If you've read any of my works before, then you'll know I'm an avid Donna/Master shipper. Although, not all of my stories have romance, I simply love having the two interact. So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this piece I wrote at 4 in the morning. There's also a reference to a male anatomy. But hey...they're both adults. It's bound to happen.
Incident Regarding Dangerous Minds
"What do you think, Mr. Saxon?"
Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes, biting down on the yawn ready to sprint out of his throat. Not because he was feeling like being polite, but because his position as Britain's next prime minister would never be solidified if he repeatedly showed his ample boredom at the meetings his political party had claimed were necessary.
Which really weren't. And every inch of Harry's alien being wanted to stress this.
The once a week meetings to discuss the demographics he wasn't reaching, which were promised to take only two hours but usually lasted around four, led by Theodore Lythgrow, perhaps one of the most monotonous beings Harry had ever met in his long life, were very much unnecessary.
Number one, he already had the position secured, even if the election was still two weeks away. This country's votes as well as their will belonged to him. And the hum of victory that pounded triumphantly inside his veins, further established this fact.
And number two...well, Harry simply loathed sitting in the same position for such a long period of time. Not only did he feel weak in such a stiff and inanimate posture, but the action made him think of the way humans did this constantly. In an almost form of submission.
And he certainly was not such a worthless excuse for a creation.
But, he had an image as a trustworthy candidate to uphold. One who didn't partake in random naps during his party's little get togethers. If his feigned interest was the price to pay for his eventual domination of the planet, well, then Harry was just alright with playing along.
For the moment, he reminded himself.
"It looks promising," he admitted to Theodore's eager features. Honestly, how could the man still be so alert after such an unbecoming and dull speech? "Perhaps we may even reach those in the younger generation this time around."
And at his hopeful smile, all eight members of the room beamed, nodding and murmuring about as if the decision would change the world.
Oh the irony, Harry thought proudly, lowering his gaze before anyone could hone in on the not quite stable expression bouncing around his brown eyes. In response, he began tapping the side of his leg in a rhythmic gesture of 1-2-3-4, briefly hearing nothing else.
"There is also something else I wish to discuss."
Harry froze, his fingers dropping from his knee.
"Must you?" he begged stiffly, attempting not to sound whiny.
And he succeeded, but internally, Harry was determining if it would not simply be easier to do away with Theodore altogether. He certainly would get his proper rest at night rather than spontaneous moments during the day in the chair he currently sat in.
"I feel it is important," Theodore promised, eyes scanning the other residents of the room whose hands flickered back to their pens. "There are a vast amount of charities who are willing to publically endorse us if we in turn-."
Harry tuned out somewhere midway through the speech, leaning back in the squishy, black chair with a soft sigh. Soon after, his eyes flickered shut, succumbing to only one sound. A sound that had never left him, even as other beings and regenerations had.
The drums. Never ending. Constant. Soul wrenching. Heart thumping. Sensory depriving.
His fingers twitched, repeating the motion in mid-air, and a small smile crept over his lips.
Oh, Doctor, you will soon witness the drums of war. Perhaps not tomorrow, but soon. And I will show you who the true Master of such a race of insipid, crass beings is. Me.
When a mad cackle was on the verge of bursting out of him, Harry finally opened his eyes, immediately noticing the gazes fixed on him.
Was he thinking out loud again?
"Yes," he responded confidently, unsure what it was that was said to him. Or who had said it.
"Very well then, Mr. Saxon. I will let her through. But I'm warning you...she appears to be very angry."
The brunette glanced down at the speaker phone, realizing his assistant had been the one in need of his response.
Before he could do as such, properly this time, the two brown doors leading into the conference room, flew open and a tall woman with wild, red hair entered, eyes narrowed.
Quickly, Harry deemed her to be older than his wife, but younger than every being sitting in the room. Not exactly a model, but certainly easy on the eyes.
And the clenched jaw as well as the fire stirring in the sapphire of her eyes, stirred something in him that had been missing all day.
Excitement.
"Firstly, I want to greet all of you with a bit of this," the woman began, her tone surprisingly level despite the uniqueness of her entrance.
Without giving any person in the room a moment to respond, she raised both hands and brought up her middle fingers, showcasing them in a semi-circle swing, making sure everyone was a witness to the gesture.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noted with amusement, the outrage etched into Theodore's features at such a vulgar display.
Oh, he liked this human already.
"Number two," the woman spewed, lowering her arms and instead, crossing them, "I want you to know there is a place in hell for each and every one of you."
A few of the men in their seats, shifted uncomfortably, understandably confused about the sudden entrance.
"And finally," the redhead proclaimed aloud, holding out both palms in a deceptive surrender, "I want to personally thank the man in here who has decided to keep stuffing not only our mailbox, but our door slot with 'Vote Saxon' forms. You. Are. A. Complete. And. Utter. Dunce. What part of 'I will not vote', do you not understand, you thick idiots? The mailman refuses to deliver to our house because our bloody mailbox is overflowed with those ruddin' forms! And you only further aggravate my mum by having her wake up to our damn hallway covered with white sheets of paper. I don't even know the bleedin' color of the carpet anymore!"
She released this last exclamation with a bit of an annoyed glower, and in a forced moment of clarity, reeled back in her anger with a languid ease.
Which only intrigued Harry all the more. Surely if the woman was able to release such anger on a whim, she would be succumbed to it just as he was a slave to the madness of the drums.
But in the split second it took for the redhead to collect herself, one that he was sure he was the only one to detect, Harry understood this not to be the case.
"If you thought you even stood the slightest chance of having my vote before, think again. I'd rather vote for a used piece of toilet paper than for Harry Saxon," she announced bravely, actually meeting his eyes. "And when I mean used, don't you dare hesitate in using your imaginations, you daft men in suits!"
She held the gaze for a second longer, nothing but a stubborn will battling against the humor Harry didn't even know was meeting the stare.
Then, with a casual glance around the room, the woman turned on her heel and strutted out, a few murmurs beginning underneath her breath. With an almost sad sigh, the doors swung closed behind her, sealing in the consequential silence.
The conference room sat in a shell shocked state, and it was with intense relief that Harry found Theodore's form completely deflated from whatever speech he had been in the middle of.
"Well," Harry slowly determined, helpless to fight the contagious grin illuminating his lips, "if that wasn't a direct answer as to how the campaign is doing, then I don't know what is."
A few men smiled weakly at this, but Theodore only frowned deeper.
"Come now, it was only a disgruntled woman!" he chided, sensing the effect the woman had on his party members. "We lead the polls and the hearts of this country."
Some of the smiles returned with a bit more strength in them.
"So we just ignore that?" one man cried in disbelief. "I've never been told to go to hell."
A few men nodded at this, their sensitivity rushing to the fore front at such a direct insult.
Moving to his feet, Harry momentarily wondered what to do about the situation. Surely the woman needed to be rewarded for interrupting what was most likely going to be a snore fest.
In a very amusing fashion, he reminded himself.
"Dislodge all that the woman said," Harry voiced a minute later. "Her vote is useless anyway. In two weeks, I will be the prime minister of Britain. And this entire scene will be nothing but a story to laugh and drink to in the celebrations to come."
He notably felt the soothing comfort of his words, and for a quick second, wished he hadn't said anything at all. His intention was not to calm their nerves.
But, this was simply his alias talking. Masking his true intentions into something that humans could relate to. Depend on. Hold on to. Believe in.
Eventually, his true nature would come forth. And with it, such comforts would be vacant altogether.
And still…there was the matter to be settled with this woman. Whether he had simply been complacent and bored for so long, or simply because the sadistic side of him urged a pursuit of such blatant resistance to his mind control, Harry didn't know.
He did know, however, that this would not be the woman's last trip into the headquarters' of his party. He'd personally make sure of that.
Trouble now was determining how such actions would go about.
Seconds later, he dismissed the entire room, ignoring Theodore's pleading gaze.
Instead, he began a comfortable pace, hands clasped behind him, brain working furiously.
*Two Days After the Incident Regarding the 'Vote Saxon' forms*
Harry was lounging in his office, content with attempting to balance a pencil between the tip of his nose and the upper edge of his lip, when a static filled the room, followed by a sharp voice.
"Mr. Saxon?"
Removing the pencil, Harry glanced down at the speaker phone in agitation. Stifling a yawn, he pressed the speak button.
"What is it-?" he paused, unable to remember his assistant's name.
"Um...Mrs. Noble is here to see you."
Immediately, Harry's form stilled, and a mischievous grin crept over his features.
Before he could answer, however, he heard an offended tone in the background.
"Oi, do I look like I'm bloody married?"
A disconnection, most likely on his assistant's part, made the conversation impossible for Harry to hear, but he was rather excited at the reaction the woman would greet him with.
Donna Noble, he'd found out only hours later, was the name of the incensed redhead who'd stormed into his office. And had indeed been getting an excessive amount of his forms through the mail, for some reason or another.
What if she starts yelling? Oh, I do like it when these humans lose their idealistic control, he mused, resting his chin on a hand.
It only took seconds before his French oak doors slid open. Expectedly, Harry's eyes zoned in on the figure stepping through, eyes taking a casual scan down the length of her body.
"Oi, egomaniac, face up here!" the woman pointed.
Blinking, Harry ripped his gaze away from her legs.
"Ah, Miss Noble," he greeted, a tad baffled as to why his eyes had been roaming such a strange part of her body. "Please, come in."
"Wasn't planning on staying," she retorted, not a morsel of trust present in her eyes. "Just asking what the hell it is you're playing at."
Harry attempted to keep his face as childishly innocent as possible, but he must have not quite succeeded for Donna's eyes narrowed after the attempt.
"Two days after I make a clear point of not wanting anymore bloody forms stuffed into my mail box, you not only disregard my complaint, but begin sending even more forms than before!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Are you hard of hearing? Or has your narcissistic ego stuffed itself into your ear cavity?"
Pretending to appear offended, Harry stood from his seat.
"I am simply concerned for the well-being of my people," he assured. "One of our primary rights as citizens is to vote. It is a freedom not many in this world are entitled to. Especially those of your-."
"My what?" she demanded, raising an expectant eyebrow.
Harry hid his grin, instead, maneuvering around his desk.
"Well, I am aware that a lot of women in the Middle East are under the strict control of their husband. Their voices are as irrelevant as their votes. If they were to witness such a selfish display of a British citizen, refusing to vote simply because they feel it is beneath them, I am quite sure their little hearts would break. Then again, perhaps there is a reason the male species retains such control."
Donna's features turned from increduliy to shock in seconds flat.
"You sexist pig!" she declared. "Ruddin', sexist, pig. Christ, first you try to preach to me about my duties as a British citizen, then you try to guilt trip me? How is it that parliament allows such a dunce to run for office, when it's so obvious you only speak with your dick?"
Choking on a laugh, Harry couldn't help but point out, "If this is the case, the British people are rather receptive to my dick . Have you seen the polls lately?"
A dark frown encompassed the woman, but she closed her eyes for a second to gather her wits.
"Rigged," she defended quietly.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Harry chimed back.
The redhead slowly opened her eyes.
"Are you going to stop sending me forms?" she levelly asked.
Harry pretended to think this over, one finger tapping his chin.
"Not until you vote," he decided.
To his amazement, Donna nodded.
Surely, she doesn't give in so easily, he thought with the slightest of disappointment filling him.
"Give me a bleedin' form," she demanded, extending her hand loathingly.
When all Harry did was stand there, Donna decided to take matters into her own hands.
Seconds later and the woman was rummaging through the many papers littering his desk, fingers scattering about what could be considered important documents, had Harry actually been interested in being prime minister from a financial standpoint.
But all he did was observe her, a bit stunned at her actions. He hardly allowed Theodore to venture near his desk, only because the man would surely find more work for him to do within the papers. Nor did he let Lucy touch anything on it either. Sometimes, he despised her nosiness, even if she meant the best intentions.
"A-ha!" she triumphantly expressed, grabbing a voting form lodged halfway into a drawer.
She then grabbed a pen nearby, eyes focused on the paper.
"By the way," she mentioned, hair falling like a scarlet curtain, over her face, "ever heard of recycling, mate? You're like a bloody hoarder."
One agitated sigh later and Donna straightened herself up, folding the paper into two.
"Hope you're satisfied. Now kindly leave me alone."
And with an insincere smile, rivaling perhaps even his own, she stuffed the paper into a hand Harry hadn't even realized was open, then turned and departed, the same sashay quite evident in her step, even though he was sure it wasn't her intention to make herself appear physically desirable.
He must have been rooted in place for a minute before he decided to open the form, his curiosity getting the better of him.
On each form, there appeared three parties in bold letters and underneath them sat printed in smaller letters, the name of the candidate the party elected to represent them, and ultimately, to lead to the position of prime minister. To the far right of these two markings, a square box sat, simply awaiting a check mark or x.
Harry brought the slip to his eyes.
Labour Party
J. Felix
Conservative Party
D. Pinkerton
Liberal Democratic Party
H. Saxon
To his confusion, none of the candidates' boxes were marked.
That is, until his gaze scrolled down to take in the thin, scribbled, cursive Miss Noble had added underneath the offered candidates.
Non-Sexist, Anti-Dunce Party
T. Paper
He didn't bother searching for the appropriate mark immediately to the right.
But he did laugh, legitimately amused at the display, hands clutching at his sides. And he was still laughing five minutes later when his secretary came in, asking if he was ill.
*Five Days After the Day Donna Decided to Vote*
To Harry's displeasure, he and Donna were to not have any more encounters in the days following her decision to vote.
Meetings, Theodore's insistent campaigning, and visiting local schools, took a surprising amount of time and before Harry knew it, only a week remained before he became the ultimate ruler of Earth.
It's not that Harry missed the woman's presence. He simply felt bored without it.
Perhaps I'll keep her alive for a while. The Doctor won't cure all of my boredom, he decided.
"Harry, dear, Landon asked you a question."
Fighting back a scowl, Harry shifted in his seat, ignoring the stern look his wife was aiming at him.
Currently, he sat in an overpriced restaurant, wearing an overpriced suit, surrounded by insignificant life forms attempting to latch on to his success.
"Yes," he answered, unsure, once again, just exactly what the conversation had been steered into.
"Harry!" Lucy mock pouted, loud enough so that those sitting in the vicinity could hear her.
Harry's hand underneath the table, flinched, but otherwise, a passive smile stretched his face.
The next hour went much the same as this, keeping Harry only partly involved, his mind meanwhile, straying toward more important thoughts.
It was when Lucy leaned forward, a bit giddy now due to the red wine she'd been dropping back, intending to whisper out a secret to their companions, that Harry's eyes soared over her blonde head.
Instantly, a grin crept over his face.
"Excuse me, I'll be right back," Harry announced, throwing a napkin down on the table.
Before Lucy could say something, he was out of his seat and moving his way across the room.
To his satisfaction, Donna didn't see him approach until it was too late, and by then, he had already seated himself across from her in the empty chair.
"As if my night could get any worse," the woman slurred, gulping back a full glass of red wine as she took him in with a squint.
Feelings his lips twitch for some unknown reason, Harry did his preliminary scan of the redhead, eyes briefly committed to simply observing the midnight blue dress she spawned.
"Have I caught you at a bad time?"
Of course the answer was yes and the redhead was obviously intoxicated, but he thought it fascinating how vast of a contrast there was between his wife and this woman when they were both in the grasps of their liquor affections.
"Just been stood up. Again," she admitted lowly, grabbing on to the bottle stationed near her half eaten pasta. "You know, I actually thought this bloke was decent. Seemed decent. Looked decent. B-but that goes to show how rotten you all are on the inside."
He watched her bring the bottle to her lips, then think twice about it and set it down before her.
"Course a sexist pig like you is probably rooting for the bloke. You all have the same mindset."
Unsure what to say, but knowing he didn't want to return to the dull, meaningless conversation he'd find back at his table, Harry scooted forward, placing both hands on the clothed table.
"Are you going to eat that?" he pointed.
Making a face, Donna pushed the plate across to him.
"As for your no show of a friend...certainly you wouldn't cage yourself to such a man's desires?"
A thoughtful look passed her face and she waited until he took a bite out of her spaghetti, before responding.
"Love doesn't involve a cage. In fact, it's the complete opposite."
Harry stopped chewing, eyes focusing on Donna all of a sudden with a hawk like intensity.
"Any intense emotion that manages to cloud judgment and sense is a form of submission. Those submissive, spend their lives in cages."
Donna slowly raised her eyebrows at this, and for the first time since he met the woman, Harry felt an anger fill him.
"You know I am right," he assured, boring his eyes into her.
He expected for her to cave under the level of his stare, but she simply raised the bottle back to her lips and took a long sip.
"I think you're in a loveless marriage that makes you feel like you're in a cage," she noted, grasping her forehead with both hands after finishing the bottle. "I may have experienced it only a few times in my life, but believe me, mate, love isn't submission. It's freedom."
His fingers let go of the fork abruptly, sending a dull ping through the restaurant. But neither of them payed attention to the action.
"You know nothing of me," he seethed.
Donna's eyes found his, head tilted.
"I suppose in your profession, love doesn't really matter."
She then closed her eyes again, hands massaging her temples.
"How's the spaghetti?" she inquired tiredly.
Taking in a deep breath to calm the fury brewing in him, Harry studied the pasta below.
"I think I'm in love. You're right, Donna. It feels liberating. How I love this spaghetti. Thank you for freeing me of my loveless marriage."
The redheard snorted from beneath a palm, throwing him a look Harry strangely found himself fond of.
"Can't believe I'm getting chummy with you," she mumbled. "Strangest bloke I've met since-."
She then hiccupped, covering her mouth.
"Yeah, best get going before it starts coming out the other end."
Harry only watched her fumbling movements, fork back to stabbing loose noodles.
"Donna."
"Yeah?" she mumbled, meeting his gaze.
"Pay the bill on the way out?"
An annoyed grimace swept over her features while Harry only lifted a glob of spaghetti to his mouth and devoured it with a satisfied grin.
"Typical chauvinistic bastard," she muttered, sliding out of the chair.
She didn't glance back and Harry was left to enjoy the rest of her spaghetti in relative happiness.
Except her quip about love. He didn't know why that bothered him, but it did.
Sounds like something the Doctor would say, he noted in distaste.
*Two Days After Harry Devoured Donna's Would Be Dinner*
"If you're here to sour my mood, you're too late. Seeing you have already done that."
"Don't be dramatic, Miss Noble," Harry stated, one hand resting on her door. "I'm simply here to announce that perhaps I've been a bit aggressive in my need to gain your vote. I only wish to offer an apology."
"Well, thank you," she replied hastily, readying to slam the door shut.
"You don't believe me," he pointed out.
"I'd be an idiot to believe you."
Harry shrugged, crossing his arms.
"When I do win," he confided, "I plan to use the candidate from the Non-Sexist, Anti-Dunce party, in the restroom."
"I'd have thought you'd use it for your mouth," she countered, "that's where most of the shit you spout, comes from."
Containing a smile, Harry's eyes narrowed.
However, his next rebute was interrupted by a screech.
"Who the hell is that at the door? And why are you being so rude to them, Donna? I swear, it's like you've inherited your manners from a gorilla."
Twirling around, Donna yelled, "It doesn't matter who it is, mum. Go back to counting your gray hairs!"
When no reply greeted her, Donna turned back to Harry.
"Sorry. She's a bit mental. Anyway, you were just about to leave?"
Harry hesitated, wondering what to say to the woman who had provided him on three separate occasions, a sound form of amusement. Surely he had to say something at least one last time before she either became his slave or died.
But again, he was interrupted.
"It's that Doctor! Ever since you two got together, you've been completely out of your mind. Face it, he's not coming back."
The prime minister candidate froze in place, the words replaying over in his ears, canceling out Donna's retort.
It can't be. She can't know him, he grudgingly argued.
"He had nothing to do with it, mum! Leave him out of this. He's gone, alright? Left, just like you wanted. But at least he had a bloody sense of humor."
And before her mom could scream back, Donna took a step out the door and slammed it shut.
"Doctor?" Harry questioned lightly, needing to be sure.
"Just some bloke I met," she casually mentioned. "Knows how to have a good time."
She must have read the sudden tension in his features because immediately, she stiffened.
"He's no one, really," she tried to restate. "Regular fellow."
But it was too late.
What to do with this information? She knows the Doctor. Has traveled with him, by her words. Has been dumped, obvious again. Oh, I knew there was a lost dreamer complexity in her. Caused only by the Doctor, he viciously thought.
Again, an anger claimed him, but he couldn't determine the source of it.
"I think I should go inside," she faintly mentioned
Before she retreated, Harry latched on to one of her hands.
"It was nice meeting you, Miss Noble. I do hope to have your vote in three days. And I hope you know that your spirit is admirable."
"I'll keep my admirable spirit by staying away from the poll booths," she answered.
Tilting his head, Harry allowed Donna's hand to slip out from his.
"Why is it you are so against voting?"
Sighing, Donna slumped back against her door.
"Once upon a time ago, I did vote. And the person I voted for, won," she informed, smiling a bit at the memory. "Unfortunately, someone forgot to inform me at this ripe age of mine that politicians were lying bastards who always had their own agenda. Even the ones who meant well, ultimately intended to do their own thing once in office. So, I complained to everyone I could about the problems at home, but no one listened. Finally, one day I was given constructive advice. Don't vote. If you don't vote, you don't have to bear getting pissed off about the direction the candidates take the country. And you don't have to blame yourself for their bad decisions, because you elected them and all. Now, I let the supposed intellectuals vote. They obviously know what they're talking about."
There was a sarcasm in her tone near the end of the statement, one Harry didn't have any problem detecting.
What he did have a problem with, however, was the inability to have Donna under his thrall, especially since learning she was a Doctor's companion.
Yes, yes, he did have the election secured. And millions of humans who supported him.
But this redhead who'd barged into his office, freewill intact, was not one of them. And he was caught in between a frustrating need to destroy such individualistic views, and utter fascinaton for what this woman would do or say next.
Am I really developing a meaningful means of sympathy to this human, he wondered in slight distaste.
He shook his head, unsure what such a confession could mean.
I did eat her spaghetti, he reminded himself. I don't even eat food Lucy presents to me.
And this was only one of the other odd actions he'd participated in while in her presence.
Never mind it! I have a planet to rule. No silly human will prevent this, he mentally scolded.
Taking one look at Donna Noble told him she intended to do nothing of the sort.
"See you around, on the telly, I suppose," she offered. "Although, I'm quite sure the Non-Sexist, Anti-Dunce party will make a surprise comeback. At least I hope they will."
For a moment, Harry considered her statement.
"There's a reason you voted for the Non-Sexist, Anti-Dunce party, isn't there?"
"Couse there is," she suddenly beamed. "So far, I've only managed to find an inanimate object that believes in such closely dedicated morals similar to my beliefs. Don't discriminate against sexes and don't be an idiot. Maybe one day there'll be an actual human who might step up to the plate for this party. Of course the other part just wanted to piss you off."
Risking a glance at the front door, Harry questioned, "Whatever happened to the voting forms?"
"Well...there was that big lightning storm last Wednesday night and when the power went out, my gramps was still trying to get the fireplace to light up. Unsuccessfully. Until we remembered we had a bloody goldmine of paper. So...we burned it. All of it. You'd be surprised how durable it was. Impressive on that, I'll admit. Now, I've really got to head inside. People might think we're...I dunno...getting together. Good luck at the polls."
And with that, she slipped back inside the house, leaving Harry feeling a tad bit confused, just a pinch insulted, and once more, intrigued.
The Doctor better come quickly, before my thoughts become consumed with someone else.
This admission struck him uneasily, and for the first time since beginning the campaign for prime minister, Harry could honestly admit he was looking forward to one of Theodore Lythgrow's meetings.
Yeah, a bit of an abrupt ending, but it's what you've read that counts, right? This is just meant to be a one-shot piece, a bit of interaction between them, nothing romantically, unless you can out squint Donna and see it. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading that. Also, the title...well, it's just a last second scramble to just give this story a title. But after thinking about it, I can attempt to deciper it as this. Both Harry and Donna have dangerous minds. Donna doesn't quite trust Harry's ideas, as she shouldn't since he has chaos planned for the world, and Harry doesn't like her beliefs because he's attempting to instill a mind that doesn't think so individually, thus making her thoughts dangerous. Hope that wasn't too wordy to understand. Otherwise, let me know your thoughts in a review!