Okay, so I decided to do a little sweet Jenny x Jack. Because the pairing's awesome. Even if you hate it, give the fic a go, please?

In Which There Is Far Too Much Shopping

"A wedding! We've got to go, Doctor! Oh, I've got to get a dress! Let's go shopping!"

The Doctor pulled a face. "Can't you just pick one out of the wardrobe?"

Donna looked at him as if he'd slapped her. "How dare you say something like that?"

"What?"

"A woman can't wear a recycled dress to a wedding!"

"But-"

"And you, you're not wearing that ridiculous coat!"

"I-"

Donna gave him a piercing glare. The Doctor raised his hands in defeat and started manipulating the TARDIS controls.

--

Now, I suppose it's time for me to let you know what this was all about. For that, we must go back about an hour or so (It's hard, of course, to keep track in a time machine). Donna had been in her room, and the Doctor had been playing about with the control panel when a mobile phone rang. No, sorry, that's almost correct. His mobile phone rang. The one that Martha had given him.

"Hello?" he'd ask, jumping to his feet and answering it almost at once.

"Doctor?"

"Martha!"

"Listen, I can't be on for long, but I had to invite you. Tom and I are getting married!"

"Yes, I know." The Doctor replied. He raised his eyebrows, even though she couldn't see. He already knew she was engaged. She had been for over a year.

"No, you idiot, I mean tomorrow!"

"What?"

"Yes, that's right, tomorrow."

"Oh. And…"

"And I want you and Donna to come."

"Oh. Err…when's tomorrow?"

Martha told him the date, then ended the call, finishing it with a "And don't you dare not show up!"

"What's going on?" demanded a voice from behind the Doctor. He turned around and saw a ginger woman with a demanding expression on her face.

"Eh…Martha just phoned. She's getting married."

The squeal that came from Donna at that moment was what the Doctor described later as 'louder that a Cancao meeting a Cancion on the planet Aria!'

This expression had meant nothing to Donna, but she'd slapped him anyway.

--

And so, that's how the Doctor and Donna ended up strolling through the High Street, looking for a dress for Donna. Or, more accurately, this is how the Doctor ended up being dragged against his will in and out of every single wedding, dress, formal wear and even charity shop looking for a dress for Donna.

"I think Martha said she wanted it to be green for you." The Doctor remembered in the eighteenth – or was it maybe nineteenth? – shop.

"Why?" Donna asked, surprised.

"She wants you to be a bridesmaid."

Donna stood still. Then she turned, slowly and deliberately, to where to Doctor was standing. "What did you say?"

The Doctor repeated himself.

"Why didn't you mention it before?!" Donna yelled. A few people in the small wedding boutique looked at her nervously.

"Alright, I'm sorry." The Doctor said hastily, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

"You aliens!" Donna huffed, turning back to the rail. "Idiots, all of you."

"You humans." The Doctor retorted under his breath "Nutters, the whole bunch of you."

--

"Come on, Donna!" The Doctors patience finally snapped in the fifty third shop they visited – or maybe sixty third, he'd lost count a long time ago.

"Be patient!" Donna snapped back from the changing room.

"I've been patient all day!" The Doctor replied.

Donna exited the changing room, wearing a green dress and ignoring his previous comment. "What do you think?"

"You look lovely." said the Doctor, truthfully enough. The dress was nice. "Can we go?"

"Are you joking? I've still got three more to try, and then we're looking for something for you."

"I've got a suit for special occasions." The Doctor replied hastily.

"Well, in that case, I've got more time to try on dresses! And then, maybe, some new jewellery? You know, a nice necklace, earrings, that sort of thing. And, I was thinking, I should get my hair done as well. Yeah, we'll do that." Donna said, eyes sparkling.

"We haven't got forever!" The Doctor complained.

Donna leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Time machine."

The Doctor groaned audibly.

--

The Doctor felt this close from being really, really annoyed with Donna. They'd visited ten more shops after the one where the above discussion took place, making it either sixty three or seventy three shops they'd visited that day. Or indeed it could have been one hundred and three. That's what it felt like anyway.

But that wasn't why the Doctor was this close to causing a very angry scene in the streets of London. No, what the Doctor was almost angry about was that Donna had decided on a dress. From the very first shop they visited.

Not only that. Oh no, not only that.

She'd also chosen the very first dress she'd tried on.

--

"Angela!"

"Donna!"

The Doctor shuffled into the hairdressers behind his ginger haired companion and hoped she didn't try to get him a haircut too.

Angela, the young blonde hairdresser, looked at the Doctor critically. "Is this the latest catch then Donna?" she asked, sitting Donna down in a chair and looking for her scissors. "Better looking than that Lance thing."

The Doctor started singing a song with the Spiderman theme tune quietly at the sound of Lance's name. "Spiderman, Spiderman, just don't drink the co-off-ee!"

Donna gave him a glare. He shut up.

"Bit scrawny, though." Angela continued. "And that hair of his needs a good trim."

"We're not together." Donna said quickly, in a voice that plainly said "Don't insult me like that!"

The Doctor pretended to pretend to look upset.

"Oh. What's his name then?"

"He's the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Exactly." The Doctor said cheerfully, and before Angela could ask any more questions, he said "Right, Donna, I'm going home. Don't be too long!"

He left the shop.

Angela looked at Donna. "'Home?' You're living together! Yet you're not dating? You little liar!"

Donna sighed. "Trust me, Angie. You don't want to know."

The Doctor says that Spiderman isn't his and not mine either, even though we made the song brilliant.

By the way, Donna says she's gonna take you all shopping too if you don't review.