles. "Security concerns or you just don't want to share me?"

"Call it both," he says. "In equal measure." He tilts his head towards the sink. "I'll do the dishes if you put out the fire."

"Deal," Donna says, and he watches her walk back out into their thriving garden. He watches her douse the flames and turn off the firepit, putting the round metal shell back over the top. When she walks back inside, closing the garden doors behind her, he comes to pull her back in by the waist.

"Do you really mind that it's going to be a show from here on out?" he asks her. "Everything we do as normal people is a show."

"Well, yeah," Donna says as if it's obvious. "'Course it is! No giving away the game."

"Might wear on you."

"Oh, please," Donna rolls her eyes. "It's literally the best secret in the entire universe. Why would I mind keeping it?" She tilts her chin up to look at him properly. "I live with a time traveling alien who's a billion years old and mysteriously never dies, and who is going to confer upon me the closest to functional immortality that exists with the added bonus of super-slow aging so I get to keep my fabulous hair. You think I can't put on a couple of dinner parties a few times a year for that? A Christmas here or there? For the entire universe at my feet for as long as I can imagine?"

He pulls her in to kiss her and Donna says, "Speaking of which, Spaceman, when does my youthful journey begin?" instead of kissing him back. She feels the Doctor huff a laugh against her lips and closes the gap between them, kissing him deeply.

"Let's say tomorrow," he says. "I have more important things to do now."

"Like dishes?" Donna asks.

"Fuck no," he says, pulling her by the hand up the stairs.

He does do the dishes of course, after, when Donna is lying contentedly on her bed. She just smiles at him languidly when he gets up and puts his shorts back on. "I'll be back," he says.

Before long Donna can hear the hum of the dishwasher. She pulls a blanket over herself and thinks about what she's been offered. The chance to outlive everyone. The chance to see her daughter through an entire life, and to stay the same as she is now. The chance to be loved, as long as she lives, no matter where in the universe she goes. The chance to love, to be free to love the man she thinks she was always destined to know. The chance to exist, to no longer be invisible, lonely, defective, unimportant Donna. How could anyone turn that down?

And she'll be useful to UNIT and IHR for as long as she's able. Think of how many people she could help. How many wounds she could heal, how many psyches she could repair. How much progress she could see and help to come to pass. She can do good for as long as she can.

And for love, she can give up the normal life. It was never much for her anyway. So when he comes back into the room she is solemn. "So tomorrow I get to live forever," she says, resting her chin on her hand on his chest.

"Not forever," he says. "But yeah."

"Will it hurt?"

"I don't know," the Doctor says. "It's a process invented by Gallifreyans alongside the regeneration technology. Regeneration doesn't hurt, but you never know." He squeezes her a little. "I won't let you suffer."

"And it'll work?"

"It's been used before for scientific and legal purposes," the Doctor says. "So yes, it works. But you'd be the first and only human to ever have undergone the process."

Donna rolls her eyes. "How many more times is that going to happen to me?" she asks, smiling. "The first and only human to undergo a metacrisis. The first and only human to engage psychically. The first and only human to get awards from aliens for heroism. You know. Old hat for me now, Spaceman." She gives him a playfully wicked look. "I'm special."

"Yes," he says. "Finally, you get it." It's nine million people... who cares about me? And out of nine million, out of eight billion, out of the infinity, she will always be the one. For her, he will live the normal life.

In the end it doesn't hurt. Donna goes into the TARDIS with him at sunrise, since neither of them managed to sleep but instead talked until the sky turned light again. She goes to the medbay with him, and clings to his hand until he helps her onto the bed. "Don't be scared," he tells her. "On the other side of this is our life."

"How long is it going to take?" Donna asks.

"Don't know," the Doctor says.

"You don't know much," Donna says softly, without rancor.

"It's never--"

"Been done on a human before, I know," Donna says, finishing his sentence. She squeezes his hand. "Here we go."

He pulls out the Chameleon Arch and connects to the mainframe of the TARDIS processor. He gives her a look full of affection and love as he places it on her head. She reaches up to adjust it and breathes deep. "I'm gonna turn it on in a moment," the Doctor says. "Stay with me."

She nods, and a moment later she feels her entire body go rigid, as if she has been bound in straps. There is a prickling sensation, a great shrieking ring in her ears that makes her wince, and then she is shivering uncontrollably. It seems to go on for ages, but eventually Donna feels her body slow and still. She is out of breath and a little shaky, but she opens her eyes to see the Doctor still standing there. He looks concerned and scared, until she says, "Blimey. What the fuck was that?"

He makes a noise between and laugh and a sob, pulls the Chameleon Arch off her, and helps her sit up. "You all right?"

"I feel fine," Donna says. "Maybe a bit dazed?" She gets to her feet and stands still for a moment, the Doctor's hands hovering on either side of her to catch her if she falls. She looks down at herself. "What now?"

"Er," the Doctor says. "I think we're done."

"Oh," Donna says. "Good. I could use a giant meal and to sleep for days."

"Those are good side effects," the Doctor says. "There we go. Let's go eat and you can get into bed."

Donna ends up sleeping nearly a full 24 hours afterwards. She wakes up feeling no different physically. When she comes down to the living room the Doctor is sitting there attempting to look as if he has not been anxiously checking on her for the last day and night to make sure she's still breathing. He'd been resisting the urge to wake her up for nearly that long. He smiles with relief when she joins him on the sofa. "Status report?" he asks her, only half-playfully.

"Er," Donna says, considering. "I just slept the entire day and night, right?"

"Yep. Hungry?"

"Maybe?" Donna asks. "So now what? Is something supposed to happen?"

"I'm pretty sure it's what doesn't happen that will tell us we were successful."

"What time is it?" Donna asks.

"About 3:30 in the morning," he says.

"I love these weird hours with you," Donna says. She moves to nestle up against him. "I feel exactly the same."

"Good," he says. "Time will tell, as usual." He hands her the TV remote. Their TV is wi-fi enabled, of course, and it's hooked up to the TARDIS computer via said wi-fi, so they can get any programming they want, past or present, Earth or not. Donna settles on reruns of Seinfeld, since she had discovered it during their long, happy, timeless nights together. She stretches out so that her head is resting on his chest. He puts his arm around her, under her arm so he can rest his hand on her breast. It's an easy, possessive move, and Donna smiles to herself, hoping he can't see it.

After a few minutes, Donna says, "I can't decide whether this show is funny or not."

"The audience thinks it is," the Doctor says. Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Is it a laugh track?"

"Maybe," the Doctor says. There is a comfortable little silence.

"Will we always live here?" Donna asks.

"If you like," the Doctor says. "We can go anywhere if you get bored of France. We just have to let UNIT know. We have time."

"Yeah," Donna says. She puts her hand over the Doctor's. The sapphire ring glints in the light from the TV.

They finally do have time.

#doctor x donna #fourteen x donna #donna noble #fourteenth doctor #tatennant #otp: never been so happy in my life #this took me forever!!!!

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gaintsnowflake · 10 months

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘

PAIRING - George x gn!reader

ONESHOT - in which one seeks shelter in a library after hours

REQUEST - nope

TRIGGERS - none

A/N - this is pure fluff | please mind any typos or grammar errors, i am my own editor and I may not be able be able to get everything

WORD COUNT - 1K

masterlist

SLAMMING into the door, it opened. Quickly, I turned and locked it behind me. I slid down the door laying my back against it.

For once in my life, I wasn't being chased by the dead, but rather by the living. Damn, Lockwood for pissing off those relic men. Damn, Lucy for sending me out alone right before curfew to get some milk. And thank heavens that door was open.

Why is that door open? It is 5 minutes before curfew; nothing should be open. They should learn to lock doors. Who knows who will break in?

I opened my eyes, looking around to see a dark library. Stacks and stacks of books piled neatly on shelves in what seems to be no particular order. Slowly standing, I went to go look at the closet shelf of books before I was drawn out of my thoughts by a shaky voice.

"If- If you're a relic man I suggest you get out of here. Or I'll... or I'll call the police!" The voice got louder as if it was getting more confident.

"Not a relic man, just an agent." I put my hands up, unsure of where the voice came from.

"Then, where is your uniform? Shouldn't you be out on a job, it's nearly curfew?"

"Shouldn't you be home?" I argued, looking down to see that my body was dimly lit by the street lights outside, they could see me, but I couldn't see them.

"I can't leave now, it's about to be after curfew and relic men are often down the street. It's safer to stay here," they responded as they walked somewhere.

The lights flicked on all of a sudden, I blinked a few times adjusting to the light. The library suddenly became more lively; plants lined the shelves along with bright books that contrasted well with the dark wooden shelves and dark green paint.

"Could have warned me," I stated turning towards the counter to see the person who I have been holding this far too long conversation with.

Which, looking at them now, I don't seem to care. They were stunning from everything that I could see. They moved to lean on the counter, a stack of books next to their arm.

"Sorry, I thought you would have liked a bit of light." They spoke softly analyzing me.

"Why are you here? I mean the books are exciting but why this rundown little library? Why not an agency one or the Archives?"

"This rundown place is my parents' shop, I help run it. I was on shift tonight and lost track of time after closing since I was stocking the shelves. As for being at an agency, I have no talent."

"Should have guessed, you mention something of relic men but nothing of the ghost in the alley."

"What are you doing here? Why this shop? It was closed," They ignored my previous comment, picking up the stack of books and walking around the counter to go put them on the shelves.

"Got chased by some relic men my friend pissed off," I stayed walking behind her and looking at the books surrounding us.

"Nasty men they are, quite a few of them try to duck down in here after hours when I am still here. Luckily they get spooked off once I threaten them enough. You just came in a bit earlier than normal, spooked me for a change."

"Are you here after hours often?"

"All of the time, practically live here at this point," They turned towards me, stopping as they gently pushed a book into its place. "What agency do you work for?"

"Lockwood and Co, London's smallest agency," I wasn't ashamed to be where I was, it is a lot better than Fitts.

"You're the agency on Portland Row, right? With that one listener, Lilly? Lucy? Luise?"

"Lucy, I am surprised you have heard of us. I'm their researcher George."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, George, I am y/n of l/n books and nooks," They paused before continuing, "What is it like being a researcher? I have always wanted to work researching in an agency, but I got to keep this place going."

I stopped before responding. No one ever asked me about work. I took the opportunity to tell them all about it, not skipping a beat. They continued to ask questions and seemed very intrigued, they even laughed at my jokes. Eventually, I found myself sitting across from them on the floor discussing the best ways to create salt bombs and how exactly to handle a chain.

Just as we were discussing my most recent case I glanced at a clock hung on the wall. It has been three hours. Lockwood and Lucy were probably worried if they noticed I was still gone.

"Can I use your phone? I should probably call Lockwood and Lucy to let them know I'm alright."

"Yeah, yeah, it's behind the counter."

I stood up, walking behind the counter. I dialed the house number and waited for it to be picked up, which was only after two rings. I heard Lockwood stressed voice on the other end.

"You've reached Antony Lockwood of Lockwood and co, how can I help you?"

"Hey Lockwood, I just wanted to let you know that I'm alright and I will be back in the morning."

"George! Lucy, It's George, he's okay! God George, you scared the two of us. Where are you? We can call a taxi and come and get you."

"No, no it's fine, I am fine, more than fine, I am in this library and there is this person here who is interested in our work so I am just talking to them."

"Okay? This is weird... Are you being held captive? Are you sure you are alright?"

"Yes Lockwood, I am fine, I will be back in the morning. Now goodnight," I hung up and turned around to see y/n staring at me.

"They seem to care about you a lot," They whispered a smile plastered on their face.

"They care as much as they want, now let's continue talking about that mission."

With that, we sat there and talked all night long about everything. I don't think I could be happier that I happened to stumble into this LIBARY.

#george karim #george cubbins #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction #fanfic #george karim x reader #george karim x you

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canarybell · 7 months

Text

About the Ball, the safety of the angelic embassy and the importance of discussing plans

You know, I think there was actually one more reason for Aziraphale to have a ball in his bookshop. Not just for the sake of having a dance with Crowley or make Nina and Maggie fall in love – though, of course, the idea of it happening was present and pleasant for the angel.

I first thought about it few days ago while rewatching episode 5. Do you remember how insistent Aziraphale was on making everybody going to the meeting, stooping to direct temptation to achieve 100% attendance? Yes, yes, I know, it was for the ball where Aziraphale planned to dance with Crowley and (maybe) make a step further in their relationship. But if you think about it - yeah, Doctor Who fan provided music, but why would Aziraphale need a magician and his partner for this meeting to present? Even if both magician and DW fan had declined, there still would have been Nina, Maggie, Mrs. Cheng and her husband, French restaurant owner, Mrs. Sandwich, Mr. Brown, some other people…it actually seems the whole street except for first two men agreed to come without any problem. It’s not like two random people would make any difference – neither for Crowley (he doesn’t even know or care about them!) nor for Nina and Maggie.

There also was that subtle face change, when Nina and Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale – he’s suddenly a lot more serious than during his talk with Crowley, and even a bit concerned about something?

Now, we know (and Crowley doesn’t) that Aziraphale is aware that Shax knows about Gabriel. It seems Aziraphale totally forgot about that danger focusing on the ball….or not?

You see, while the bookshop was a center of demons’ unwanted attention, it was also (paradoxically) the safest place for mortal to be in the Whickber Street at night in case demons attack (and it looks like they only attack at night). In theory, at least. We saw how demons followed unassuming Maggie while she was heading to the bookshop – hardly with good intentions. We also know the bookshop is technically an embassy and thus safe from demons – unless you go out the doorstep on your own like Mr. Brown or invite them like Maggie. Otherwise all demons could do was breaking the windows and shouting some nonsense from the street.

Actually, even Crowley agrees the bookshop is the safest place for Nina to be at that night:

So that’s can be why (I assume) Aziraphale was trying to invite everyone on the street – he knew there was a chance of Shax arriving, and had in mind people of Whickber Street would be safer inside. That’s why he didn't bat an eye when Crowley told him about demons outside – he knew it might happen and actually took measures! He even explained it!

There is actually nothing to worry about! Humans will be too busy the whole night, dancing, talking Jane Austen style and trying to figure out which guest is the seamstress and which one is the seamstress – and wouldn’t even notice something unusual happening outside. In fact, Aziraphale and Crowley might even dance (while Shax helplessly looks at them from the window) and even kiss – what can Shax do, with them being inside an embassy? The whole London might be destroyed, but an embassy will remain safe – like at that concept picture:

….At least he thought so. You all know how it ended. Demons broke the window, Mr. Brown went outside and was taken by demons (so, ‘keeping humans safe’ idea failed), and only then Crowley bullshited their way out by convincing Shax ‘civilians’ should be evacuated.

You see, it wasn’t a bad idea, per se – using available props, like demon-proof building, or summoning/discorporating circle later. But it was a terrible plan, as it didn't take into account the various subtleties – would demons be able to draw attention to themselves even if they can’t enter? How humans might react if they notice something and how to keep them safe at this case? What to do in case demons stay – they definitely can wait for a long time – longer than humans will agree to stay for sure?

And you know what could have made this plan better? Discussing it!!!!! With Crowley!!! With Crowley actually discussing it, not just disregarding it, cause the idea is good, it just needs some revisions. That’s why there is such thing as peer-review, for God’s sake, to see errors caused by cognitive distortions!

(And then Crowley in his turn ignored Azirapjale’s attemption to suggest and discuss some plan – maybe about activating the circle? That actually wasn’t a bad idea too, but shouldn’t have been the whole plan)

But if they discussed the demon-proof embassy plan, Aziraphale would also have to mention that he had met with Shax, and he didn't want to talk about it - for whatever reason. Probably the same reason why Crowley kept silent about his meeting with Beelzebub, Shax’ threats, and Jim's "prophecy" of the tempest.

A severe case of miscommunication disease, the main villain of these series; The Metatron is no match for it.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens theory #aziraphale #ineffable husbands

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 1 month

Note

So I'm thinking about moving to London for a job and I'm just wondering if any of your followers know good places to live? I'm not leaning towards living in London due to crime, overcrowding, little green space and extreme prices so thinking about somewhere in the Home Counties or Greater London or just outside, to commute etc. so anywhere where it is safe, low crime, green space and nature and also little overcrowding. I'm from a small town compared to London. Whether it is Berkshire or Essex or Hertfordshire or if anyone has other suggestions

Posting for other anons to help!

The only advice I can offer is my own experience with big city living and commuting into the city/office.

Yes, there's crime, but some parts of a city are safer/less crime-ridden than other parts of the city. Once those boundaries are learned, navigating and living in the city can get easier from a crime/safety perspective. And second, what you may hear in the news about a bigger city may not accurately reflect what's actually happening in the city. (The latter may be more American, as I'm not sure what British coverage is - here, our cities are portrayed as death and destruction Gothams. While there are parts of our cities like that, it's not the whole picture of what the city is like so the representation is unfair.) But safety is paramount and you must absolutely live where you feel safe and comfortable. Use your street smarts and always trust your gut.

And I get it about the affordability. I've got a 2-hr commute because of affordability (45 minutes on the train + 15 minutes driving to the train station, each way). It can suck the life out of you very easily so having a solid routine will help make it bearable, as well as having something that turns commuting into something enjoyable like a podcast or an audiobook. Another thing that had really helped with my commute (which I realize might be longer than the average Brit's commute) is meal-prepping and meal-planning a week or two ahead of time. It takes a huge mental load off when you don't have to worry about what you're going to eat and you can just throw some leftovers or an already-made meal into the microwave.

#anon advice

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rom-e-o · 5 months

Text

Not Supposed to Be Here (Ebenezer/Constance)(Modern AU)

Unwanted company follows Constance home one day.

Rated 13+. Triggers for stalking from a third party, light violence w/ mention of blood, and some language. All the romance is just fluff, maybe with some innuendo if you squint.

Also, this takes place in a modern AU universe featuring @quill-pen's Bess (and her own Ebenezer/zar), Addie, and Gal. Cameo time!

Happy reading!

Usually, Constance felt safer upon entering their flat’s guarded lobby.

The gentle chime of the entry bell and lemony smell of freshly sprayed cleaner offered an air of professional hominess. It felt sophisticated, but also slightly cavernous, which usually aided her feelings of safety.

The building was old in design, with darkly lacquered walls and natural stone floors, but the cameras and keypads that dotted the vicinity were the best money could buy. The cost of the units within the building damn near insisted it. As a result, most of the residents did the same.

Literal resident, philanthropist (and casual billionaire) Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, for example, had spared no expense in making her feel safe once she moved into his upscale London apartment. The man already had an impressive security system installed. A few years ago, he would have said it was to protect the funds, ledgers, and gold he prized. Now, it was to protect the woman with a heart of gold whom he had the honor of marrying in a few months’ time.

While Ebenezer treasured Constance open and ardently, her presence alone wasn’t the only factor that inspired him to pay top dollar for security.

He knew that being at his side put her in the public eye, and considering her ex-husband’s very active restraining order, he had updated the system to the latest model the day she first entered his abode.

Not only was the front door guarded by a doorman and the front desk staffed by two receptionists, but the floor Ebenezer’s flat occupied could only be accessed by a special elevator, which was manned by its own staff member at all hours, except for the occasional break. There was, of course, the fire escape out back, but that area was also guarded with cameras closely.

Yet, even as she made small talk with the attendants and checked their postbox for mail, a sense of uneasiness lingered over her like a storm cloud.

She felt unusually restless; like eyes were on her, but not just any set of eyes.

It had been just over a year since she’s felt that familiar sense of dread … the nightmare of his eyes, dark and cold as fog, watching her. Scrutinizing her. Hating her from afar.

A Harrods catalog slipped from her hands and onto the floor.

The rustle caught the attention of a nearby receptionist.

“Something wrong, Ms. DoGoode?” one asked, peering up at her from their post behind a large Mac monitor. They appeared to be checking their emails, the camera feed resigned to a smaller window in the lower corner.

Constance turned and looked behind her, her gaze moving through the lobby and out into the busy London streets. The frost-covered glass hid the details of the sidewalk and traffic outside from her view, but nothing immediately caught her attention.

Prudence, the large mastiff that loyally followed her lead even without a leash, followed her eyes. In response to her owner’s obvious discomfort, her stance immediately became more protective at the first showing of fear. She glanced around, growling in an attempt to stave off whatever was causing her new mama to tremble.

Yet, even as they both ladies stared out the front door, they saw … nothing.

Perhaps she was imagining things. Or, imagining people.

Trying to save face, Constance chuckled and tucked her mail away in her evergreen Telfar shopping bag, a recent acquisition from New York that her mother had sent.

“I’m fine,” she said, making sure to flash the receptionist a grin. “Clumsy as always, haha! Thank you for worrying.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Prudence whimpered and pawed at her lower legs. She bent and scooped up the mailer, then rubbed her large, meatball-shaped noggin. “Sorry, girl. I guess I’m just imagining things.”

Something must have triggered the feeling, she thought. Maybe another man in the lobby was wearing the same cologne as him, and she’d picked up on it subconsciously. Maybe she hadn’t seen someone coming in behind her at the entrance, and she’d let a door fall shut on someone. Yet, if that was the case, they apparently hadn’t stuck around to chastise her.

With kind words of parting, Constance made her way to the gilded elevator tucked in the back of the lobby. Prudence stayed behind just a moment longer, cocking her face at something beyond the glass.

Constance whistled as she held the door. “Come, Prudence.”

With a huff, the pup gave up her pursuit and trotted into the elevator.

“Good girl,” she praised. With those words, the elevator doors fell shut.

Moments later, the front door opened softly, and a man stepped in.

“Excuse me,” he asked as he approached the desk. We wore a dark trench with camel-colored gloves tucked into his pockets. His American accent was distinct, with a slight Dutch twang. “I looking for someone, and I think I just saw her go up.”

“Let’s see…oh, Harrods opened their Christmas department,” Constance exclaimed as she read the mailer on the ride up. “Oh, they already have their teddy bear display up this year! The Cratchit children would adore that. We should all go on an evening after work!”

While Constance attempted to distract herself by reading the seasonal ads, Prudence kept glancing around, as if even the tiniest shadow in the elevator could pose a threat.

“I wonder…has Bess ever been before?” Constance pondered aloud. “I’ll have to text Wolf and see. What a fun surprise that would be!”

Lacquered maroon nails tapped the glossy paper impatient. She glanced around the small space and heaved a sigh. “The, um, attendant must be on break.”

The mastiff definitely wasn’t listening. Her expressive eyes furrowed at every sound, and when the doors opened on the private floor, she even let out a bark.

Smiling softly, Constance gave Prudence a reassuring pat on the back as they exited. “You’re so brave, protecting me. Thank you, sweetheart.”

The praise temporarily distracted Prudence from her apprehension, her tongue lolling from her gummy jaw. Her tail swayed like a ship’s mast during a sea storm.

“Now, keys, keys…” Constance said, reaching her entire arm into the large bag to fish out the front door key to the apartment.

When her fingers brushed the distinct, heart-shaped keyring, a grin bloomed on her face. “There you are! Sneaky.”

Constance unlocked the front door, making sure to wipe her heels on the welcome mat before crossing the threshold.

“Ebenezer?” she called into the space, only to be greeted with silence. She heard no voices, or even music, from within. It seemed he was still out on business. He’d been called to a private meeting at a client’s estate. As the meeting was outside of their usual office location, there had been no reason for Constance to accompany him. Instead, he recommended she take the day off.

She smiled at the memory, especially how he had promised her he’d be back by dinner, then kissed her lovingly on her lips to seal the promise.

In fact, he kissed her each and every time they parted, no exceptions.

She kicked off her heels quickly, then reached up to a keypad located right next to their coatrack.

In addition to a front door key, the apartment had a security system that triggered every time the door was unlocked from the outside. Upon each entry, a special code had to be keyed in to disarm the system until the next time someone entered the space.

Some called the measure tiring or even nerve-inducing. She understood those sentiments, but to her, it was nothing but reassuring. It was a small price to pay for safety, in her mind. More than anything, she was grateful that Ebenezer took her safety so seriously.

She reached up and keyed in the code, her manicured nails tapping polished nickel buttons quickly. By now, she knew the code so well that she could enter it without even looking at the numbers.

A gentle beep sounded from the device, and Constance grinned in satisfaction. “There we go! Now then, miss ma’am Prudie, let’s—”

Without warning, the mastiff began to howl and bark. The volume of her bellows was so loud that the windows seemingly rattled in place.

His cheap cologne gave him away to Prudence before Connie had realized.

Just as the door was about the latch, a gloved hand shot through and stopped it from falling shut. The hand was large and masculine, adorned in a nondescript leather glove that would have been commonplace for anyone in London to wear, especially during the ideas of winter.

However, Constance recognized the glove instantly. She only knew one man who wore camel-colored leather gloves, complete with gold buttons at the wrists.

“Well, well,” Orin Spiegler grumbled, throwing the door open hard enough that the knob punched the drywall and left a hole. “The Sun was right.”

“Orin.” The sound came out as a choked gasp rather than a question.

“Normally I don’t read the tabloids, but when I saw that you hadn’t sent me a wedding invitation, I thought I’d check in with you personally.”

On stockinged feet, Constance stepped back from the front door. Shock stole her voice and ability to move, causing her to creep away with the speed of maple syrup through a frozen tap.

After a terrifying beat of silence, the man raised his arms like a preacher in a sermon and let out a loud laugh. “Well, don’t just stand there! Why don’t you give your ex-husband a hello, at least? After all, I flew all the way here. Don’t I at least get a kiss?”

She felt physically sick, as if she could vomit right there on the spot. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m banned from London? I’m here on business, Connie. Something our little … separation almost ruined for me. Don’t worry, I have no hard feelings about it, so don’t worry yourself into an episode over it.”

“I have a restraining order,” she said, her voice steady but far from confident. The acid behind his stare made it hard for her to control the tremble in her voice. “Y-You know that. You can be in London, of course, but…”

“I know you do, my little pumpkin-haired princess,” he said, his tone as condescending as his verbiage, “But, I was in the neighborhood. You know, the financial district, and saw you walking that fabulous little pup of yours.”

Her eyes flitted to the keypad, the red ‘Alarm’ button in the corner practically screaming to be pressed. She wanted to lunge to it, but her ex-husband’s broad-shouldered frame blocked it readily. Perhaps she could shove him, she thought, though her gut knew that she could move him even if she tried her hardest.

She’d never been able to shove him away before, after all.

Prudence continued to growl at the strange man, her canines flashing, and her impressive berth only accentuated by her splayed pose. Lowering herself close to the floor, she looked ready to spring up and attack, like an overwound toy or Jack-in-the-box.

“Easy there, princess. I’m not going to—”

When she snapped at his leg, his brow lifted in surprise.

“Temperamental, are we?” Orin sneered, “I never did like dogs. Too needy.”

His words sounded assured, but Constance couldn’t help but observe that the man had shrank away from her the tiniest bit.

He was scared of Prudence, she realized. Good. This was very good!

“She’s weary of strangers,” she offered, tilting her head down slightly.

“Didn’t seem weary when you were in the lobby.”

Her stomach congealed. So, he hadn’t imagined the feeling after all. “T-Then you must have also seen that I was talking with building security.”

“Who are just SO great at their jobs!” Orin mockingly posed, index finger bouncing in the air as if to tap an invisible period on the end of his statement. “Truly, bravo! I mean, all I had to do was walk in and speak to that lovely receptionist. She heard my accent, and I said I was a friend of yours. I told her I’d seen you while walking by and had just missed you in the lobby. Not a lie, after all. Then it was just a matter of choosing the right floor.”

“The right floor?”

“Everyone knows where your decrepit fiancé lives,” he said. “Exterior shots are all over the gossip rags. You should read them, actually! They say some things about you. Mostly about your breasts and age. I can’t believe they think you’re a 32DD. We all know you’re a—”

“Please stop,” she pleaded, holding a hand up, “I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“You should. They’re short-changing you, babe.”

“Don’t call me that. Also, don’t insult Ebenezer.”

“Well, anyway, images of you at your last dress-fitting kept me and all the other guys very entertained in the airport,” he said with a smile. “You ladies all looked so cuuuute! I’m glad you had some friends for this fitting. It must have been so lonely last time, with just you and your parents.”

“I-I…”

“I recognized Bess – fucking gorgeous lady, tell her I said that—”

“I won’t.”

“—and the other two … Addie and Gal, yes?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“So, I’m right. Fah-bulous. Are they taken?”

“In every way, shape and form,” she said flatly. “Are you satisfied?”

Orin chuckled a little too hard, until the sound petered out into a garish gasp. Then, his eyes drifted out the nearby apartment window, as if he was lost in thought. She almost thought she could sneak past him, until his eyes flashed back to her at the speed of an owl’s.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Connie?” he asked. “You. Here. With him.”

Constance furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand the question.”

“You’re not going to fall for the same song and dance again, are you?” he asked. “Doesn’t this feel familiar to you? The courting? The sweet nothings? You, sitting alone in an apartment, biding your time until he grows bored with you?”

It was Constance’s turn to laugh, but this time, in disbelief. “You and Ebenezer are nothing alike. Not in any way.”

“Now, that can’t be true,” he objected. “After all, you love him … and you loved me. Once upon a time, maybe, but you did. We must have a few similarities.”

“I loved the man I thought you were.”

“Perhaps we have acting in common.”

“No.”

“You think this one will last?” he asked. “That a man with his wealth and status will be satisfied with just you?”

“You have no right to—”

"Want a little insider tip?” Orin asked with a smirk. “Think of men like cabs, babe. When they're available, their light goes on. Ping! They wake up one day and decide they're ready to settle down, have a couple brats, they’re like a driver on-duty. The light goes on, and then, it’s a race against all the other cabs to get their next passenger. The next woman they pick-up? BOOM! That's the one. Marriage, kids, life-rending depression.”

Constance shook her head. “You might be like that—”

“—All men are like that—”

“—But Ebenezer isn’t.”

The guffaw that left Orin’s lips was as strident as cannon fire. “You think you're living a sweet little love story? You got lucky. You were just a pretty, desperate redhead on the curb. He pulled up, and you couldn't wait to hop in, couldn't you?"

Constance couldn’t look Orin in the eyes. “I-I…accepted Ebenezer’s kindness, yes. But I assure you, he was kind to me out of the goodness of his heart. He never expected anything in return because he’s a good man. A generous man!”

“Right,” Orin said. “And yet…here you two are. Living together. Engaged.”

“Stop.”

“A therapist would call this a troubling pattern, Con. You’re the common denominator here.”

“You were the one who asked me to marry you!” she asserted, her voice starting to hike in volume.

Then, to her horror, a grin split his face. “Oh … that’s right. I asked you. I flicked my little light on when I chatted you up, bought you a few vodka sodas on starry rooftops, compared you to a Botticelli angel, held your hand when we ice-skated in Rockefeller Center …I pulled my car up to your curb. And what did you do?”

He stepped forward again, which sent Prudence into a frenzy of howling and barking. Given the volume of her bellowing voice, it wouldn’t be long before neighbors (or security) investigated the noise.

This time, however, he didn’t shrink away. Instead, he reared his foot back and landed a solid kick right in her gut. The force sent Prudence staggering back enough for her to lose her footing.

Constance blanched at the sight. “Prudence!”

“You, a beautiful but dense girl from Manhattan, saw my light was on … and jumped right in.”

She flew to her knees and went to check on Prudence’s condition. Thankfully, it wasn’t a second of checking later that the mastiff was back to her senses. It appeared his blow had merely stunned her temporarily. With one shake of the head, she was right on her feet again.

Prudence weighed more than Orin by about twenty pounds, and while she had been holding back before, his attack only shattered her self-restraint. She lunged forward, jaws snapping and gullet foaming with rage. The force of her attack sent him to his elbows with a bone-rattling thump. Prudence didn’t cite or claw at him, but she did make a lot of noise while pinning is chest.

As predicted, the commotion caused doors to open in the hall, and Constance heard the concerned questions of neighbors.

While Orin was distracted, Constance bolted up and slammed the ‘Alarm’ button on the system. Along with the loud, reverberating barks from Prudence, the rhythmic blaring of the alarm created further commotion.

Pressing the button also automatically pinged authorities of an emergency.

It would also notify Ebenezer via cell message – a notification she knew he never silenced.

She wasn’t answering.

Ebenezer had no doubt he’d find at least twenty traffic tickets in his mailbox in the coming weeks, but the alarm had been activated at his flat and Constance wasn’t answering her phone.

If only he’d been at his usual office; he could have sprinted home, but no. Today of all days, he had been in a meeting outside of London, and had had to drive 15 minutes out to meet a particularly uppity client at their private estate.

Ebenezer had a feeling that the man would become an ex-client after how he’d dashed out after barely a word to Bob and his twin brother Ebenezar, but he couldn’t even care.

“Dammit, MOVE!” he swore, avoiding a flock of cyclists as he sped down A2198.

Once again, his call went to voicemail, and he immediately dialed again. All he could focus on was driving (AKA not crashing the car) and calling Constance’s phone over and over.

He left one pleading voicemail after another, begging her to call him back and also letting her know that he would be there soon.

When he finally had a visual of his building, he saw police parked out front, but their lights were off. Most importantly, there were no ambulances or other emergency vehicles. This slightly ebbed his panic, but not enough for him to coast into the building’s private garage and find a spot. Instead, he pulled up and parked in the street with alignment that could generously be described as cattywampus.

Again, he couldn’t care. Let them blast his windshield with parking tickets

Pushing the doors open and sprinting into the lobby, two of the guards immediately went to his side. Their goal had likely been to inform him of the situation, but their insistence upon pleasantries was too much chatter for him to handle.

“Sir, we’re glad you’re here!” one said, a light sheen of perspiration already coating their face. “Thank goodness, we were just going to—”

“Talk while you walk with me,” Ebenezer ordered, his voice practically bladed with tension. “Now.”

Instead of taking the elevator, he keyed into a private side staircase and took the steps up two at a time. Even professional firefighters would have had a hard time keeping up with the man.

Ten floors passed in the blink of an eye. Upon arriving at his flat’s level, he threw the door open to his floor to see a gaggle of officers crowded around his open doorway at the end of the hall. For a moment, his heart stopped at the sight before him.

Then, amidst a sea of curious onlookers and uniformed constables, he saw a flash of red hair. He would have recognized that hue anywhere.

“Constance!” he yelled, running down the hall at the sight of her.

Upon hearing her name, she turned to face him, her face puffy and her eyes blazing from worry. She was sitting on the floor in the doorway of their flat, Prudence seated at her side and nuzzling her face. They were okay, he thought, barely resisting tears.

She didn’t have time to speak before Ebenezer had shoved his way through the crowd and enveloped her in his embrace. They crashed together like comets compelled together by gravity.

Once in his arms, he felt her sink into him desperately, as if she was a small animal seeking solace from a hunter. “E-Ebenezer …I’m so sorry.”

He shushed her kindly but immediately, his wide palm falling protectively across her back. He urged her closer, and she obliged with a thankful sob, her shoulders shaking as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he whispered, turning slightly to place a kiss upon her damp cheek. “Gods, I’m so relieved to see you. I-I…can’t even tell you what I was thinking on the drive … ”

As they embraced, Scrooge heard nearby officers chatter about what had just transpired.

“The bloke said he was here on business, but his name isn’t pulling up any employers here or Stateside.”

Business? Stateside?

With Constance still folded tightly in his arms, he looked over to see a smaller group of officers that had gathered around … someone. He squinted his eyes, as if trying to peer through the physical entities that blocked his view.

“Is he going to need a transport for any injuries?” a voice radioed in. “The dog jumped him, but all injuries look superficial.”

Dog? Were they talking about Prudence? He looked over to see that Prudence was staying close to Connie, hugging her flank closely while laying his head upon one of his bent thighs.

“Hey there, girl,” he whispered, his hand giving the base of her skull a scritch. “Are you okay?”

Prudence whispered, and Scrooge’s confusion deepened.

“No, we checked him out and he’s going straight to holding,” the officer replied, his tone clipped. “He’s breached a restraining order.”

“Acting in contempt of court, huh?” another repeated, followed by a huff of amusement. “Stupid bastard.”

Ebenezer’s blood ran cold. The realization of what had transpired hit him like a ton of bricks.

All other senses; his sight, his hearing, his sense of touch; faded away, and all he became conscious of was a building fury that threatened to turn his vision red. There, through the narrowest gap of legs, he saw the distinct pale skin and dark-hair of the man that had tormented his fiancée for decades.

“You.” Ebenezer stormed to his feet and crossed the hallway in two steps. He was driven by blinding anger, which caused his heart to buzz like a saw. With the posture of a lion spotting wounded prey, he surged forward and grabbed the front of Orin’s coat. The over-starched lapels crunched under the older man’s fingers from the strength of his grip.

At this lunge, panic ensued.

“Mr. Scrooge, sir—!”

“W-wait! Ebenezer!”

Ebenezer paid the others no mind as he hauled Orin close to his face, their brows nearly touching as he eyed the man like a Minotaur out for blood.

Orin wheezed out a laugh. Only then did he notice the light bruising and raised marks on the man’s neck, each swatch standing out brightly against his sickly skin.

Oh, he would absolutely reward Prudence for her hard work.

“I should put your hard head through this bloody wall, Spiegler.”

“Then we’d both be off the jail, wouldn’t we?” Orin taunted. When he grinned, he saw his teeth outlined in red. “See, I tried to tell Sunshine that you and I were more alike than different.”

"Did you?" he asked, practically snorting in amusement.

"Yes, but I see that time in sleepy little London has made her more of an airheaded bimbo than she already was. She just couldn't seem to grasp the concept."

He raised his other arm in preparation to dislocate Orin’s jaw first-hand, but paused just short of contact. Unfortunately, the goblin of a man had a point, and he was in no mood to be forced away from his wife. Or go to prison.

With a furious sneer, Ebenezer threw the man against the wall in release. The officers fumbled to catch him, but understandably, made no effort to chastise the philanthropist for his reaction.

“Get him out,” Ebenezer whispered, his shoulders hiked up to his ears, and his voice oozed with venom.

“W-Would you like us to—”

“I want everyone who isn’t a resident on this floor off of it,” he seethed, his tone oozing with disappointment. “Any officers that need to question us can come inside.”

When his gaze fell on Constance, still huddled next to Prudence on the ground, his icy gaze melted into something more careful and tepid. Slowly, he sank back onto his knees and pulled her into another hug.

“Come one,” he urged, his voice soft and so, so tender. “Let’s go inside. I’m with you.”

The entire questioning process was as cut-and-dry as it could have been, considering the circumstances. With the assistance of Orin’s digital footprint in addition to the less than glowing testimonies Constance and Ebenezer offered, the authorities were able to piece together a likely series of events. It seemed Orin had lied about his employment status. He was a self-employed crypto investor after having a falling out with his New York office and had no reason to be in London for any professional reason.

“There is … much for us to look into,” a constable said as they jotted notes in a small flipbook. “Ms. DoGoode, you said he made a comment about watching you enter the lobby. Yet, you say you didn’t see him?”

“N-No,” she answered, her voice sanded with exhaustion from the day’s events. “I felt like someone was watching me, and Prudence was looking out the front window too. I … thought maybe I was imagining things? I never actually saw him, though. Not until I keyed in and he grabbed the door.”

“Ah.” The officer scrawled another note.

“H-How did he get up onto the floor?” Constance asked. Prudence sat to her right, head in her lap, and Ebenezer sat to her left. One of his hands cupped her knee, his thumb moving in gentle rotations in one of the indents there. It was a soothing reminder of his presence that she was beyond grateful for.

“We’ve already interrogated the main office and are currently looking into where the oversight occurred.”

“That should be no issue, as there are cameras all over the building,” Scrooge chimed in, peering at the officers with impatience. “That should alleviate much confusion.”

“Yes, it should sir,” one replied. “We’re working to secure that footage properly.”

“Good.”

Constance watched her fiancé in intrigue. In all the time they’d known each other and dated, she had never seen him stare anyone down before, and she had to confess … it was quite unnerving. Regardless of how he addressed the officers, his hand remained tender when touching her.

Meanwhile, while the couple chatted with authorities, other members of the growing Scrooge family pack (comprised of the many friends, associates, and relatives that the twins had connected with) texted in. His twin brother, Ebenezar, had known something was amiss. He’s watched him sprint from the meeting after all.

Upon receiving a brief overview of what happened, as well as a request to inform the others, the messages trickled in steadily:

>>Ebenezar: I knew something was wrong when you left … but I had no idea that it was that bad, Sammy.

>>Bess: I will KILL that man, I swear.

>>Ebenezar: If the authorities half-ass detaining him, they’re not going to like the next letter from our firm that crosses their desk.

...

>>Addie: Don’t worry about any errands! Tom and I can bring things your way!

>>Tom: You bet we can. Are you both set for dinner tonight? I can run something over.

...

>>Harry: I’m so sorry, Uncle. Can Hela and I do anything? Just say the word.

...

>>Bob: I just called Mr. Ebenezar as well, and we’re going to divide and conquer at work. Consider it all done.

>>Ethel: What cell is he in? I’ve been taking axe-throwing lessons, and my aim is damn good.

...

>>Gal: If you guys need some door security that’s worth a damn, Jake and I are free tonight.

...

After one last swipe of their men, the interviewer cleared their throat, the loudness of it conveying a sense of finality.

“We’ll keep you both apprised of any updates,” the officer said as they pushed themselves up from the sofa. With a nod to their partner, they reached across the table to shake Scrooge’s hand. An odd gesture, all things considered, but he did reciprocate, though his eyes remained as sharp as a steel edge.

“I certainly hope those updates include information on whether Mr. Spiegler’s detainment details change,” he said. “Clearly an order from the court is not enough to stop him.”

“Absolutely, sir. We’ll keep you both posted.”

Constance was relieved the questioning was over, and allowed her fiancé to take the reins at leading the officers out the door. After a few more pleasantries, she heard the reverberating sound of the door latch and the telltale beeping of the security system turning on for the night.

When she looked up, she saw Ebenezer tentatively approaching her. His footfalls were soft, as if he was walking on snow. His touch was even softer as he reached down to push a few strands of auburn hair back from her face.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she started. Her tone was borderline formal in manner and delivery, as if she was speaking to an associate rather than the man she wanted to marry.

Ebenezer’s gentleness turned to confusion swiftly. “Goodness, whatever for?”

She paused to blink back tears before answering. Another apology left her.

“I’m sorry for how … for how I seem to always make your life more difficult,” Constance said slowly. She directed her gaze at a notch in the hardwood flooring, unable to look her fiancé in the eyes. She knew in that moment that, if she glimpsed his face, she knew she would cry again. “I-I should have noticed him sooner. I should have trusted my gut better.”

“No, sweetheart—”

“I should have trusted Prudence,” she said, looking down at said pup, whose head still rested in Constance’s lap. Upon seeing her sweet, droopy eyes peer up at her, Constance caved as a sob rattled her body. “H-He kicked Prudence, Ebenezer! She was so brave, protecting me, a-and I let her get hurt!”

For a moment, Ebenezer couldn’t find the words to speak. Did she … really care more about Prudence than her own safety?

Seeing Constance cry spurred London's finest lady (and treat aficionado) to lift her head and lick the woman’s face, lapping away her tears. She was also incredibly ticklish there, and Prudence’s kisses dissolved her tears instantly. With peals of laughter leaving her, Ebenezer leaned in and gave Prudence an affectionate kiss on the forehead.

“She’s a strong girl,” he assured, grinning broadly. “Aren’t you, Prudence?”

She barked in agreement, her warm and deep ‘ruff’ filling the space.

Constance huffed out another laugh, always amazed at how the pup seemed to understand conversations better than some humans. Although Prudence had done a sterling job at ridding Constance’s face of her tears, Ebenezer still fished a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He dabbed her face gently, careful not to pull or tug her skin.

“Tomorrow, just to be safe, we’ll take her to the vet,” he promised. “We’ll get her looked over and make sure she’s in tip-top shape. Trust me, Prudence has had many children accidentally tumble over her before. She helps the Cratchit children decorate at Christmas, after all!”

Constance giggled again, covering her mouth sheepishly as she did so.

Just the sight of her smile was enough to lift a huge weight from his shoulders. While the entire afternoon had been an exercise in panic, all that mattered to him was that she was safe.

“Now,” he said, placing the handkerchief in her hand, then caging her smaller hands in his, “What we’re also going to do is take a holiday. We’re going to spend some time away from the flat and let things calm down.”

The suggestion brightened Constance’s eyes, but that excitement was almost immediately tempered. “What about work?”

“I’ll call in some favors. My brother is a damn fine businessman – definitely better at handling clients than I am. Don't tell him I said so, though. Bob will handle the books. And if all else fails? Well, being a private practice has many benefits.” He then paused to rub his chin in thought. “Actually, it might be good to close our doors for a few weeks to give everyone a break.”

“Y-You think?” she asked. “Wait, but what about…?”

“Profits?” he asked, unable to hold back a smirk. “You’ve seen our accounts. We could shut down for the next thousand years and be right as rain. And that’s a moderate estimate.”

Again, that beautiful smile came back. Mere hours before he’s suddenly been faced with the possibility of never seeing that smile again, and the thought of that physically sickened him.

“Sunshine, what you said earlier…” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I…never want you to think that I see your ex-husband’s actions as a reflection of you. When you say you don’t want to make life more difficult for me, I realize that I cannot even begin to describe all the ways your have made my life immeasurably better since we first met.

“Since you came into my life, I’ve been changed in ways that, frankly, I thought I were beyond me. I thought I was too old to experience many of these lovely, sentimental emotions that poets love to wax on about.” He laughed, tossing his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Gods, I’ve never met someone who makes me feel so excited every time I’m proven wrong. It’s a feeling I’d wish every human could feel.”

Transfixed, she could only watch as he slowly turned to face her again. “You have made me excited to face each day. You’ve inspired me to notice small things – before meeting you, I don’t think I ever paid attention to those fuzzy caterpillars that come onto the sidewalks after it rains, or the way Prudence’s nose always wiggles slightly when she’s about to sneeze.”

“Really?” she asked. Her tone sounded so hopeful that it practically broke his heart.

“Yes!” he confessed. The answer couldn’t rush from his lips fast enough. “When I was calling your phone earlier, I…started thinking the worst. I suddenly couldn’t bear the idea of walking into that flat again if you weren’t there, or going back to work and seeing your desk empty. Seeing your coats line dup so neatly in our hall closet. Seeing your make-up on our bathroom sink. Not smelling your perfume on the pillow beside mine. Not hearing you have a sneeze attack every time you smell pepper, or not being able to race you down to the front lobby when we order take-away.”

Constance’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed tears prickling the corner’s of her love’s steely eyes as he rambled.

“When I tell you that there is no possible way you could make my life worse by being a part of it, I’m deathly serious,” he confessed. A tear darted down his cheek, and as he attempted to stifle a sob of his own, she dabbed it away with the handkerchief.

As if this gesture proved his point, a puff of laughter escaped him.

“The only possible way you could make my life harder or worse … is if you were no longer in it.”

It was his turn to cry as the tension of the day caught up to him, and he felt the floodgates break. Blast, he hated how easily he could be brought to tears sometimes.

What made it easier, however, was feeling Constance’s embrace circle him. Her hands latched at the base of his neck as she leaned in and covered his broader body with hers. His arms circled her waist, securing her in place, keeping her safe and present with him.

For many hours, they stayed like that, silently sobbing and embracing each other as the anxiety of the day left their bodies in literal waves. By the time they’d both exhausted their eyes to achy redness, sleep lingered over them with overwhelming insistence.

With mutual understanding, both parted ways to make some small changes before laying down. Ebenezer loosened his tie and Constance removed her constricting pantyhose, leaving her only in her blouse and pencil skirt. He gave her an impish whistle, and she threw that garment at him playfully.

Using her fiancé’s head as a pillow, she curled up atop his body and nuzzled her face against his shirt. Her ear laid squarely over his heart, where she could hear its steady and strong beat just inches away. Ebenezer moved a hand to the small of her back to not only make sure she stayed in place atop him and didn’t roll off, but to remind her of his presence.

“I’ll watch the door,” he promised, kissing the top of her head. “You sleep. I insist.”

His broad hand gave her waist a reassuring squeeze, hugging her close.

“And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

>>Hello! You’re reached the voicemail for Constance DoGoode. I’m away from the phone right now, but leave your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you!

… <BEEP>

<<Sunshine, it’s me. Please, please tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re safe. I-I’m sorry for calling you over and over, and … fuck, I promise I’ll be there soon, angel. I promise. I love you, okay. I love you so much. I-I’m going to call again. Okay, love you. Please call me.”

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode #scroogeverse

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verdigrissoup · 2 years

Text

@thestalwartheart gave me the prompt "waking up freezing" for my 007 fest collab prompt table, and in true Soup fashion I decided to not go the cute way, and instead found a much wilder story in the process. I think this is a story I'd actually quite like to continue, but for now, have this part :)

James woke up freezing. At first, he thought it was that he’d kicked the blankets off of the bed again. It happened more times than he’d care to admit. But as his consciousness slowly caught up to his body, he realized that the cold sensation was in far more than just his toes. It was everywhere: his calves, his arms, his face. When James opened his eyes, he wasn’t greeted by the bland darkness of his flat back in London, instead, it was blinding white, so bright that it took him a couple minutes to blink and adjust to the light. He looked down at his body. His shirt was blackened and covered in holes where bright red skin peeked through. His pants were the same, half burned away and covered in scratches and blood. James tried to stand, but his legs were more unsteady than he realized, and he fell down onto hard concrete. Finally looking up and around, James saw he was in some kind of a large concrete room, but the entire backside seemed to have been blasted away, drifts of snow from the outside piling in through the fresh opening, almost invisible in the blinding bright light from outside. Shivering, James took a far slower approach to standing this time, his legs wobbling underneath him as he rose. He realized now that the room was tilted, and as he looked at the snow behind him and the door in front of him, it almost looked like it had fallen from a great height.

A door was much more preferable to a frozen wasteland by any means, so James slowly trudged his way up and towards the door. He did his best to ignore the reddish footprints he left behind in his wake. The door was hard to open, but James realized it was jammed into the doorframe rather than a lock preventing his entrance. Though he was cold, tired, and confused, with enough brute force, he was able to open up the door in front of him.

The sight on the other side wasn’t any better: a long dark hallway that was just as miserable and cold. James could faintly hear the sound of wind whistling through some far-off opening. From above, a single LED light flickered weakly before going out. The hallway was covered in closed doors, but far down the hallway to the left, Bond could see what promised to be another way out—a safer one, maybe— or at least some light. As he took a step towards that direction, his foot hit something. When James looked down, he was met with a gruesome sight, immediately forcing himself to back up. People had been here, and they had not survived.

What the hell had happened to this place?

Moving gingerly around the body he did not care to inspect, James continued his slow lope down the hall. There was too much happening— too many questions. Why was he here? What had happened to this place? And most importantly, how was he going to stay alive?

“James—?” A tinny voice called out. “Bond— 007, report!”

James looked around but there was no one around. Another sharp “Bond? Are you there,” had him looking at the ground where the sound seemed to be coming from. Near his foot was a small earpiece, so small that James was convinced that the speaker had to have been shouting for him to hear it this far away.

Picking it up, James gingerly held it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Thank God!” The voice shouted. “I was convinced that we’d miscalculated the explosion and it had been strong enough to have killed you. I was— I was about to give up.” The voice paused. “I’m glad you’re alive, 007.”

“I’m glad I am too.” James said, slowly. “But I just have one question: who are you?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. When the man finally said Q, there was absolutely no recognition in James’ brain.

#SORRY FOR THE ANGST MAC #ngl i think an amnesia survival 00q fic could be pretty fun to write in the future tho #maybe one day #I still hope you like it!!#007 fest #007 fest 2022 #soup's fanfiction #teambondvillains #thoughtsfromtheprimordialsoup #james bond #q #angst

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envihellbender · 7 months

Note

Diego or Damien being brought to Tobias Fell

Characters: Damien Simpson, Tobias Fell (Thirteen Storeys)

It wasn’t that Damien was surprised to be dragged to Tobias Fell’s penthouse, it’s that he didn’t think it would be two days before the infamous Dinner Party that so many inhabitants of the tower had been invited to. He was wondering if Tobias Fell would intervene with his investigation, but now that it was getting so close to the final date Damien had assumed he wouldn’t hear anything until the day itself. As it happened, he instead awoke to two strangers at his door - both were far taller than him, one was fairly slim, the other had one muscular arm that was the same size as Damien’s whole body. When they said who they worked for he tried to slam the door in their face to give him a moment to hide anything of note, however they shoved their foot in the way and dragged him out. He heard the old, heavy Yale lock click behind him, mentally glad that he’d just come in from work and his keys were in his hoodie pocket.

“So, what does Fell want with me?” Damien asked as they marched him outside of the apartment building. They didn’t reply. “Oh, right. Can’t have the millionaires fraternising with the normal people, yeah?” Silence. Eventually, he was walked into the other side of the building, and finally in the flat tower’s lift. “Oh wow, doesn’t stink of piss, no graffiti, and it doesn’t clank.”

“You talk a lot, you know that?” The skinny one grunted. His colleague cleared his throat and glared, clearly they had strict orders.

“Don’t appreciate my witty social commentary?” Damian retorted, as the larger man let out a small chuckle and flashed him a smile as if to say ‘sorry about all this’ Damian repressed the urge to stare, scowl, or make any kind of remark. Finding me funny doesn’t make you any less of a boot-licker, he thought.

They spent the rest of the journey in silence, not that it took much longer, Damien couldn’t believe how quick and smooth the lift was, you actually needed a keycard to use it. It was bafflingly secure. The larger hired muscle whistled and the skinny one didn’t take his eyes from Damien. It was a dark glare he’d felt a few times, usually from the police who were trying to figure out how he’d broke the law that week when he was unhoused. He wondered if the guy had been a cop at some point, he definitely had that look. He had the shortly cropped blonde hair, the scowl that suggested Damien’s existence offended him, and the horrifically serious expressions. When the lift opened he became aware that he’d been holding his breath. As he stepped out so his new friends wouldn’t shove him he exhaled in relief, not that he felt much safer in the hallway of Tobias Fell. It took him a moment to realise that he was immediately in Fell’d home, that the lift simply opened into his entrance hall because who else would you need to see up here?

“Stay here for a second mate, Jodie will get you anything you need,” Mr Large Security Guard said, patting Damien on the arm. He instinctively looked up to a woman who was stood in a black uniform next to the lift. Damien almost jumped as he hadn’t noticed her, he had expected a lot more groping and frisking when entering a rich man’s house, it was almost as if they either trusted him or didn’t see him as a threat. He looked at where he touched him like he’d been burned, he saw through the strange, arse-kissing act immediately. He was trying to act like they were the same, as if Fell’s man wasn’t wearing a watch that could buy Damien’s flat, the Londis he worked at, and several cars on top of it. Damien sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the window that was more of a glass wall. It covered an entire side of the room. He felt a little nervous as he approached, as if it was going to pull him down into the earth.

All he could see was the depressing, diluted street of London, he felt so absurdly high up and insignificant, feeling calls from the void. Whispering excitedly at him to push him through the window to feel the wind piercing and stabbing into his body as he fell into the ground. Damien managed to resist the urge - he probably couldn’t get through the glass anyway. He stepped away and turned around. The room wasn’t like most of the apartments in the tower - most rich people here had fashionable, minimalist flats. Fell on the other hand looked … nicer, maybe? It was still impossibly neat and clean like the others, as if no one lived there. It was a showroom rather than a home. It did at least however have some elements that showed it had human beings in it. There was some antique furniture, pale wallpaper with golden patterns, and frame photographs of Tobias Fell with varying prominent figures of the day. One of him and Tony Blair, another with David Cameron, then Boris Johnson, another with George Bush, one with JK Rowling, and more. His stomach was churning as he looked around at the bookshelves with large, vintage volumes that hadn’t been open in so long they had a thin layer of dust on them, and a large piano that looked victorian but as if it was brand new all at once. He was broken from his examination by a polite clearing of the throat.

“Mister Damien Simpson, I presume?” The croaking, frail man said. Damian turned to see Tobias Fell stood in the doorway, the man was huge, far bigger than Damian was expecting, and leaning on rolling walker. He noticed he’d leaned oddly on his right leg, it reminded Damian of his ex-partner who had had a prosthetic right leg. He didn’t remember anything about Fell being an amputee… But that didn’t mean anything, he supposed. Fell had been out of the public eye for a while, maybe he had recently lost his leg and wanted some peace and quiet. If that was the case though, why hold a dinner party? “Mister Simpson?” Fell said again, breaking Damien out of his staring silence.

“Oh. Yeah. Hi,” he said, he laughed a little nervously. He was in his work clothes - plain black trousers, some grubby trainers, a black hoodie, and a Depeche Mode t-shirt underneath his Londis ID card and lanyard. Comparatively Fell was impeccably dressed as people like him always were. He wore a suit, despite the fact he was a recluse, and he looked as if he’d had his haircut that morning. “Y’know, a phone call would’ve been nice, a text? Like, ugh didn’t have to have your erm… guys come drag me up here.”

“Ah, but since you have been rummaging through my underwear drawer like a jealous wife I thought it would be more appropriate to extend the same courtesy.” Tobias said all this with a smirk and a cold gaze, as if he was angry at the situation but didn’t want to show his hand yet. Damien sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh. One of them creepy old men you meet hogging the fruit machines in a better suit, aren’t you?” Damien folded his arms, avoiding looking at Fell and instead at the disgustingly extravagant furniture.

“Mm. Colourful young man, aren’t you? Anyway, don’t you think it’s best we have a chat face to face.”

“Sure but is this the kinda chat you had with those union workers or the kind you have with a distant uncle?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Fell smirked, a glint in his pale eyes. “Come, into the dining room. We can have lunch, I have a very particular kind of pig-”

“Don’t eat meat, mate,” Damien immediately piped up. He knew precisely what kind of pig Fell had in mind, if his research was correct anyway. He had no intention of even opening that door if he could avoid it.

“Ah, well, follow me. Perhaps we’ll have a lettuce leaf you can chew on,” Fell chuckled, as if he was particularly funny and original. Damien followed him, watching the back of him sway as he walked, Damien’s throat and lips grew dry in anxiety. He attempted to slow his breath and tried not to think about if he’d make it until the dinner party.

#envi writes #thirteen storeys #Damien Simpson #Tobias fell

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ventrue-in-control · 1 year

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After bran had been put to bed n jackie helped clean up with henry, jackie pushed henry into a chair at the dining table. He had been patient abd waited till the pup was asleep so they could talk without censors. "Mpenzi I knoooow Ive already given yall your gifts. And the whale plushies are very cute but, I got something more for you." From the inside pocket of his jacket he gets a little locket necklace. Clearly the locket is very old and has been shut with wax thats been dripped on top of it. Softly he pushes it into henrys hand grabbing his other and folding it on top. "This necklace is something dec and I stole from the inquisition in london. Ive been eyeing it for a while now because of the rumored legends around. It eh... keeps you safe from wards and supposedly. If a kindred attempts for whatever reason to bite you they won't be able to slake any of the hunger at all as long as you wear it. Or... till they give you something of great personal value... it wont keep you safe from the biting unfortunately but... i figured the protection against the wards would be really neat for you. It supposedly has some... hair? Or something inside it from a very old hunter. I suppose his blessings will keep you a little safer now. I love you alright?" While their hands were still on top of each other jackie kissed henrys hand but then smiled. "Now before you say anything~ i do have one more gift. And it should arrive any moment so let's get outside." Jack didn't even wait. Pulling henry allong to the garden. And as promised there was something waiting alright. A modified wardill 4 motorcycle to have 2 seats and space for storage. There was a... white horse with very intense red eyes with a carriage standing behind the motor. Jackie simply tossed a bag of what sounded like coins into the carriage with a thanks before the horse started to run off. Faster than any horse probably should.

"Its ehhh. A bike for- for you. Hand made too. I..." jackie simply handed henry the keys. On the keychain was a wooden tag stating dont die. "I feel like this is something you've wanted for a bit. Just a bit of freedom you know. You should perhaps take some time off. And test it out. I'm not great with words mate ill be honest. Youre the poet here i just make stuff. But. I love you alright. And I want you to know that. Thats all really."

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queenclaudiabrown · 1 year

Text

Quiet

Fandom: Primeval Pairing: Stephen Hart X Abby Maitland Content warnings: poilers for Primeval series 1 (mostly episode 6), mentions of canon injuries/violence/etc., Stephen feeling guilty Word count: 1,249 (finally a reasonably long one) Author's note: This ended up a little angsty and sad and I'm sorry about that.

Abby had had a bad day, and there was no way around it.

Stephen had saved her twice, saving her (and Connor, the second time) from a doubtlessly horrific death at the teeth and claws of a monster she knew without even checking had never existed on Earth before. She was shaken, but putting on a brave face about it. Claudia, bless her, had come from the sea lion exhibit where she’d been coordinating PR things and stayed with her while everyone else was off hunting down the creature again. Neither of them had been armed, but Abby had felt safer just with another human being’s presence. Claudia had gotten the university truck towed back to London, and the women had loaded all its gear into Claudia’s own car, which she’d driven up from London. They’d stayed inside it until the others had returned, for the illusion of safety.

Since they were down a vehicle, those who had come up in the Hilux had to go back to London in others. Claudia had volunteered to take Nick back in hers, and they’d departed before Helen could insert herself. In fact, Helen had been sent back in one of the soldiers’ vehicles, since no one was willing to let Helen go unsupervised, especially with a vehicle. Connor had wanted to pick something up from the University and had decided to take Abby’s car to do so. Therefore, Stephen had then generously volunteered to drive Abby back to her flat in his car.

The car ride was quiet; neither of them rolled down a window or turned on the radio. In the absence of noise, Abby’s thoughts ran wild. She replayed her two close encounters (read: brushes with death) that were only close and brushes thanks to Stephen. He’d come alone to the sea lion tunnels just in case, shielded her with his own body from that hideous, horrible thing. And even though he’d shown up at the car park to save Connor, it had been her that the monster was coming at when he scared it off with a bullet. Without him, she would be dead.

The blonde looked over at the man sitting across from her, calmly driving her home. Although, ‘across from her’ wasn’t entirely accurate, given that in order to cram his tall, long-legged frame into the small car he’d had to scoot the seat so far back he was almost sitting in the backseat instead of the front.

“Something wrong?” Stephen queried lowly.

“Just thinking.” She replied. “You saved my life twice today.”

Stephen turned onto her street. “That two times more than you should’ve needed it.” He said grimly. “We did a poor job of keeping you safe. We should’ve rang you as soon as we knew there was a creature loose in the Forest of Dean, and we shouldn’t have let you go off on your own while we went looking for it. It was sloppy and unprofessional and reckless. I can’t let that happen again.”

“Stephen, it wasn’t your fault. You had no idea that that creature was that dangerous, and the lizard enclosure was safe. I’m the one that left it. And from what Connor tells me, Helen withheld a lot of information. It wasn’t your fault she decided to leave important details out. You can’t blame yourself.”

He pulled into a parking space outside her flat and parked. “Maybe you’re right.” He gestured toward her flat. “You do have a key, right? I’d rather not have your neighbors ring the coppers on me for picking the lock.”

She chuckled, surprising herself. “Yeah, I have my key. You can pick a lock?”

He gave her a mock-scolding look. “You can’t?”

“I can,” she admitted, “but my hair’s too short for me to need pins, so I don’t carry any with me anymore. Connor’s got a locksmith kit, though; broke in here one time before I’d remembered to give him a key. I’d lost track of time and almost killed him with a pan.”

Stephen laughed, a rare and hearty sound. “Sounds about right. I’ll have to ask him about that later, just to see how he reacts to it.”

Abby fished out her key and opened the door, but hesitated. “Would you-” she faltered, unsure of how to explain herself without coming across the wrong way. “Can you stay, just until Connor gets back? I’m not sure I can take being alone right now.”

Stephen understood completely, and he nodded. “Of course.” He shut off the car and joined her at the door. She got them inside, already feeling just a little lighter. Rex trilled and flew down from somewhere neither of them noticed, landing on the television. She rubbed her finger under his chin for a moment, then continued to the kitchen. “Tea?”

“No thanks.” He replied politely, not very fond of it. Hands in his pockets, he turned, observing the flat. This was only the second time he’d been inside, and the first had only been for a few minutes before they’d all had to go to the football stadium for that anomaly. He knew where the snake terrarium was this time, and stayed well away from it. There were other reptiles- ones with legs, mercifully- in other cages and tanks, however, and he didn’t mind them.

Abby emerged from the kitchen with one steaming mug, and she gave him a smile warmer than the contents of her cup. He sat down against one arm of the comfy leather sofa, and she sat down just beside him, sipping her tea as she tucked up her legs under herself. She took a chance and leaned against him, and was relieved when he gently laid his arm over her shoulders and made no objection.

She finished her tea and set the mug on the coffee table, and after a moment rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t speak or make any move to get her off him, instead bending his arm to rest his hand on her shoulder.

They sat in the calm, peaceful quiet for a long time, until the familiar sound of the engine of Abby’s Mini Cooper neared the flat. “That’s Connor- I know the sound of the engine.”

Stephen reluctantly withdrew from around her. “Will you be alright with Connor here?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Thank you for staying. I can’t tell you how much it helped.”

“I’m glad I could do something for you.” He settled on saying. With one arm, he drew her into a hug, bringing the other arm around her back. It was nice to be able to hold her- on her end, to be held by him- without deadly danger in their vicinity. After a moment, he stepped back, but looked her in the eye seriously. “Now, if you ever need anything, if you ever feel unsafe- even if it’s just a feeling- you call me immediately, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I don’t care if it ends up being nothing or you thing you’re just being paranoid- you call me, okay?”

Abby nodded. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

A hint of a smile flashed across his face. “Good.”

After another long moment, he walked away, and the sound of Stephen’s engine faded just before Connor stepped into the flat, looking as exuberant as ever. “I’m going up.” Abby told him. “There’s pizza in the freezer if you’re hungry. I don’t want any.”

She went upstairs before he could reply.

also a gift to @witchofthemidlands because I know she ships these two :)

#primeval #stephen hart #abby maitland #fluff #fluffuary2023 #missing scene

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jaewrotethis · 1 year

Text

14- Let Go...

The wind could scream around me as loud as it wanted to but still the thoughts in my head would scream louder. And Peter Pan could clasp and pull me as close as he wished but my eyes would refuse to look back at his. The salty sea would stay far behind us, and the trees low beneath us for the entire flight back to the tree house hideout, and not once could I find the reason or courage to let him see what’s in my eyes, in my mind. I could never. If, even for a moment, I allowed those seeping green eyes of Satan to catch a glimpse of my uncertainty then I would be handing him exactly what he wants.

Until discovering that what I’ve always longed for is right here around me, it was always intended to get back to London. If fate somehow granted me my wildest wishes of making Pan suffer, as it did when it planted me on the island of my dreams, then the end goal was still always to go back home. After revenge, after fighting for answers to this source of magic that called me so loudly, London was always the endgame. It didn’t even have to be London, just getting far away from Peter Pan’s miserable, evil grasp was always number one priority. Although now I’ve made the horrid discovery that the escape I had of the real world, the dream land I begged for, is truthfully this nightmare island ruled by something dangerous and dark. And the worst of it all; my want to leave has become absent and it’s exactly what he wanted.

The atmosphere has entered a darkening of clouds in sky over a deep mist slowly overtaking the forest down below. The night excited to finally have a turn to expose itself in a calm ominous leak. With every adding dewdrop to every blade of wild grass down there a thought of why or how I could possibly dream of this place years ago seeps into my mind. The lively ground that darts passed, the shoreline we left behind, the ancient mountains that texture the map show me memories of the hot flames and smokey ash in the air. We fly over the deep valleys that bring up deep memories of watching this land burn alive, pieces of memories with what I’m seeing in front of me connecting like the mist to the ground around us.

When he lands us back at the enormous tree house I’ve only ever so disoriented, enraged, and evidently lost in the mystery of it all. Lost in thought, lost in the past but like the stars mixed in the daytime I’m lost in the present around me also. I wonder how conceivable it is for him to somehow, magically, plant memories of this island in my head just to make me want to stay. There is no way of finding out without exposing my secret of having I’ve seen this place before. The fear alone of how quickly he’ll kill me if he knew I harbored such a secret, or worse, if he believes still that I lie about how I ended up on the shore, convinces me to never let him know, ever.

Once we land in the campground outside of the tree house Pan drops me, fairly high, onto the grass, never allowing any sense of gentleness in his touch, but I mattered not since I was aching to disrupt all contact. The wet grass soaking my long since disgusting socks, and my kneecaps when I fall from too high, I clench hard. The wet pebbles in the substrate that caught me dig into the open cuts on my palms when I land but relief from his touch feels overwhelmingly safer, so I embrace it.

“Have fun?” he touches softly down in the dirt beside me.

“No,” I say, unwilling to give him any sort of reaction.

“Decided to stay after all?” he out stretches his hand to the tree door.

My eyes widen. How could he know? I stutter,“I don’t know,”

He looks suspecting of me.

“I’d rather not get almost killed again,” I play it off.

He teases me, “Day’s not over yet,”

He takes a little hop towards the door of the tree house when from above a big bird circles. It’s shadow copies the sway of it’s thick wings as it drapes low, dropping something. Pan seems to expect it once the bird got close enough and he catches what the bird drops before it hits the ground. Pan doesn’t even look at my confused face when I realize that it’s a chunk of bread. As if completely natural he doesn’t miss a single step, leading me back into the tree house, opening his vest to place the bread on the inside.

Perhaps the sky above created a black rain cloud just for me as we walk into the busy room, my head down, unsteady about all the attention about to be dropped on it. Holding my breath and trying to ration my thoughts, trying to make a decision, or a plan, scrambling for how to play this, what to say next. I stay close to Pan, just so uneasy. We’re immediately greeted by my babysitter, K.

K gets a look at me and smiles a laugh, “Whoa, have fun?” “I think enough to stay another night?” Pan answers him by asking me.

I look at him, then K and I realize I’m on the spot, my mind tearing apart. I know I have to decide now. The deal is at it’s end, Pan waits for my choice. The sight of the island over the sea exposing the land I’ve wished for clogs my train of thought.

“I...suppose,” I barley whisper, still so unsure.

“Wonderful,” Pan smiles and walks away from us.

I watch him walk away. Irritation and anger swallowing up the uncertainty. Angry that he gets what he wants every time. Irritated that I know what I know and I don’t want to leave. K watches my glare that follows Pan into the cooking area.

“What’s wrong?” K asks me.

“What.”

“What is it?”

Looking back at K’s eyes I’m at ease again, remembering how easily this K boy brings the sense of comfort and I relax a little bit.

“I’m just hungry,” I lie.

“We can fix that easy,” he cocks his head to follow him.

I do so to the corner of the room beside a weapons rack and a tall skinny window. He lets me take a seat then bounds away to same food area as Pan, leaving me alone in the corner. I can’t even let the stares of the other boys in the room make me feel uncomfortable or question why K keeps me isolated from the rest because my entire mind is consumed by the fact that I’m on THE island. A glass shields my eyes stopping me from seeing the stares and the whispers as they wonder the room, searching for the answer I cannot comprehend. The answer to how the magnificent feeling I’ve craved only comes with a place that holds so much of this certain type of horror. It’s the largest contradiction my heart has experienced with no answer to it. I’m so lost in the comprehension of such a nightmare being the only source of the highest thing I’ve ever known, that I don’t see K return with a wooden plate for me.

“Hello?” he says, waving the plate in my face.

I zoom back in, focusing my eyes on the bunch of berries on one half of the plate and the enormous slice of smoked animal on the other half. I blink and take the plate, giving K my attention.

“O-oh,” I settle the plate on my lap. “Thank you,” I remember I have to eat to save my lie

“By the wind in your hair, I’m guessing you saw a good amount the island,” he turns my state into humor.

“My- oh,” I breathe a laugh and fix my winded hair. “Yeah, I, I suppose,”

“That’s murnum,” he points to the steak on my plate, “The best rodent there is out there,”

“Rodent?”

“Type of rodent,” his shoulders shrug. “And those are dypenberries. Red and purple makes them the best source of hydration when water can’t be found. But black like that,” he picks a black one I thought was purple off my plate and flicks it onto the carpet, “is poison,”

“Wh-you just threw it,” I serve my hand to it.

“No ones gonna eat that,”

“Why was it on the plate?” I look to the area where the food is being served.

“That’s a good question,” then he shrugs again, “But if you ask me, if your dumb enough to eat a black dypenberry, you deserve to die,”

I giggle looking to the berries on my plate and choosing a brightly red one to push pass my teeth and force down my throat. Although looking at the berry bunch, I can’t focus on the sweetness that coats my tongue. I look back to the berry he threw, then down at my plate one more time, wondering why he bothered educating me.

When water can’t be found.

His words are suspect. I look over at Pan in the food area, throwing bits of bread at another boy who throws fruit hunks back. His eyes squinted in a joyful laugh as he ducks. I divert my attention back to K, he’s leaning back on the wall, playing with a sharp knife that has a leather handle. My eyes squint as suspicion just rises and rises until I am certain he has a hidden meaning and I must ask.

“What do you know?”

He looks back at me, “Huh?”

I scoot to him, rising the plate between us, “Why bother teaching me what’s out there?” I knock my head to the forest beyond the walls.

He tries to play off his unsettlement but I see it, “Could be useful,”

I’m only more certain that he is hiding something now, “Tell me,”

“Tell you what?” he fakes a laugh.

His unsteady doesn’t go unnoticed and I become worrisome. It falls quiet for a moment as we hold the stare determining who will submit first of either my dropping the matter or him admitting what I want to know.

In the silence my mind decides on the worst, and I break it, “Is Pan gonna throw me out there?”

“What? No,” he laughs it out.

I wait.

K caves,“Well,-”

I drop the plate, and stand up, looking to where Pan rough houses, “Why? What for?”

“Relax, I didn’t say that,” K gets up, and tries putting his hands on my shoulders, where I wrench them off. “No, what is he going-”

“Would you calm down?” K’s eyes become mean and he talks in a low voice, coming close, too close. “Pan is watching everything and if he thinks something’s wrong-”

“Something is wrong! I can’t go out there, I’ll get killed, I already almost got killed-”

“Jane,” he nearly yells at me, grabbing at my forearms to turn us around so that he hides me from the big room, “Let me explain everything, alright? Just sit down,”

I’ve never heard his voice sound demeaning, I feel frightened, suddenly so alone. I obey and sit with him once I yank my arms from his grasp, glancing towards Pan, who hasn’t noticed a thing.

“I’m not saying Pan’s gonna throw you out there,” K starts.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m telling you that in the past there have been...times, when a Lost Boy-to-be doesn’t make the title-” “I’m not a damn Lost Boy,”

“We don’t know what you’ll be, and in those...times, yes, Pan threw them out there, and I just, I don’t want to see you end up eaten by something you could’ve ate. If you know certain things you can survive out there,”

“How do you know I’ll end up out there, what have I done wrong?”

“I don’t, but if you do-”

“If you care so much to not see me dead in the woods, why let him throw me out there in the first place?” I spit angrily at him.

“Jane, you don’t get it-”

“Oh, I get plenty, you’ll let Pan throw people to die so long as you get to keep your precious title,”

“No, listen-”

“I’ve heard enough,” I get up again and he stops me.

“Jane, you don’t understand, if Pan decides you’re not worth the trouble anymore, then that’s it for you.”

His sentence frightens me and let him face me.

“The minute he decides you’re one thing, you are that one thing. And you’d better hope it’s a Lost Boy and not something else, because anything else gets thrown to the Lurid, do you understand? It’s him you gotta prove yourself to,”

“So that’s how it’s gonna go? His way or death?”

“His way is our paradise, Jane, I mean look around you,” he shows me the room.

I shake away from his gesture, “And what are you then? If not a friend to stop him from killing me, you’re what? Just a babysitter, because I will NOT bother proving myself to that deranged, power high, little boy-”

He shushes me, “Would you keep it down? I’m giving you a warning, because I am your friend, Jane. I want you on our side,”

A deep anger seethes from within, coming out almost as a hiss, “I will NEVER be on HIS side.” I glare at him.

He pauses and his eyes sadden staring into mine “What did he do to you?”

Now I pause, unprepared for the question, anger gone.

“K! Over here,” a boy shouts from a circle towards the center of the room.

We both look at who called then back at each other.

“Remember you still owe me those six answers,” K whispers to me, “We aren’t done,”

K nods toward the group that called him, telling me to follow and pulls my arm, where I pull away from his touch not as hard as I meant to. In attempts to calm myself I exhale frustration, walking with K. I follow his lead and we take seats on the floor beside each other. I walk tense, I sit very tense, head low, eyes down, I’m shutting down. Like the sorrowful dusk hiding the land I wish I could hide with it, lonesome to think.

“Great, we need a girl for the game,” a random, tall, blonde boy says.

I know he’s taking a bothersome of my presence and it shames me.

“What game are we playing?” K asks.

“Spinning Dagger,” the same boy replies, placing a long, silver dagger in the middle of the circle.

Startled by the name, I finally look up at the group. I don’t know what to say, hoping this game is nothing like the one I know back home with a similar name.

“Heard of it?” another boy across the circle asks me.

“I’m, I’m not sure,” I lowly speak

“Ever played it?” the boy beside me asks.

My eyes flick over to him. I do a confused double take. He is a twin. His brother being the one sitting across the circle. I look back and forth at them and he thinks I’m shaking my head.

“One spins the dagger. And duels whoever it lands on. Winner gets bragging rights,”

“Think you can handle that, little girl?” Blondie asks, his mean eyes fixated on my small demeanor and making it smaller.

“Sounds fun,” my low tone croaks out as my eyes fall away from his, I know I am being tested, but I disengage none the less.

What’s your plan here?

I jump at the loud voice, still not used to her at all. Beside me K notices but he leaves it alone and I just hope he doesn’t count it as one of his questions later. I slink back when the big blonde boy gives the dagger a tough spin. On the wooden floor a scrapping sounds spins from the dagger doing such. I keep my eyes on the pointed end, hoping I can just sit here quietly, as the odds of it landing on me are just too odd. I watch as the dagger lands on a boy two down from me. His much younger face falls pale when the blonde, so much bigger than him, stands, challenging him with a threatening stance but a prideful smirk on his face. Some sort of unspoken agreement is passed along as the boys behind our circle disperse, clearing a space. Blondie has equipped a sword, I assume from a stack of cluttered weapons at the base of the clearing they created. The much younger boy scrambles quickly for a weapon before pulling a spear from the pile.

“Wait, they’re going to actually duel, with real weapons-” I lean over to ask K beside me.

Only he’s gone and in his place is the gray-eyed boy. Shocked and a little disappointed I search the room for K. He’s nowhere. The boy in his place, shifts closer to me. I tense up even tighter and lean away from him.

“They do all the time. The kid with the spear, that’s Charlie,” he says, completely casually to me.

I ignore him and look over to the evil ruler in the corner of the eating area. He speaks with the boy that had locked me in the cell under ground, the one that hit me in the face. Something about the way Pan interacts with him is foreign to me. My brows knot as I watch them together, the way Pan levels his eyes with him instead of looking down at him as he does the rest of them, and myself. The way Pans shoulders match the boys as if Pan sees an equal in front of him. And not once have I seen Pan narrow his eyes at the boy or disrespectfully bark an order at him. I fit the pieces together when the other boys around the two give them a respectful distance as they walk and hustle by. That boy is Pan’s second in command.

I look back at the boy beside me. Perhaps he could confirm my conclusion, if it’s even worth trying to get information from him while I’m unsupervised. That is, unless, K switched out with this boy as a babysitter and I am still being watched. I roll my eyes away from my thoughts, of course I’m still being watched.

The soft talking of the entire room has turned into a loud murmur of excited boys getting ready for the show of a duel. I give my focus to the boy who took K’s spot. He’s got a black eye, with a small red cut above his eyebrow and light bruising down to his cheek bone. He notices me looking at him and cracks a short laugh.

“W. I’m W,” he clears up.

I stare at him.

“I’m the one you blasted away, on your first night,”

I hide my defensive expression, though it shows through my words, “You mean the one who held me to the ground on my first night.” I haven’t spoke about what I did with anyone yet.

He breathes a casual laugh, “Yeah, that was me,”

His pleasantness seems too genuine to not bring guilt to my feelings so I soften just a little bit, “You invited me to my first treasure hunt,” I say, referring to the truth or dare game.

“That’s right,” he grins, completely relaxed beside me.

“Sorry, about that,” I point at his shiner.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a rule,” he whispers with a smile. His attitude sways me into a liking for him, at least more than the blonde boy who clearly didn’t want me here and I half smile at him, “Well, you were trying to break my arm,” I take back my apology.

I look back to the duel between Blondie and Charlie, deciding that yes, I will be looking for information as usual.

“This seems normal,” I say.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Miss Jane.”

I sigh, “People keep telling me that,”

“Well, for instance, why do you wear those white clothes?” he says gesturing to my stained, long-since-white clothes.

Dodging that ponder I ask, “Am I the only girl here?”

The duel begins and the boys all around start hooting in excitement but I feel my own duel with W beginning over answers.

“No, you’re not. There are girls around here somewhere. Not here with us but in the villages around the island.”

“Why not here with you?”

“Why would they be?”

“Well, why no girl...Lost Boys, girls-Lost Girls?”

“Being a Lost Boy means being committed. It means giving it all you got and not giving up. Being strong and invulnerable. Girls whine and cry cause they can’t handle initiation,” he smirks, not nearly as smooth as Pan’s.

“Can’t handle giving their soul to Pan,” I say looking over at the subject of our conversation.

He still hasn’t noticed the duel between Charlie and Blondie. Or he just doesn’t care.

“That’s a perfect example,” he says.

I look at him.

“Girls don’t understand why we owe Peter so much. If not for him, we’d still have our...pathetic lives back on the Mainland,”

“The what now?”

“Where you came from, where we all came from,”

I begin to piece together that this is not the first time I’ve heard this word.

“You came from where I did?” I ask him. “We all did...for the most part,” “And every single one of you, by choice?”

My attention is drawn away as the dueling boys’ swords clash loudly. The big blonde bends down low, spinning in a circle and swiping his leg right at Charlie’s ankles. Charlie crashes to the floor on his back. The older boy has his sword over Charlie’s chest.

“Of course. Peter gave us a home when we didn’t have one. He’s watched out for us, trained us, and provided like an older brother,” he’s looking at Pan now.

I try to soften my bias, trying to be understanding and I think it’s because this conversation is the first time I’ve been able to get answers without having to give anything in return. It makes me feel a liking for this W boy. But then I get so bothered by his answer. I start obsessing over why they all were given the choice, and not me. Why wasn’t I given the choice to come to Neverland? I shake my head, changing the subject to try and drop it.

“Well, I guess you’re right, total commitment to being a Lost Boy.” but then I can’t drop it, “What about girls who were brought by the spirit?” I ask.

He looks back at me.

“That’s how people are brought here, right? The spirit?” I say.

“Shadow. Peter’s shadow. He detached it from his soul,”

“...Of course...he did,”

“Shadow is his scout. It finds potential Lost Boys or, in the rare occasion, Peter sends Shadow to pick them up and bring them to Neverland. Girls arrive with their brothers. They never want Shadow taking their brothers away so they come with. But they don’t stay long.”

“Why is that?”

“They...” he shifts his eyes upward, “serve other purposes,”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know” he seems uncomfortable, “always falling all over Peter, so easily, their like putty in his hands and it’s not to say Peter isn’t human...”

“Oh...” I suddenly feel all the discomfort he felt.

“Peter has his fun, only really focused on the girls’ brothers, trying to have them join us. The girls end up falling apart when then they can’t make Peter change his mind, every time,” he nudges me, with a playful tone.

I shift away from the contact instantly but he doesn’t seem to notice. I realize now why K asked me about my brother when we first met. All these boys must have thought I had one this entire time. And I only feel more out of place and singled out.

Charlie and Blondie are walking back to us. I scoot away from W a little bit more.

“Do they have power?” I test how normal speaking about power is for him.

“Everyone’s got power if they believe,”

I squint at him, not finding any conclusions, “Does he make an effort to make them believe?”

He squints back at me and I know I’ve made him suspicious, “I really don’t know,”

I have to deplete his suspicion, “Then what?”

He shrugs, “Depending on how hard they make it for themselves, they get dealt with.” “He...he kills them?”

He looks down, “Sometimes,”

I suppose I’m quiet for too long when he says, “Other times he just forgets them,” “What does that mean?” W shrugs again, “If Peter decides to forget you, your nothing, just gone,” I feel a shiver haunting me.

I look back to the circle. The boy called Charlie has taken his seat shamefully as the others bash and make fun of him. The dagger spins again and a new boy stands to face the blonde one. I go over this new information of females in my head. Pan seems so invested in me and why I’m here, yet doesn’t seem to have the same interests as ‘other purposes’, so I know it is not as simple as W makes it sound. Just the fact that I seem to be the only girl brought here with no brother is enough to make me sure that it is not that simple. It’s like Pan thinks I’m here to bring some awful curse down on him and deceive his every thought, so he’s saving me for some sacrificial kill.

I bet that’s Pan’s game play.

I flinch at the voice and W notices. I avoid his eye contact completely, praying he drops it. He seems to ignore it but I see the expression on his face. He’s curious, but something other than that, he looks determined. As if he’s just decided that I have something to hide and he will find out what it is. I push away his suspicious vibes and listen to the second girl continuing to speak in my head.

He’s done this with the others most likely. Claiming they have power to get what he wants, then kills them.

But what does he want?

He seems obsessed with power enough…

“But, then, there’s you, Jane,” W says.

I stop my thoughts and look at him, “What?”

“Come on, you can play dumb all you want but we all see right through it. You know there’s something...different about you than the others,” he answers my thoughts in my head.

“What?” I say again.

“You give off this...vibe that is so...so bright,” he says.

“You know you are not making sense, right?” I say, though I know he’s talking about power again.

He gives me his attention and turns his body towards me, “Neverland is the birthplace of magic. Everything has magic in it here. Everything natural, everyone brought here. The same source, in here,” he touches between his lungs.

I nod. If he is telling the truth, then I need to absorb this all. If he isn’t then I need to remember the lies he thinks he’s feeding me.

“Everyone’s source is limited, like a reservoir that holds power, except Peter. He is the maker. Instead, of having a source, he IS it. Get it?”

“How does that make me different?”

“You feel like you could be it to. Maybe, the same as Peter, but not as strong, almost. It’s not exactly like his, but not like ours either. I don’t know how, or why, but you, Miss Jane,” he smirks, “have some sort of business here,” he speaks so smoothly, he truly is in his comfort zone.

I lift a finger at his stupid smirk, “What is that?”

He acts confused.

“That smile everyone makes when they say that?”

He laughs, caught, “It’s a joke,”

I nod, “Clearly,” I let it go figuring I’ll never know why they laugh whenever they say ‘Miss Jane’.

I find his laugh makes me smile. It’s odd to feel the slightest amount of guard release once these boys begin conversation. The big blonde boy defeats another boy, though I couldn’t pay attention.

“What makes you so sure, I’ve got this different ‘source’?” I use air quotes.

“I feel it, everyone can, hell you can nearly see it,” he leans back.

Great. The feeling of being on the spot quadruples in size, I drop my head saying,“Explain,”

“I wouldn’t be worried about us, Peter feels it the most,”

“Of course, Pan knows all,” I roll my eyes in irritation of the powerful demon boy.

“More like he feels all,”

I look over to Pan. Still, he leans on the wall talking to his right hand. I stiffen, thinking about him seeing this so called power, I advert my eyes back to W quickly.

“How old are you?” I ask the gray-eyed kid.

“Who knows, I’ve been on Neverland so long...”

“Well, when you left...earth, how old?” I stress.

“Eighteen, maybe,” he says not really thinking about it.

“Who’s gonna be the next to fall to the feet of Chris!” Blondie shouts from the fighting circle.

He is cocky, he is big and he is annoying me. He throws his arms in the air as he walks in circles, eating up the cheers and warm energy of everyone who watched him win both duels.

I lean in to W, “What do you mean you can see it?” I ask, when I find it impossible to stop glancing at Pan, knowing now he sees or feels whatever curse W explained to me.

“A shield or vapor around you, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says with an underlying meaning.

I know he doesn’t trust me by the way he says it and I know he’s isn’t saying what he means. We watch one of the twins twirl the dagger. The blade spins.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he looks at me, “You might not know, or maybe you’re covering it up, playing dumb for your own reasons, but you do have it.” he pokes the air around me, gesturing that he can see it, “And if you don’t know, then you’re about to,” he looks at the spinning dagger.

I follow his gaze and immediately wish I stayed over at the corner of the room. I feel the color drain from my face as the pointed end has settled in front of me. The crowd watching breaks with howls and whistles. A yellow glow of everyone’s excitement magnifies and a warm glow rises above the crowd. I feel embarrassed at all the attention. I look back at W, for the first time showing him personality with a plead. A plead to stop whatever this means.

“It’ll be fun,” he shrugs with a smile on his face.

I only plead some more with my eyes.

“Come on, everyone here wants the dagger to land on them, you want to be one of us, don’t you?” he yells over the loud crowd.

“I never said I wanted to be one of you,” I shout back, as the crowd clears around me, forcing me into a new fighting circle.

I look around the room for K. Sill missing. I even look to Pan, he hasn’t moved, oblivious to what is happening.

“Miss Jane!”

I look over to Chris who shouted my name, his arms out, a sword in one hand. He is smiling, looking like he wants to eat me. I don’t like how he said my name, owning it as if I’m nothing more than an animal. His stance angers me. He stands like he knows exactly how much bigger he is than me, like he knows I don’t and couldn’t ever stand a chance against him. The anxiety of having to pick up a weapon and fight this trained boy is turning into an urge to put him in his place instead of finding a way out the situation. All rational thoughts of the fact that I will not win this fight leave my mind as I stand up. I look at W one more time, and he nods at me with a reassuring smile. I present myself to Chris, scrambling for an idea of how I am going to teach this cocky boy a lesson, but somehow calm with a sense of letting what is going to happen, happen.

“What’cha got?” Chris challenges. “I’ve never fought before,” I barely say to him, though I’m not sure anyone heard it over the loud crowd.

“I’ll go easy on you,” he says to me, and he gives me that same smile Slightly gives me.

I don’t entirely understand flirting, or how to flirt but he takes my confused face as a weakness and he laughs in amusement.

“Care to make it interesting?”

“Okay,” I drag it out, trying to stand tall.

“Winner gets to take loser out for what they call a date,” he plays his game and the crowd eats it up, getting noisier.

“What is a date?” I am nearly cut off by a pile of weapons tossed at my feet.

“It means I get to know you a little better,” he still smiles.

I look down to the pile. Of all the dangerous and dirty looking tools, a plain sword that matches Chris’s sits nearly at the top. I bend down and pick it from the pile, bringing joy to the boys watching. Chris swings his sword in his hand like a pro. I feel intimidated, but I know I have to prove something right now. I have to show these boys that I will not be pushed around a fight. So in the name of pure fun I decide to wing this entire thing, and hope for the best. He gets into a new stance, a tall offense stance and all I can do is copy him.

“I wouldn’t count on that,”

“I’m more than counting, I’m waiting,”

Still confused, I don’t respond, glancing to Pan. Still oblivious.

“Ready Lost Girl?” someone in the crowd says.

“Lost what now?”I say but Chris’s sword clashes down on mine.

The impact rings up the sword, into my hand and entire arm. I release from shock and the sword clatters to the floor. As everyone howls from Chris’s point, I shuffle to pick up the sword again, pushing my hair behind my ears. I grasp the sword again and Chris lets me stand and get ready. He waits for me to attack and I wait for him. Until the suspense is too much and I just swing the thing. He blocks it flawlessly, of course. He comes back with a hard strike, clashing our swords, the collision knocking me to my knees. But at least the sword stayed in my hand this time. I straighten my arms to push the ringing metal away from my shaking body and it matches his blow, blocking it.

My second block, creates a red glow in Chris’s chest. But I don’t get to focus on it for Chris brings his sword up to swing again, I feel panic at the sight of the sword high up over me. And in that panic I hear the second voice.

Don’t let him win!

I flinch from her voice, or maybe from the panic, whichever it was, it flips into motivation and I don’t want to lose. I wish to win. The way Chris took down the scared little Charlie boy plays in my head in that moment. I recall how he dipped low, dodging the blade and while he was down low he kicked out Charlie’s legs from beneath him. He did so gracefully, and smooth like it was his plan all along. Chris had come up, standing tall with his sword at Charlies chest.

My eyes close from Chris’s sword swinging down, excitement exploding from my chest. I didn’t feel it happen. But I know I duplicated his smooth move, perfectly when I allow our swords to clash and the strength of the collision pushes my spin. My leg comes out and takes his from right under him. His sword clatters on the floor in a satisfying ring of disarming as his back slams into the ground. I come up standing tall, just as he did with the tip of my sword at his chest.

I open my eyes, to see my sword at his skin. He is looking up at me, his eyes are so surprised, he’s afraid. The little puppy dog look is absolutely hilarious, and I simply bust out laughing, harder than I have in years. The crowd erupts in cheers and hollers. It stops my deep laugh and I realize what I did. I copied his move entirely and I won.

What happened?

What was that?

The cheers extend as all the boys flood the fighting circle. I drop the sword, new fear surfacing again and I begin throwing fists as they rush in close, too close. I hit a few, not in the face, and stop when I realize they are trying to lift me in a celebratory manner. I look over to Pan, he is looking now, staring right at me and our eyes meet. His right hand man, the one that hit me in the face before locking me in the dirt cells, stands behind him, looking disturbed.

Something new stirs in my chest. A prideful stir. I feel accomplished, I smile. I feel so happy in this moment and it’s because of the way these boys show how happy they are about what I just did. As if I passed their test. I am able to smile so freely with them. I am able to laugh right now, so I do. I laugh out loud with everyone else hollering and such as they carry me from the room, out the door.

A dim tint of yellow fogs above us all. The cheerfulness and glee of the duel bringing a visible energy catching all my attention. I had forgotten this feeling of joy, of laughing. I’m barely able to hear my laugh over the excited cries taking over the night. Pan’s eyes are on me, I can feel them. The spirit inside of me wants to ignore him as the crowd makes their way out of the tree and into the campsite that is their front yard. They pass me along over their heads, surfing me to the end of the crowd where the boys up here place me to the ground so they can take off to grab at fire wood. The used up fire pit in front of me becomes a scene as the crowd scatters. Some of them surround the fire pit, most run to collect wood and others, drums. I watch the boys create a chain with themselves, bringing each other logs of forest wood.

They build the logs like toys, inviting more and more boys to drop off wood and take off to grab some more. K comes from behind me, clapping his hands down on my shoulders with a prideful cheer in his throat. I wrench away from the contact until I recognize him and I settle for inches between us. His face notices my unsettlement and he gives me the space I want by leading his hand to a spot to sit by the pit.

The boys have shifted from a roaring crowd to a wild pack of animals hooting and hollering. Some of the boys have retrieved enormous drums to the pit, another crowd is beginning to form around the unlit fire pit. I can feel how excited every single person is. I watch them, with a thrill. They bring hand made chairs and different instruments back to the pit. I giggle at how they jump when they run. I love the way they cry out into the night’s wind when they pass one another. I stare in awe at the technique the boys have when they beat their drums in front of them, a dance of raising their arms just to pound them back down on the stretched leather. Instantly sending a powerful beat into the air, loud and very proud.

Their just a bunch of kids. Just boys.

As the scene builds into a party, somewhere beside me, down the circle, a loud spark cracks into the crescendo. I look to where I hear it and watch a bright yellow and purple flare of an arrow fly from a bow. It hits the pit, below the triangular tower the boys have built. The wood catches a blaze lighting up the entire clearing, even the forest wall. The hot blaze surprises me, I jump back, falling on my butt in the dirt, but what could it matter when what’s unfolding in front of me is extending the night into something I’ve never witnessed before. The dancing begins around the flames. It wasn’t normal dancing though. They horsed around and laughed with each other, hopping around and over one another. I laugh again as two tumble over. They spin like they’re celebrating something new every few seconds. They jeer and laugh at themselves. Tumbling, wrestling, moving, stepping, jumping, spinning, a plain wildness in their movements.

I spot K in the mess of boys. I watch him do a full lap, bumping into a boy, leaping up and turning in circles then coming back down, landing on another boy on the floor and toppling over with him. I double over from the laugh produced after his fall sent a dust cloud up into the smokey air. He gets up, not missing a single beat of any drum. He waves me over. My smile goes away as I do not find any will to join in the ridiculousness. He keeps waving me over as he bounds closer to me. I continue to shake my head as he rounds the fire, approaching me.

“Come on, you’re missing the best part,” he says.

I shake my head, “No, I-I don’t, whatever that is, dance,”

“It’s not dancing, it’s letting go,”

He grabs my hands and I do better not pulling away so fast because I could feel something in his hand. I feel a heat, but not a heat from the fire, a different kind of heat in his hands. A warm magic. I look down at his hands in mine and I can see a vibrant color of red and orange inside his skin. The warm magic leaves his hands and crawls into mine. My heart pounds more excitedly, as it has been since I opened my eyes to see Chris on the floor, my sword at his chest. The magic feels powerful, so safe, as if I’m finally invulnerable, I’m finally protected. I become so comforted by it, so quickly, my eyes close. I want to cry with happiness, knowing I finally have it. It’s finally mine and I feel so at home holding it. I treasure it and the precious knowledge of it being mine.

I feel the warmth seep up my arms, I feel stronger the more it spreads, safer. More and more careless the stronger I get. The fun and excitement is fuel to this new feeling of release. I don’t know when he let go of my hands, but as soon as the magic hits my spine I feel my whole body become lost in the warm embrace. The warm shiver electrifies so fast up my spine I gasp, opening my eyes. In one instant I can see the music, I can hear the fire laughing, I feel the bliss of every single boy here. Not one single worry, anywhere. No anger, no troublesome, or loss. I don’t feel any fear, or wonder, or any sort of unnerving emotion anywhere. Nothing matters.

The energy of the entire scene is a whole new world and it pulls me in like clouds in a storm. I feel invincible in this new world. I want to do something, anything with all my power. But the only thing to do is dance. The only thing that feels so perfect in this new setting, the only thing I can possibly do to satisfy all the new power is leap with the drums, twirl with the wind, shout out loud with the blazes. I jump when the beat jumps up. I flow with the rest of the bodies around the living fire. I skip and spin, not caring how I look. I don’t notice how they dance, they don’t notice how I dance. The music and releasing magic has taken us all over. I can’t stop moving, I can’t stop laughing. I laugh uncontrollably at myself. I giggle at the carelessness I never knew I had. K was not exaggerating.

I was missing the best part.

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