It had taken Donna several months to get used to some of the Doctor's… less human customs. In her defence, he was really quite an odd person, with an odd ship and an odd existence. That wasn't to say she didn't like it, because she did, of course, more than most other things. But now that her life was so full of major oddities—like Ood, and Sontarans, and a living ship with a tendency to rearrange her stuff whenever it didn't like where she'd put it—she found that the little oddities had begun to escape her notice.
Like now. Though she and the Doctor had already been in the theatre room for about an hour, watching a movie that hadn't come out yet, she'd only just noticed that they were sitting… well, close. Quite close. She had an arm loosely around his shoulders and he was leaning a good portion of his weight on her, which was squishing her into the armrest (she had already complained about this at length). He was stealing handfuls of popcorn out of the bowl on her lap, and had been steadily sliding down the couch because he'd put his plimsoll-clad feet up on the coffee table. It hit her that this was probably why everyone assumed they were a couple.
Now, Donna did love her spaceman, of course, but she had no desire to be in a relationship with him. Though the Doctor insisted otherwise, she thought she might've been ruined for relationships by the Lance incident, at least for a little while. They were friends, and that was all. But… they did walk arm-in-arm a lot, and they did hold hands a lot, and they held each other far more than a pair of friends probably should. Like now.
Oh God, had they become a couple?
"Hey Doctor?" she said, hoping she sounded relatively casual.
He hummed in response, keeping his eyes on the movie.
"Are we… friends?"
That got his attention. "Of course we are," he frowned. "Why?"
Donna cursed her gob. "No, that's not what–" She sighed. "I mean, we said no mating, right? You don't want… that. Right?"
"No, no, not really. No offence," he added hastily. "I'm sure you'd be a perfectly adequate significant other."
"Oh, thanks," she said drily.
The Doctor chose to ignore her sarcasm, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face. "Why, what's brought this on?"
She thought, belatedly, that she might've made a mistake. All in all it was a pretty stupid thing to worry about. But it was too late now, she supposed.
"Well, just… look." She glanced down at them, and his eyes followed.
"Look at what?" he asked.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"Us! We look like a couple!"
He looked down again, then back to her face, his head tilted quizzically. "But we aren't."
"No, we aren't."
"So we aren't, then."
"Nope."
"Donna, I don't understand," he said. He looked genuinely baffled. "Do you not like this? I can stop, I don't mind, really."
He was already in the process of sitting up and moving away, so she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"No, it's fine."
"Just fine?"
"Alright, I like it," she admitted. "I do. But you have to admit, it's a bit… odd."
"It is?" Suddenly the Doctor's eyes widened, as if in realization, and he drew back further. "Oh. Right. No, yeah, of course." He cleared his throat. "Course it's odd. Completely unwarranted."
They were both silent for an unusually uncomfortable moment, looking down at their (now) well-separated laps.
Then the Doctor glanced up, and blurted, "Are we, though? Friends, I mean."
Donna got the sense that his question did not hold the same hidden meaning as hers. "Yeah, of course we are. Best friends."
"Best friends," he agreed. He nodded a few times, and squinted, confused. "But that means we're close, right?"
"I'd say so," said Donna. "I leave my bedroom door open. Never done that before."
"I hadn't noticed, honestly. I would leave my door open, see, but I've temporarily converted it to an herb garden and it needs to be temperature-controlled right now."
She sighed. "Of course you have."
"So then why is it odd that we sit close by?"
Now Donna was sure that they weren't quite on the same page. "Because," she enunciated, "this is what people who are dating do. And we aren't. So it's a bit odd."
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. But is it alright?"
"Yeah."
"Well, okay then." He smiled, seemingly satisfied with this conclusion, and wriggled back to his spot at her side.
Donna returned her arm to around his shoulders with a skeptical look. She was not as satisfied, and was beginning to feel a bit run in circles. "What did you think I meant?" she asked.
The Doctor stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "'S not important," he mumbled.
"Oh, c'mon," she wheedled. "I already know you're a daft old alien, you can't save face around me."
He smiled again, perhaps a little sadder this time, and glanced down at his lap. She sensed a change in the atmosphere, and the teasing look slipped from her face.
After a moment, he said, "I forget, sometimes, what different lives we've led."
"Sap," said Donna.
"Oh yes," he agreed. "But, in all fairness, you lot—humans, I mean, twenty-first century humans—are very strange. You have this perturbing tendency to interpret every display of physical affection as a demonstration of romantic or– or sexual interest, and, well, that can't possibly be enjoyable. Or healthy. Makes no sense, if you ask me. Mind, our way of doing things wasn't much better in many, many ways, but at least the Time Lords had that going for 'em."
She thought back on the Doctor's behaviour over the time she'd been travelling with him. "You're saying you don't see this sort of thing–" she gestured between them with her free hand– "as romantic?"
"It can be," he said. "But it doesn't have to be, not by default." He went quiet for a moment, as if debating whether to continue, then decided in favour. "See, we were an odd people," he began, quieter than before. She might've said he sounded almost reverent, except that she knew him.
"We were a naturally social species, like you, so reliant on each other that we evolved touch-based telepathy, but we were such… bloody control freaks, that we suppressed it. Created an extremely insular society, full of even more insular people. Imagine that," he chuckled. "An entire planet of stuck-up spoilsports. And me, trapped in there! But anyways, telepathic contact was considered an incredibly intimate act, whether or not it was romantic, and physical contact by extension. It was a show of trust and– and vulnerability, to offer that to another being. No dating required and, in fact, most of us had little interest in those sorts of things, emotional repression aside. To us… to me, rather… physical contact doesn't always have to be about romance or sex. Just…" He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Well, love. Affection. That's all."
"Are you saying you love me?" Donna asked teasingly. Her tone was light, but she knew he was being completely serious. For once. And she was touched by it.
The Doctor blushed, clearly uncomfortable with the immediate implications of what he'd said. But he faced it—for once—and mumbled, "Of course I do. You know that. And I understand that you humans don't tend to value platonic relationships as much as others, but I'll have you know that I do. You are very important to me, Donna Noble, and I'm a bit rubbish at doing things the human way but—as long as you're okay with it, of course—I quite like doing it this way." He cleared his throat, awkwardly avoiding her gaze, and nodded to punctuate his speech.
He needn't have worried, because Donna realized, then, that he was absolutely right: if hugging and holding hands and cuddling on the couch meant they had to be dating by human standards, then sod humanity. He was perhaps the best friend she'd ever had. She cared for him very much, and she was hardly adverse to his tactility. Actually, she quite enjoyed it. If he liked to show his affection through touch then she had no problem with that.
"Oh, you idiot," she murmured. "So when I said it was strange, that we did this, you thought I meant because we weren't as close as you thought."
He blushed a bit harder. "I know, I know. Daft old alien, indeed."
"Yep," she said, wrapping her other arm around his front to pull him closer. She felt him relax into her arms, exhaling in relief as he moved to hug her back. "And by the way, I love you too. You're just as important to me as any stupid bloke I've ever dated, always will be. And," she added, "I think I prefer your way as well. It's nice. Who cares if people think we're a couple?"
"Historically, both of us," he pointed out. "But it is a bit funny, don't you think? They all reach the same conclusion, every time."
"Definitely funny."
"It's their way of coping with our incredibly inappropriate hand-holding."
She laughed, realizing that somehow, on some level, he was right. "Blimey, humans can be just–"
"Oh yes," he agreed. Then he shrugged. "But not all of you."
Donna smiled, resting her head on his shoulder and reaching down to fish for some popcorn as they returned their attention to the movie. Sometimes, she supposed, in some very rare cases, the Doctor might actually be the lesser oddity of the two of them.
Like now.
She was alright with that. They made an odd pair either way.