The bewildered kitchen staff tottered like bowling pins as the Doctor barreled his way between them, tripping over his own feet in his urgent dash for the scullery door. Behind him, the uncomplimentary smells of spilt ginger beer and scattered anchovies rose from the flagstones. The tiny fish lay in a sea of sticky amber liquid with halved walnuts nestling elegantly between like islands in a river. One or two of the kitchen hands gaped, their eyes still staring at the dispersing cloud of thick black smoke that had poured from the strange house guest's lungs moments before. The other's remembered the proper decorum of a servant and kept their jaws clenched tight.
Agatha Christie, her eyes wide with surprise and intrigue, switched her gaze from the kitchen door to the Doctor's assistant who was wiping the back of her hand across her mouth in an indecorous manner.
"Is that quite usual for Doctor Smith?" Agatha cast an uncertain glance at the final threads of black vapour which were being sucked into the chimney breast.
Donna's blanched face contorted in disgust, "It better not be."
A polite smile crossed Agatha's lips while her forehead furrowed in confusion, "If there is anything you need…"
"Yeah, thanks," Donna managed a civil, if clipped, tone, "But I'll pass on a stiff drink for now. We can't all stimulate the enzymes in the face of cyanide. I'll just go and see if he's alright."
Without waiting for acknowledgement Donna strode across the kitchen, the staff parting like the Red Sea for her as she followed in the Doctor's wake.
Beyond the kitchen door laid the herb garden, a neat, well aligned plot laboriously tended, its green grass path clipped short with military precision. The path led her through an archway and by a spiralling route to a secluded rose garden surrounded by a coniferous hedge. In the centre a thick stone wall encircled a sunken flower bed, the structure forming an impromptu seat for the pale figure of the Doctor who sat, elbows resting on his knees and his forehead propped heavily on his hands. There was another odour in the air now. The pungent, sour smell assaulted Donna's nose as she took a hesitant closer. The black cloud he had exhaled had evidently only been the first part of the cleansing process. Donna found herself wondering if regurgitated cyanide was toxic for plants.
"You okay, Spaceman?" she asked, placing a tentative hand on his sticky, wet shoulder.
He tensed a fraction at her touch and made no move to look up, "Fine, fine. Nothing a shower and a change of clothes won't fix."
There was an awkward pause. Donna's fingers drifted from his shoulder and she knotted her fingers together to stop herself from fidgeting. Between them they held an awkward silence. The Doctor's stare fixed on a mesmerising pebble while Donna's eyes flitted from rose bush to the back of the Doctor's head in swift rotation until the pressure overwhelmed her.
"Sorry about the… well… the shock."
The words fell from her mouth in stilted awkwardness making the Doctor frown as he tried to process what she had said. As his brain translated the jumble of sound his eyes widened and he lifted his head, making a valiant attempt to replicate his usual carefree demeanour.
"No, honestly, it's fine. Worked well. Nice work, well done!"
He smiled a crooked, genuine, smile and forced himself to stand, regretting the motion as his head swirled.
"You owe me for that one," a nervous laugh pushed its way from Donna's throat and she met his gaze with a mixture of determination and chagrin, "I bloody hate anchovies and now that taste will be on my lips for hours!"
"Sorry," the Doctor smirked an apology as a wave of dizziness roared through his skull, "Next time find something else less salty than salt. What's wrong with bacon? Or a packet of crisps? Peanuts! Ooh, peanuts! They would have been perfect! Protein and salt in one. I should keep a packet in my pocket from now on."
"Next time I'll find another way to surprise you," she countered with a feigned scowl, "I don't make a habit of going round snogging Martians, you know."
The Doctor bit back the witty remark that was forming on the tip of his tongue and instead gave her a smile that thanked and reassured in equal measure. For once Donna said nothing more and simply stepped forward, wrapping him in a hug that was careful to avoided the worst of the ginger beer soaked patches on his jacket. The Doctor looped his arms around her back and felt the tension and adrenalin begin to drain from his muscles.
Donna's grip around him tightened as she muttered into his shoulder, "I thought I was going to lose you, you prawn."
"Never going to happen," he told her with defiance. "Though the alternative to ginger beer is a fermented fruit juice that isn't going to be popular for another 300 years or so."
"Then you better keep a bottle of ginger beer in your never ending pocket as well," Donna laughed.
An icy hand grasped greedily at the Doctor's stomach and he made an involuntary groan, doubling over with pain as he turned from his companion. His knees folded underneath him as the freezing grip twisted his insides, pushing the remnants of his lunch and the unhealthy concoction of salt, nuts and beer into his oesophagus. Donna's arm coiled around his chest and his hands clutched her wrist as she tried to slow his rapid descent towards the floor.
For a moment the pain eased, and he drew a swift breath, turning his head to look at Donna.
"Final stage of detox," he gasped, "It's not going to be pretty."
Donna released him from her protective grip and the Doctor hunched over the low stone wall that surrounded the rose bed just as his stomach constricted again. Despite his waved protestations Donna knelt by his side and gently rubbed his back until he sank onto the soft grass lawn, leaning against the stone wall, exhausted and ashen.
"Remind me never to do a Time Lord detox," Donna quipped and passed him a handkerchief from her purse.
He rolled his eyes and gave a faint smile.
"Is that it? Detox over?"
The Doctor nodded, "Yeah, although you're right about the anchovies. They are going to repeat on me for hours."
"Do you know who poisoned you?" she ventured, "Only, we've got a dinner invitation for tonight, I don't much fancy hors d'oeuvre avec arsenic or gin with a dash of mercury."
"Work in progress," he admitted, "But I'll have a look in the medical store. I think I have some temporary stomach lining pills."
At Donna's disgusted expression he flashed grin in her direction, "It's a diet pill from the 27th century. It coats the throat and stomach in a microscopically thin lining which absorbs the food, wraps it and chemically incinerates the contents. It's the zero calorie diet, works wonders."
She eyed him with suspicion. "And the downside?"
"A serious case of heartburn and… other noxious gases." The Doctor met her eyes, his face deadpan, "They rejected it as a viable product during the clinical trials. The results were positively explosive."
"You better find out who the killer is," Donna groused, "Because if you think I'm taking that you've got another thing coming."
He laughed and bounced to his feet, the colour returning to his cheeks in a visible rush.
"Come on," he said, offering his hand to help her rise from the grass with her dignity intact. "I need a change of clothes before the local insects feed from my suit. We have one wasp to deal with already, we don't need a swarm of them."
Without letting go of her hand the Doctor broke into a run and they headed back to the TARDIS together.
A/N: Thanks for reading. This was just a little something to get me through a rough day. I hope it makes your day a little brighter too.