Fic: To Err is Human (2/?)
Author: Lilac Summers
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13ish? (R in later parts), sexual innuendo, language
Category: Humor, angst/drama
Characters: Donna/John Smith/Doctor
A/N: There are a lot of caps in this episode. What can I say, I imagine Donna screaming internally quite a bit.
Part 1 here
PART 2:
Donna had decided to face her new predicament calmly, not jump to conclusions and see what developed.
Riiiight. Okay, well, at the very least she did decide to see what developed mostly because her only other alternative was to run away screaming, jump in the TARDIS and figure out how to pilot herself away, Doctor be damned.
And since she couldn't do that, Donna figuratively pushed up her sleeves and told herself that she'd make sure no funny business went on, and that maybe things wouldn't be so bad.
She was wrong.
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First day in Edwardian hell
That first day at the academy saw them ensconced in a flat under the eaves of the big old building. The headmaster had led them to their new home up several flights of stairs. Donna had been puffing under the unfamiliar constraint of the corset, but hell, she told herself, she'd have a fantastic bum after 3 months of climbing up and down these stairs.
And then, as if glorious fortune was finally smiling down on her, she'd found out it was customary for married couples to have their own bedrooms! She all but threw herself at the headmaster in relieved joy and just barely stopped herself from twirling in circles like a mad Julie Andrews. The feeling of impending dread she'd had since she found out they were “married” lifted slightly from her shoulders.
She had fumbled through cooking a late lunch (NO MICROWAVE! horrors) for her and the Doctor. He'd praised her lukewarm attempt at stew and waxed poetic about the slightly soggy vegetables. Although dubious, Donna was glad to know he wasn't going to be picky and boy, was he gonna owe her big-time when this was all over. Donna and kitchens were unmixy things, and she liked it that way.
After lunch he had to tour the rest of the premises, doing no more than giving her a fond kiss on the temple on his way out. Donna graced him with a beaming smile. Thank god! Apparently they weren't the icky type of newlyweds. Maybe they'd been promised to each other or something, like a business arrangement. Her mum had loved watching those types of soaps! Maybe his human form was secretly gay and she was his 'cover.'
She could live with that. She could suck it up, cook crappy meals while the Doctor played at being teacher for 3 months. This would be easy! The future glowed with her new, suddenly optimistic outlook.
In the evening the Doctor had returned with an invitation to dine with the headmaster and other faculty. Overjoyed at the idea of not having to cook, Donna ran to her room and struggled into a dress she hoped was suitable for dinner.
The Doctor was waiting for her when she stepped out, looking dashing (she admitted to herself, grudgingly) in a dark suit.
“Oh, darling, you look breathtaking.” He leaned over and kissed her absently on the cheek, hustling for the door, obviously concerned with being late.
“Thanks,” smiled Donna, for the first time relieved at the lack of attention. Also, she was keeping a running tally of how many times he called her 'darling' or 'sweetheart' so that she could blackmail the Doctor with them, later.
“Shall we?” he offered Donna an arm. She took it gladly, reminded of their adventure with Agatha Christie.
See that, Donna? Not different from any other adventure; you're gonna be fine.
And with that bit of overconfidence, they headed off to dinner.
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Her sweet little fantasy of a loveless, platonic marriage began to go awry at dinner.
She had been seated on the Doctor's right, with the school nurse - an aloof blond named Joan Redfern - on his left. After seeing Joan's hungry, speculative gaze land on the Doctor, Donna made a mental note to watch her back along any dark stairwell. She wouldn't put it past the lady to make the Doctor a widower by giving Donna a helpful shove.
Nah, but Donna couldn't blame her. The Doctor was the only man older than 18 and younger than 50 in the whole school. He must have seemed like manna from heaven to the not-unattractive nurse.
Overall the conversation had been flowing smoothly, Donna doing little more than smiling and nodding, half checked-out and longing for her bed. She kept a stealthy eye on the Doctor's table manners as the meal proceeded, dutifully copying his use of the utensils. Why the hell did they need three different forks? Blasted inconvenient. And the teeny-tiny pitchfork-looking thingy seemed like some sort of exotic torture device, she thought suspiciously.
“So tell us, Mister Smith. How did you and your lovely wife meet?”
Well, this would be interesting. Donna pushed tiny forks from her mind and cocked an ear, relieved to learn a bit more helpful back-story.
The Doctor turned to Donna with a smile. “Darling, would you like to tell them?”
"Oh no, by all means. I like how you tell it," she lied.
His smile left her briefly dazzled. Under the table his hand settled on her knee.
Wait. What is he doing with his hand!? Maybe that was normal in 1913. She really, really hoped so. And he was drawing small circles over the silky material of her dress, which she found oddly distracting even through two layers of skirts and one of petticoats. Donna grabbed her water and started gulping it, ready to reach for the menacing little fork if necessary.
“Was it an arranged marriage?” asked Nurse Redfern hopefully, the cow - though Donna was wondering (and hoping) the same thing.
“Oh, no. You see, I kidnapped Donna from the church.”
Donna all but snorted water out through her nose. Thankfully, everybody else was making such excited exclamations that no one seemed to notice.
“Well, I say! Really, sir, you have to explain that one!” came the delighted cry from a portly gentleman down the table.
And the Doctor was in his element, spinning a romantic tail of childhood friendship, running wild over the rural hills of their hometown, growing up best mates until he realized that there was more than friendship between them. Then a dark separation when he was sent off to study abroad, traveling through Europe for many more years than he had anticipated, only to return and find that his love was marrying another. He'd stormed into the church and broken up the proceedings, dragging her away to confess his feelings for her atop a clifftop. The rest was history.
Or the present, whatever.
“So here we are!” finished the Doctor with a flourish, amongst hearty congratulations and a flurry of questions.
"Here we are, indeed," echoed a dumbfounded Donna. It was actually very clever, she had to admit, how the TARDIS had somehow woven their real past into this veritable bodice-ripper of a romance.
The Doctor's hand on her knee shifted, and she turned to see him watching her with, she realized in a moment of terrifying clarity, a completely stupid-in-love look on his face. Amidst roars of encouragement from the peanut gallery, he leaned over and pressed his lips lovingly to hers.
It was a chaste kiss, barely a touching of lips, but when he leaned back his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled.
Donna was mostly preoccupied with keeping her food down. I'm going to kill the TARDIS with that deranged little fork, if it's the last thing I do.
“Oh, Donna. You are a lucky woman to have such a dashing husband!” gushed the matron beside her.
“Yeah. Couldn't have written it better myself if I'd tried.” She turned from her "husband", smiled her sickliest smile and downed her wine. “Mrs. Sutherland, would you pass the wine, please?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She couldn't make it to her room fast enough. Pleading a headache she rushed away from the Doctor as soon as they stepped into their flat, firmly closing her bedroom door behind her.
Sleep. Yes, god, then maybe she'd wake up from this crazy dream. Donna stripped off all the various layers of undergarments with a sigh of relief. Really, this wasn't going to work in the long run; she would have to modify what she wore under her dresses. Especially the bloomers -- seriously, what was the deal with those?! No thank you!
She slid a huge, voluminous nightgown over her nakedness; and she just knew that it was going to end up half strangling her to death in her sleep. She would have traded an arm for her pajamas. Then she sat at a little dressing table that would have delighted her if she weren't actually in, you know, flippin' 1913.
She had just finished pulling the pins from her hair and picked up a heavy wooden brush when a knock sounded on her door. Before she even had the chance to give permission (or try to climb out the window) the door swung open and the Doctor walked in as if he owned the place. Donna bit back her instinctive bitchy admonition of "privacy, thank you!" and tried to adopt a demure wifely demeanor.
"Here, let me do that," he said, moving behind her and plucking the brush from her nerveless hands. Donna stared at his reflection in the vanity's mirror as he began to brush out her hair for her.
"How is your headache?” he inquired.
“Heada--? Oh, little better. You know, so much excitement.”
“You have been awfully quiet today," he mused.
That would be because I don't want to fuck this up. Since she couldn't say that, she settled for a non-committal, "Have I?"
He nodded, running the brush through the long strands. "I know you did not want to be here."
"Hmmm," was her cunning response to that one, and she wondered if the TARDIS had worked in her objection to this plan into his memories, too, the sneaky ship.
"But we could not stay in our hometown indefinitely, dear, you know that. I need this job to make us self-sufficient. We can not live off your family forever. Especially if we are going to start a family soon," he smiled lovingly at her through the mirror while Donna fought valiantly to not look petrified/nauseated by the very idea.
"Errrrr..." she responded intelligently.
"You will love it here if you give it a chance. As long as we're together..." he murmured, setting aside the brush and shifting her hair to the side so he could lean down and place a kiss on the nape of her neck.
Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.
The Doctor took her shocked silence as approval and began to move his kisses down the side of her neck, keeping his eyes trained on hers through the mirror. She could sort of only watch -- as one watches a particularly gruesome highway accident -- as he shifted the baggy nightgown off her shoulder and set his mouth to the newly bared skin, eyes fluttering closed.
OH DEAR.
"Uh...um...J-John?"
If he heard her he was too busy running the tip of his tongue over the freckles on her shoulder to answer her. Shades of the Doctor's oral fixation!
“JOHN?!” her squeak had reached the upper registers.
He returned his attention to her reflection and correctly read the panic in her eyes (if for the completely wrong reasons.) He allowed himself one last lingering kiss and then smoothed her nightgown back in place. “You're still not ready yet, then?” he asked in a dejected voice.
Still?! Does he mean in his memories we haven't...
“I - I just don't want to rush things?” she ventured.
He moved around from behind her and knelt at her feet, grasping her hands and looking at her with innocent sincerity. “I know it was a shock to you to learn about my feelings for you, and that the wedding was hurried. But you admitted you loved me, too.” He paused, obviously waiting for a confirmation from her.
Donna could feel her eyebrows raise so high they almost crawled off her forehead. She forced them down and tried to assume the same look of sincerity. “Of course I would love my husband,” she prevaricated, and didn't have to fake the color that rose to her cheeks.
The Doctor's eyes softened at what he perceived a maidenly blush; he patted her hand somewhat indulgently. "Do not worry, sweetheart. We can take this at your pace."
Donna almost fainted in relief. She discreetly pulled her hands free and awkwardly patted his head like one would pat a puppy who had finally learned not to piddle on the carpet. “Thank you, Do--oh, uh--darling," she choked out the endearment, then slid out from her seat at the vanity, leaving the Doctor kneeling by the empty chair. “Oh, look at the time. I'm exhausted; such an exciting day!” She waited by her open door pointedly.
The Doctor slowly rose from his position, coming to her and looming so he could press a kiss to her forehead. Donna smiled inanely and tried to hold back from making “shooing” motions with her hands.
He moved towards the doorway and she thought she was in the clear, finally, when the Doctor suddenly paused and turned to her.
"Can I hold you through the night? I hate being away from you. It worries me, for some reason."
"But...but you have your own room. That's not quite proper, is it?" she all but wailed.
"Donna, you have never worried so much about propriety before -- are you sure you feel all right?"
"I haven't?" well, of course she wouldn't have. Even a fake 1913 Donna wouldn't have had the patience for such idiotic restrictions.
“Oh, how your mum despaired!” He cupped her face in his hands and gazed at her imploringly. “It is our first real night finally alone, in a flat of our own. Your mother is not around, no one is here to know who has slept in which bedroom. Please, darling, I just want to have you by my side, nothing more.”
Donna tried to make up an excuse but panicked at the mounting uncertainty in his eyes. "O-okay then. Yes. Of course you can stay."
The uncertainty on his face faded to relief. He gave her one of his big, reassuring, patented Doctor hugs before leading them to the bed, pulling her down beside him and smoothing the covers over them before turning away to switch off the lamp.
As the room plunged into darkness, Donna consoled herself with the fact that it was a big bed; she wouldn't even have to know he was there.
Until the Doctor pulled her into his arms as if she were his own personal teddy bear.
The Doctor must have still been exhausted from his transformation into human, because almost immediately she felt him relax into slumber behind her. Donna, unfortunately, could only stare out into the dark, just too aware that it was the Doctor's arm around her waist, and the Doctor's thighs pressing up against her thighs, and against her bum it was the Doctor's ….oh fuck.
Of all the ridiculous situations. Why, oh why do you hate me, God?
But then, beyond all her expectations she found the warmth of his body lulling hers to sleep, and her eyes getting heavy until....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was roused by birdsong, drifting in that twilight space between sleep and wakefulness. She was deliciously warm, surrounded by something strong and secure...ah, an arm. Why was there an arm around her? Ooh, and a hand. A cheeky hand, cupping her left breast. Well, it was a fabulous breast. She couldn't really blame the hand for taking advantage. And it felt nice, really really nice. She smiled sleepily at the pleasant flutter in her stomach.
She stretched a little and also became aware of a leg between hers, soft cotton between her bare thighs. Now, why were her thighs bare again? Where were her pajamas and why did it feel quite breezy down there, now that she thought about it? And most importantly, why was there another hand inches from her...
Wait.
Donna's eyes snapped open. The Doctor was wrapped around her as fiercely as an anaconda, her back to his front. One arm was over her waist, hand curving over to cup her breast as if he were afraid it was going to run off in the night. The other arm was underneath her, curling around her to splay on her naked belly, fingertips a hairsbreadth away from PLACES THE DOCTOR SHOULD NOT EVEN KNOW ABOUT.
He'd wedged a leg between hers and that useless, useless nightgown was rucked up around her waist, leaving her bottom half fully exposed.
Oh god, the Doctor had already gotten to second base and was heading towards third without even being conscious!
Well played, John Smith, thought Donna darkly, only to freeze completely when his hands flexed on her.
Donna ceased breathing, ceased blinking, ceased anything until she confirmed that yes, his breathing was still slow and even and he was still dead asleep. It was imperative that he not wake up! Not only because he'd get ideas but because once they got back on the TARDIS she'd simply die of embarrassment, just wish for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. And so would he - after she slapped him repeatedly.
There was no way she was going to get out of his grip without waking him; the only thing she could hope to do was make everything less...just less. With this aim, she slowly eased her nightgown down, sliding it under his hand on her belly, and then wiggling it over her hips.
She was not going to think about what her wiggling was doing to the anatomy of the man behind her. NO SHE WAS NOT!
Next she gingerly took the wrist of the hand clutching her breast and inched the appendage down to safe territory. The Doctor made a snuffly disgruntled noise behind her.
“Tough cookies, ex-Martian,” she whispered.
And through the dawn, Donna stayed awake to safeguard against any more creeping hands.
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Part 3 -- No one expects the Spanish Inquisition
For anyone dying to know -- here's a crab fork (which Donna was so disturbed by.)
