Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of the characters or ideas thereof, all rights to the BBC and co. No money is made off this fic.
AN: Ee gads, since LJ is being ridiculous, here it is in all its glory. Have at it, my friends.
"You sliced her head open."
The Doctor tried very hard not to sonic the man into the next plain of existence right then, but the thing was, when the TARDIS had dropped him off in this time, in this place, he hadn't expected to find…whatever this was. Sure, he'd gotten excited, then worried when the blip on the screen had indicated another Time Lord. Was it the Master, he'd thought at first. Then he'd had the horrible feeling that it might be Donna, reawakened, and he was going to lose her all over again. And then he hadn't had time to think anymore because the TARDIS had landed on a deserted street in the dead of night and practically ejected him out the door and into the path of this…crazy person. This crazy person he'd never seen before in his life, who happened to have his own Time Lord consciousness rumbling about in his very human mind and yet wasn't being burned to a thousand bits.
He wondered how that one worked, yeah, but he was too busy figuring out that the psycho had stolen the Time Lord from Donna while she slept by slicing her bloody, perfect, beautiful head open. Granted, the man was being perfectly honest about it all, but that didn't exactly make it better, did it? Especially when the man was just standing there, as if he hadn't done anything at all. Was, in fact, acting as though he'd done the Doctor a favor! The Doctor balled his hands into fists and shouted at him, just to make sure the man knew how very angry he was.
"You sliced her head open! Don't you stand there and tell me that it didn't occur to you someone might be positively steamed when they found out."
Sylar smirked at the man in the suit and Converse and shrugged. "What can I say? I couldn't resist."
The Doctor reared back, a look of horror on his face. "You couldn't- oh, you are a sick, sick man."
"So tell me something I don't already know," Sylar replied nonchalantly. His face suddenly changed. "Wait. You think I…oh, no. Not my scene. Although she is rather attractive, but I prefer them short and blonde. Most of the time."
"What?"
"You and she are…aren't you?"
"What!" The Doctor's eyes had gone quite wide.
Sylar almost cringed, remembered he was a psychopathic Time Lord serial murdering special, and smirked again instead.
"And you call me sick," he said and the Doctor narrowed his eyes.
He felt positively enraged in a way he hadn't for a long time and it was lucky, really, because it was what was keeping him going just then- because the knowledge that Donna had been butchered for the very curse he'd given her was making him so sick, so grieved…he took a shuddering breath and a step forward.
"I don't normally like to kill people," he said quietly, "but I think I might be willing to make an exception this one time."
Sylar's eyes didn't widen, narrow, or betray any fear and shock at all. Instead, they sparked a little. Just a tiny flash of interest and excitement at the thought of going head to head with the man before him and the Doctor's brow wrinkled and he felt his upper lip curl up in disgust.
"That's not a good thing for you, right now," he said, trying to impress on the other man that he really meant it this time. And it wasn't exactly like he was out of ideas when it came to taking revenge. The Family of Blood could attest to that. Hmm…perhaps Daughter of Mine could use a playmate. He'd have to remove the Time Lord first, though…maybe trapping it away like he had with Donna? Donna…he felt his hearts clench- skipping beats, both of them- and gave a strangled cry before lifting a hand and pointing at the other man.
"I'll give you one chance," he said softly, controlling his voice.
Sylar couldn't help it, he smirked again and lowered his chin, glowering at the Doctor from beneath thick brows. "One chance? To do what?"
The Doctor stared at him, unblinking for a beat. When he opened his mouth to respond, his voice was icy and dangerous and yet filled with fire.
"Run," he said and Sylar was stunned into silence for three glorious seconds.
And then he started laughing.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said and the Doctor's brow furrowed deeper. Sylar lifted his own hand and pointed as well. "You have no idea who I am. I hope you've got more than that screwdriver- which, by the way, I'm going to pick off your corpse later."
"No," the Doctor replied quite evenly, "I don't think you will."
Sylar's eyes flashed again, but it wasn't with excitement- not that he would admit to being afraid. Ignoring the unusual tremor of emotion, he began to exert his telekinesis, expecting the Doctor to freeze in place.
So when the man started to walk towards him, albeit slowly, he was sort of surprised. Ok, he was really surprised. But he didn't let it bother him any.
"How are you doing that?" he asked curiously and the Doctor paused in his progress and gave him a chilling smile.
"I'm sorry, were you supposed to be doing something to me right now? Is that what that itch a moment ago was?"
"Itch?" Sylar's mouth went dry and he pushed harder. The Doctor kept coming, but he kept talking, too.
"Oh, I felt that one a bit more. Keep trying, maybe you'll get there."
The answer came to Sylar quickly, of course, as he started to actually back away from the other man. Thank the stars for Intuitive Aptitude.
"You're not human, are you," he forced his dry mouth to ask and waited- no, prayed- for the tickle that would tell him the man was lying and that he was just another special. To confirm that this Doctor and his Donna were merely evolved humans who'd fallen in love and made a strange life together.
Nothing happened, of course, except the Doctor being very rude.
"Now you're catching on. Was it the ray-gun that gave it away? The antennae? The green skin?"
"Don't mock me," Sylar warned, but his voice cracked. Just a little, but it still cracked and he was suddenly worried he might pee his pants. He hadn't wet himself since he was much younger, but he knew- he was abruptly certain- that at any moment he was going to be so full of fear he wouldn't know his own name. Oh, fuck. Of all the wonderful abilities to take in the universe, he'd taken the one that had a match, a twin, a mate. He hadn't realized that before. Why hadn't he realized? Was the Time Lord hiding it from him? On purpose? Or was he so overwhelmed with the new ability that he hadn't bothered to read the instruction manual properly? And he'd been having such fun seeing all of time and space that way, too.
Fuck. Claire was always telling him to think before acting. Well, he had this time…just not about the right things, clearly.
"You know," he started to stall, "I didn't know when I took the ability that you were the other half of the equation. I knew you were close to her, I knew you had that TARDIS thing, but I didn't know you were- oh. Oh, that's rich- you're how she got it, aren't you?" Sylar's laughter came back suddenly as his I.A. ferreted out the truth from the ever more reluctant Time Lord rattling about his brain. "You're standing there, angry at me for hurting her when you're the reason she was about to die at any minute? God, why are the heroes always such hypocrites?"
The Doctor couldn't help the guilt that washed over him at Sylar's words, but it only made him angrier.
"I saved her! She was fine-"
"She was about to remember again, no thanks to that mushy letter you sent her. Which, by the way, is what tipped me off about you two."
"What the hell are you talking about?" the Doctor fairly roared and Sylar's mouth went dry again despite his best efforts, but he was still giggling as he answered.
"Are you telling me you don't even realize? For fuck's sake- you're a master of time and space and you don't even know that you're in love with her- not that I encourage being in love, it usually leads to stupid decisions-"
The Doctor moved so quickly he didn't have time to pull one of his other abilities out of his bag of tricks. In fact, at the moment it felt like he didn't even have a bag of tricks. Like he'd left it at home, along with forgetting to unplug the iron. Oh, Claire was going to murder him over this one. If he made it back.
That was one of the perils of picking a fight with a master of time and space, after all, but at least he was immortal and Claire was immortal and they'd have all the time in the world to find one another again after…whatever it was that was going to happen.
Right now it seemed like the Doctor was going to strangle him. He had one hand around Sylar's neck and was lifting him effortlessly off the floor. Sylar struggled for air for one measly second before he saw that it was no use. Instead, he lifted a hand.
"That again? Didn't you learn your lesson already?" the Doctor tutted just before a café chair flew into his back. His hand left Sylar's neck as he was thrown forward and Sylar fell to the ground, immediately struggling to his feet. The Doctor tossed the chair away like it was nothing and looked even more pissed off than before.
"You might not be susceptible to my powers," Sylar rasped out, his voice hoarse before it mended itself, "but nothing else is."
The Doctor ignored the explanation and trained his eyes on Sylar while he rubbed his back. "That hurt," he said, but the look on his face rivaled Sylar's best psychopathic grin and he went on. "But I imagine it hurt when you-" here he choked a little before continuing, "murdered her and since it's my fault she had something you wanted, I suppose that's fair."
Sylar stared at him, nostrils flaring. No wonder this man was so upset about a measly head-slicing. He'd been confused before, but now it was clear: this Doctor somehow wasn't the same one who'd waltzed off with the red-head just days ago. He started to respond. "I don't believe this. Is that what you think really happened-"
"Go on, have another go! I'll give you a free try," the Doctor interrupted,
throwing his arms wide and walking back towards him. "Since you're the one who so kindly pointed out it's not your fault she was so appealing to your murderous tendencies, it's only right."
Sylar felt a flare of panic at the Doctor's approach, tried to stem it, and failed miserably. He gave in to the impulse to fling more items at the man. The Doctor merely waved his screwdriver about and the items dropped to the street harmlessly.
"Oh, I really want that toy now," Sylar breathed without thinking and the Doctor pointed it directly at him.
"I might be able to arrange that," he murmured and then flicked his wrist to the left and right, sonicking the lamp poles to either side of the street, and suddenly waving, crackling lines of electricity shot between them, penning Sylar in, creating a field that arrested his movement completely.
Sylar let one last fearful giggle escape before clamping his mouth shut and he hung there, waiting on the Doctor's discretion.
"What?" the Doctor goaded, "Don't feel like talking just now? Good. Then you can listen to me a little more easily, in that case." He moved casually now, measuring his strides up to the pen, regarding Sylar from beneath a serious brow with painfully deep eyes.
Sylar met his gaze more easily than he thought he would. Perhaps it was because he knew he couldn't die. More likely, though, it was because they were more similar than the man would ever be willing to admit.
As if reading his mind, the Doctor gave a small smile and a sad shrug before his gaze turned steely again.
"Perhaps," he agreed. "But that's really not the point right now. Right now, the point is that you've killed someone I gave up specifically so she could live."
Sylar opened his mouth to speak and the Doctor growled at him, cutting him off.
"You have nothing to say to me!" he barked, his voice commanding and furious. "Your life is worth less than the miserable years you've already spent on this earth and you can not possibly have anything to say to me!"
"Maybe if you'd let me get a word in edgewise," Sylar suggested despite the fact that, as predicted, he felt his bowels attempting to relieve themselves.
The Doctor's face was so full of contempt for him that when he blinked it was as if he was talking. That single blink said mountains. Things like, why are you still here, and, in another minute you won't be, and, I'm not going to lose any sleep over this, and, oh, by the way, you do know I'm a destroyer of worlds, right?
Sylar remembered that he'd spent months as a spineless, douche bag politician and realized he couldn't decide which was worse. Then he remembered Angela Petrelli, and the Carnies, and- dear god- Parkman, and changed his mind. He decided to risk talking.
"In the first place, I didn't kill her."
The Doctor's initial instinct was to throw him against a few walls, or into an event horizon, but he stopped himself.
"You sliced her head open and took her consciousness," he said slowly. "Are you delusional in addition to psychopathic? There's no way anyone could survive that-"
"No! I'm immortal, I have this friend, she-"
"Immortal?" Oh, god, the man was completely psychotic. Donna had been murdered by a mental home escapee. He would never hear the end of this from Wilf or- he choked- Sylvia.
"Let me put it in terms you can understand," Sylar replied. "I- we- regenerate."
"That's ridiculous."
"But not impossible," Sylar ground out. He was finally getting the hand of this Time Lord bit. "Figure it out. You've seen the impossible happen again and again all over the universe. You know how evolution works."
"Yes, and I've read the X-Men," the Doctor replied wryly, crossing his arms. "My favorite's Jean Grey. Who's yours?" he mocked. Unfortunately for Sylar, the shift of the Doctor's arms didn't affect the force-field, which stayed in place. Sylar decided to stop talking and let the Doctor's brain catch up. Time Lords, it seemed, didn't have I.A. They had A.D.I.A.. Bet they were a treat in school. He wondered briefly if Gallifrey had encouraged medicating the ones like the Doctor. (He also wondered who the hell even liked Jean Grey anymore.)
He tried not to smirk at his own jokes and failed, as usual. The Doctor turned up the setting on the force-field and returned Sylar's sudden wince with a smirk of his own even though it was clear from the look in his eyes that he was suddenly working everything out. Removing the Time Lord, regeneration…
"You still sliced her head open," he said coolly and Sylar rolled his eyes even though the circulation to his extremities was getting worse. The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "So, you expect me to believe that you sliced her open so you could remove the problem and fix it so she'd have her memories and increased brain capacity, but without the meta-crisis, and then healed her up and now she's bouncing around, perfectly fine, same old Donna, not traumatized by your digging about in her brain at all, because, oh, did I forget to mention, you sliced her head open," he finished, his voice positively feral.
"There were a few things I figured she could do without, too," Sylar amended, ignoring the rising emotions- namely, his own fear- as best he could. "The formula for life, the chain of amino acids for curing Slitheen chicken pox, the ability to tango. You know. Just useless stuff." Not that Claire had found his new talent for the tango useless. Not that he'd found it useless with her...the Doctor spoke again.
"She knew how to tango?"
Sylar ignored that and tried to shift in his electrical bonds. He was rewarded with a singed inseam for his efforts and looked pained. "Can you let me go now?"
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"You're the telepath, for fuck's sake," Sylar grumbled. "Why don't you dig around in my mind?" He was having trouble feeling his arms, now. That probably wasn't good. Not if the force-field was impeding his regeneration.
The Doctor raised a brow and his mouth twisted into a cool sneer as well. "No thanks," he said. "I really don't fancy plying the layers of the mess you've got in there."
"Turn about's fair play?" Sylar mumbled as his increasingly low oxygen levels depleted the ability to articulate words properly.
"Was that supposed to entice me to dig about in there anyway?" the Doctor asked disbelievingly.
"You…are…bonkers," Sylar sighed as he felt darkness starting to overtake him. He was pretty sure that dripping sensation on his chin was a nose bleed, too. Great. And this shirt was dry-clean only.
"Excuse me?" That angry tone was back in the Doctor's voice and Sylar managed to open one eye and roll it about at him.
"You heard me, space boy."
The Doctor was before him in a flash and his hands were at Sylar's face, fingers along his cheeks and temples before the serial killer could register the movement. Not that he was registering much of anything just then. Which was probably why Donna's speech patterns were taking over.
And suddenly, in the blink of a time-space continuum, the Doctor could see everything. Saw Sylar hearing from someone about a woman with amazing abilities, then tracking down her down, waiting for the Time Lord to awake, taking the so-called power- the energy that would mean her destruction- and setting her memories and everything else to right, leaving a harmless intellect and savvy fashion sense…wait a minute.
The Doctor flushed and shied away from Donna's choices of lingerie. He chose not to wonder why Sylar had copied those bits, although he couldn't decide if he was angrier over Sylar ogling Donna that way or the presumed head-slicing.
I thought you said she wasn't your type, the Doctor said, remarkably calm.
Sylar tastefully decided not to answer that and the Doctor went further. He saw Sylar arguing with a short blonde, who finally huffed and injected Donna with something. Then they were putting her head back together, the wound was healing itself, and her heart was starting again. He saw her coming to life, waking up from what she thought was just a dream. Saw Sylar watching her from the shadows of a nearby yard to make sure she was ok and tenderly taking the hand of the girl next to him-
"Oh, now that's interesting," the Doctor murmured.
A brick wall slammed down, knocking the Doctor out of his mind.
"You've seen enough," Sylar said and the Doctor stood back, regarding him quietly for a long moment, then spoke.
"I suppose I have," he acknowledged. "You didn't just do it for her supposed power- which, by the way, we need to have a serious discussion about because it really isn't what you think it is and it was very, very stupid to think you could get away with stealing something like that- but I imagine you figured that out by now." He paused to breathe and Sylar sort of wished he was dead already. Did the man not know when to stop talking or was he just that full of himself? And if they were so similar, was that what Sylar sounded like sometimes? No wonder Claire lost her temper with him so often. With some effort he refocused on the Doctor, who was still rambling away.
"…but that can wait for the moment." The Doctor fixed a steady, terrifying gaze on him. "For now, why don't I give you the chance to explain yourself- and, oh, it had better be good because you might not have left her that way, but you killed her with what you did and when it comes to Donna," he went on, stepping forward again, gripping Sylar's now bloody shirt front and jerking him down to his level, "dead for even one second is never, ever going to be ok."
Sylar was reticent and the Doctor shook him a little. We-ell...a lot. In fact, Sylar may have whimpered, but the Doctor really wasn't concerned with his comfort just then.
"I have all of time and space to wait for your answer," the Doctor reminded him and Sylar finally managed to respond.
"I can barely breathe right now and you want answers?"
"Oh. Right, sorry." With a wave of the sonic, the lights went back to normal, the energy zipping away and leaving Sylar to fall to the ground. He knelt on the pavement, taking big gulps of air as his body readjusted and began to heal itself.
"Talk," the Doctor said and Sylar knew it was an order, because the unspoken half of the sentence was, or else I'm going to kick your arse and trust me, it's going to hurt because I really hate having to kick people's arses so when I do, I'm in a terrible mood already. And you do not want to see me in a terrible mood, earth boy.
Sylar couldn't help wondering what the Doctor called his mood now if it wasn't terrible and shuddered a little. Then he decided to talk. He glanced up from kneeling on the ground and massaged his throat a little, gingerly prodding it, hoping he could still talk.
"Alright, yes, in the last year since I…since we…never mind. You clearly don't care about the details." He started over and the Doctor was blessedly quiet, allowing him to gather his thoughts. "For the last year I've been finding specials and helping them- at least, helping the ones who don't want their abilities. I'm an empath, too, so usually I don't have to slice heads open. But for some of the specials, the ones who don't want help but need it, I still have to use it. Claire-"
"The short blonde," the Doctor provided and Sylar scowled at him.
"Her," he agreed. "She's…I have her ability, but she comes along because I…don't really like needles."
"You slice people's heads open," the Doctor pointed out and Sylar rubbed the back of his neck, glaring at the pavement before him.
"It's a long story. So she's the one who usually donates to save their lives when I do have to cut them open. Which doesn't happen a lot, anymore, ok?" he said sharply as he sensed the Doctor growing angry again. "I already told you, I save them afterwards. All of them."
"You still enjoy it," the Doctor replied and Sylar winced.
"Yeah, well, no one's offered to fix me, so I'm stuck with my little quirks, alright?"
The Doctor's face might've softened for a millisecond and he took a step forward again.
"Get back to Donna," he said and Sylar glanced at him, caught his eye.
"I thought I'd be helping her," he said. "We found her on a list from this…company. Said strange things had happened to her from time to time, so Claire and I came over to investigate. We got someone to run some tests, telling her it was for a physical, and got the information we needed. We were just going to wait, at first, try it the empathic way, because the situation seemed delicate, but then she got that letter and so we had to rush the process along-"
"You keep talking about a letter. What letter?"
"Plain white envelope. From John Smith- that's an original alias, by the way. Sent it for her wedding." Sylar gave him a sharp look. "Don't you remember?"
"I send her a letter? She's getting married?" The Doctor's brow furrowed as he tried to work it out.
"How can you not know- oh. Time Lord."
"Yeah, wibbly-wobbly-"
"Timey-wimey-"
"Stuff," the Doctor finished. His face relaxed rather abruptly. "It would appear that I've managed to cross my own time line again. Mixed up events a bit."
Sylar shrugged. He was no stranger to the idea. "It happens," he said and the Doctor favored him with a rueful grin.
"Oh, how it does," he agreed. Then he rubbed his cheek and screwed his mouth up as he thought. "So, she gets married?"
Sylar smirked. "That was the plan, yes."
"I suppose I'd better go make sure that letter gets sent, then," the Doctor said, completely missing the point, as he usually did when it came to matters like these. "What do you think? Should I include some cash?"
"A check might be nice," Sylar responded and the Doctor nodded thoughtfully.
"You may be right. What year was this? 2010?"
"When we-"
"When you killed her, yes."
"We brought her back!"
The Doctor fixed a steely gaze on him, all his relaxed, good humor gone. "Yes, that remains to be seen. Minds lie all the time, after all. Don't think this absolves you of your wrong doing, Gabriel Gray. I'm going to check on it, don't worry, but before I do any of that, I'm going fix you- like you requested earlier."
"Fix me?" Sylar's mouth went dry for the second time that night. His eyes widened. "You don't mean- I didn't request-"
"It's got to go, Gabriel. I'm sorry, but it was never yours to have."
Sylar scrambled up and took a few unsteady steps back. "You can't," he hissed.
"Oh, I can," the Doctor replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And I will. Besides, you're right. No one should have to suffer whatever it was that made you this way."
"It was bad genetics that made me, as you so eloquently put it," Sylar spat, feeling like a caged animal and hating every second. He'd been one so many times before, after all.
"No," the Doctor corrected, "it was death. It was absent parents. It was lack of love." He gazed sadly at the other man. "It was loneliness."
Sylar felt his heart squeezed tight and dashed away the sudden tears that rose to his eyes.
"Shut up!" he growled and it turned into a scream as the Doctor approached him. "Just shut up!"
"Gabriel," the Doctor shushed him and then he was standing right before Sylar and placing his fingers along the other man's face and stealing into his mind.
"No," Sylar moaned. "Please, your Donna- you can't do that to me- the real reason I had to help her…it's because I have someone like that."
The Doctor pulled away some, his face wary. "Like what?"
"Like how Donna is to you," Sylar begged, unable to help the tears streaming down his face because he knew that if the Doctor messed with his head it wouldn't be like Parkman. It wouldn't be healed by his regenerative ability, or a well-meaning special, or his own murderous tendencies. If the Doctor did what he meant to, there would be no coming back. "I had to help her," he went on, "because I know what life is like, without that person. You can't wipe my memories, please. Please. I need her. I can't ever forget her."
"Claire?" the Doctor questioned and Sylar closed his eyes, his lashes wet, his nose running.
"Yes," he whispered. " She's my Donna."
There was a beat of silence.
"Please don't take that away."
The Doctor settled his fingers back against Sylar's face and his brown orbs swirled with grief and conflict, purpose and compassion.
"Oh, Gabriel. I wasn't going to," he murmured, "and I never would."
Then he closed his ancient eyes and Sylar registered one blissful moment of relief before he knew no more.
Donna saw the flash of brown hair and knew immediately it was him, and he was spying on her after she'd specifically made him promise not to follow her about while she did her shopping. It was a surprise, after all, or meant to be one, what she was getting today. She tried to- unsuccessfully- hide her basket behind her back as she approached his tall, slender figure that was currently turned, back towards her, as he was pretending to investigate some apples.
"Aren't you supposed to be in the TARDIS right now, hmm?" she demanded and he jumped and whirled about. She pursed her lips and raised a brow at him and that cheeky grin descended upon his face, except it was laced with…what? Concern? Relief?
"Doctor?" she questioned. "Are you feelin' alright? Is something the matter, is that why you're here?"
His eyes drank her in like she was an oasis and she frowned as those lovely eyes swept all over her, lingering on the hand that was trying to keep the basket pushed behind her. His eyes dimmed some at whatever he'd seen and she glanced down at the hand quickly to see if there was something suddenly the matter with it. Nope, still pale, still delicately structured with a fabulous manicure, still boasting that lovely, honking stone she'd bought herself at their last stop. Who knew that beneath the frozen tundra of the Ood Sphere lay their livelihood in the form of singing opals? They'd wanted to just give her one, of course, but she couldn't accept it and had insisted on paying them…and it rested on her ring finger now only because she needed to have it resized.
It was sparkling a bit more than usual, though it was only humming. She could feel the vibrations running up her finger and was about to ask the Doctor if he could feel it too when she realized that right past her hand was a view of the bananas in her basket. She looked back up at him.
"No peeking!" she said and wedged the basket further behind her back. He frowned this time.
"I'm sorry?"
"Spoilers," Donna sang and the Doctor's brows arched to rival hers. "Oi," she said softly, feeling rather concerned all of a sudden, "what's the matter, really?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," the Doctor replied, that awkward, I'm-attempting-to-reassure-you grin back in place. "I just- I had to make sure you're ok." Right, which was why he was tearing up and his hearts were racing. She was here, she knew him, and she wasn't in danger of burning alive. He swallowed hard.
"Doctor…" Donna caught her breath as she eyed him and then, before she knew what was happening, he'd swept her up into a huge hug with his arms enveloping her completely and his face buried in her neck. She indulged him for a few seconds, but it was the grocery store after all, and people were starting to stare.
"Doctor," she whispered, her face a bright pink. "You can let go. Not like we're not gonna see each other later, spaceman."
The Doctor stiffened, then abruptly pulled away.
"We are? But what about…wait- we are?" he asked again and Donna smiled indulgently.
"Yeah, unless you were planning on taking off again for another five-minutes-come-two days' jaunt." She gasped and took a step back, horror on her face. "That's it, isn't it? You're acting all funny because you've gotta go out of the blue. What happened? Distress signal? Worlds to save? And why in hell wouldn't you let me come along? I know you're feeling protective since I came back, but really, this has got to stop, Doctor. I ain't a bleeding china doll, exactly, am I?"
The Doctor's eyes went wide and then his brows drew together and he stared at her in consternation.
"What? I haven't- oh." He stopped and his brows went up and down a few more times. "Oh," he repeated a moment later. He stared hard at Donna. "I've got to go. I'll…see you in a bit, I expect." Then he grinned madly, all trace of regret and confusion gone, and hugged her tightly once more.
Donna was starting to get good and riled. She shoved him away.
"Oi! Watch it, Sunshine. If you don't tell me what's going on right this instant-" She stopped short and her eyes suddenly widened in a comical repeat of his own actions a moment ago. "No," she said, her jaw dropping as she finally took him in properly and her mind played catch-up. A second later, a look of fury descended and warred with fond exasperation. The fury won. "You!" she exclaimed and the Doctor began to back away, one eyebrow arched, the grin gone and replaced with a panicked look overlaid heavily by giddy joy.
"Me," he responded apologetically and Donna advanced where he retreated.
"You weren't wearing that tie earlier," she said.
"Wasn't I?" he asked and she pointed a finger at his ensemble, gesturing with the shaking digit.
"Or that suit, that shirt, and you definitely didn't have blood on your hands."
The Doctor inspected his hands and realized they did indeed still have Sylar's blood on them. Bugger.
"And you were wearing cologne."
His brow furrowed and he looked genuinely at a loss for a moment. "I was?"
"Trust me, spaceman. I noticed," Donna responded, pressing her lips together and continuing towards him. He grimaced and shrugged.
"Right. We-ell. Really gotta go now, I'm afraid. See you later Donna. Glad you're alright."
She marched towards him and he attempted one last disarming smile to no avail, turned tail, and ran.
"Doctor!" Donna yelled. "You get back here right now!"
"Lovely bunch of bananas!" he sang back to her, waving a hand in the air in farewell. "Looking forward to those!"
Donna would've run after him, but she hadn't paid for the bananas yet and so she couldn't exactly leave the store with them in hand. She considered dropping them for a moment, but they really were a lovely bunch and she'd so been looking forward to those splits for his surprise…and the daiquiris...and the milkshakes. Oh, hell.
She turned back to the store and made her way to the queue. She could make him pay first and apologize with the fruit later. It made about as much sense as anything else in her life did, anymore. Maybe even more sense than the fact that she was shacking up- platonically, of course- with a man she called her best mate and yet noticed every detail about what he wore, loved to make him his favorite foods, and couldn't get enough of his embraces when he wore cologne.
Life was bonkers, pretty much. Just like the Doctor. And if it wasn't, well. It was going to be, just as soon as she got out of this queue. With a sigh, Donna hefted her basket and began piling her items on the belt, impatiently awaiting her turn.
She suddenly felt positively indignant over the whole thing, as though she'd been waiting her turn an awfully long time when it came to the Doctor and she wondered if he'd noticed…
The clerk greeted her, tearing Donna from her thoughts and she smiled blandly as she passed her card along the machine and the clerk rang up her items. Revenge still foremost on her mind, she stalked from the shop, bags in hand, and made her way to where she knew the TARDIS was parked.
Oh, the Doctor was in for a treat, alright, but just then it had absolutely nothing to do with that lovely bunch of bananas.