A/N: This is an idea I got on the toilet. Now enjoy Night of the Living Spanner!

Alternating POV, starting with the Tenth Doctor's, then Donna's and then it could really go anywhere.

Chapter One – Sleep-fixing

I can't think why I keep waking up with a crick in my neck or muscle pulled in some unreachable place – I don't even want to talk about the amount of dirt and transmission fluid that magically appears on my person every morning.

Donna was always acting funny with me, but this day seemed extra special in the weird stakes and I couldn't think why.

"Could you stop giggling for a second to perhaps tell me why I'm so hilarious?"

She placed her undrunk mug of tea on the countertop of the TARDIS' marvellous kitchen, and inhaled deeply, "Have you done those repairs you were on about yesterday?"

I thought about it, deeply perturbed by the fact that she somehow knew about the urgent repairs I'd been mulling over the day before. Drawing up a blank on her sudden knowledge, I said, "I never told you anything about any repairs, and I think I'd have memory of completing some."

Her smirk returned, "Then you won't wanna check on– ooh, what's that pentagonal thingamajig? That's connected to the helmic regular?"

"The Dimensional Inversion Loop Brackets. In the event of landing the TARDIS within herself, the interloper is forced back into its own time and stability resumes." I didn't like the way Donna's eyes lit up with an 'I know something you don't' fire.

"Yeah, that. Thought you said it was on the blink."

It was my turn to take a breath. How could she have known they were, when he blatantly remembered not staying anything?"

"You don't usually pay such close attention to what needs fixing on the old girl."

"Oh, anyone would need a trillion-horsepower treadmill to keep up with you! You just seemed pretty cut up about it, s'all."

I stared at her for a few seconds, but her expression didn't change from one of devilish humour in all that time.

"Right, off to see to those brackets…" I muttered, walking out of the room even more exhausted than I came in. And I still hadn't drank my own mug of tea.

(The night before)

I'm not normally a very observant person. Hell, I'd scuba-dived through a multidimensional multi-species alien invasion. But when my spaceman's up and walking like it's the most normal thing in the world at [supposedly] midnight, my interest is far more than piqued.

I tried everything; pillows to the ears, head under the blanket, even retrieving a pair of earmuffs I hadn't worn since my first footie match. None of it worked, and the usual daily racket being caused by my friend and driver assaulted my already painful eardrums.

I sat up in bed, and the noise seemed even louder.

I heard his voice for a second, cracked and drowsy; even from his words I could tell he'd been yelling at the TARDIS for hours, probably about the number of times she's got us into trouble lately.

He wouldn't quit on his own steam, so I stood in my pyjamas (I'd scared him in far worse) and made my way to the console room, where I knew the sound was originating.

Corridors kept changing, and I looked up to the ceiling witheringly. "You're not being fair, girl. Just let me pound him down to size for a couple of minutes with a few choice words, and then we can all go back to normal and silence." After a moment of deliberation, the TARDIS clearly wasn't budging on her stance in the matter, but didn't hinder my progress further.

I pushed the door half-heartedly, not really caring if he heard me walking in as long as my message got through. A little gap was made, and I finally saw what he was fussing about.

There he stood, only visible from the armpits up as the rest of his body down was underneath the grating and probably knee-deep in wiring. The sonic screwdriver was lying forgotten against one of the consoles many levers, which was my first clue of strange behaviour.

I was about to announce myself when the manic look on his face appeared to my line of vision, the eyes firmly closed.

"He's sleep– what is he sleep-doing, exactly?" I whispered, knowing he wouldn't hear me.

His head turned in my direction, and I feared for a moment I'd been found out, but he went straight back to his jiggery-pokery.

The air returned to my lungs, and I opened the door all the way – wincing at the creaking bark the hinges erupted.

He was still engrossed in his work, never noticing me if I'd have smashed his head between two cymbals. He sat in the alcove he'd created for his contortionist frame, a penknife clamped between his teeth and the sonic screwdriver replaced in his free hand. I couldn't fathom why he'd need both, but he'd need a forklift to get himself out of such an ungodly mess.

"Doctor…?" I whispered, watching as he kept working. Working and working… I always knew the man would fix the TARDIS in his sleep if he could… I just didn't realize it had gotten this bad.

A/N: Short, I know! But I'm not in the right mindset for long right now, and if I try to do long a vast majority of it will be gobbledygook. That's my word of the day; gobbledygook, it's a brilliant word! And somehow in the OpenOffice registered vocabulary.

I'll probably do another chapter, because I'm loving this already and I'm sure further inspiration will strike when I least expect it, though hopefully at the weekend.