"Donnaaa," whined the Doctor, hovering over her shoulder from behind the sofa. "Are you done yet?"
"Are you twelve?" she asked incredulously, finally turning to look at them. She found their face just inches from hers, and jumped, leaning back to fix them with a glare. "God. Why don't you just go… fiddle with something. Take apart the kitchen, I don't care."
They pouted. Moving round to the side of the sofa, they plopped themself down on the floor and draped their arms over the side, resting their chin on the armrest.
"I'm bored," they grumbled. "We haven't been anywhere interesting in forever."
Closing her magazine, Donna looked them sternly in the eye. "Well, Spaceman, getting trapped and nearly spit-roasted was more than interesting enough for me. I want a day off, and you're not gonna change my mind this time."
At that, they perked up instantly. "Bet I can," they countered.
Sighing, Donna shuffled back into her original spot, forcing them to move as she propped her elbow where their face had been. She didn't give them the dignity of a response.
They took this as a challenge. Scrambling up onto the couch, they sat cross-legged beside her and stared her down. She could feel their eyes on her as they sifted through their vast catalogue of destinations, and smiled inwardly, knowing the effort was all for nothing.
"Telnar Eight," they said. "We can see the mica cliffs. They let you swim in the pools at the bottom."
She flipped the page pointedly and continued to read, though she had absolutely no interest in the ten most popular dorsal fin adornments on Alphraxi.
"The Ice Age! Saber-toothed tigers, mammoths, how can you resist that?"
"Rather not get eaten today, thanks."
"I know a planet that has a salt flat the size of Europe."
"Are you just making things up now?"
They made a pitiful noise in the back of their throat. "Donna, c'mon," they pleaded. "Just for a bit?"
"Doctor," she said lightly, "you can't win this one."
"Oh, I think I can." Their tone had turned abruptly dark, and when she turned to look at them they'd put on an expression of cold determination, the likes of which she only ever saw in the most intense moments of their travels.
She turned back. "You're not very intimidating."
They slumped. "I am," they protested.
"You're not."
They heaved a heavy sigh. Unable to stop herself from smiling at their antics, and knowing they genuinely did struggle to keep themself occupied while she had her quiet time, Donna decided to take pity on them.
"If you're really that bored," she said neutrally, "why don't you stay and bore me instead?"
As always, when invited to talk away about whatever had captured their attention that day, the Doctor grinned. They flopped across her lap, making the sofa bounce and her squeak in surprise, and turned on their back with their head propped up on the armrest, arms and ankles crossed contentedly.
Looking down at their smiling face, wild hair and disheveled suit, she laughed. "See?" she said, brushing a stray strand out of their face. "Who do you think you're fooling? You aren't scary."
Something flickered over their expression then, something dark, just dimming their enthusiasm, and in that split second Donna regretted speaking. She knew they were thinking, reflecting—I got you trapped, they'd be saying, nearly got you killed—and she almost opened her mouth—to apologize or to distract them, she wasn't sure—but they were fast. Before she could fully register it the pain was gone from their face, and she wondered whether she'd seen it at all.
They shot her a goofy grin in response, pointed at one of the articles open on the pages of her magazine, and launched into a story. And watching them gesture and laugh, fondness warming her chest as she toyed with their hair, Donna decided once again that she was right.