The Fool On Mott Hill

Chapter 1

In the final years of Wilfred Mott's life, Donna noticed a strange mix of absolute bliss and sadness within him. It were as if his soft, careworn blue eyes held the secrets of the universe. His hunt for alien life and strange occurrences became a near obsession. Donna went through that phase once, but she couldn't for the life of her remember why. She figured it was because of all the balmy stuff going on in the world, and especially in England.

It'd all started in 2005 with a tragic mannequin invasion. She'd always assumed it was a publicity stunt or movie shoot gone horribly wrong. In light of even more recent and tragic, human events in the world, she considered it a wild terrorist act that Parliament kept Top Secret. Investigating further only gave Donna headaches. She wasn't studious or interested in things like that anyway. Not like Gramps.

The Noble household was filled with unspoken truths that kept Donna on edge. She was always the last one in on the joke - the boisterous, flakey woman who missed life's biggest and eventful moments. Living in the house burdened her and she couldn't move in with Shaun fast enough.

Wilfred always stared at Donna proudly. He fiercely defended her whenever Sylvia started hemming and hawing about her failures. A force of habit she couldn't break. However, Donna noticed her mother had mellowed in the nagging department. Sylvia made it a point to compliment or commend Donna for something every day. Even if it killed her.

Donna took it as a good sign and their relationship greatly improved, especially after the birth of her son in 2011. Donna suffered a hard pregnancy and labor, and the Doctors warned her that having another child could be fatal.

Donna named her son John Caecilius Temple. Everyone thought her batty for picking that middle name. She'd come across it in Italy when she begged Shaun to tour Pompeii. Seeing frozen bodies was not his idea of a happy honeymoon, but Donna couldn't resist. The entire experience struck a deep chord with her and she cried through most of it. Even though the name meant "blind," she insisted. "Caecilius" would serve as a reminder for her son not to be so blind, daft, and selfish like his mother and miss out on life's wonders.

"Little John" as Donna fondly called him, grew to a spunky, intelligent five-year old with a tumbleweed of red fluffy curls and toffee colored skin. He resembled his handsome father, but John had Donna's eyes with the colors reversed – dark gold with flecks of green. He was the light of the Noble family and Wilfred told him colorful stories of outer space. John was determined to be an astronaut or astronomer, or both. He spent hours with Wilfred on the hilltop and shared all his childish secrets with him.

Despite the family winning a fortune on Donna's wedding day, Wilfred insisted on living in the same house. He was attached to the hilltop, and according to him there was no better place for stargazing. Donna understood Wilfred's desire, so she had a small cabin built to replace his run-down tents. Sylvia didn't put up a fight about moving. She'd grown attached, knowing all her best (and worst)memories were in Chiswick and kept her grounded.

Donna legally installed a sign and named the land, "Mott Hill."

~~Oo~~

Wilfred Mott was dead on a Sunday morning in early Spring, just a week after Donna's sixth wedding anniversary. The night before, he'd insisted on fresh air and sleeping under the stars. Nothing unusual for him. He'd always prided himself on his good health and strength, so no one suspected his heart pangs that day. Wilfred never feared death and often said that he'd only survived this long because of a precious gift he didn't deserve. When they chided him for that remark he'd get angry and sad.

Wilfred looked so peaceful when Donna went to the cabin to bring him down for their Sunday tradition, "The Noble – Temple family breakfast." She called him three times but he never stirred. Her heart leapt to her throat when she realized he didn't make the funny little groans and grumblings in his sleep. She shook his arm, and it was freezing to the touch. Panicked, she waved her hand over his nose and mouth. No breath. No Life.

He was in warm pajamas and tucked under a beautiful dark blue quilt Donna never realized he owned. Wilfred's hair had been neatly trimmed, his face shaved smooth and his fuzzy red hat was laid out on his folded clothes alongside him. Fluffy pillows supported his head. There were two tea cups wiped clean, along with a half eaten box of Jammie Dodgers and other biscuit crumbs.

Donna staggered out the cabin and almost rolled down the hill bellowing for her husband and mother. Thankfully, little John was still sound asleep after an all-nighter of ice cream and video games.

~~Oo~~

Sylvia insisted that Wilfred knew he was dying and must've prepared himself to go with quiet dignity. He'd never been one for hospitals and wouldn't have wanted his family bawling and sniveling around him making it harder. Donna remained unconvinced. Someone had taken great care to make Wilfred as comfortable as possible, and most likely sat with him until his final moments.

"Whoever it was, is a bloody accomplice in gramps' death and I want 'em found NOW!" She screamed and raved. "You'd think they'd 'ave come to the house and tell us he died! Sittin' there all night with his corpse! How do we know he wasn't poisoned! They cleaned the teacups! There has ta be fingerprints somewhere! Check for hair fibers in the blanket! I want an investigation! An autopsy, I want..."

Shaun couldn't quiet her down so he stormed back to the house to look after little John when all the shouting woke him up. Donna was up in arms and ready to start a manhunt.

Sylvia squared her shoulders. She knew her role as the villain in her daughter's life and marched over and slapped Donna's face.

"All day! All day! Yammering on like you're the only one here! The only one who cares and feels the loss! Just shut up, you! He was my father! There was a reason for this. Now bugger off and don't come back until you can act rationally!"

Donna gaped and fell silent, realizing how much her mother must've been hurting inside to raise a hand against her. She was acting like a madwoman and it helped no one.

As the funeral directors carried Wilfred's body out, Donna rubbed her burning cheek and saw her mother glance at the sky and passionately whisper,

"I know it was you. Thank you for everything, Doctor."

An on-the-spot niggling in Donna's mind halted her pursuit for justice – along with a splitting headache and a hot flash. Her blood pressure must've soared. Donna apologized to her mother and ran to her room where she bitterly cried herself to sleep.

That night she woke up aggravated and went off to get legless in her favorite pubs and she drunk-called and texted all her friends to join her.

~~Oo~~

Donna wobbled into her mother's house around 3am and kicked off her heels. Shaun would've been drying the ink on the divorce and custody papers if he ever saw her like this. He didn't care for late night "pubbing" as he called it. Ever sweet and understanding, Shaun had spent the day taking care of Sylvia's needs and making funeral arrangements. He was sound asleep on the couch with Little John cradled in his arms.

Donna flashed them an adoring gaze and blew a kiss, the sudden whiff of alcohol and greasy food on her breath gagged her and she beelined for the bathroom. She slumped over the toilet bowl to let the cold porcelain soothe her overheated skin.

"It was them damn fish sticks and custard bowtie boy insisted I had to try! Oh, I must've been quite the looker. Cryin' with bogeys flyin' all over the place, dippin' piece after piece. Blimey, he was right though. It was sooo good!"

~~Oo~~

Donna's thoughts went rampant about her final pub stop as another wave of nausea rolled over her. She wretched a bit to ease her aching stomach and crawled on her hands and knees into her old bed. Sleep eluded her.

Did she flirt with bowtie boy? A bit. She teased him about it. But all he said was "Bowties are cool." She'd groped through all his pockets for I.D because she insisted he looked fourteen. He really didn't. He was the strangest bartender she'd ever met.

Bowtie boy was rather timeless, with an intriguing chiseled face like an Easter Island statue. She bluntly asked if the natives had him in mind when they carved them and trailed her sticky custard and buffalo wing fingers all over his clean long cheekbones and pulled on his jutting chin.

He'd merely shrugged and wiped his face with a moist towelette, then to her surprise he rubbed her hands with a fresh one. "You don't say? Maybe they did, Donna. Humans have a natural instinct to worship."

She didn't remember telling him her name. But he'd surely heard her friends talking to her.

Bowtie boy's eyebrows were almost non-existent and she wondered if he were ill when his features appeared old and haggard in some angles. As if he had the weight of the world on him. Tricks of the light. Because he'd then smile and leap over the bar table to help customers and she watch amazed as youth busted out of him like a Jack-In-The-Box. Sick her foot. She didn't know what to make of him.

He had the patience of a Saint and flashed her a black leather wallet with an I.D for John Smith, age 29. Seeing his name calmed her down and she went into a glowing speech about her miracle baby. His reaction of genuine joy touched her.

"He wasn't so little at birth, that's for sure!" Donna warbled. "A full grown ten pounder. My butterball." Her expression darkened and she took deep swigs of her gin and tonic. "Almost didn't make it there. All sorts of complications. Stress didn't help. My husband said I kept screaming "Doctor, I need you!" all night night. Must've drove them insane. I don't remember. He was beginning to think it was a man named Doctor that I wanted and not the Doctor, Doctor, know what I mean? Crazy, right?"

John Smith nodded and stared at the broken woman with affection as she swirled her drink around. He thrust his arms to his sides and balled his fists. He wanted so badly to clutch her in the biggest hug he could possibly give.

~~Oo~~

He'd missed one of the most momentous events of her life. One that nearly killed her. So many voices cried out for the Doctor, and at times he answered. But there was always the pesky problem of saving the universe which got in the way of the little things. And tending to other companions and their problems like dimensional cracks in the walls, 2000 year old Roman Rory Robots, (not) killing Hitler, getting married, living and pouting on a cloud, killer snowmen, being sucked into the wi-fi, and the list went on.

He'd brought River Song back to her cell after another date night not too long ago.

"By the way, sweetie, he's 10 pounds, 7 ounces, and he's Ginger. I went ahead a year or two and checked. You might want to keep an eye on this one, Doctor." When he'd wondered what she meant she merely said, "Spoilers. You'll know soon enough." And then ravished him with a kiss between the bars.

~~Oo~~

He grinned like a doofus at Donna's never ending flap of pictures. Her wallet was surely bigger on the inside. "You're a very strong woman, Donna! What a handsome chap! He's Ginger! Of course he's Ginger. Why wouldn't he be?"

They laughed together for a good long minute. Moments like this seemed very familiar to her, yet she'd never experienced them. Not with this bloke. Not anyone really. Or did she?

Donna mussed his hair when she noticed the happy tears in his eyes.

"You know, you...you're right adorable, bowtie boy. John, Johnny, Johnboy Smith. Smitty! But this has to go." He sported a side-bang that kept fluttering in his eye whenever he leaned over to retrieve glasses or looked down to prepare drinks. Donna pulled out a brush and combed it off his face, insisting he was ten times handsomer that way.

He smirked. "Actually, eleven times."

She waggled her finger. "Nuh uh. I like ten. Eleven's such an odd number."

After a bit more chatter, the lanky bowtie boy hardly spoke and kept his distance. But Donna spied him keeping a watchful eye while she downed more drinks and flounced from table to table. He only said a few words at a time, but John Smith was more comforting than all her friends. It warmed her inside to know that he cared.

Really warmed her actually.

"Do ya have a stinkin' air con? A fan? It's boilin' in 'ere!" Donna yelled. She kept ordering cold water pitchers to flush out the alcohol and cool her down.

The more cabbaged on liquor she got the more she gazed at bowtie boy. He must've felt her stare burning a hole in his trousers. That runaway bang flopped over his eye again while he scrubbed tables. Donna bit her lip. He was slim and sinewy, there were some muscles lurking under there.

"I won't get a paper cut givin' him a hug." She giggled. Then she wondered who she knew that skinny. Most of her guy friends had pot bellies.

More than one poshed up chip chugging bimbo approached her bartender that night and Donna scuttled between them when she saw his discomfort. After two catfights and an overturned table she was "Donna victorious." She cracked her knuckles at all the other women. Nobody was gonna set their hooks in her bowtie boy.

As the night wore on he appeared more and more attractive. Guilt ripped her and she toyed with her wedding ring. No. Something was off. She smacked her forehead twice and realized the attraction wasn't romantic at all. It was like she wanted to pal around with him forever, tease and be bossy and protective like a loving older sister.

Her so-called friends snuck off after she paid the tab and boldly announced she was taking a "trip to the loo, but not for number two! Toodle-li-doo!"

She returned dejected to her bowtie boy at the bar table and flicked peanuts at him.

"Ain't that always the way? Off they go. They all leave ya alone in the end. The whole lot of 'em. I guess it's fun while it lasts! Can't complain. Weeeellll...Yes. No. Maybe...sometimes!"

Donna kept right on talking gibberish. And sounded a lot like his tenth incarnation. She threw him random bits about science and technology, astronomy – everything she ever learned from Little John's easy peasy collection of science books. John Smith stared at her bemused and didn't correct her garbled facts and figures. He just made sure she didn't have a "binary, binary, binary, Chaplin" meltdown.

For her final drink she ordered a Rum and Coke with a bendy straw.

"I love bendy straws, don't you? I dunno why. Never paid no mind before. Funny how the brain works."

Bowtie boy leaned forward and his fingers itched to pull out his sonic screwdriver. Donna blushed. "Oi, sunshine, ya gunna stare at me all night twiddling yer fingers? Are ya scanning me?"

He backed off and urged her to tell him more. She dove into one of her impossible Donna stories.

"A few years ago I went through this crazy spell ya know? I started craving and hating on food, wrecked my mum's whole kitchen. Yogurt was gross, I mean really, it's just stuff...with bits in it. Ugh! And apples! Rubbish! Baked beans are poison, Bacon's bad and bread and butter was just so blahhhh. I nearly clocked poor Shaun a good one tossing the plate at him. On top of that I was so blasted hot and bovvered!" She slurred.

"I opened the freezer, the cold air hit me and I fainted dead on the spot. Do ya think they brought me to the hospital? No, they put me to bed and let me sleep in my clothes again like a bloomin' kid! But Gramps knew it'd turn out okay. I was right as rain when I woke up in the morning, but gaggin' all over. Somehow I just knew I was preggers. Ain't that wizard? I do like all that food stuff again..."

She finally lowered her voice in a conspiratorial way. "But believe you me, John Smith, I was a completely different person. That's what mum told me. A stark ravin' lunatic. Can't imagine somebody actually behavin' like that. You'd have to send 'em to the funny farm. My family almost did. If it weren't for Gramps..."

Donna held her head and cried loud and sloppy when she saw her bowtie boy's compassionate face as he dried off tumblers. She reached for his chest but couldn't find it.

"Why don't ya wear a tie! You need a trenchcoat!...I need a tissue!" She shoved him aside and wiped her snots on her dress sleeve.

She sobbed face down on the counter. "I'm done. So done. And I want ya to know, my Granddad Wilfred Mott was my confidante, my biggest cheerleader, my partner in crime! He was the best man in the entire, stinkin' universe!"

"Yuppp...Quite right." John Smith answered, his voice thick with emotion.

Donna couldn't remember how she got home after passing out at closing time, but somehow she was standing at her mother's door with her key in her hand upon waking up.