These days Donna is feeling very pregnant indeed. Coming up on her thirty-eighth week she feels as if she's up to her armpits in baby, like if she dares to sneeze, a little foot might come tumbling out of her mouth.
She sighs and squints in the grey morning light at the snowy landscape rushing past the window. The Doctor lays spooned against her back, his arm casually draped over her hip and his slender fingers splayed over her swollen belly.
He's been sleeping a lot lately. If Donna didn't know better she might think he's engaging in some sort of weird Time Lord nesting behaviour. Storing up on sleep like a battery, so that he can spend every night walking the floor with the baby after he's born.
Then again it may be the motion of the train. The steady rhythmic clacking of the cars speeding over the rails is semi-hypnotic and seems to be lulling the baby to sleep as well. He's usually the most active when Donna is trying to sleep, but his movements have been oddly subdued this night.
She wonders if she should be worried. She sits up and lays her hands on the white tee stretched to the limit over her warm belly. She closes her eyes, reaching out with her mind to the little life growing inside her, traveling along the connection that the Doctor opened between them months earlier.
He's just sleeping. She nudges him gently with her mind and he wakes. Donna opens her eyes and lifts her shirt to find the imprint of his tiny hand pressed against her belly. She smiles and covers it with her own.
"Hello little one," she murmurs.
"All right?" the Doctor asks, with a yawn.
"I have to pee again," Donna says, sheepishly.
She pulls her shirt down and rises awkwardly from the bed, walking with as much dignity as she can muster to the tiny bathroom. Much to her chagrin, she's started waddling recently and she's very much aware of the Doctor's amused eyes silently tracking her as she leaves the room.
She catches sight of herself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door after she's through peeing. She's wearing a pre-pregnancy tee, but it had fit the last time she'd worn it, well it had covered her belly anyway. Now there's a wide swath of exposed skin between it and the drawstring of her pyjama bottoms.
"God," she mutters, futilely tugging on the edge of her shirt to try to cover herself. She finally just gives up and turns in front of the mirror, studying her profile in growing despair. She's quite simply, enormous. A hippo in flannel. Her shallow bellybutton has popped under the pressure of her expanding belly and the baby feels as if he's laying right up against her skin, making her feel as if she's about to explode. She's not due for another two and a half weeks and doesn't know how she'll be able to hold out until then without going completely insane.
She feels tears begin to prick her eyes and in lieu of a full-fledged hormonal meltdown, opts to take a shower instead. If nothing else, the hot water should help soothe her aching back. She strips then finds she has to pee again before stepping into the steaming cascade of water, laying her head on her arms against the wall. The baby in her belly kicks insistently, as the warm droplets fall on her back.
A moment later, the Doctor steps into the shower behind her.
"Do my back?" Donna asks, handing him a washcloth. She does her best to hide the tremulous near sob in her voice, but the Doctor hears it anyway.
"What's wrong?" he asks, wrapping his arms around her, his shaggy head draped over her shoulder.
"I'm a house," she cries, turning to sob pitifully against his chest. She'd meant to be philosophical about it, maybe even a little wry, but yet again her hormonal body has betrayed her with tears.
"You're not a house," the Doctor says, his voice reassuring.
"I'm a planet," she sniffs, "it's just a matter of time before small moons become attracted to me."
He says nothing, just rests his chin on the top of her head as he draws her close to him, then he washes her hair.
He takes the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, pours a small amount into his hand and slowly begins working it through her thick hair. She's not sure why it works, but it always does. Something about his nimble fingers gently massaging her scalp soothes her. Donna closes her eyes, relaxing against him as his long fingers slowly and patiently move through her hair.
He tilts her chin up with one soapy finger and kisses her. Their lips part and the kiss deepens as their bodies begin to respond to one another, hot water flowing over them as the Doctor's cool hands caress her face.
"I don't know about small moons," he whispers huskily in her ear, "but I'm certainly attracted to you." He's stood there looking at her with his ancient brown eyes as if she's the only other person in the entire universe.
They move into the bedroom, naked and warmly slick with water. The Doctor sits on the bed, his back against the wall beneath the window and Donna lowers herself onto him, inhaling with familiar pleasure as he enters her. His hands caress her softly curved back as she leans against him, her wet hair tumbling like a silken waterfall across his shoulder. They settle into a gentle rhythm of relaxed love making, moving together as if they were made solely for one another. The Doctor stares into Donna's eyes as if he can't quite believe she's real and she smiles, holding his stubble covered face in her hands as she kisses him.
Afterwards they lay together on the damp sheets, Donna on her back with the Doctor's cool hands caressing her slowly rising and falling belly, his ear pressed to it as he listens intently to the baby growing inside. She smiles as she runs her fingers through his softly disheveled hair.
"What's he saying?" she asks.
"He's telling me how much he's looking forward to meeting his mum," the Doctor says, lifting his head to look at her, "not that I can blame him."
Donna smiles as he returns to his silent contemplation of her belly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of her convex bellybutton.
"Doctor," she says after a moment.
"Hmmm?"
"I'm starving, and it's getting really hard to breathe in this position."
He looks up with a wry smile and kisses her belly. "Come on mum," he says, hopping out of the bed and helping Donna up, "let's get some breakfast into you."
They shower again, separately this time. Donna dries her hair while the Doctor shaves. She pulls on a pair of loose maternity jeans and a lovely rose coloured blouse, gathered at the sleeves and under the breasts in a high empire waist to accommodate her burgeoning belly. It's much snugger than she remembers it being when she'd last worn it. It's practically form fitting now, hugging her belly all the way down to the hem that just barely covers the elastic waistband of her jeans.
She tugs on the blouse a few times, tears threatening to flow again. This trip isn't doing much for her self-esteem as she now suspects the TARDIS has been secretly altering her clothes while she's been sleeping to spare her feelings. She sits down on the bed. She can't even sit properly anymore. The bed is too soft and she has to hold her arms out for support to keep from pitching backwards onto it.
The Doctor emerges from the bathroom fully dressed in his brown suit with the blue pinstripes, towelling off his hair. He takes one look at Donna's face and sits down next to her on the edge of the bed.
"On a scale from one to ten," he says, putting his arm around her and hugging her close, "how much do you hate me right now?"
Donna's mouth quirks slightly in response. "About a five," she says, turning to tearfully nuzzle his neck. "Slightly less than I did when I was throwing up for four months straight," she murmurs, "slightly more than I did when my clothes still fit and everyone told me I was glowing."
"You're still glowing," he says.
"Only with sweat," she says ruefully. She grimaces slightly at what feels like a foot wedged in her ribs, squirming uncomfortably until the baby shifts position and she's able to breathe normally again. "Honestly, it's ridiculous how useless I've become," she sniffs, "what good am I to you? Can't even run properly anymore."
The Doctor smiles and kisses her on the forehead. "Don't worry," he says, "I'll slow down so you can catch up."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of tissues. Donna dabs her tearful eyes and blows her nose while he ties her trainers for her, lifting first one foot and then the other into his lap. Her entire belly ripples when the baby turns, his movements becoming increasingly apparent as he grows larger and the space inside her diminishes.
"How big is he now?" she asks, laying her hand on a sudden bulge, a knee, or an elbow maybe.
"Around seven pounds, give or take," the Doctor says, adding his hand to hers. Donna takes it in both of hers and guides it along her belly to the spot where the baby's insistent movements pucker her skin. "They grow the most right towards the end," he says, grinning now, "nearly time for this little one to make his debut."
Donna swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.
"All right?" the Doctor asks her.
"Fine," she nods. Maybe if she tells herself that often enough, she'll even start to believe it.
He gives her a somewhat doubtful look, but wraps his arms around her anyway, resting his chin on the top of her head. Donna sighs, soothed by the sound of his twin heartbeats as she lays her head against his chest.
Her stomach growls, loudly, and the Doctor suddenly chuckles.
"Right, breakfast," he says, springing to his feet to help Donna up.
She has to pee again. The Doctor waits while she goes, then he slides the door open and they step out into the corridor together, walking hand in hand towards the dining car.
The train is small, just five cars long. There are eight other passengers aboard, not all of them human. Donna and the Doctor were chatting with a cat couple just the night before at dinner.
It's early for breakfast. When they enter the dining car, there are only two other people inside, an elderly woman wearing a little pillbox hat and a sullen looking teenager listening to an iPod sat across from her.
They choose a booth that's close to the bathroom and sit down.
"Oh I hope they have chocolate chip pancakes," the Doctor says, slipping his glasses on and enthusiastically eyeing the menu, "I love those."
"That's because you're twelve," Donna says, smiling indulgently at him.
"Never let go of your inner-child Donna, that's my motto."
"Oh really," Donna says, wryly, "I always thought it was something like: run away and live to run another day."
"That too," he says, with a quicksilver grin. He catches sight of the porter at the other end of the car. "Order me the pancakes will you," he says rising suddenly, "I have to go check on something."
"Check on what?"
"Just, something," he says evasively. "I'll be back."
"You're being awfully secretive," Donna says, squinting suspiciously at him.
"Am I?"
"You know you are," she says. "What are you up to?"
"Nothing," he squeals.
"No, but you are though," Donna says thoughtfully. "Out of the blue you're all, I know what let's do, let's go for a ride on the Orient Express."
Of course it's not the actual Orient Express, this being the early 62nd century on a tourist planet specifically terraformed to resemble an old era Earth. Retro worlds they're called, but that's beside the point.
"So here we are," she continues, "and it's usually just flash the psychic paper at whoever happens to be stood about looking official at the last minute, but no, this time you had tickets, actual tickets that you had to book in advance, so I repeat, what are you up to?"
"So, I booked tickets," he says mildly.
"And the honeymoon suite," Donna reminds him.
"Because it was the biggest compartment," he says, "which on a train is fairly claustrophobic I'll grant you, but still."
"Right, so you're not up to anything then?"
"Who me? I'm twelve remember? Picture of childish innocence, me."
Donna rolls her eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen the father of my child," she says dryly.
"Oi!"
"Oh I give up," she says. "Go on then. Go check on whatever mysterious thing you need to check on. Do you want bananas on your pancakes?"
"Ooh bananas and chocolate chips," he says with a grin. "You're always thinking aren't you? That's why I lo.."
"How's that?" Donna asks, when he suddenly breaks off.
"Think you're brilliant," he finishes, his smile diminishing somewhat. "I'll be back," he says, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before he hops down the aisle towards the porter.
Donna frowns slightly, well aware of the word that he'd been tripping over. They've both been going out of their way not to say it for months now. She's not even sure why, other than the fear that acknowledging how they feel will somehow ruin what they have.
It feels as if the baby is dragging his foot, or possibly his hand across the width of her belly like an eraser over a chalkboard. Donna startles slightly at the unexpected sensation. A waiter appears at the table to take her order. She gets the chocolate chip pancakes with sliced bananas for the Doctor and a bowl of porridge and a fruit plate for herself. She also orders orange juice and tea and a glass of milk. The waiter departs for the kitchen. Donna glances up the aisle to find that both the Doctor and the porter have left the compartment.
"You're nearly there aren't you my dear," a voice says and Donna looks up to find the elderly woman with the little pillbox hat smiling down at her.
"I'm sorry?" she says.
The woman gestures towards Donna's belly, where her hand has been unconsciously resting while she'd been thinking.
"Oh," she says, returning the smile, "yes, nearly. Just a few weeks left."
"Ah," the woman says with a nod, "so it's one last holiday before the big day is it?"
"I suppose, you could say that," Donna says, although truthfully she's not sure why the Doctor had been so insistent about making the trip. She'd thought it a bad idea frankly, being so close to her due date, but he'd insisted there was plenty of time for a short holiday before she gave birth.
The woman is nodding in that knowing way that women who have experienced much in their lives do. "I say my dear would you mind terribly if I joined you for a few minutes?" she asks, "I'm traveling with my grandson you see and he isn't the most stimulating of companions."
Donna glances at the sullen teen sat in a booth a few feet down the aisle. He's engrossed in some sort of video game. Donna smiles slightly; it amuses her to find that kids are pretty much the same the universe over.
"Please do," Donna says graciously.
The woman slides into the seat that the Doctor has just vacated. "Muriel Flemming," she says, extending her hand across the table.
"Donna Noble," Donna says, shaking the older woman's hand.
"So, are you enjoying the trip so far?"
"I am yes," Donna admits "There's something very soothing in the motion of the train and the scenery is beautiful."
"Yes, the scenery is beautiful," Muriel says, "but it's the stops that make the trip. We'll be arriving in New Strasbourg soon and you'll see. They're holding the annual winter festival you know. The entire city done up in rose coloured lights. It's lovely."
"I'm sure it is," Donna says.
"Do you know, my husband and I have made this trip every year since we first took it on our honeymoon," Muriel says brightly.
Donna smiles, "How long have you been married?" She asks.
A shadow crosses Muriel's face. "Sixty years," she says wanly. "He passed away a few months ago actually."
"I'm so sorry," Donna says.
"Yes, well they say till death do you part, but they fail to mention how hard it is when you're the one that's left behind, don't they."
For some reason this simple statement rattles Donna far more than she cares to admit. Perhaps it's because she won't be the one left behind.
"I must confess, that's why I introduced myself," Muriel is saying and Donna forces herself to respond with a smile. "Seeing a young newlywed couple on board, with a baby on the way, well I suppose it made me a bit nostalgic. Circle of life and all that."
"Oh, we're not married," Donna says automatically. She's so used to saying it without even thinking.
"Oh?" Muriel says, obviously surprised. "I was certain you were. Haven't you the honeymoon suite?"
"Yes, but we're... It's not... It's complicated," Donna stumbles over the words.
"Is it?" Muriel asks, skeptically. "It seems rather simple to me Dear."
"Pardon?"
"I just mean that you're quite obviously devoted to each other that's all." Muriel says. "A blind person could see it, and I should know. I'm quite shortsighted you know."
Donna chuckles slightly at that.
"Mrs. Flemming may I ask you something?" she asks.
"Muriel. Dear, and yes of course."
"Muriel," Donna says, smiling wanly. "Would you risk falling in love with someone if it meant you might lose them as a friend?"
"Oh I see," Muriel says, answering Donna's smile with a knowing smile of her own. She lays her hand over Donna's on the table. "It's been my experience Dear, that friendship and love are not mutually exclusive," she says, "and that the most enduring romances always have both."
The baby kicks. Hard, and Donna gasps at the sudden glancing blow to her ribs. She smiles a bit ruefully at the elderly woman as she rubs her tender belly.
"Strong," Muriel says, with a soft chuckle.
"Persistent," Donna says. "He's got his father's long legs."
"Have you chosen a name yet?"
"We're leaning towards Alexander," Donna says.
The food arrives then and Muriel hastily excuses herself, as if the sight of it somehow repels her.
"I'll leave you to your meal then," she says. "It was lovely chatting with you my dear."
Donna watches her flee down the aisle. Puzzled, she takes a spoonful of porridge from the bowl and cautiously sniffs it, her stomach growling when the cinnamon sweet aroma hits her nose.
The Doctor slides into the seat across from her. "Ah brilliant," he says eyeing his brimming plate, "perfect timing as ever," he grabs the syrup pitcher, "but then I am a Time Lord after all," he says, grinning hugely at her. "Get it?" he says. "Timing, Time Lord?"
Donna rolls her eyes and his face falls, "No?" He shrugs and licks off the syrup that he's accidentally dribbled onto his fingers.
"Best porridge ever by the way," she says, her mouth full of the creamy thick cereal.
The Doctor watches her shovelling spoonful after spoonful into her mouth for a moment. "Keep eating that fast and you'll be tasting it again on its way back up," he warns.
She wrinkles her nose at him. He's right, though she won't give him the satisfaction of admitting it. These days her gag reflex is so sensitive, it's hard to tell what might set her off. An unappealing scent. A texture. She's actually thrown up from brushing her teeth too vigorously. Best not to tempt fate she thinks, putting down the spoon and nibbling on a piece of melon from her fruit plate instead. She watches the Doctor in silence for a moment, slowly nibbling bits of fruit while he tucks in to his meal.
"Why Alexander?" she asks after she grows tired of watching him mainline bananas.
"Hmm?" he asks, his mouth full.
"For the baby," she says, "why that name in particular?"
He swallows. "I thought you liked Alexander," he says.
"I do."
He blinks. "I'm sorry," he says, "what are we arguing about again?"
"We're not arguing," she says, patiently. Her belly ripples and she lays her hand on it, rubbing a slightly harder spot low on her belly right beneath her belly button. The baby's back maybe, or his head. "I was just curious," she says.
"Does there have to be a reason," he asks. "Can't I just like the name?"
Donna frowns slightly in response. "Some men would name their son after themselves," she says.
"Ah," he says, eyeing her thoughtfully for a moment, "that's a human tradition."
"The baby's half-human," she says.
The Doctor sighs, tapping the edge of his plate with his fork. "Just ask the question Donna," he says, resigned.
"Why don't I know your name?"
"Yeah, that would be the one," he says, scratching the back of his neck.
"Well?"
"You know the one that matters," he says.
"I know the one you gave yourself," Donna says. She swirls a bit of honey into her porridge and resumes eating at a more subdued pace. "But, your mum obviously didn't name you The Doctor, did she? I'm talking about your given name. I'm assuming you have one."
"I do," he says simply.
"You'd think you'd want to share it with the mother of your child," Donna shrugs. "Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Unless it's something embarrassing," she says wryly. "It is isn't it, it's Murray isn't it, or Dwayne."
The Doctor chuckles. "None of the above," he says.
"Or, Keith," Donna goes on, laughing herself now, "What about Keith?"
"Nope."
Both still laughing, Donna watches from the corner of her eye as he pours their tea.
"Next I suppose you'll tell me it's something unpronounceable," she says, "like Mr Spock's first name."
The Doctor's brow wrinkles. "Isn't Spock, Spock's first name," he asks.
"No, I don't think so," Donna says.
"Huh," he says thoughtfully, "but no, it's just a name like any other."
Donna sighs, nibbling porridge. "So, why all the secrecy then?" She asks.
The Doctor rests his chin on the palm of his hand as he thoughtfully sips from his teacup. "Names are powerful things," he says eventually. "You of all people should know that Donna Noble."
Donna shakes her head, not quite following. "How do you mean?" She asks.
"The Time Lords were an ancient and powerful race Donna," he says softly, "possibly the most powerful race in the entire galaxy. Back then, names were a kind of magic. If you could name a thing, you could steal some of its power for yourself. If a Time Lord's true name were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences for the rest of the universe might have been catastrophic."
"But, the Time Lords are gone," Donna says gently, her fingers stretching to clasp his hand across the table, "it's just you now," she says, clasping his fingers a bit more tightly. "I'm not telling you to give your name to a Dalek I'm asking you to share it with me. Just me. You and me. Us."
"I know," he says, one side of his mouth quirking into an almost smile, "and I promise, when the time is right, you will know my name."
"It always comes down to time with you lot doesn't it," Donna says, wryly. "Ancient and powerful. More like pompous and stuffy. I suppose there's some sort of official naming ceremony with silly hats and itchy robes and chanting priests that I have to suffer through first?"
He smiles. "Not exactly," he says, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, "no priests, well maybe one, but no chanting, I don't think, unless things have changed since I last looked. There is a ceremony though."
"Ha! I knew it," Donna says. "So what, we have to travel to some distant world. Stand in the shadow of an ancient monolith at sunrise. Learn a dead language. Drink a potion from some sort of chalice."
The Doctor laughs and Donna grins cheekily. "Nothing that complicated," he says. "It's just a simple ceremony. You can hold it anywhere really."
"Here?"
"Em, no, not here," he says, somewhat hesitantly, "not the actual ceremony, no, but we could take the first step."
Donna's brow puckers in confusion. "What's that mean? Take the first step," she asks.
He takes a deep breath, looking suddenly nervous. "It starts with a question," he says.
Donna is momentarily distracted by Muriel Flemming waving at her from the booth up the aisle where she's sat with her grandson. The elderly woman smiles and winks at her, gesturing towards the Doctor with a knowing look on her face. Donna politely nods and smiles, though she has no idea what Muriel is trying to tell her.
She's only half listening to the Doctor still stumbling through his question across from her. She's about to give him her full attention when something white and wriggling catches her eye.
In the middle of Muriel's table is a large silver tray covered in live, squirming rats. Donna blinks, thinking she must be seeing things, but before she can tear her eyes away, Muriel reaches for the tray. Her hand momentarily disappears inside some sort of force field, confining the rats to the tray Donna realises, and lifts one out. A few moments later, her grandson does the same. Donna's eyes grow wide as they each stick what looks like a bendy straw into the flesh of the still wriggling and squeaking rats and blithely begin to suck the blood out of them.
"Oh my God," Donna gags, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Whu," the Doctor murmurs as she heaves herself up from the table and waddles urgently towards the bathroom, the curdling porridge in her stomach on its way back up.
She flings the door aside and falls to her knees in front of the stainless steel toilet, the door slowly sliding shut behind her. The baby writhing in her belly only increases her nausea as she vomits partially digested porridge and fruit into the bowl. She continues to vomit until her stomach is empty, but even then the image of writhing rats and bendy straws burned indelibly on to her retinas makes her want to be sick again every time she closes her eyes.
"Oh God," she mutters, retching again just thinking about it.
Her stomach finally settles into some semblance of calm and she slowly rises and takes a seat on the toilet, her hand resting on her belly where the baby is fluttering uneasily beneath her skin.
There's a soft knock at the door, followed by the Doctor's voice. "Donna? You all right?" He doesn't wait for an answer before sliding the door open and ducking his head into the room.
"You might have told me there were vampires on board," Donna says, miserably.
"Plasmavores," he corrects, his tone gentle.
"What's the difference?"
"I'd imagine plenty," the Doctor says, joining her in the tiny bathroom, "to a Plasmavore."
He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and wets them under the faucet, wiping the sweat from Donna's face, then draping them over the back of her neck. She closes her eyes, soothed by the cool dampness against her skin.
"No coffins for one thing," he says, tucking an errant ringlet behind her ear, "or aversion to sunlight. They're just people like you and me, albeit ones with very specific dietary requirements."
"Ugh, don't remind me," Donna says. Her stomach gurgles and she lets out a loud hiccuping burp, her hand covering her mouth in embarrassment. "Excuse me," she says through her fingers.
To his credit, the Doctor doesn't laugh. He hands her a bottle of water from inside his jacket pocket and squats in front of her as she takes a few tentative sips, his hands lightly caressing the tops of her thighs.
"This is cold," she says, somewhat incredulously, "what, have you got a fridge in there?"
The Doctor smiles enigmatically and Donna can't quite hide the troubled crease marring her brow. It isn't as if she isn't fully aware that he's not human, but the flashes of otherworldliness that used to dazzle her only serve to highlight her fears now. Fears about the future and a relationship that can never possibly work and a baby that by all rights shouldn't even exist.
"If it makes you feel any better," he says, misreading her frown, "they're fairly repulsed by what we eat as well."
"It doesn't," she says, closing her eyes. "Ugh, I can't unsee it."
"I could remove the image from your mind," he offers.
"Yeah, don't even start," she warns him. She'll never go down that road with him again. Her memories are her own and she won't have them tampered with, no matter how unpleasant they may be.
"Still I wouldn't hold it against Muriel and Nelson if I were you," the Doctor says with a wan smile.
"Nelson?"
"Muriel's grandson," he says. "After you ran in here they stopped by the table to apologise. Well, Muriel stopped by anyway, I got the feeling that Nelson was there against his will. Anyway they'll be taking their meals in their room from now on."
"Oh," Donna says, feeling suddenly guilty.
She hadn't meant to drive them into hiding. Muriel had been nothing but kind to her and generous with her advice and Donna had thanked her by confining her to the shadows like a, well, like a vampire.
"No," she tells him. "Please apologise to them for me. Tell them I didn't mean to cause a scene and that there's no need to lock themselves away on my account."
The Doctor's smile suddenly widens. "I already have," he says, caressing her cheek, "and you didn't cause a scene."
Donna returns the smile, though a bit less enthusiastically. The baby kicks in the same spot he's been kicking all morning and Donna winces at the sudden twinge of pain beneath her ribs, her smile turning rueful as she rubs her tender belly.
The Doctor grimaces in sympathy, adding his cool fingers to hers. "I think he's feeling a bit unsettled as well," he says, softly. "You should probably lie down for a while before we arrive in New Strasbourg."
"Are we going in?"
"Of course," he says cheerfully, "you'll love it. They're holding the an-"
"I know, don't tell me. Annual winter festival right?"
His smile falters somewhat. "How did you...?"
"Muriel told me," Donna says, simply.
He looks crestfallen for a moment, then shrugs. "Well, you'll love it anyway," he says mildly. He suddenly stands. "Feeling well enough to make it back to the room?" He asks.
"I suppose so," Donna says. She slowly stands, leaning heavily against the Doctor's proffered arm as he opens the door back into the dining car.
"Hang on," she says, when they're halfway down the corridor to their compartment, "you mentioned something about a question before?"
His smile turns a bit wan as his eyes scan her face. "It'll keep until after you're feeling better," he says simply, sliding the door open for her without another word.
….
When Donna wakes, the train has stopped moving and the Doctor is nowhere to be found. She's not worried. He has a way of turning up just as she's opening her eyes. She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and staring at the little digital clock on the nightstand beside it. She's managed to sleep a good two hours. A feat these days considering she hasn't been able to get comfortable in months.
Her hand absently covers her belly where the baby is sleeping peacefully. She doesn't wake him. She yawns and stretches, wincing slightly at the sudden twinge in her lower back. It aches fairly constantly lately, especially when she's been on her feet too long. She has to pee. When she emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, the Doctor is waiting for her holding a serving tray.
"Hullo," he says with a grin, "did you sleep well?"
"Better than expected," she says, smiling back at him.
"I thought you might be hungry," he says, placing the tray down on the bed.
Donna looks at it and sighs, "Yes, I suppose I am," she says, somewhat incredulously.
She's either starving, or nauseated these days. There doesn't seem to be any in between. She sits down on the edge of the bed, one leg curled underneath her, not bothering to move the tray as she doesn't have a lap left to perch it on. The Doctor comes round the other side of the bed and flops down beside her as she lifts a steaming bowl from the tray.
"Tomato bisque," he says, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back against the pillows, "I know how much you like it."
"Mmm, yummy," she says. It's delicious, smooth and creamy with luscious bits of fresh tomato and basil mixed in. "So have we a plan for today?" she asks, between spoonfuls.
"Mmm I thought we'd just play it by ear," he says. "So which do you fancy? Skiing? Ice skating? A brisk hike up an alpine trail?"
Donna swallows basil infused broth. "Sounds a bit… vigorous," she says.
"The fresh air will do you good," the Doctor says blithely, "besides weren't you the one complaining about being a house this morning?" he asks, grinning cheekily at her.
Donna's eyes narrow slightly. "You're being awfully cavalier considering you're laying next to someone holding a hot bowl of soup in her hands," she says, a note of warning in her voice.
The Doctor's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Actually, I was thinking a leisurely stroll along the river, followed by a sleigh ride through the forest and then dinner at this little cafe I happen to know."
"That's more like it," Donna says, whacking him in the face with a pillow as if it were a giant powder puff.
The Doctor pulls the pillow from his face and hugs it to his chest, watching Donna finish the last of her soup and return the empty bowl to the tray.
"We should arrive at the cafe just as the sky dancers start to come out," he says.
"Sky dancers?"
"Indigenous insect species," he says, "they look like a sort of giant butterfly. The locals call them sky dancers because of the intricate patterns they weave in the air. It's brilliant," he says with a sudden grin, "like living fireworks."
"I thought you said this planet was just like Earth," Donna says.
"No, I said it was made to resemble Earth," he says, "the latest terraforming techniques recreate the landscape while keeping the native ecosystems and indigenous species in tact. Don't you love that," he says with a grin, "leave it to you humans."
"So, it's the best of both worlds," Donna says, with a suggestive smile, her hand resting on her fully blossomed belly, "sounds sort of familiar."
The Doctor rolls onto his hands and knees, grinning like a cat. He practically throws the tray onto the nightstand and Donna laughs lightly, laying back against the pillows as he leans over her, his mouth inches from hers.
"Oh yes," he whispers, lifting her blouse, "you'd know something about that would you?" His cool hand slowly travels along the round curve of her bare belly and Donna shivers slightly at the thrill of his touch.
"Let's hope he takes after my side of the family," she teases him.
The Doctor's ancient eyes twinkle with amusement. "His mum's lovely blue eyes and his dad's rakish grin," he says, waggling his eyebrows, "the best of both worlds."
"Just so long as he doesn't get your crooked nose," Donna says.
"My nose is not crooked," he says indignantly and Donna nearly laughs.
"It is you know," she says fondly, tracing the length of his nose with her finger, "it slopes just a bit to the right."
"Well, what about yours," he says.
"What about mine," Donna asks, her tone dangerous.
"It's..." he says, breaking off. "Yeah, I got nothing," he admits. Donna laughs again and the Doctor grins.
"I love your nose," he says, planting a light kiss on the turned up tip. "and your mouth," he says, brushing her lips with his. "Ooh and these," he says, sitting up a bit so he can explore the ample cleavage straining against the plunging neckline of her blouse, "these are brilliant!"
Donna playfully swats his hand away. "They're not for you," she says, "they're for the baby."
"He won't appreciate them the way I do," the Doctor says wryly and Donna laughs musically beneath him.
"They've gotten very..."
"Swollen?"
"I was going to say dynamic," he says.
"Have they?"
"Oh yes, it's as if they're stood at attention," he says, throwing her breasts a jaunty salute.
"Stop that," Donna says, swatting him in the arm.
The Doctor grins and brushes her lips with his, his hand slipping inside the elastic waistband of her jeans, His nimble fingers slide into her knickers and then into her, exploring her curves, making her body rise to meet his as their lips part and she gasps with pleasure.
"Wait," she says breathlessly, pushing him away, "this is what got us into trouble in the first place remember?"
"Oh well," he says, nearly as breathless as she is. "What's the worst that can happen?" His lips find hers again, his growing excitement evident in the sudden hardness Donna can feel bulging against her thigh. "If you're worried about getting pregnant, I'm afraid that train's already left the station."
"You're not funny," she gasps.
"Sorry," he murmurs, nuzzling her neck. He opens his mouth, exploring the contours of her neck and shoulder with his talented tongue.
"No but," she gasps breathlessly, he does something with his fingers that makes her eyes roll back into her head and robs her of all coherent thought for a moment.
"But what?" he gasps, their chests heaving in breathless union.
New Strasbourg remember," she says, "winter festival, sleigh ride, sky dancers. Any of this ringing a bell?"
"Vaguely," he gasps, with a wry smile. He falls onto his back beside her, both of them remaining silent until their breathing calms.
He squirms a bit, adjusting his trousers and Donna chuckles, turning on to her side with some effort to regard him. "Unless you intended for me to come all this way, just to see the inside of a train compartment that is," she says, lightly tracing his cheek with her finger.
His mouth quirks into a little half-smile at that. "No, you're right," he says, "one winter festival coming up." He abruptly sits up, drawing his bony knees to his chest. "You may want to change your blouse before we go though," he says softly, "you're sort of leaking."
"You what?" she cries, pulling her blouse back down. Sure enough there are two watery stains slowly spreading below her neckline from her breasts. "What the hell," she cries, awkwardly scrambling off the bed, "when did this start?"
"It's just a little colostrum," the Doctor says mildly, "your breast milk is starting to come in that's all."
"Yeah, I know what it is," Donna snaps at him, as she rifles through her bag of incidentals. "I've read the books, but that doesn't make it any less mortifying does it!"
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about Donna," the Doctor says, in that maddeningly reasonable tone that he has, "it's perfectly natural."
"Don't patronise me Spaceman," Donna says, absently. She finds what she's looking for; the box of nursing pads she'd packed just in case. "Okay," she whispers to herself, calmer now that she's got them in her hand.
The baby wakes, kicking her like a footballer an inch or so above the bellybutton. Donna winces and sighs. She's sweating. She hasn't seen her swollen ankles in months. Her stretch marks are leaving stretch marks and now to top it all off she's springing leaks like a faulty garden hose.
"Mum was right you know," she says, her eyes falling on the Doctor, "you've completely ruined me."
"I know," he says, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about that."
"She never did forgive dad you know," she says, blotting the glistening sweat from her brow with a tissue. "Why do you think I haven't any siblings?" She quickly scans the instructions on the box in her hands.
"Yes, well," the Doctor says, rising from the bed and taking the box from her, "You're not your mum Donna, and let me just say, and I can't stress this enough by the way, thank God."
"She's not that bad," Donna says, pulling another bra from the small bureau where she's put their things.
"Not that bad?" he cries, incredulous, "When we told her you were pregnant she threatened to chop off my head and hang it on the wall above the fireplace!"
"Oh she didn't mean that," Donna says, rolling her eyes. "We don't even have a fireplace."
She pulls her blouse off over her head while the Doctor peels the adhesive backing off of the pads and inserts them into the cups of her bra for her. She takes it from him and slips it on, turning around and lifting her hair so that he can fasten it over her back.
"I'm actually much better at unfastening these," he says wryly, slipping his glasses on, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates on joining the little hooks and eyelets sewn into the edges of the material.
"Have you got a special setting on the sonic for that," Donna asks, grinning cheekily as she adjusts the fresh bra over her breasts.
"I could always perform a few experiments," he says, coming up behind her and draping his shaggy head over her shoulder. Donna smirks, her eyes rolling skyward as she covers his face with her hand and shoves him away.
"I've got absolutely nothing to wear," she says, anxiously digging through the bureau drawers while the Doctor disappears into the bathroom for a moment.
"Wear the blue one with the long bell sleeves and the little purple flowers," he calls over the sound of running water, "you look lovely in that."
"I look lovely in nothing," she sighs. "Did I even pack that?"
"Don't you remember asking me if you should," he says, towelling off his hands in the open doorway, "and I said yes pack it, you look lovely in that."
"Frankly no," she says, finally coming across the blouse in question, "but, that's just because your son is eating what's left of my brain," she says.
"No brain eaters on my side of the family," he says, mildly, "your mother on the other hand."
"So she's got a peculiar sense of humour," Donna says, tugging the blouse on over her ill fitting camisole.
"So, do serial killers," the Doctor says, flatly. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder where you came from."
"From my dad mostly," Donna says, adjusting the blouse over her belly. It's snug, but she's decided to try to make her peace with form fitting clothes. At any rate, it covers the waistband of her jeans. She stands in front of him, arms outstretched so that he can get a better look at what she's wearing. "Well?"
"You look-"
"What, bloated?" she asks, wrinkling her nose at him, "Puffy?"
"Beautiful," he says, taking her by the hand and pulling her close, "also, bloated and puffy mean practically the same thing," he says wryly.
Donna smiles, turning slightly so she can snuggle against his chest. "I wish my dad was here," she says.
"I know," the Doctor says, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"He would have liked you, you know," she says, looking up at him.
The Doctor grimaces slightly. "Right. After I stole away and impregnated his only daughter? Somehow I doubt it. I think it's far more likely that he'd be hanging the frame around my head while your mother was nailing it to the wall."
Donna's mouth quirks slightly at the image. "You're wrong," she says, "he would have been ecstatic at the prospect of becoming a grandfather, even if it meant welcoming a skinny alien know-it-all into the family."
"You forgot pompous," the Doctor says, mildly.
"Pompous alien know-it-all," Donna agrees, with a quick nod.
The Doctor smiles and makes a loose bow in the ties hanging at the back of Donna's empire waisted blouse. "Ready to go then?" he asks.
She nods. "Ready whenever you are," she says, except that no, not really, because she has to pee again.
He's waiting with her wool cardigan coat when she emerges, his own tan greatcoat already hanging loosely from his lanky frame. He holds her coat out for her and she slips her arms into the sleeves, shrugging it on. He slips the large plastic buttons into the buttonholes down the loosely pleated front, then gives her belly a fond pat.
"Right then, off we go," he says cheerfully, as he takes her hand in his and leads the way out of the compartment.
….
'la fraise' the cafe is called. They arrive at dusk, just as the rose coloured lanterns start coming to life throughout the city. Fresh from a leisurely sleigh ride across the tree lined countryside where the air is crisp and smells of pine and freshly fallen snow.
The sky dancers dip and reel through the air like living snowflakes riding on the wind. At times the air is thick with them, the complex patterns they form around them indeed like living fireworks. The Doctor grins when one alights in Donna's hair, a ribbon of living lace in a waterfall of red silk.
Donna smiles and takes it on her finger, its wings like fairy lace glittering in the late day sun. It launches itself back into the air, spiralling away like a feather on the wind and the Doctor takes her hand in his, lightly brushing the back of it with his lips. Donna leans into him, laying her head against his shoulder.
"Are you warm enough?" he murmurs into her hair, his head laying against hers. She smiles and nods and mumbles some sort of affirmative, too relaxed in the near perfection of the moment to spoil it with words.
The warmth she's feeling has nothing to do with the weather, which is crisp but comfortable in the golden crescent of the late day sun. For the moment, she's able to set aside the fears and the doubts that have plagued her for the last nine months. She sighs and briefly closes her eyes, suffused with a sense of contentment from being here with the Doctor and from the baby dozing peacefully in her belly.
They stroll across the cobblestones towards the wrought iron gate surrounding the courtyard of the cafe, towards a dark haired man wearing a tuxedo stood beneath the arched entryway. Pale rose coloured lights draped across the courtyard hang above his head, illuminating him from behind with a soft pink halo. He unconsciously straightens as Donna and the Doctor approach, regarding them both with a courteous if somewhat plastic smile.
"Good evening sir," he says, nodding at the Doctor. "Madame."
"Hullo," the Doctor says amicably, grinning back, "reservation for two. The name's Smith."
Donna startles slightly, as the tuxedoed maitre d' briefly checks his reservation book. "Ah yes," he says, "Doctor Smith and Miss Noble. We're holding your table. Right this way sir," he says, gesturing for them to follow him into the courtyard.
"You made reservations?" Donna asks incredulously, as the Doctor steps aside to allow her to step through the archway ahead of him. Her skin tingles as she crosses the threshold, as if she's stepped through an invisible curtain. The air warms noticeably on the other side of it.
"Climate control field," the Doctor says in answer to her silent question, "keeps the sky dancers out and the warmth in."
He takes her hand as the maitre d' leads them to an exquisitely arranged table of fern coloured glass, sat inside a gazebo resplendent with snow dusted white winter roses and frosted pink lights.
Donna stops short when she sees it. "Is this the mysterious thing you were checking on this morning?" she asks, her face shining in the pale glow of the fragrant gazebo.
The Doctor flashes her an enigmatic smile in response. "Like it?" He asks.
"It's beautiful," she says. "If I wasn't already a pumpkin, I'd feel just like Cinderella."
The Doctor's grin turns wry as he playfully brushes the tip of her nose with his finger.
"May I take your coats?" The maitre d' asks, holding his arm out expectantly.
Donna slips hers off and hands it to him.
"Belle mere," the maitre d' murmurs, smiling at her and robustly kissing the tips of his fingers as he drapes her coat over his arm with a flourish.
"I'll hold on to mine, thanks," the Doctor says, waving him off as he pulls out a chair for Donna.
"Very good sir," the maitre d' says smartly. "Will there be anything else?"
"We're fine thanks," the Doctor says.
"Thank you," Donna says, smiling at the man as he lingers expectantly. She sits down and the Doctor pushes her chair a comfortable distance towards the table, then pulls out his own.
The maitre d' coughs subtly into his palm and Donna smiles slightly.
"Doctor," she says, raising her eyebrows expectantly as he blithely drapes his coat over the back of his chair.
He looks up, startled to find the maitre d' still there, until sudden understanding lights his face. "Oh right," he says, hastily patting his pockets.
He reaches into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out what looks like a couple of gold coins, slipping them into the dapper man's hand with a grin.
"There you are my good man," he says with a wink, "don't spend it all in one place."
"Uh, thank you sir," the maitre d' says a bit hesitantly, one eyebrow cocked as he eyes the coins covering his palm. He turns smartly on his heel and walks away, still staring at his palm as he leaves.
"I think you confused him," Donna says softly as she watches the tuxedoed man's retreating form. "Were those gold doubloons you gave him?"
"Crowns actually," the Doctor says absently.
"Don't tell me," Donna says wryly, "you were Captain Kidd in another life."
"Well, I am nine hundred and three after all," he says mildly, "I may have collected a few mementos over the years."
"Right," Donna says, "like a treasure chest or two."
The Doctor shrugs wryly. "Even if he was slightly baffled by the coins themselves," he says, "gold is gold and still highly valued throughout the known galaxies, well the ones populated by humans anyway."
"What was that he said to me before?" Donna asks. "Belle..?"
"What, belle mere?"
"Yeah."
The Doctor smiles. "It means beautiful mother," he says, "and quite right too."
Donna finds herself blushing as she returns his smile. "You're not you know," she says suddenly, her smile turning into a knowing grin.
"Sorry?"
"Nine hundred and three," she says, "we've been together for two years, not counting the one we spent apart, and you've been nine hundred and three the entire time."
"Well, I'm nine hundred…ish," he says, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
Donna's eyes sparkle with growing amusement. "Admit it," she says, "you're afraid to tell me your real age, because you think I'll find it too shocking."
"Well, it isn't as if I think you'll go into premature labour over it, or anything," he says a bit indignantly.
"No," Donna says, thoughtfully, "but you're worried that if I find out you're actually in the quadruple digits I'll think you're some sort of dirty old man."
"I don't understand this human obsession with age," he says, frowning slightly.
"I know you don't," Donna says, her smile warming, "It's one of the most endearing things about you actually, the fact that you can never seem to remember my age, no matter how many times I tell you."
"If you're about to say something about senility setting in..."
"No," Donna says, chuckling, "but you have to admit, we do give a whole new meaning to the words May/December romance, although in our case it's more like a May/Jurassic period romance."
"Oi!" he cries, his eyes twinkling mischievously "are you implying that I'm some sort of dinosaur with that remark?"
"No," Donna says softly, her smile turning troubled as she looks down and covers his hand in her own. "It's just…" she vaguely shakes her head as her voice fades to sudden silence.
"Don't you think it's about time we talked about it?" He asks softly, and Donna looks up to find his ancient brown eyes watching her intently.
"Talked about what?" She asks, trying to keep her tone light and failing.
"Whatever it is that's got you so scared," he says very gently, lacing his fingers through hers.
Donna swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Her back aches. She stretches, leaning back in her chair, her fingers splayed out over her swollen belly.
The Doctor's eyes turn thoughtful as he watches her. He frowns suddenly, his wrought iron chair scraping the ground as he abruptly stands and kneels beside her, his cool hand resting on her belly.
"Please talk to me Donna," he says, "what are you so afraid of? Is it the baby?" but she doesn't know how to explain without hurting him.
She feels as if she's become a bystander in her own life and a passenger in her own body. They'd just started taking the first tentative steps towards something beyond friendship and suddenly she's ten days late and staring at a blue stick in the bathroom. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet here she sits nine months later, teetering on the edge of motherhood with a man she hasn't even fully reconciled her feelings for. Now there's this brand new life forever connecting them to one another and it scares her, because it all feels inevitable somehow, as if she never had any choice in the matter.
She covers the Doctor's hand in both of hers, their slumbering baby just beginning to stir again inside her womb. "What will he be like?" She asks him, a quiet plea for reassurance in her voice.
The Doctor gives her a little half-smile and slowly runs his hand along her belly. "He'll be like us," he says, his voice soft and wistful, "like you and like me and like every other little boy in the universe who knows his parents love him."
The baby kicks as if in response to his father's voice and the Doctor's smile gradually warms.
"He'll laugh and he'll cry," he says. "and run, and play, and he'll throw his arms around his mum's neck when he hugs her." Donna laughs, tears suddenly filling her eyes.
"He'll beg to stay up past his bed time," the Doctor continues gently, "and make you read every story in his room at least twice, just to stay up a little longer. He won't eat his vegetables and he'll learn to ride a bicycle, and fall down and skin his knees," he grins suddenly, "and he'll smile a lot."
Donna closes her eyes, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks, because she can picture it all in her head, just the way he's describing it.
"True, he may be doing advanced calculus by the time he starts preschool," the Doctor says mildly, "but that's not so scary is it?"
Donna opens her eyes and looks at him, smiling tremulously as she tenderly caresses his cheek. "No, not so scary," she says
The Doctor's dark eyes are fathomless and filled with experience and she realises suddenly that he doesn't have to imagine anything he's telling her, because he's already lived it. He's lived it and then lost it all in the blink of an eye.
Donna swallows, suddenly frightened again. She wipes her tears away with the palms of her hands. "It's not the baby," she says.
"Well, what then?" The Doctor tentatively asks. "Is it me?" Donna can't bring herself to answer him.
Every night she makes up her mind to leave him, to pack her things and run back to Chiswick to raise their baby alone. It'll just be easier that way, she thinks, but in the cold light of day she always loses her nerve. She rolls over and looks into the Doctor's ancient eyes and knows that she can't bring herself to leave, because it would be too much like living half a life without him.
The Doctor swallows seeing it all on her face. He pulls away from her and abruptly stands, but Donna grasps his hand before he can turn away.
"Will he regenerate," she asks suddenly, "the baby?"
The Doctor eyes her thoughtfully. "He has one heart," he says after a moment.
"So, that's a no then."
He sighs. "What's on your mind Donna?" He asks.
"You'll outlive us," she tells him, "both of us." She stares at his hand, his long slender fingers wrapped in hers, comforting and familiar. "I used to know you as well as I know myself," she says softly, "but it's all gone now, like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. How can we… How can we ever possibly..," she breaks off, shaking her head. "My life is just so small compared to yours," she says, "like a shallow little pond beside this incredibly deep well that goes on forever."
"Don't say that," he says softly, "there's nothing little or shallow about you."
Someone screams.
The doctor stiffens at the sound, his head swivelling towards the cobblestone street by the front gate of the cafe and the knot of people frantically scampering down it. Donna grabs the back of her chair and awkwardly rises to her feet beside him, craning her neck to see the terrified looks on their faces as they rush by. She hears the word monster ripple through the crowd and something else, another word she can't quite make out Visine, smithereens.
"Slitheen," the Doctor murmurs beside her. "Right, well that would explain it then."
"Explain what?" Donna asks, confused.
"The really lousy service," he says, pulling his coat from the back of his chair and shrugging into it.
Donna swallows and looks around, noting for the first time that they're completely alone in the outside dining area of the cafe. Even the crisp maitre d' has abandoned his post under the rose lit archway.
"What they evacuated!" Donna cries indignantly, "and no one thought to tell us about it!? Why that supercilious little..." She's appalled, struggling to find the words that will adequately express her outrage. "And you gave him two gold crowns!" she cries, "Right, I'm lodging a complaint with his supervisor."
She startles at the unmistakable sound of energy weapons discharging and the Doctor suddenly turns and grips her by the shoulders. "Stay here," he tells her urgently, "stay right here. Do not move from this spot. Understand?"
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the sonic, flipping it nimbly in his hand as Donna frowns at him.
"Yeah, I understand," she says tartly. "Just so we're clear, you're not pushing me off on the sidelines once this kid is born, you know."
"We'll discuss it later," he says, leaping from the edge of the gazebo onto the garden path below. "Ooh a racing pram!" he cries suddenly, turning around and jogging backwards towards the entry gate of the cafe.
"You what?"
"They're brilliant," he says, "runners use them. They're sleeker than regular prams and extremely aerodynamic."
Donna simply stands there looking at him as if he just fell out of a tree and landed on his head.
The Doctor frowns slightly in response. "Just think about it," he says, spinning on his heel and running full tilt towards the cobblestone street, his long coat billowing purposefully behind him as he goes.
The streets are mostly empty now, though a few frightened stragglers hurry past the Doctor as he vaults the iron gate and flies past them in the opposite direction, directly towards the sound of weapons fire growing increasingly louder in the distance.
"Just be careful!" Donna calls anxiously after him.
"You know me,' he calls back, with a lopsided grin.
Donna frowns. "Yeah, I do," she shouts, "that's why I'm worried. Just try not to get yourself killed too many times before you get back. I've grown accustomed to that crooked nose of yours!"
"It's not crooked," he calls back, then he's gone.
Donna stands there a few moments longer, craning her neck past the bend in the road where she'd lost sight of him.
"Well," she says with a sigh, her hand resting on her belly, "it looks like it's just you and me kid."
The baby kicks and Donna smiles slightly in response. She nearly sits down again, but a sudden twinge in her back changes her mind for her. She winces, leaning back in an arching stretch that makes her blouse ride up past the elastic waistband of her jeans and exposes a pale swath of her swollen belly.
"Very attractive," she mutters, quickly pulling it down again.
She has to pee. She looks around the darkening courtyard and sees a building nestled in amongst the trees, lit from within with flickering amber light. The indoor dining room she thinks, making her way towards it.
It's started to snow. She can see the tiny flakes racing past the rose coloured street lamps outside the climate control field. It's eerily quiet, even the din of discharging energy beams has ceased, and Donna swallows, the hairs on the back of her neck rising in sudden apprehension.
She glances back over her shoulder, certain that someone is watching her as she quickly makes her way over to the dining room. She has a moment of panic, convinced that the opaque French doors will be locked, but to her relief the door handles give way easily beneath her hands and she steps over the threshold, quickly closing the doors behind her as she enters.
She sags against them, weak with relief, cold sweat springing out across her forehead even as she admonishes herself for letting her imagination run away with her. She glances back over her shoulder at the deserted courtyard through the opaque glass doors and sees nothing, no movement, not a single living thing save for the occasional sky dancer reeling against the invisible dome of the climate control field covering it.
As if in tune with her feelings, the baby flutters uneasily inside her and Donna frowns slightly, her hand lightly caressing the curve below her bellybutton as she walks to the deserted bar. There's a tray with a neat stack of white linen napkins sat on the edge, as if someone abandoned it there in their haste to leave.
"Hello?" she calls out, taking a napkin from the tray and blotting her clammy face with it. "Is there anyone here?"
There's a.. Well, it's not exactly a television screen, more like a projected three dimensional display playing behind the bar. Donna stares at it for a moment, looking around for some sort of remote to turn the volume up when she sees the special news report scrolling across it. She finds a row of recessed buttons set into the smooth countertop of the bar and presses the one with the little speaker icon on it.
She listens to the very serious looking female anchor relating the news of the escaped convicts from the prison transport ship at New Paris who hijacked a sub-light bus and abandoned it somewhere in the forest outside New Strasbourg. Some sort of crime family with a very long and complicated hyphenated name.
Donna stares at the image of the three green skinned aliens on the display, their smooth bulbous faces, huge black eyes and wickedly pointed teeth making them look like some sort of mad cross between a praying mantis and the Gerber baby. Considered armed and extremely dangerous the anchor is saying and Donna shudders, thinking of the Doctor somewhere out there alone.
She really has to pee. She looks around, spying a lit corridor between the bar and the lobster tanks that looks promising. She starts down it, relieved to see the telltale doors with the appropriate symbols at the end.
She's washing her hands when she hears the sudden crash from outside. Donna jumps, unable to stop the involuntarily yelp that escapes her throat at the sound. A twinge turns into a spasm in her lower back as heavy footfalls charge up to the bathroom door and it bursts open suddenly, a green-skinned monster stood in the doorway.
It's huge, like a bulbous gorilla only taller. Its long ape arms ending in lethal looking banana claws that clack ominously as it stands there regarding her with its baleful black eyes, sniffing the air like some sort of mutant bloodhound.
"Hello skin-suit," it says, its voice high pitched and ringing with some sort of digital enhancement from the thick metal collar hanging around its neck.
Then it's charging towards her, its banana claws coming at her like fistfuls of daggers. Donna screams, backing against the tiled wall between the bathroom stalls and the sink when the thing suddenly stops, its long claws hovering inches from her throat.
"Wait," it says, its bulbous face swivelling down on its fleshy neck to breathe deep her scent. Donna groans, closing her eyes and nearly gagging, because the thing reeks of halitosis, like one giant rotting tooth.
"You're positively swimming in hormones aren't you," it says and Donna swallows, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from barfing into the sink.
Nictitating membranes flash across its eyes like an insect as its banana claws slowly trace the length of her body. Donna swallows and shrinks away, instinctively protecting her vulnerable belly as the thing's lips curl away from its pointed teeth in a sudden snarl.
"Where is he?" It asks, its high pitched voice dripping with malice.
"Wh...where's who?" Donna gasps, her stomach churning.
"The Time Lord that put that baby in your belly," it says darkly. "Where's the Doctor?"
"I don't…" Donna gasps, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any Doctor."
It just stares at her, its eyes like black pits. "I can smell the adrenaline on you," it says, "and your heart rate just increased. You're lying." It looms over her, its fetid face inches from hers. "Make me ask again and I will rip that baby out of you and make you watch it die before I kill you," it hisses menacingly.
"All right all right all right," Donna half gags, half sobs, trembling over the edge of the sink, gripping the rim with white knuckled hands. "He's… he's not here. We broke up months ago. He doesn't even know about the baby."
The lie flows easily from her lips. There isn't even any conscious thought behind it, only the half-formed notion that whatever this thing wants with the Doctor, it can't be good. She won't just lead it to him.
A meaty paw grasps her neck, slamming her up against the tiled wall and Donna cries out as the twinge in her back again blossoms in painful spasm. She opens her eyes to find a banana claw hovering inches from her face.
"Right," the creature hisses menacingly, its rancid breath like a physical blow to Donna's queasy stomach, "back to the original plan then," it does something with its mouth, which may be some sort of cadaverous grin, "after a little snack of course," it says, its clawed hand slowly sliding the length of Donna's distended belly. Donna screws her eyes shut and shudders, repulsed by its touch. "Human foetus," it purrs, "Mmmm yummy."
"Half Human actually," a familiar voice says from the doorway behind them, "half Time-Lord."