Title: In the Landscape
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Adventure, H/C, a bit of romance
Length: 2,700/48,000
Disclaimer: I really don't own them. I'm late to the game and only playing in the Beebs sandbox.
Summary: A redirected trip throws Donna into the limelight as she has to rescue the Doctor from telepathic aliens, only to learn there's more going on here than just a simple invasion. As she and the Doctor work through time to free the planet from the invaders, it soon becomes clear that things aren't exactly what they seem.
Author's Notes: Ah, at long last, I am ready to begin posting! Honestly, I've been editing this bit by bit, but am hoping comments will get me to really dig deep and finish the edits! The entire fic is finished, though, so no worries about starting to read it and never getting a conclusion - I'll be posting weekly until I get further in with the edits, and then every few days or so.
Total number of chapters is an estimate. I'm figuring each will be around 2,000 - 3,000 words, and as the whole thing is 48,000 words...well, you get the picture!
Eternal gratitude to Beth for holding my hand, answering old!who questions, and generally being awesome.
The room is so small, she's sure it passes for the intergalactic version of a broom closet.
Huddled against something she'd rather not see, Donna pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, hands clasped together to keep her in as small a ball. As her eyes adjust to the what little light escapes under the door, shadows are cast by passing feet, and she pinches her eyes closed so she can live in denial for a few seconds longer. When silence falls, Donna lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding and lifts a hand to smooth damp hair from her face. She feels mud under her hand, slick as it slides across her skin, and she suddenly needs to be clean; she frantically scrubs her cheeks clean with the sleeve of her jacket.
The corduroy is rough against her face. Donna wipes a few more times, then lets her arms fall limply to her sides, hands hitting the cold concrete (or whatever the alternative and sci-fi-sounding name it may have here). A sob bubbles up, and she chokes it back, hoping to stay quiet, stay hidden.
Oh, God, what is she going to do?
Not the time to break down, Donna, she tells herself. Straightening with new resolve, Donna wills herself to stop crying and gather her wits — something tells her she's the only one with any left.
Edging towards the door, she puts her ear against it and wishes for the Doctor's stethoscope because her human hearing is apparently rubbish, when compared to, oh, every other species out there. Really. The humans-are-adorable-and-harmless bit is wearing just a tad thin, this latest trip really rubbing her the wrong way. Yes, humans, from her century, have yet to pass the moon. Yes, she only has one heart and normal hearing and an apparently limited view of the light spectrum. But humans are creative and courageous and make bloody good tea, thank you very much! She's perfectly capable of figuring out where she is and how to get the fuck out of there all on her own. It wasn't as if the Doctor discovered her on Earth unable to do anything on her own! No, she had a good thirty-five years under her belt and screw him!
Donna cocks her head to the side, wishing her mobile had a record function on it, because this is great stuff for when she finds him and gives him a piece of her mind.
That is, if her mobile weren't currently sitting on her nightstand back in the TARDIS.
Well, it isn't as though she can use it, anyway. What would she do? Call her mother? Yes, Mum, I'm currently hiding in a broom closet on Trafalgar Seven and was wondering if you could spare an hour to come fetch me? Mind the psychic guards and big trolls. Thanks a bunch!
Ha! Her mother was more likely to help her here than back in London! Honestly. One car accident and she's suddenly person-non-grada!
Though that whole square in London sharing the name with a system of planets thing had thrown her for a loop. Which wasn't a common occurrence for her, at least not anymore.
Back to listening. Donna can't make out anything, which either means she's clear to dash to another hiding spot, or someone out there is being very, very quiet. She banks on a bit of good luck hanging around her and edges the door open a few inches to look out down one side of the hallway.
No one.
Confidence growing, she opens the door wider and sticks her head out, looking down the other side, and, thankfully, finds herself alone. The light is grey, if that's even possible — low against once-white walls — and lends itself to shadows. Donna closes the door and shucks her jacket; there you go, random Trafalgarian, you now have an Earth original to compliment your wardrobe! She drops her vest second, and considers losing the belt around her waist, but keeps it on, just in case. The end is heavy and metal and could be used to crack a skull or two. Goosebumps crawl up her arms and under the hem of the t-shirt's sleeves, but she ignores them. She can move faster this way, and is less apt to get snagged on anything during her heroic rescue operation.
While the Trafalgarians themselves are more like giant trolls, with the brainpower to match, they're no longer in charge, here. It's the invading force with psychic abilities that are the ones she really has to look out for. They can sense the presence of a sentient mind, and hers must feel different than that of the natives. The Doctor's apparently stuck out so severely, they were on to him five minutes from the TARDIS, kicking and shouting the whole way. Donna isn't quite sure what they want him for — they communicate telepathically, which leaves her in the dark — but finds she doesn't really care. Whatever they want with him, they can do without.
With a self-directed nod, Donna slides out of the room, careful to close the door quietly behind her. Maybe this is one of those times her humanness will work for her — maybe they won't even be able to find her because they sure as hell weren't able to communicate with her. Just shoved her in a cell and wandered off, forgetting to even lock the door. Yeah. Donna, human, harmless isn't really her style.
She goes right and walks for a few minutes before coming to a junction. There are, bless their freaky, silent hearts, actual signs posted, and the TARDIS is still translating for her, which means the Doctor has to still be alive. It comes as a relief, but if she's honest, the alternative hadn't even entered her mind. Going down the options, Donna hopes Medical is where he is, or may be in the future, because Jail was a bust. She spent fifteen minutes wandering around the small space before being sure she hadn't missed him.
Taking a left, she walks along the edge of the hallway, hoping the shadows created by slightly-curving walls will give her some cover as she moves about the complex. She hasn't seen any elevators and feels like she's moving about in a sprawling, flat maze of tunnels. They're not quite square but not quite oval, with bulkheads every so often that she has to step up and over. At times, it's claustrophobic and completely disorienting, but for those signs and the doors she passes. She's only assuming they're doors; the walls have seams but no handles, only touch plates that are too clean to be regularly used.
She's far from the action, by the looks of things. The service entrance.
It's been ten minutes since she last saw a troll, and the lack of foot traffic worries her. But it could be a weekend. That would explain the smaller number of beings she's seen, and hopes this is true. A weekend breakout she can handle. A weekday-yet-at-lunch one would be stretching her abilities just a bit.
Then again, she's taken on Sontarans.
She hits another junction, checks the signs, and continues on. The lights here are a bit brighter, and the sounds of beings moving about begin to echo through the halls. Donna keeps an eye out, neck beginning to ache from turning around to check behind her every five seconds, and notes how many doors are down this section of hallway. Temping at so many offices keeps her grounded — this is just another new job, she tells herself, and you're looking to find a plaster for a paper cut.
Donna smiles, holding in the giggle at the last moment.
Clobbering footsteps sound from around the corner, and she quickly ducks into the first door she finds. The lights are off, and with a frantic look around, eyes wild and wide, finds herself alone. Trafalgarians walk past, but she's more interested in the lab space she's wandered into. Moving further into the room, Donna hopes for a computer or something that can give her an idea of the building's layout. There's got to be a map, one of those In Case of Emergency deals every workplace has to have, right?
Skimming the walls, she lets out a little hoot of glee when she finds one, and yanks the thing clear off the wall before rushing back to the door to study it. The light from a little window set into the door is dim, but she can see enough — a few more turns, and she'll be at Medical.
But the building is larger than she thought, and she's moving closer to the center of operations with every step. There are more junctions and rooms and offices where she's headed, and that means more of those pesky psychic guards. If there was ever a day to be thick-skulled, this is it. Pulling the map from its frame, she folds it and tucks it in the back pocket of her jeans.
Checking the way is clear, Donna slips out of the lab and heads, now, not for Medical, but Interrogation.
Wankers have it labeled on the map. Imagine that.
—
"I know!" the Doctor exclaims, all bouncing energy and excitement as he rounds the time rotor, pushing and pulling at various controls. "The Trafalgar system!"
Donna rolls her eyes from the jump seat. "No way there's a whole system named that."
He leans around the rotor with a manic smile on his face. "There totally is. And I am going to take you there!"
Knowing there's really little she can do when he's set his mind to something, Donna pushes off the jump seat and feels her excitement beginning to build. A whole system named after a place in London? Or was it a battle?
"Right. And what's there?" she asks with a grin.
"Oh, mermaids and epic ships and tales that would break your heart," he coons. "At least, there are on Trafalgar Three. The other ones, not so much fun." He frowns and scratches his head. "But yes! Trafalgar Three! Beautiful planet! Did you know it's 85% water? Barely any land, and why would they need it? They can swim!"
"As long as we don't run into Arial, I'm good," comments Donna. She pulls on her own hair that doesn't seem to be cooperating with her today. It's not quite straight and not quiet curly, but something unattractively in-between.
The Doctor laughs. "We just might!"
The way he says it, she almost believes they will.
—
After a few minutes, Donna ducks into another empty cleaning closet, hits the round switch to turn on the overhead light, and checks the map again. The hallways all blend into one-another, bland and white and mind-numbing in their ability to appear endless. She's already had to stop three times to re-check the map, the signage now only confusing her more. There are additions it doesn't cover, and junctions that just shouldn't be there. Unfolding it, Donna attempts to trace her progress with her finger, only to find she overshot her turn by a junction, and her anger at herself and the situation only seems to build as she folds it and shoves it back in her pocket.
This far from where she started; the lights are bright enough she feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind her eyes. Slipping out, she half-jogs back to where she needed to turn and checks around the corner before turning. There's something in her telling her to hurry, and Donna picks up the pace as she continues on her way.
—
At the last minute, the TARDIS jolts to the side, pitching them both off their feet and into the side railings. Thankful for the padding along some of them, Donna lets out an oof as she hits the foam, then again as the TARDIS rights herself and throws Donna to the metal grating. The Doctor lands beside her, one of his legs over her back, and she sends him a glare that prompts him to blush and move the offending limb. On his feet before her, he offers a hand and pulls her, easily, to her feet.
"What was that?" she's huffing, but directs her question more to the ship and not the pilot. The Doctor runs to the display and whips out his glasses to read whatever's written in that achingly geometrical language of his.
"I've no idea," he responds before his eyes skim over whatever the TARDIS is telling him.
"Have we landed?" she asks, moving to stand next to him.
He's still reading the screen as he breathes, "Looks like it." Takes off his glasses and faces her. "It isn't Trafalgar Three, though. Odd."
Hands on her hips, Donna shakes her head. "I thought you'd finished all those repairs you said we needed. Oi! Were you just tinkering? Typical bloke, taking things apart. Tell me, were there any pieces left over?"
"What?" he says, then pauses, thinking - she can almost see the wheels turning in his head - and then adds, "Yeah, but there are always pieces left over!"
Somehow, this doesn't comfort her, knowing there are probably parts and bits missing from the TARDIS' complex systems. "Do you even know what you're doing?" she sighs, shaking her head.
"Mostly," he answers, a bit sheepish. Donna narrows her eyes, picking up on something just under the surface, and her eyes widen theatrically as she motions to the general ship around them.
"Is this even yours?" she nearly shrieks. "Oh. My. God. I am traveling in a stolen time machine?"
The Doctor blinks, face neutral.
The TARDIS shutters around them, then drops, causing Donna's stomach to lurch and fall in time with it. This move, while it seems to affect the Doctor, also brings a smile to his face.
"Lets just say we found each other, through less-than-legal channels," he explains as Donna steadies herself on the console. She shoots him a glare, having moved on from the whole stolen property line of thinking and into the what is going on vein of thought. Or, rather, returns there. Honestly.
"Yes," bites out Donna, "I got that."
"Anyway!" the Doctor smiles, "Let's poke our heads out, see what's out there."
His excitement is still infectious after all this time. Her corduroy jacket is hanging through the coral strut near the door, right next to his, and she grabs it seconds after he retrieves his, nearly beating him out the door.
—
The Trafagarians are much too tall for her to consider disguising herself as one, so Donna goes the other way; finds a larger group of them, crouches, and walks as best she can, hoping no one has any cause to look down. And they don't, really. Simple, these troll aliens. In another situation, she may even slightly like them. Possibly.
She's so focused on remaining unnoticed, she nearly misses the last turn, and finds herself trying to shuffle to the left through large, clomping feet. There are a few close calls — she'll be a bit bruised, but after the day she's had, it hardly matters — but she manages to work free of the group tucking into a little ball against one of the bulkheads as they pass on by. Donna checks that the coast is clear, then dashes around the corner.
Checking the map one more time, Donna commits the layout to memory yet again, and squares her shoulders when she stands. On the left is a large double door leading to an entire department. Whoever's behind them won't be fooled by easy parlor tricks and the blindness of size; they'll figure out she's there nearly the moment she walks through the doors, and she'll need her wits about her if she has any hope of getting out of there alive.
Because even with the Emergency Protocol, Donna Noble is damn sure she won't be leaving this planet without him.