Archive of Our Own

“Come with me.”

The Doctor’s hearts nearly stopped altogether at his own words. What the hell was he saying? What was he thinking, asking someone else along? Hadn’t he learned his lesson after losing yet another companion?

Apparently his mouth hadn’t.

Her lips twisted to one side. “No,” Donna Noble gently told him. Her pity was almost a physical presence.

He blinked furiously. “…Okay.”

“I can't.”

The Doctor jerkily shook his head. “No, that's fine.” It was fine. He was grateful she’d refused. Or he ought to be, anyway. She was sparing him a lot of pain.

“No, but really. Everything we did today…d’you live your life like that?”

He pursed his lips. “Not…all the time.” Lie.

Her eyebrows rose. “I think you do. And I couldn't.”

It was impossible for the Doctor to hold back his objection. “But you've seen it out there. It's beautiful.”

“And it's terrible,” Donna immediately countered. He swallowed back a rush of bile. “That place was flooding and burning and they were dying, and you were stood there like, I don't know…a stranger.”

Each word hit harder than the last. How’d this woman he’d only met today already seen through his dashing façade? So many others hadn’t thought twice about the man behind the cheeky grin, but somehow in just a few hours Donna Noble had. Exactly how deep did she manage to delve?

He had an unsettling feeling that, given just a little more time, she’d have dug straight through to the bottom.

“And then you made it snow.” Her hands tightened in her damp skirts. “I mean, you scare me to death!” Donna’s whitening knuckles spoke volumes.

“Right,” he croaked. The Doctor cleared his suddenly thick throat as quietly as he could.

She mustered a smile. “Tell you what I will do, though: Christmas dinner.” Of course Donna immediately spotted how he shied away from the suggestion. “Oh, come on…”

He squared his jaw. “I don't do that sort of thing.” Not any more. Not after Rose. After last Christmas…it would be—wrong. No matter what his rogue mouth wanted to say.

Her eyes narrowed. “You did it last year. You said so.” She crossed her arms with an air of ‘so there.’ “And you might as well, because Mum always cooks enough for twenty.”

He eyed her determined stance. Donna was clearly set on this, whether out of pity after turning him down, as a sort of payment for his services, or for some other reason he couldn’t begin to guess. She wasn’t about to be dissuaded, though. Of that much he was certain.

Not by anything less than another alien invasion, anyway.

“…Oh, alright then,” the Doctor sighed. Appearing to agree was the only way through. “But you go first. Better warn them. And—and don't say I'm a Martian.”

He paused before the TARDIS doors. This would be his last glimpse of this infuriating human…perhaps ever. “I just have to park her properly. She might drift off to the Middle Ages.” The Doctor managed a final smile. “I'll see you in a minute.” The fib weighed on him more than usual.

He pushed the door open and stepped into something cold. “What?!” The word escaped him in a yelp as icy liquid sloshed over the threshold. The Doctor flinched back a step in his freshly soaked trainers. Damn—his other pair was still wet from the Thames.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The Doctor ignored her questions entirely in favour of actually looking inside. The entire console room was flooded! The under-grating storage was barely visible under the surface—hopefully the waterproofing held up. His coat dangled from a pillar where he’d left it before the mess with the Racnoss, the hem dark with mysterious fluid.

“Oh, no, what’s happened to you?” he sighed. The Doctor bent to take a closer look, perching his specs on his nose. He scooped up a handful of the cloudy liquid. The off-putting yellowish tinge jaundiced his fingers.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Donna approached to peer over his shoulder. “Eugh, what the hell is that?”

He took a big sniff, snuffling the scent right to his deepest olfactory receptors. There was a familiar tang to it, a pungent acidity…hm. The Doctor shook most of it back onto the TARDIS before touching a wet finger to his tongue.

“What the hell are you doing?” She smacked him upside the head. “What if that’s poisonous?!”

“Ow! It’s not!” He glared up at her, rubbing the sore spot. Did she always hit first and ask afterward? Maybe it was a good thing she said no.

“How d’you know, though?” Donna ground out.

“Because it’s mostly water.” He smacked his lips thoughtfully and added, “Plus a bit of hydrochloric acid, gastric lipase, and just a dash of pepsinogen…” The Doctor’s knees crackled as he stood with a groan. The TARDIS gurgled miserably as the door swung shut. “It’s acid reflux. That’s never good…especially not for the Old Girl.” He dried his hands on his jacket as best he could and tucked his specs away again.

“You’d better not be referring to me.”

He retreated a couple of steps just to be safe. “No! No, of course not! I meant the TARDIS!”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Of course you call your ship ‘she’…”

“Oi! I’m not just some bloke with a rubbish sports car! It’s not me calling her a ‘she.’ She’s alive, and she’s a she!” The Doctor frowned at his blue box. “Poor thing’s got indigestion. From the huon particles, if I had to guess…and swallowing the Thames on top of it can’t have helped.”

“Your spaceship has heartburn?” Donna asked incredulously. She absently chafed her bare arms. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” He popped the ‘P.’

“…Hm.” She eyed the closed doors consideringly. “And that’s a proper doctorly diagnosis, is it?”

“Yeah.” The Doctor frowned at the closed door. His poor ship’s nausea was almost palpable. “She’ll need a massive dose of antacid.”

Donna checked her watch. “Well…unfortunately the chemist’s is closed by now. I just hope they sell enough of it.”

“Hopefully, yeah,” he sighed, rumpling his damp hair. Really, he could just sonic his way into the nearest shop…though he had a feeling Donna would take a dim view of it. The Doctor grimaced at the thought. No, it’d be easier to just liberate some more currency tomorrow.

“Alright, then.” A shiver shook her from head to heels. She rubbed her arms even harder. “Come on, let’s go in. I’m bloody freezing.”

The Doctor pressed his lips white. He’d tried. No one could say he hadn’t! He really had tried to leave Donna Noble behind, made a good faith effort not to get to know her any more, attempted to spare himself the pain of losing another companion.

Clearly he’d failed. Or the universe just had other plans. It was always one of those.

“Alright,” he grumbled. The Doctor rested a hand on that old ‘POLICE TELEPHONE’ sign. “Feel better, Old Girl.” She rumbled a queasy farewell.

Donna gave the TARDIS door a hesitant pat as well. His lips twitched irresistibly upward.

They were greeted by a less-than-welcoming shriek of “Where the hell did you run off to?!”

The Doctor was severely tempted to sprint back to his ship, heartburn or no heartburn. The smell couldn’t be worse than this assault on his eardrums. He settled for ducking behind Donna instead. She just leaned against the wall, hiked up her damp skirts, and placidly unfastened a worse-for-wear high heel. Must be used to this sort of reception, then.

Inflating like a furious bullfrog, Donna’s mother carried on ranting. “Baubles blow up the whole reception, everyone’s in shock, and what do you do? Swan off with some good-for-nothing pillock!”

He bit back a yelp of protest. Donna shifted to remove her other shoe as she sighed, “Mum, I—”

“Not a word to your parents, your family, or Lance’s—where is he, anyway?” Her gimlet stare locked onto the Doctor. He froze in the middle of untying his shoe. “Or did you frighten him off at last with your new boy-toy?”

Donna hurled her heels to the doormat with a muffled bang. “Mum!”

Thankfully Mrs. Noble’s gaze snapped back to her. “I suppose it was only a matter of time!” her mother retorted.

Against his better judgement, the Doctor carefully set his soggy trainers down beside Donna’s shoes. The only thing keeping him here was the promise of dinner. Hopefully Mrs. Noble cooked as well as she harangued.

“And don’t think I forgot about that disappearing act in the church, madam. You couldn’t resist, could you—you just had to embarrass your father and I one last time!”

He coughed awkwardly. “Hem, Mrs. Noble? That, erm, wasn’t actually her fault.”

“What?” she hissed. Those venomous eyes bored a hole through him.

The Doctor rather regretted speaking up at all. “…I—er, how do I put this…” Explaining aliens to furious humans never was his strong suit. The scene when Donna suddenly appeared on the TARDIS was sadly par for the course. “…A long time ago, there were these huon particles—”

“Huon what?”

“Particles. Huon particles,” he repeated. The Doctor tugged fruitlessly at his collar. “They were dangerous. Very dangerous, actually, which is why my people eradicated them from the universe.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Mrs. Noble demanded. “And what do you mean, ‘your people?’”

“I…”

Only then did the flutter of white heading up the stairs catch his eye. Donna had used his distraction to sneak past her mum—well played. She looked back just then and caught his gaze. The Doctor widened his eyes, silently begging for help.

She grimaced. Without a word, Donna fled through the nearest doorway. The click of the lock felt as deafening as a gunshot despite the continued shouting.

“—Don’t care what you’re babbling about, you’re not going to distract me from your abominable behaviour!” The sharp finger stabbing his chest swiftly returned his attention back to Mrs. Noble’s purpling face.

Indignation bubbled up. “Oi! My abominable behaviour?! What did I do?” he protested. Lance was the one with the nefarious scheme! How was this his fault now?

“Besides ruining my daughter’s wedding and crashing the reception?” she snapped.

“I didn’t crash anything! Donna invited me!”

That wasn’t the right thing to say either, solely based on how wide her nostrils flared. "You didn’t receive an invitation, Dr. John Smith—if that’s even your real name,” Donna’s mother spat. “I would know! I addressed all the bloody envelopes!”

“W–well, it was a late invite,” the Doctor admitted. Her glare only intensified. His hands compulsively straightened his tie. “Er, well, alright—it might’ve been more of an, er, impulse thing…a last-minute, um, invitation.” Had Donna invited him? Thinking back now, he wasn’t actually sure…she’d insisted he come more than asked him to, really. And of course he’d been eager to tag along and work out how she’d appeared on his TARDIS—how could he say no to solving that mystery?

The door to the lounge opened so abruptly the Doctor nearly leapt out of his sodden socks. A vaguely familiar man squinted at him from the doorway. Ah, that must be Donna’s father.

The Doctor screwed his courage to the sticking place and gamely held out his hand. “Mr. Noble, right?”

“Yes.” The bespectacled man looked him over from head to heels. He didn’t take his hand. “…Dr. John Smith. Is that right?”

The Doctor’s smile grew painfully strained. “Yes, that’s me.” After another interminable moment, he dropped his hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

The man’s lips pursed. “Wish I could say the same.”

His jaw locked tight. “Yes, well…” The Doctor ran out of words entirely. Dads never did like him either. Why were parents so difficult? And how long was Donna going to be gone anyway? Was she even still upstairs? Perhaps she’d snuck out the window and abandoned him to the wolves.

…Could he even blame her?

Mr. Noble crossed his arms. “Can’t say I’ve heard of you before today.” The Doctor heard the unspoken underlying assumption loud and clear. Of course he’d assume that his daughter didn’t rush off with some man she barely knew.

Unfortunately, that was precisely what Donna did.

He tried a rueful smile. “Well, you wouldn’t have. I only met Donna, oh—” The Doctor checked his non-existent watch. How long were they watching the Earth form, again? “—Six, seven hours ago? That would be why she hasn’t introduced us before.”

“Mm. Right.” Great, that was a distinctly disbelieving glint in Donna’s father’s eye. “And where exactly is Lance? Lost track of him on the Tube, did you?”

The Doctor hesitated. Would…would Donna want him to break the news? “…No,” was the answer he arrived at. “Erm. Well, it’s…er, complicated…” He abruptly changed gears. “Donna!”

The door upstairs slammed open. “What?” she snapped, tucking dark waves of wet hair behind her ears. A billow of floral steam followed her into the hallway—she must’ve had a very quick shower.

His brain briefly stalled out at the sight of bare legs under her plush dressing gown. “Er—I, er, it’s—your, erm, parents asked about Lance, and…what happened…”

Donna paled. She withdrew a step as if she wanted to run and hide in the nearest closet. The Doctor would sympathise more if she hadn’t already left him at her parents’ mercy. “…Right,” she finally choked out. “A–alright, I’ll—just give me a mo’, I’ll be right down.”

The Doctor nodded emphatically. “Yes. Good, yes. Good.”

She fled further down the hall. Another door slammed.

Mr. and Mrs. Noble resumed staring at him. He shifted from foot to foot under the weight of silent accusation. Dinner—surely this would be worth it for the dinner. Besides, it wasn’t like he could flee this mess with the TARDIS full of reflux…and it would be difficult to find somewhere else to loiter on Christmas Eve.

“…How about that snow? Pretty sudden, wasn’t it—likely to go all night, d’you think?”

The muffled voice of a newscaster echoed from the lounge. Neither of Donna’s parents’ answered, nor did their expressions soften.

When the Doctor tried a friendly smile, their eyes narrowed in terrifying unison. He swallowed hard. Reaching out for reassurance from the TARDIS only garnered him a whiff of secondhand nausea.

The second door finally opened with a rattle and his tracksuited saviour swept down the stairs.

Her mother reared up like a furious mongoose. “It’s about time you face the music,” she hissed. “What happened—?”

Her daughter spoke over her. “I need a bite before I get into it, m’starving. Barely ate breakfast, and after that…” The Doctor’s stomach growled in sympathy.

“Course you do. Come on, then.” Mrs. Noble turned on her heel and stalked off down the hallway, muttering blackly under her breath.

Mr. Noble seemed to look right through Donna. She tucked her fingers into the cuffs of her navy zip-up under his scrutiny. After a moment, Donna crossed her arms defensively.

“…Alright, no sense standing about,” Mr. Noble finally grunted. He gestured for them to precede him, though his expression hardened when he regarded the Doctor, before going into the lounge. The sound of the telly ceased mid-word.

The Doctor meekly scuttled after Donna into the shockingly clean kitchen. For a split second he marvelled at how tidy Mrs. Noble managed to keep it while putting together a full Christmas dinner—until he noticed her furiously stabbing buttons on the microwave. Empty bowls and a vat of cold stew waited on the counter behind her.

Disappointment simmered. It was really his own fault he hadn’t noticed the lack of enticing aromas emanating from the kitchen, though. The Doctor did his best to suppress any visible discontent as he folded himself into the chair nearest to Donna. Best to keep his distance from the parents, lest he get slapped by another companion’s mum.

Donna rolled her eyes the moment he caught her gaze. “Oh, don’t pout. Did you really expect Mum to cook an entire Christmas dinner the day of my wedding?” she whispered sharply. “That’s tomorrow—on Christmas Day.”

“Well…I s’pose not,” he grumbled under his breath. His fingers drummed restlessly on the kitchen table. The savoury scent that accompanied the first bowl out of the microwave greatly brightened his demeanour.

The Doctor’s face fell when it landed in front of Donna. The microwave hummed to life again as she rolled her eyes at him again.

As their daughter tucked in, Mr. and Mrs. Noble’s eyes bored into his forehead once more. The Doctor coughed awkwardly as Donna’s spoon scraped the bowl. “…The stew smells amazing, Mrs. Noble,” he meekly offered. It’d been a while since his last home-cooked meal.

Her expression lightened slightly despite herself. “Thank you…” Mrs. Noble redoubled her glare and wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself. “…Dr. Smith.”

He couldn’t stop himself making an involuntary face. “No, no, don’t call me that. Do—er, just John’s fine.”

“Hm.” Mrs. Noble’s eyes somehow narrowed even further. Her husband intensified his attempt to breach the Doctor’s skull with a glare at the same moment. The Doctor did his best impression of nonthreatening innocence.

It didn’t seem to help. Why did he even bother, any more? This sort of thing never went well, no matter how hard he tried.

The microwave beeped impatiently. Mrs. Noble popped in another bowl. The Doctor barely repressed a flinch as she stalked over and briskly dropped hot stew before him.

He forced a smile and claimed a spoon. “Thanks.” His first experimental bite was small and decorous, just a bit of the broth and a chunk of carrot—best not to risk choking on a great slab of meat before hostile witnesses. The instant the rich chord of rosemary, red wine, and beef hit his tongue, the Doctor’s eyes fluttered shut with a pleased hum. “Oh, that’s fantastic.” Might even be worth the haranguing, after all.

When he opened his eyes again, Mrs. Noble’s harsh mien was visibly wavering. What might’ve been an approving smile in other circumstances made an unsettling grimace. Glancing to Donna for reassurance didn’t do much to alleviate his disquiet—if anything, she looked more uncomfortable than he was.

Mrs. Noble abruptly strode to cupboard, drawer, breadbox, and back again. She dropped a bag of bread, a plate, and a butter knife at his elbow, rapidly retreating as if from an irritated viper. “Here.”

“Thanks.” The Doctor meekly fished out a slice and reached for the butter dish under her close supervision.

Fortunately, the microwave beeped again and Mrs. Noble got distracted by rotating the bowls through.

Less fortunately, Mr. Noble took the seat opposite him. The Doctor buttered his bread extra thoroughly lest they make eye contact again. The moment he could, he took a massive bite of bread and butter and shovelled in some more stew after it. Donna’s father cleared his throat. The Doctor watched him pick up his spoon from the corner of his eye.

The symphony of pointed coughs and sighs from father and daughter was tough to ignore. Luckily having a full mouth made avoiding the temptation to speak a lot easier.

Mrs. Noble finally joined them at the table after the microwave’s last dolorous beep. Clearly she favoured the direct approach, demanding, “So what happened?” the second her bum hit the chair. Must be the one Donna got her penchant for interrogation from.

When her daughter didn’t immediately answer, she went on. “You still haven’t explained anything at all. And Lance—where’s he got to?” Her eyes darted to the doorway as if he might duck in with an apology for being late.

Donna immediately looked to the Doctor. He grimaced and shoved another bit of beef into his mouth. It really was a fantastic stew….too bad it came attached to such an uncomfortable conversation.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s…look, it’s—he’s—”

“He’s what?” her mother snapped. She shoved her bowl away without taking a single bite. The Doctor eyed it hopefully. “You two—both of you—why’s it so hard to just spit it out?”

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

Mr. Noble’s words sent a pang through the Doctor. No, Lance Bennett would never come back…not his true self, nor the person they thought he was, either.

For a moment no one spoke. The other man’s keen gaze flashed between the Doctor and Donna, taking in every twitch and flicker of emotion.

“…No,” Donna finally softly said. “He’s not.” The naked vulnerability on her face echoed the ache of his own loss. Without thinking twice, the Doctor dropped his spoon to take her hand in his. His support only seemed to shake her further.

He tried to ignore her parents’ eyes on them as he leaned closer. "Sh, it’ll be alright,” the Doctor murmured—it weren’t strictly true, but it was what he needed to hear. Maybe she needed to hear it, too.

She hid behind her hair. “It won’t be, though,” Donna said to the table top. Her voice shook. “They—how can they understand?!” She shot one desperate, speaking glance at him. The Doctor only wished he knew what to say.

“We do understand,” Mr. Noble inexplicably said.

The pair of them froze uncomprehendingly. “…What?” the Doctor finally managed to ask. He barely understood—how could they? “What—what d’you mean, ‘you understand?’” It couldn’t be the huon particles, he hadn’t even begun to explain them properly.

When he finally dared to glance in their direction. Mr. Noble looked resigned and almost relieved as he polished his lenses on the hem of his shirt. Mrs. Noble, however, looked much less resigned and rather more confused.

“Speak for yourself,” she spat, drawing herself upright. “What do you understand, exactly?”

Mr. Noble slipped his specs back on and gently touched her arm. “Oh, Sylvia. Just—just look at them. Isn’t it obvious?”

Mrs. Noble frowned consideringly at the pair of them. The Doctor, too, considered what she must be seeing: him clutching her daughter’s hand in his, Donna’s eyes brimming with tears, his instinct to comfort her the instant she’d seemed about to break…

His eyes widened. Oh. Oh, no.

Before he could set the record straight, Mrs. Noble’s needle-sharp gaze landed on her daughter’s left hand. An accusatory finger pointed unerringly at the gold band still shining there as she shrieked, “You eloped?”

Donna’s head whipped round so fast he got a mouthful of damp ginger hair. “We—what—?”

“And on your wedding day?!” Mrs. Noble’s voice reached a pitch the Doctor had only ever heard from dog whistles before. “Couldn’t you have worked out that you didn’t want to marry Lance before Aunt Margaret bought plane tickets?!”

The Doctor plucked the last strand of hair off of his tongue with a shudder. Even after her shower it left the slightest tang of the Thames. Donna’s mouth opened and shut over and over like a goldfish.

Mr. Noble put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “What your mum means to say is that we would have understood, darling.”

She glared up at her husband. “We would, would we?” Mrs. Noble spat.

His grip on her arm visibly tightened. “Yes, we would, dear,” Mr. Noble said tightly. Those pale blue eyes snapped squarely back to his daughter. The Doctor was just glad he wasn’t the target. “You should’ve told us you weren’t sure about Lance, Donna. You didn’t have to go through the motions just because we expected a wedding.”

Mrs. Noble looked particularly mutinous at that last bit. Luckily she held her tongue anyway.

“B–but…I…” Donna began.

“That’s not to say that I’m pleased about today, though,” Mr. Noble continued in an ominous rumble. The Doctor was severely tempted to snap back that he wasn’t exactly pleased about the spider invasion either. “You could’ve handled this much better…even if you only just worked certain things out.”

The Doctor’s back involuntarily straightened when Mr. Noble’s gaze cut toward him with that last sentence. The temptation to snatch Donna’s hand back for his own comfort was powerful.

“Running off didn’t solve anything, did it? It just left us with more questions—and with two entire families to manage.” His eyebrows lowered another degree. Donna audibly gulped. “Didn’t you think for one moment what would happen after you left? Your mum was that worried—you could’ve been dead for all we knew! If you’d just talked to Lance, or us, or—or anyone at all, we wouldn’t have—!”

Mr. Noble stopped himself with effort. He took a deep breath and sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily.

“…Haven’t we raised you to face your problems?” her father finally asked. Mrs. Noble nodded emphatically beside him.

Donna quailed under the weight of her father’s disapproval. The Doctor couldn’t blame her in the least. Her mum might be the obvious threat, but Mr. Noble could clearly hold his own.

“That’s—that’s not what…” The three of them looked to him at once. The Doctor wet his lips nervously. A thousand topics vied for priority—the huon particles, the Racnoss’ scheme, Lance’s betrayal, that they hadn’t eloped— “Mr. Noble, that’s not what happened. Donna didn’t just—she wouldn’t, and it’s…it’s—”

Mr. Noble spoke over him as if he hadn’t said anything at all, his eyes boring into his daughter. “John’s been trying to protect you. Claiming you’ve only just met and so much hot air…it’s not…not admirable in its own way, I suppose, but we’ll all be better off speaking the truth to each other. Especially since…” For the first time, he looked more appraisingly than judgmentally at the Doctor. “…Well. We are family now.”

The Doctor’s gaze dropped and landed on a crumb on the table. He let the breath he’d taken to speak again go without a word, absently depositing the bit of bread on his plate.

Him…family. Him with a family…the notion left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was just impossible. Simple as that. No matter the misconceptions of Donna Noble’s family, it just—it wasn’t possible. He’d cast it out of his mind long ago, discarded it as a possibility altogether, abandoned even the spark of an inkling of the notion of allowing that sort of vulnerability.

Never again would he risk his hearts like that. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t.

From the corner of his eye the Doctor glimpsed Donna turning the biodamper round and round her finger.

“Oh, because that makes it all just fine!” Mrs. Noble spat. She levelled a challenging stare at Donna.

What remained of the Doctor’s hunger dissipated.

Her mother’s words whizzed by like bullets. “What the hell happened at the church, miss? You must’ve had a plan, disappearing like that—couldn’t just jilt him at the altar like a regular person, of course, typical. Had you worked it out with Lance already? And what was that mess with the Christmas baubles about, anyway?” She scowled harder. “Was it all some silly prank to finally have it out with Lance in private? Fancy blowing up your family just to have a chat!”

“Of course it wasn’t a prank!” Donna snarled. Her eyes snapped with fury. “How can you even say that?”

“What am I supposed to think? You run off from the church, come back with him in tow—” Mrs. Noble pointed at the Doctor. “—Wearing a bloody wedding ring! Poor Lance didn’t deserve that!”

Mr. Noble touched her arm again. This time his wife shook him off.

“No, Geoff, it needs to be said. You’ve treated poor Lance terribly! You had him planning an entire wedding, flowers, catering, the lot—and then you marry your bit on the side and bring him to the reception? It’s a bloody disgrace!”

Donna lunged to her feet, roaring, “He never loved me!”

Her mother fell back gaping against the back of her chair. The Doctor couldn’t look away from Donna’s twisted expression, brimming with hurt and anger and grief, her chest heaving with emotions so familiar to him.

A loud knock echoed down the corridor. Everyone started.

Mrs Noble recovered herself the quickest. “Who’s knocking at our door on Christmas Eve?” she demanded, shoving her chair screeching back.

Hm. “Who indeed,” the Doctor muttered. Fresh tension coiled in his belly. The Thames took care of the Racnoss under the earth, and he’d assumed that some human military organisation took care of the Empress’ ship…but did they? What if the Empress was still out there? Did she have some other human ally—a fail-safe in case Lance Bennett failed?

He leapt to his feet and bolted down the corridor after Mrs. Noble.

“Wh—oi!”

The Doctor didn’t respond to her squawk of protest at his admittedly rude push past her. He’d apologise later for knocking the photos on the wall off-kilter. He flipped his sonic out of his pocket and skidded to a stop in his socks right in front of the doormat.

“What’s that sound?” Mrs. Noble craned her neck around him as the Doctor rapidly scanned their front door and beyond. “Is that what you used on the speakers at the reception? What the hell will it do to my door?!”

He ignored her in favour of listening for threatening frequencies…none of which came. The sonic chirped with a still-uneasy signal from the TARDIS, but nothing else registered. The Doctor’s brows drew even closer together. Alright, should be safe enough...

With a swift flick of the wrist, he flung the door open.

“What do you want?” the Doctor barked.

A weedy UNIT cadet blinked at him through the thick layer of snow dusting their eyelashes, shoulders, and beret. An arctic breeze nipped at the Doctor’s ankles.

He did a double-take. “Oh, UNIT? What’re you lot doing here?”

Their eyes widened and they snapped to attention. Oh, no.

“UNIT? What’s UNIT?” Mrs. Noble shoved him aside for a better look. The Doctor allowed it—not like the kid was going to feed her to their children, after all. “Are you with the military?”

“The military? You sure it’s not carol singers?” Donna came charging up behind her mum to frown at the cadet with an identical suspicious squint. A distant dragging sound came from somewhere beyond the cadet. “Tsk—course the back-up comes after everything’s sorted.”

“As if I needed back-up,” the Doctor sniffed. He fastidiously straightened his lapels.

“Now that’s got to be a lie, the amount of trouble you get into,” she immediately fired back. Donna flicked his right lapel out of alignment again. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never, ever needed anyone to tidy up your mess?”

He faltered. “Well…”

Donna rolled her eyes with great vigour and nudged him aside. The Doctor allowed it without an audible grumble. “Knew it.” She rolled her eyes back around to the UNIT cadet. “Alright, so who exactly are you? What d’you want? It’s Christmas Eve, in case you forgot.”

If at all possible, their back straightened even more. “Er, sorry to intrude, ma’am. There was a sudden, erm, cold snap. Spot of intense snow. We were, er, sent out to ensure local residents’ safety.” Beyond them the scrape of shovels on pavement echoed off of the thick white blanket cushioning everything.

Slowly and surely she turned back to glare at him again. The Doctor cleared his throat with his usual confidence and charm. “A spot of intense snow, you say?” Her words came through clenched teeth. Perhaps…perhaps Donna was just keeping them from chattering.

The cadet nodded emphatically. “Yes, ma’am.”

The Doctor coughed and moved to shut the door. “Hem…well, let’s not let all the warm air out. We’re alright here, so you can carry on checking on everybody el—” A hand reached over his shoulder and caught the edge of the door. He twisted round to see Mr. Noble’s keen eyes staring past him.

It wasn’t the cold that had him suppressing a shiver.

“Who exactly are you, again? Who’re you with?” Donna’s father mildly inquired.

The cadet immediately fumbled for their credentials. “Er, yes, sorry—should’ve identified myself properly at the start.” They held out a card emblazoned with their name and rank in their gloved hand. “I’m Private Campbell-Clark with the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.”

“The Unified what force?” Mrs. Noble asked. She turned to her husband. “Are they with the army?”

“No, no, we’ve got an international mandate. Directly overseen by the United Nations,” Campbell-Clark clarified, tucking their credentials neatly away.

A spark of curiosity kindled behind Mr. Noble’s glasses. The Doctor stifled a grimace as a pit yawned wide in his stomach. There’d be no dampening that—not right away. Misdirection might do, though… “So the United Nations is shovelling our pavements?”

The cadet’s eager nod didn’t dim that spark in the least. “Yes, sir.”

“Why’s that?”

The Doctor widened his eyes in the vain hope of communicating that Donna’s parents definitely did not know about any extraterrestrial goings-on.

His store of luck must’ve been used up by Donna saving his life under the Thames.

“We were on high alert after all that business with the Christmas star,” the cadet chirped. “Then there was a burst of energy near here that stimulated snowfall, so my squad was sent out to assess the situation.”

The Doctor wished he could unobtrusively bang his head against the wall.

“The Christmas star,” Donna repeated slowly. She looked his way as she zipped her top higher against the cold. The biodamper gleamed in the feeble light of the nearest streetlamp. “That would be the—?”

He reluctantly nodded, pulling at his ear.

“…Ah.”

“‘That would be the’ what, exactly?” Mrs. Noble demanded.

Donna froze. “Er…”

The Doctor sighed. No use crying over spilled milk. “Right, well, we can discuss that later.” If he didn’t manage to change the subject in the meantime, anyway. “Thanks for checking on everyone, Terry, much appreciated. Should’ve thought to myself.”

The cadet’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Oh, no, don’t—”

They snapped a crisp salute before he could stop them. “Only doing my job. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The cadet’s eyes flicked toward Donna as she tucked her hair behind her left ear, to him, and back to her again. The wave of the Doctor‘s foreboding crested just as Terry brightly continued, “And might I add, congratulations on your marriage, ma’am. Sir.” They directed another salute at his not-wife.

The Doctor had rarely wanted to disappear into the wallpaper more.

“…Thanks,” Donna said faintly. She self-consciously covered the biodamper with her other hand.

Terry gave a cheery wave and hurried off to disturb some other family’s Christmas Eve. The Doctor finally shut the front door.

The weight of eyes on him was palpable. That uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach swelled.

“D’you work for them? That ‘UNIT?’” Mrs. Noble demanded. Her arms were crossed tighter than a Slitheen’s sphincter.

“…No.” The Doctor shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “Not any more.”

“So…you did, then?”

His shoulders hunched involuntarily. “Yeah.” Probably best to avoid mentioning exactly how long ago it was—both for him personally and relative to the present moment. Humans never reacted well to it.

“I can’t picture it,” Donna remarked. When he glanced her way she was frowning at his battered trainers on the doormat. “You, in one of those berets?”

“Oi! I never wore a uniform!” The Doctor spat that last word like a curse.

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “And that lot were alright with breaking dress code?”

“Well, no, but I was—” He cut himself off.

“…You were high-ranking enough to avoid it?” Mr. Noble’s voice was all the more unsettling for how calm he was.

The Doctor grimaced, rocking back uncomfortably on his heels. “Not so high-ranking. More…more of a specialist, I s’pose. Spent a lot of time in the lab.”

“A scientist, then.” His tone was difficult to read.

“Yep.” Now that the Doctor considered it, the wallpaper pattern was quite lovely. Perhaps a bit dated, but he’d always been fond of a good wallpaper. All his companions said so.

“Classified work?”

He shrugged. “Near enough.”

“Mm.” When the Doctor dared to glance at the man, Mr. Noble looked…contemplative was the word, really. It was an improvement on ‘overtly distrustful.’

Beside him, Mrs. Noble looked incandescent—this time with something closer to excitement than rage. “That’d be why you’ve not been around, then.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“You were on assignment somewhere. United Nations, that means the whole world.”

The Doctor frowned. Mrs. Noble saying more wasn’t helping him to understand. Hopefully that wasn’t a constant affliction. “Sorry, I don’t…?”

She tutted impatiently. “Oh, for—it explains everything! Your UNIT lot came to London, you found out about the wedding, and then you had to rush to find Donna before it started—that’s why everything fell apart today instead of beforehand!”

His voice died in his throat as his jaw dropped. From the corner of his eye the Doctor glimpsed Donna’s matching poleaxed expression. It was more reassuring than it ought to’ve been, having company in being taken aback by her mum’s chain of assumptions.

“Honestly,” Mrs. Noble huffed with a roll of her eyes, “I’m not stupid. This outfit you ‘used to work for’ just happens to turn up on the day of my daughter’s wedding? As if! Obviously they’re connected!”

“How—I…it’s—” Donna broke off as abruptly as she’d begun. She looked beseechingly at the Doctor rather than continue.

He pointed mutely at himself.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, you!” she snapped. “This—this is your fault!”

“My fault?” His indignation felt more than usually justified. It wasn’t like he’d invited himself in! “What did I—?”

Mr. Noble cleared his throat in the nick of time. “Tea, anyone?”

The offer smoothed his ruffled feathers irritatingly quickly. The Doctor rumpled his hair higher to compensate. “Er…yes, please. That sounds lovely.”

Donna latched onto his arm before he got two steps down the corridor. “We need to do something!” she hissed in his ear. Mr. Noble’s back disappeared into the kitchen ahead of them.

He leaned closer to avoid her mum’s sharp ears. “Dunno what you want me to do,” he whispered. The Doctor was keenly aware of Mrs. Noble breathing down their necks. He only hoped she couldn’t read lips.

Donna’s iron grip tightened. “Could try contradicting them for a start!” she spat.

“So could you!”

“But—but I—” She bit her lip. Against his will concern welled up in his chest.

The Doctor slowed to a stop just before they reached the kitchen. “You…you alright?”

“Of course I’m not!” Donna bit out. His sharp reply was cut drastically short by a creak from the floor—Mrs. Noble had sidled well-within earshot, determinedly not looking their way as she straightened a framed photo on the wall.

He was still watching her mother when he was hauled sideways into the hall cupboard. Something knobbly dug into his spine. “Oi!”

“Sh!” The sensation of her breath on his neck tied his tongue in a sailor’s knot.

Rather than the expected rapping at the door, Mrs. Noble sighed outside the cupboard door and loudly announced to no one, “I’ll be in the kitchen with your father when you’re finished.” The Doctor pretended not to catch her muttering about newlyweds as her footsteps retreated.

Donna seemed determined to cut off blood flow to his hand. “What can we do? They—they’ve put the puzzle pieces together and got the complete wrong idea!”

“Yes, they have,” the Doctor agreed. “Bit impressive, really.” Humans always did like their ‘gut feelings.’ Too bad they were so often wrong.

Donna snorted. “Impressive? Seriously?”

He shrugged before realizing she wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. Though perhaps she could feel it? They were standing quite close. “Given the limited information they have, their guesses weren’t terrible.” It wasn’t like the evidence didn’t support Mrs. Noble’s conclusions.

“That we ran off and got married wasn’t a terrible guess?” she disbelievingly demanded.

The Doctor’s throat bobbed. “Well…in fairness we did run off. Twice, from their perspective. And I suppose I did give you that ring.” His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark inside the cupboard. He couldn’t see her expression, but the Doctor could make out the barest outline of the stripes down the sides of her tracksuit in the dim wash of light from the closed door.

“Yeah, well…” Donna sighed, finally releasing his arm. Blood rushed to his fingers. She really was right there, wasn’t she? He tried to give her more room, but the weight of whatever was jabbing into him dug threateningly deeper.

“…So. What’re you going to tell them?” he asked for lack of anything else to say.

She craned her neck to look up at him. He wasn’t sure why Donna was bothering, given the lack of light. “Dunno. What d’you think I should tell them?”

He frowned at her silhouette. “Why’s it on me to decide? Aren’t they your parents?”

Donna let out a sharp breath. “…Wouldn’t you be more objective?”

“Why would that help?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she countered with a particular note of wry humour.

The Doctor couldn’t hold back a grin. He was a regional interstellar champ at ‘questions.’ “But wouldn’t you have a better idea of how they’ll react?” he asked. After all, it’d be Donna having Sunday dinners with them long after he flew off.

“What if that… makes it harder to decide?”

He grimaced at nothing. “…So you’d rather pass the blame to someone else when it goes wrong, is that it?”

“Oi!” The Doctor could precisely picture Donna’s glare.

Sweet victory rushed through his veins. “That wasn’t a question.”

“Never mind that!” she snapped. “Where do you get off talking to me like that?!”

“What?” He rapidly rewound through the last minute or so. “…Oh! Er, I—”

“Being a Martian doesn’t give you a free pass to be an arse!” Donna barked. Her fingernail nearly stabbed right through his tie.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You’d better be!”

“I am!” He fumbled for her shoulder and gave it an awkward pat. “Really. I am.”

A dubious huff tickled his skin as Donna shrugged under his fingers. “…Fine. I’ll believe you…even if you are an intergalactic git.”

The Doctor belatedly dropped his hand with a sudden spike of guilt—hopefully she hadn’t noticed his lingering touch. “…By the way, I’m not from Mars,” he added. Much too late, of course, but he’d appreciate any distraction from his lapse.

“Saturn? Jupiter?”

“Neither. Different solar system,” the Doctor told her.

Donna sighed. “…Whatever. Anyway—is your vote for lying to my parents?” she finally asked.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” he blustered, shifting his weight to his other foot. That made him sound terrible.

“Well…I suppose it is going to be hard to talk them out of their own conclusion,” Donna said slowly.

“Yeah…” The Doctor abruptly frowned. Had he just talked her into not explaining that they weren’t married?

Well, he supposed it didn’t matter much. He’d be leaving before long, anyway. Ultimately, what Donna wanted to tell her parents would be her problem—the most he could be expected to do was not actively contradict whatever story she settled on.

The thought of flying off alone tightened something in his chest...

“…Yeah,” he said again. “Yeah.”

“Alright?”

The Doctor roughly cleared his suddenly foggy throat. “Yeah. Course.” He cleared his throat again.

Donna sighed. “…Look, I don’t—not trying to pry, but are you alright?”

He began to say something, he hardly knew what, but she went on without letting him finish.

“It’s just hard to pretend you’re telling the truth when you’re so obviously lying, and I do know you lost your friend, but I don’t have the energy to carry on acting. Can’t you just say how you actually feel?”

Something inside him froze at that. Not just at the reference to Rose, either—the clear demand for him to speak about his emotions had his stomach churning with icy dread.

“…I just—I just don’t—do that,” the Doctor eventually muttered. “Ever.” Even admitting that much might give him hives.

“Why not?” Empathy dripped from her every word. Was being unable to see her face amplifying the emotive intensity? The Doctor made a mental note to research that later.

He swallowed hard. “I just—”

The cupboard door slammed open without warning.

Mrs. Noble stood vividly illuminated in the doorway. “That’s enough of—of whatever this is,” she ground out. Her beady eyes raked over their non-embrace. “Now come drink your tea before it’s stone cold.”

Slinking in like a chastened schoolboy hadn’t become more fun in the centuries since he actually was a chastened schoolboy.

The Doctor sheepishly shucked his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the same chair as before, sinking into it and meekly accepting the cup of tea Mr. Noble slid across the table. “Thanks,” he murmured. Mrs. Noble’s eyes still bored into his forehead.

“You’re welcome,” Donna’s father said easily. “Sugar?”

“Yes, please.” He added a splash of milk too and stirred. The stew bowls had all been cleared away in favour of tea things in an only moderately ugly pattern of painted peonies. The Doctor spared half of a mournful thought for Mrs. Noble’s full bowl.

Beside him Donna downed her tea as if taking a shot and dropped it back on the saucer with a clatter.

The Doctor set aside his spoon and took a delicate sip. The idea of tea had been genuinely soothing. Now the caffeine only heightened the anxiety beating a tattoo against his ribs.

Mrs. Noble pointedly cleared her throat. He almost jumped in his seat, catching himself just in time. Fortunately she hadn’t been trying to attract his attention. “Donna?” She was folding and refolding a tea-stained serviette.

“What?” Donna snapped. The Doctor winced into his cup. He’d been around Mrs. Noble long enough to know that tone was not going to go over well.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You have something to say, madam. I know when my daughter’s biting her tongue.”

Donna’s mouth snapped open and immediately shut again. He could almost hear the words she bit back—her expression was far from placid. After a gut-wrenching moment, she finally said, “Lance never loved me.”

The temperature of the kitchen dropped a good ten degrees. The Doctor put down his tea at the same moment as Mr. Noble.

“Wh—?” Mrs. Noble began, but her daughter spoke over her.

“Earlier you said that I treated ‘poor Lance’ terribly.” Donna crisply enunciated each word.

“I—”

“What do you think I’m like?! You honestly think I’d throw someone over for no reason?”

Her mother bristled. The poor bit of paper didn’t stand a chance against her fingers. “Now, listen—”

“People are complicated, sweetheart.” Mr. Noble’s calm words slowed the rising tension. “Your mum didn’t call you a horrible person. Donna…I know you know it’s not that simple. Even if you did something—”

“Yeah, ‘if’ being the operative word,” she snapped.

Mr. Noble’s eyebrows drew together. “If?”

“He…lied to me,” Donna said baldly. The words stole some measure of fury from her. “The engagement, the wedding, all of it—it was all a lie.” The last bit came out in a sigh. The Doctor reached under the table and squeezed her hand. She shot him a not-quite-smile.

“A lie? What d’you mean, it was a lie?” Mrs. Noble querulously demanded.

Her husband reached across the table to take their daughter’s other hand in his. “Oh, my darling…I’m so sorry.”

Donna nodded jerkily. Her grip on the Doctor tightened.

“It’s true,” he impulsively added—best to give her time to collect herself. The Doctor refused to flinch when all eyes snapped to him. “Lance—well, it’s sort of complicated, but he never planned to stay with Donna. Not after he got what he wanted.”

Mrs. Noble slowly leaned back in her chair as she stared at him, at Donna, and back at him again. Her fingers still worried that serviette. “…Really?” she asked weakly.

The Doctor nodded. “Yes. It’s—I, er, found out—” —Never mind how— “—And I wanted to help.” There, that was even true. His feet fidgeted against the rung under his chair.

“…Through UNIT, I assume,” Mr. Noble stated more than asked.

The Doctor shrugged noncommittally, glancing sideways at Donna for a cue. He could try to explain the TARDIS and the alien spiders if she wanted…?

She avoided his eyes altogether.

“The attack at the reception was part of his little plan, too,” the Doctor hastily added. Might as well try to sort out that bit as well. “Sort of, erm, a panic move on his part.”

“Lance blew up the Christmas baubles?!” Mrs. Noble looked torn between fury and disbelief.

“…So you whisked her off to warn her, and returned to confront him…” Mr. Noble withdrew his hand to absently adjust his glasses. “…But that doesn’t explain when you got married, does it? Was it after the reception?”

The Doctor’s mouth clicked shut. He immediately looked to Donna. That was the question he couldn’t answer. They were her parents, after all.

She went a delicate pink under his gaze. “It—it was before, if you must know,” Donna finally spat. Her fingers twitched where they were twined with his.

He froze, barely daring to breathe.

Donna brought their joined hands up to rest on the table top. “It was sort of a ‘sod off’ to Lance, I s’pose. If he was gonna run around behind my back, why should I twiddle my thumbs?”

The Doctor’s thumb spasmed against the back of her hand—the same hand where that telltale biodamper glinted on her third finger. She’d…she’d actually gone along with it. Somehow he hadn’t expected that.

“Why should you—? That doesn’t mean you go off and marry someone else!” her mother squawked. She didn’t seem to even register Mr. Noble’s hand landing on her shoulder. “What if it’s a mistake?!”

“Maybe it is!” Donna roared.

The Doctor finally sucked in enough air to exclaim, “Oi!”

“Hush, you,” she snapped.

“Yes, dear.”

Donna crimsoned, but rallied admirably. “Mum, I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to make my own mistakes! Besides, marrying Lance would’ve been a much bigger mistake.” She glanced back at him. “…At the very least, this mistake respects me.”

“Can I state for the record that I resent that characterisation?” he asked dryly. He caught an odd look from Mrs. Noble and hastily added, “I mean—I meant calling me a mistake, of course. Not the other—I, erm, respect your daughter. A lot.”

“Mm.” Mr. Noble rested his palms on either side of his cup. “Well, I certainly hope you do. And…I hope this isn’t a mistake, either, but I s’pose it’s a bit late to worry.” The Doctor could relate.

“Geoff, you can’t possibly be alright with this,” Mrs. Noble protested. That serviette had been twisted into a unappetizing paper pretzel.

“It’s not for us to be alright with, is it?” His voice welled with wry humour the Doctor hadn’t heard from him before. “In the end, like Donna said, she’s a grown woman.” When Donna’s father leaned on the table and stood, the Doctor automatically moved to stand too. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t step in if we think we need to in future…John.”

It took half a second for the Doctor to respond to his alias. “Right, yeah. Course. I wouldn’t expect any different, Mr. Noble.” He shook the hand offered to him, meeting his gaze with his own.

“Good.”

Everyone’s eyes meandered back to Donna’s mother. Mrs. Noble was still shooting a dirty look at the Doctor—at least, until she realised they were all watching her expectantly. “Oh, what—? What now? What d’you want me to say?”

“An ‘it’s alright, Donna’ might be nice,” her daughter drawled. “Or, if that’s too much to ask, maybe an ‘I’ll try and make a better impression on your new husband tomorrow?’”

Mrs. Noble scowled even harder at him. The Doctor beamed beatifically down at her—between this and the dinner, the evening might even be worth the trouble.

“…Sylvia?” Mr. Noble prompted.

“…Sorry about all the shouting,” she finally grumbled.

“And…?”

“And…” Mrs. Noble got up with a sigh and went to the kitchen counter. The Doctor settled back into his chair with only the slightest flicker of suspicion. Something clattered, and she soon returned with a large purple tin. She dropped it onto the table with another clatter. “Here. Have a biscuit.”

The Doctor perked up at once and worried the lid off of the tin. An incredible whiff of rich buttery goodness filled his nose, and he didn’t hesitate to snatch up a crisp bit of shortbread. The first crunch evoked an appreciative hum. A heartsfelt “Oh, that’s good,” escaped his mouth, along with a few crumbs. Much better than an apology.

Her face was a picture of warring pride and mistrust. “Yes, well. Good.”

The Doctor hastily brushed the crumbs off the table.

“Well…I suppose I appreciate the attempt, Mum,” Donna sighed.

Mrs. Noble buttoned up her mouth primly and didn’t answer. Instead, she swiftly gathered the empty teacups and saucers and stacked them on the counter. Water thundered into the sink.

Donna raised her voice. “I can do the washing up, Mum.”

“No. I—I’ve got it,” she snapped. “Go on, get out of here. Sit in the lounge, if you’re going to just loll about.”

The Doctor’s mouth twitched at her daughter’s eye roll. He tipped his head back and swallowed the last of his lukewarm tea, wincing slightly at the undissolved sugar in the dregs, before rising to add it to the wash-up pile. “Thanks, Mrs. Noble,” he told her. “Really. Thank you.”

“Y’welcome,” she muttered. Her hands viciously swirled soap and water into a thick foam.

Donna led the retreat into the lounge with the biscuit tin in hand. It clattered onto the coffee table as she flopped onto the floral sofa without a pause. The Doctor perched more demurely beside her. He did his best not to eye the tin.

“Well…” Mr. Noble lingered in the doorway. “…I actually might pop off to bed early.”

Donna frowned as she sat up a bit. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Father Christmas won’t come til I do, anyway,” her dad said wryly. The Doctor barely stifled a guffaw at the notion of Jeff and Geoff meeting each other—small universe, wasn’t it?

She huffed a laugh through her nose. “Right, course. Can’t do without your satsuma.”

“Heaven forbid,” he chuckled. His keen blue eyes flicked to the Doctor. “Anyway…rocky start, lad, but I think there’s hope for better tomorrow. Eh?”

His back involuntarily went poker straight. “Yes, sir. Course, sir.” Sir? What was happening to him?

“Anyway…g’night, sweetheart.” Mr. Noble smiled at his daughter and graced him with a cordial nod. “John.”

“G’night,” the Doctor choked out.

“Night, dad.”

He tore at his tie and unbuttoned his collar the instant Mr. Noble was out of sight.

“…Sir? Really?”

“I know,” the Doctor groaned, slumping back into the sofa cushions. “I—I know.” He rumpled his hair too for good measure. Might as well look as off-balance as he felt.

Donna raised a ginger eyebrow. “That’s textbook sucking up. You’re…you’re actually trying, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. The Doctor idly picked at a loose thread on the sofa.

She crossed her legs in his peripheral vision. “Oh, you are. I can tell.”

Rude of her to see through him like that. The Doctor focused even harder on the tangle of cabbagey roses and floppy vines in the patterned fabric. “You can, can you?'“

“Yep. Open book, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” It took her warm fingers taking his hand in hers to stop his fidgeting. His eyes flicked up to meet hers.“You’re not alright, are you?”

“…No.” The admission brought with it a wave of relief. “No, I’m—not.”

Donna sighed. “Well, that’s the first step sorted. Now for the why.”

His lips twitched humorlessly. “Too many reasons to count, really,” the Doctor admitted lowly. “How much time have you got?”

She badly stifled a snort. “Some. Hm, where to start…” Donna leaned her elbows on her knees. “…Why’s it like pulling teeth getting you to talk about it?”

He swallowed hard. His eyes flicked back to the sofa pattern. “Just—it feels…risky. Saying it…saying anything straight out.”

“Course it’s a risk,” Donna said softly. “It always is. But you need to do it, at least sometimes. You can’t just cram your feelings into a box—hiding from them won’t work forever.”

The Doctor took a long breath through his nose. Much as he hated to admit it, she wasn’t wrong. He ought to know, having missed the opportunity to say something so many times before…and he was bound to have so many more opportunities in future.

Had never acknowledging his feelings made them disappear?

Of course not. He’d just stuffed them deeper down in the vain hope they’d shrivel away. More fool him.

The TARDIS distantly burbled on the edge of his consciousness. The Doctor’s lips quirked up. From some angles, he’d even been shoving all his emotions into an actual box, running away in the TARDIS. And running and hiding were two sides of the same coin. No one in the universe could be more of an expert in that.

Had trying to escape grief before it could get its hooks in him ever worked?

No. And yet he kept on trying, even though the heartsache already simmered under his skin.

“…That’s wise, that is,” the Doctor remarked at last. A rush of guilty gratitude for the indigestion that forced him to stay to dinner filled his chest. “You didn’t mention you were wise.”

“Can’t say I appreciate the tone of surprise,” Donna sniffed.

He snorted. “Sorry.”

She abruptly released his hand and sat up straight. “…S’pose I’m sorry as well.”

“What?” The Doctor frowned at her. “Why?”

“For—I just went ahead and blurted out that we’re married. To each other. And—well, you never specifically agreed to it…” Donna worried at the biodamper with her thumb. “You don’t think that that might merit an apology?”

“When you put it like that….”

She rolled her eyes. “Then there you have it: sorry.” Donna released his hand with a huff and shifted toward the opposite end of the sofa. He was left a bit cold as she crossed her arms. “Anyway. What d’you want to do about it?”

The Doctor blinked. “About what?” He deftly rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“About the—about them thinking we’re married!” Donna snapped.

He froze mid-motion and flushed crimson. “Oh. Erm…”

His mind was very nearly blank for once in his lives. The plan—the plan had always been to leave. To run, to fly off, to leave Donna Noble safely behind him for once and for all, keeping him from losing someone else and keeping her safe from all the dangers that chased him across the universe. No ties, no entanglements.

But.

As the Doctor had lingered here, watched her bear up under pressure, and been held to account by her again and again, that forbidden thought had only grown stronger. Donna Noble would be magnificent. It was a simple fact—despite her misgivings, she absolutely could careen madly about the cosmos and find the problems no one else bothered to solve. That potential simmered under her very skin.

She did say no, though.

“…Er. I—I dunno,” he finally said. The Doctor hastily finished adjusting his cuff.

A pointed cough startled them.

Mrs. Noble’s sharp eyes skewered each of them in turn from the doorway. “…Should get to bed,” she eventually grunted. “Visiting hours start early.”

“Right, yeah…” Donna turned to the Doctor. “Gramps is in hospital with the flu.” He nodded along as if he’d already heard of this ‘Gramps’ person. The Doctor hoped against hope that that meeting would go more smoothly.

Her mother looked particularly sour. “And he’ll be gutted if he doesn’t get to meet his…grandson-in-law as soon as possible.” She spat the words like they’d burn her tongue by lingering a second longer. Her gaze alit on the forgotten biscuit tin. “And don’t go finishing the biscuits,” she warned, “We’re taking what’s left to your Gramps, alright?”

“Sure, Mum,” Donna sighed.

“Don’t go staying up too late,” Mrs. Noble muttered. With a final sniff, she followed her husband up the stairs.

The Doctor had the tin open in a twinkling.

“Oi, let me have one before you scoff the lot!” Donna belied her own words by confiscating two.

“Will not,” he said through a full mouth.

“Mhm, sure you won’t...” She bit into her first one and hummed with pleasure. “Oh, that’s lovely. For all her faults, Mum can bake a biscuit.”

The Doctor swallowed. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Wish I got the baking gene. M’alright at cooking, but baking’s a whole other kettle of fish.” Donna caught a the crumbs from her next bite in her palm. “And Mum…sometimes I think she’s wasted not having a million people to cook for. Dad always says they’ll be eating turkey til March.”

He chuckled—and then stopped abruptly. Christmas dinner….Donna’d said earlier that her mum ‘cooked enough for twenty.’ She’d invited him in for it, but there was something— “Hang on. You said—you told me your mum was cooking Christmas dinner. When you invited me.”

“Yeah.” Donna took another bite before continuing, somewhat indistinctly. “And?”

“And—and the dinner’s not even today! You knew it was tomorrow!” The way she’d rolled her eyes at him in the kitchen, Donna definitely already knew about her mum’s plans.

She nodded. Donna picked up the tin and obligingly held it out, her mouth still full. The Doctor automatically selected another one, still staring in disbelief. He wasn’t about to turn down a biscuit, no matter how surprised he was.

“So you were expecting me to stick around for two days?!”

Donna took her time finishing her second biscuit before replying. “Wasn’t sure you would, actually,” she eventually admitted. “Sort of assumed you’d say no. Even after the TARDIS was poorly…but I thought it was worth a try.”

His brows drew together. She…hadn’t even been sure? But then…why would she bother asking? Why would Donna want him, the man who’d frightened her so thoroughly, to loiter in her neighbourhood over the holiday?

The Doctor could only think of one reason. “So, what, you were stalling? Trying to keep me here so you could change your mind?”

Only now did she flush. Donna applied her attention to the pull tab of her zip-up. “Oi! It—it wasn’t like that.”

Confirmation. Smug self-assurance filled him as he grabbed another biscuit and stretched out on the sofa. “Ooh, I think it was exactly like that. Especially after that reaction.” He ostentatiously draped his legs over her lap.

She scowled, but didn’t immediately shove them off. He beamed at her. “Don’t go getting even more full of yourself,” Donna growled.

The Doctor’s cheeks stretched wider still.

She gave his shin an impatient smack. “Stop it with that Cheshire grin! It wasn’t like that!”

“Wasn’t it?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly and crossed his ankles demurely. “Go on, then—explain how it wasn’t like that. I’m listening.” The Doctor took a massive bite of shortbread for good measure.

“W–well, I—I, er, it’s—you…er, I just..”

The Doctor nodded along encouragingly, still savouring the biscuit. He could almost get used to this ‘disapproving mother-in-law’ business if she always baked this well.

She’d gone almost fuchsia by the time she stammered to a halt. “…Look, I—it’s been a long, hard day,” Donna finally ground out. “I—can you blame me for not being sure I was making the right choice?”

He stopped mid-crunch. When she put it like that… “…S’rry,” he muttered, doing his best not to spew crumbs everywhere. The Doctor swallowed with difficulty, his mouth suddenly bone dry. “I. Yeah, s’pose I could see that.”

Donna sighed. “Good.” She primly folded her hands over his knees.

The Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat. He tried not to show it.

She peered at him with concern. “You alright?”

He grimaced. Course she’d notice. “Yeah, I…” The words died in his throat when her words properly registered. Had she said—? No, she hadn’t.

“Yeah?” Donna prompted. She stroked his knee.

“Yeah,” the Doctor inanely repeated. That little crease between her eyebrows deepened. She hadn’t said straight out, but— “So—have you?”

“Have I what?” she asked.

“Changed your mind.”

Donna squinted suspiciously at him. “…What if I haven’t?”

Icy embarrassment crawled up his spine. “Er.” He quickly withdrew his legs. “I’ll—I’ll just go, then.”

“Wow. Not even sparing a thought for what my dad’ll think of that?”

The Doctor froze halfway through getting up. “…Right. Um.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Terrible son-in-law material, ducking out of your first Christmas together…and you haven’t even tried mum’s roast potatoes yet.”

That was a particularly good point. He settled back onto the sofa, though he made sure to sit up straight. “I suppose it would be rude to leave early.”

Donna made a choked sound. The Doctor glanced at her, concerned, only to immediately realize that must’ve been a stifled howl of laughter. Her face was almost purple with restraint.

“Oi! You—you can’t just—”

She gave up and let loose her cackle. “Oh, my god—I can’t—you just—can’t believe—”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t think you’d pull my leg!” he protested.

She was far too busy wheezing to respond. The Doctor tried his best to hang on to his scowl, but it soon melted into a lopsided smile. “Horrible, you are.”

“Yeah? Well, you like horrible,” Donna finally got out. She slumped back into the cushions, clutching the stitch in her side.

His lips twitched. “Yeah…maybe I do.” And he wouldn’t have known that, if not for… “…I’m glad,” the Doctor impulsively said.

“…Glad about what?” Laughter still coloured her voice.

“That the TARDIS made me stay.” It really hadn’t been his idea. As always, the Old Girl found a way around him.

“…The TARDIS made you stay?” She sounded abruptly cold.

He froze. “Er…”

Donna glared at him. “…You were going to run, weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

His hand shot up to his hair. “Er. Might’ve been.” The creeping horror of being known crawled up his spine. An almost equally horrifying sense of belonging followed it.

Instead of bristling with the irritation he’d come to expect from her, she folded in on herself like an unhappy umbrella.

The Doctor opened and shut his mouth indecisively. “I—um, I…I didn’t…you alright?”

“M’fine.” Donna avoided his eyes. Now who was cramming their feelings into a box?

“That’s not true, though, is it?”

She scowled through her fringe.

That felt like a positive sign. “You don’t seem fine.” He made a show of retrieving his specs and slipping them on for a closer look. “Not even close, actually.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it.”

The Doctor blinked owlishly for comic effect. To his credit her lips did twitch, even if she immediately ironed them flat again. He leaned a degree closer. “Blimey, never thought I’d miss the shouting. The quiet’s just unnatural.”

“Oi!”

He couldn’t hold in a grin at her outraged expression. “There you are.” Donna only glared. The Doctor sighed and finally folded his specs away again. “Oh, alright. You win. Just—what’s wrong?”

She wound a cranberry-coloured afghan around her shoulders like armour before she spoke. “…Oh, nothing really. Just that you didn’t even mean to stay,” Donna spat. “You should just go. Get out of here while you still can!”

“What? Hang on—”

“Can’t believe I thought you might be different!” Afghan tassels fluttered wildly as Donna brandished a furious finger under his nose. The Doctor automatically leaned away. “Sure, you might’ve asked me, but it was all comes out in the end. You’d be laughing halfway across the galaxy if you could, you know it and I know it! Footloose and free of some brainless, bellowing cow!”

“You think I want to be alone?” He caught himself on the edge of shouting and bit his tongue. “That’s—I didn’t—” His throat was too full of words and emotions to speak. The Doctor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “…Yeah, I did ask you along. And I meant it.”

“…Did you?” She sounded so much more fragile now. Donna’s eyes dropped to her hands where they fidgeted in her lap.

“Hey.” His hand covered hers. “I did mean it. I asked you. Course I did, you’re brilliant. Even if I didn’t…plan to. Not after losing—”

“Your friend,” she finished for him. He nodded jerkily. Donna sighed. “…What was her name?”

The Doctor’s head hung lower still. It hurt to think of what happened. His instinct still was to push the thought back, away, into the box he’d always shoved those too-painful things inside—but no. He had to just say things, sometimes.

He had to name his pain, and feel it.

“…Rose,” the Doctor finally told her. The name stung less than he’d feared. “Her name was Rose.”

“Rose…” She wrapped his hand in hers. “S’not a bad name.”

The Doctor snorted. “Yeah, s’pose not.” He gave her fingers a fond squeeze.

Losing her at all was bad enough on its own. Losing his companions always came with grief, loneliness and guilt, after all—he’d lost enough people to understand the rhythm. That Rose was safe and with family was far more than the Doctor could’ve hoped for…yet despite knowing better, it still ground a particle or two of salt in the wound. It was far more than he’d ever get.

He absently ran his thumb over Donna’s knuckles. The lounge was quiet but for the clock over the television ticking a few milliseconds early, the boiler’s distant rumble, and the occasional whoosh of a car passing outside rattling the window panes.

The comfortable peace soon had his eyes slowly fluttering shut.

“S–sorry,” he yawned, sinking back into the sofa cushions. “Just—long day.”

“You’re telling me,” Donna grumbled. She somehow shimmied the afghan down to cover her body with her free hand. The Doctor shuffled closer until she grudgingly shared its warmth. “No wonder you’re chilly. Skinny as anything, aren’t you?”

“Am not.”

She snorted. “S’not just a river in Egypt, I take it.”

The Doctor didn’t deign to dignify that rank nonsense with a response beyond a grunt. The comfortable silence waxed again until Donna ended it with a loud sigh.

“…Would I have ever seen you again?”

He blinked languidly, in the way one does on the very edge of sleep. “…What?”

“If you’d left.”

Even the thought that he actually might’ve never laid eyes on Donna Noble again had him grimacing. “If I was lucky.” His fingers tightened around hers. “If I was very lucky.”

“You are lucky,” she sniffed. “Lucky I was there to stop you.”

“I…might need that.” The admission deepened his grimace.

“More than you’d like to admit.”

The Doctor threw back his head to scowl at the ceiling. “Just—”

Her eyes were heavy on him. “Just…what?” she asked.

“Just…” There was a faint crack about an inch from the cream-coloured wall. The Doctor turned his head to one side to stare at her hair instead, still darker and damper than usual. “…Just because you’re right…”

“Course I am.” That was a smile in her voice, he’d bet the multi-loop stabilizer on it.

“Course you are.” He wriggled deeper into the cushions. “You’re brilliant.”

“Brilliant at shouting, maybe,” she said dismissively. “Tell you what: you ever need someone to shout the house down, I’m your girl.”

The Doctor chuckled. “So you are.”

Donna abruptly jerked away. “I—I, er, didn’t —”

He paled. “Oh! I—erm—no, I didn’t mean…” The Doctor’s throat bobbed. “Anyway, I—right, there’s still the whole—thing with the, erm, ring. The—the marriage thing. Your parents, and…”

“Yeah?” That damn biodamper gleamed in the corner of his eye.

He looked back up at the ceiling for his own safety. “…Er. Might be a bit—a bit late. And a bit presumptuous. And you, um, might not have changed your mind, I s’pose, you never really said, but would you—I mean, d’you want to, er, take it for a spin…? Maybe?”

“…What?”

The Doctor gulped back a surge of terror. “Or—or forget it. Never mind, I’ll just—in the morning I’ll just nip out for antacid and go.” He shuffled away from her.

Her hand shot out to stop him. He froze. “You can’t just say something like that and do a runner! What the hell d’you mean by ‘take it for a spin?’”

What did she mean, what did he mean? Wasn’t it obvious?

It took a few more beats for him to connect the dots of her dangerous tone and potential meaning of his words. His mouth dropped open in shock. “Oh—oh, no. No, I—Donna! You seriously think I’d just—! I’m a respectable Time Lord!” The last few words came out as more of a squawk than he’d have preferred.

Donna relaxed slightly. “As if I know what that means,” she sniffed. “‘Time Lord,’ indeed…you’re not half posh. But if you didn’t mean that, then what did you mean?”

The Doctor fidgeted in his seat. “I, er, was just…I meant—you said you had a honeymoon planned.”

“Ye–e–es,” she said slowly. “Morocco, lovely.”

“Right. And—after the TARDIS recovers, I was just thinking, how’d you like to go after all? I was considering the Carthaginian Empire, but you might prefer after the Romans moved in—”

Her hand finally stopped his mouth. “You’re seriously—you still want me to go with you?”

Against his better judgement. The Doctor nodded silently.

“Really?!”

He nodded faster.

Donna seemed unable to tame the silly grin that stretched across her face. She dropped her nerveless hand, still staring in disbelief. “…Even after all that mess? The shouting, my dad’s disapproving face, my mum—god, my mum…?”

The Doctor shrugged. “I’ve had worse,” he said laconically. “At least she didn’t hit me.” His ears were still still ringing from Jackie’s slap, and he’d put money on Mrs. Noble outdoing her.

“I mean…I hit you. Earlier, I mean, on the TARDIS. And you’d still have me along?”

He shrugged again. “Yeah.”

She blinked furiously. “I…”

“After Christmas dinner, obviously,” the Doctor added. “I’m not missing that. I’ve heard the potatoes are to die for.”

“Charming,” Donna dryly remarked. “Only hanging round for my mother.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for another biscuit. “Think she’d share the recipe?”

She snorted. “You’ll have to stick around much longer for that.” Donna stopped herself taking another biscuit and virtuously popped the lid back on instead.

“Ah, well. We’ll see.” The Doctor leaned back and stretched his legs out on the coffee table. “Any tips on cracking that shell?”

“I was actually hoping you’d have some for me,” Donna drawled. It was his turn to snort. “…And—” She hesitated.

“And…?” he prompted.

“And…Morocco?”

The Doctor perked up. “Yes, Morocco! Lovely spot, haven’t been for ages. The Carthaginians were all well and good, but the Romans knew how to party…”

“I was sort of thinking of relaxing by the pool,” Donna said dryly.

He grimaced mid-bite. “Oh, come on,” the Doctor groaned. Crumbs cascaded everywhere. “Why would you want to lie by the pool when you could explore a real authentic souk at any time in history?”

She shot him a narrow stare.

The Doctor blinked—and hastily brushed as much of the mess of crumbs into his hand as he could. He levered the tin open and dumped them inside as he babbled, “Er, well, anyway—whenever we go, you—you deserve a holiday after all that mess today.”

Her eyes didn’t leave his face. The Doctor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself—was he blinking too much? Surely he was blinking too much. He gave up blinking altogether and crossed his arms self-consciously.

“…Yeah, alright. S’pose we could do a trial run.”

He perked up. “Really? Wait, hang on—what d’you mean, a trial run?”

“You know, kick the tyres. Take her for a road test, all that,” she placidly told him. “Lord knows your ship needs it after that whole flying-over-the-motorway business. And now she’s ill, too, the poor thing.”

“Right,” the Doctor muttered to himself—he’d almost forgotten the reflux for a moment there. He was going to be under the console for hours once the flood subsided.

“Quick jaunt to Marrakesh will do wonders. Besides, how’m I supposed to know if the husband fits without a trial period?”

“Wh—?” The half-word was almost punched out of him.

Donna made a point of airily ignoring him. “A replacement honeymoon’s all well and good, but a replacement husband? I’ve got to try him on for size—I can’t go and marry just anyone, you know.” Despite her light tone, there was more truth to her words than she perhaps intended…yet even after her future crumbled out from under her mere hours ago, genuine humour still sparkled in her eyes. Humans—so resilient.

Well, if the Doctor was going to stay for Christmas dinner and whisk her off to Morocco anyway, he supposed there wasn’t any harm in playing along. When the time came he was sure they could contrive a reasonable divorce for Mr. and Mrs. Noble.

In the meantime, he wasn’t about to allow his reputation to be besmirched.

“I’ll have you know I’m eminently qualified,” the Doctor grandly declared. “And highly recommended, too. Remind me to ring Terry in the morning—UNIT’s got to have my performance reviews filed somewhere. That lot were forever doing paperwork.”

Donna’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t recycle them for firelighters?”

He grimaced.

“That good, were they?”

“Well…”

She chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

The Doctor edged a little closer, reclaiming a segment of the afghan. “My survival rate was impeccable, though.”

“Impeccable? Really?”

“Yep. No one could peck it even if they tried.” He didn’t bother flinching at the rebuking prod to his midsection.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I said ‘impeccable.’”

“Oh, shut up.”