Well… it's not altogether funny, at all, but there isn't an 'amusing' category, so…
Overall, this is my attempt at getting comfortable with the Doctor's idiosyncratic voice while addressing a rather prevalent occurrence. Also, it was fun, if completely out of the ordinary for me. I'm actually very, very hesitant about posting this, because… it's really not my normal fare, and it gets really, really bizarre (and Not To Be Taken Seriously At All, Ever) at the end. Notmyfault,reallyitisn'tEekIcan'tbelieveIwrotethat,muchlesspostedit. Cringe.
--
The TARDIS was always just a little bit too cold for Donna's taste. It drove her crazy during the day – "Doesn't this thing have heat, Doctor?" and "I don't know if aliens can tell temperatures, but it's like an icebox in here; what is it, five degrees?" – but during the night she loved it. She could bundle up under mounds of blankets, the covers up about her chin so she woke up in the morning with cotton rubbing against her cheek and her feet poking out into the frosty air. She had never liked the flimsy sheets of summer; she was a burrower by nature and she loved the comfort of a thick duvet.
The pyjamas were equally more agreeable. She had soft flannel trousers, pale green with asymmetrical white swirls patterned into them, and an oversized dark shirt that stopped halfway down her thighs. The acrylic writing stamped on the chest had long ago worn away, and the only recognizable remaining letters were cracked. The hem was ragged, but the fabric was made all the softer from being battered in the wash. She liked to go barefoot, too, bunching the blankets near her legs if the weather demanded it. Before the Doctor and all the running, she used to paint her toenails metallic colors, just so she could wake up in the morning, stretch, and see the cheerful polish. She wondered how he would react if she asked him to stop off to grab some nail varnish – the phrase 'unbridled horror' sprang to mind, and she suppressed a giggle at the expression she imagined would cross his face.
As she entered the main room, she stifled a yawn. The Doctor, as always, was awake and fiddling with the console. Sometimes Donna suspected that he only did this when he heard her coming – shoving aside a book or magazine and springing up so he could look busy and important and thereby impress his less extraordinary human companion with his vast, Time Lord exuberance. Donna would have rolled her eyes at the thought if it wasn't a bit endearing; he could be such a guy sometimes.
She was a few steps into the room when he looked up abruptly. "Donna!" he exclaimed, in a voice far too loud and bright for her state of cognizance. She winced a bit. He made her crave caffeine by the lake-full when he was this bouncy. (It also inevitably led to more running. Her legs had given up even being sore after so much of it.) "You'll be honest with me, won't you? It's important."
She shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself so her arms could soak up some warmth from her body. "Sure."
"Good." He came to stand in front of her, a bit too close, chin tilted downward, eyes intense and focused. "Tell me: is there something about me?"
She shook her head in confusion. "What?"
"A thing," he said, lingering on the dental fricative. "Is there a thing about me?" He backpedaled to the console again to tap absently at a few buttons. "Because it really has gotten uncanny, this thing, and I didn't really think about it until… well, until the cyanide poisoning."
She thought back. "Ginger beer, salt, a shock," she recited, trying to prompt him into making some sense.
"Well, and protein."
"So 'the thing' is something to do with protein?"
He gave her the 'why on earth did I pick up a silly human who can barely keep up with my superior logic?' look that Donna was getting to be so familiar with – it didn't get any less annoying with frequency. "No. It's about the kissing."
She let her eyes go wide, now jolted much more awake. "What?"
He turned his back and started punching buttons at apparent random. "The kissing. I've kissed more people – well, I say 'kissed,' I mean more 'been kissed by' – well, for the most part – after the Time War than ever before it. Almost everyone who's been on the TARDIS or who I've invited to come has kissed or has been kissed by me. I even kissed Mickey, though just on the head and just because he'd inadvertently averted more disaster than usual." There was a pause, in which Donna opened her mouth to speak, and then the Doctor drew a quick breath and went on. "I dismissed it, of course. Extenuating circumstances. Jack being Jack, the Time Vortex, Cassandra, Madame de Pompadour—" spoken with emphasis on the last word; the Doctor did delight in the shape of words, "Jackie Tyler, Daleks, Judoon platoon, chameleon arch, old Sto traditions, cyanide, lots and lots of life and death situations… That's…" he ticked the count off on his fingers, "ten people. No! Nine. Well. Nine and a psycho graft. Am I missing anyone?"
Donna waited a requisite amount of time for him to think about it, standing there with his tongue pressed against his teeth and the four fingers on his right hand still extended as if trying to figure out whether to leave or call in reinforcements. When he didn't start talking again, she said, "So… what do you want to ask me?"
"Hmm?"
"'The thing,'" she reminded him, adopting an overdramatic voice for his vague term.
"Oh, right! Well, after the cyanide thing, I started to think about it… That was a terrible idea, by the way, Donna Noble! Cyanide, orally imbibed, and then you went and kissed me! I mean, you wouldn't have gotten much of it in your system just from that, but it was reckless regardless." He paused to look off to the side and silently mouth the words 'reckless regardless' again, sheerly for the enjoyment of it, then gave himself a shake. "Couldn't you have knocked over some pans, or told me you were eloping with Jack, or pretended to want to go home – always worth a moment of panic, that – or something? No instant cure for humans with cyanide, not until… ooh, twenty-ninth century? Takes less than two seconds by then, don't even need a syringe; it's brilliant."
"It worked, didn't it?" she asked. She was actually a bit smug over her role in the poisoning incident. It hadn't been all that pleasant (Ginger beer! Anchovies!) but it wasn't often that a kiss prompted such a reaction – and not that it had been terribly romantic for him to spew toxins afterwards, but seriously: she'd saved a guy from death with her lips. "And who's Jack?"
The Doctor flapped a hand at her in dismissal of the question. "So it must be something. Kissing has become such an inevitability, I should probably plan to get it out of the way immediately. Like a toll." He turned to face her fully, spreading his arms to present himself. Donna tried not to yawn again. "So tell me, Donna; what is it? I'd say it was something gone wrong last regeneration, except it started before that. Pheromones?" He ducked his head to his chest and sniffed. "No, that would be weird. What is it?"
Donna made a face. "How should I know?" she demanded. "It's not like I want to snog you."
"That's it, though: it doesn't matter! Circumstances lead up to it; a strict progression of events that seem to result inescapably in snogging! Seems to be no getting out of it. I tell you, Donna Noble, something weird is going on."
Donna flopped down into the chair and crossed her legs. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe people just like kissing you."
"Yeah, but… No, but… Really? You think so?"
She shrugged. "Could be. Not me, I mean. I just wasn't thinking."
He straightened, trying not to grin and failing miserably. Now Donna really did roll her eyes: his ego was definitely his weak point. "Really. Cause, well…" He scuffed a hand through his hair sheepishly, then appeared to change his mind. "Nah, that doesn't make sense."
"Well, whatever it is, it's not all bad, is it? World's not going to end just cause you're getting kissed a lot." Although, stranger things… "Is it?"
"Hmm? Oh. No, the world is safe. And… no, it's not 'all bad…'" He pulled at his ear and fought with another smile. "But still, it's odd; don't you think it's odd?"
She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Doctor. It's odd. Tell you what, though: I promise not to kiss you again."
He brightened considerably. "You mean it?"
(In any other context, she might have been a bit insulted.) "Yeah. Now, come on; you can make me breakfast."
--
It was weeks later that Martha called them up to help out with the newest Alien Threat (copyright a troupe of fanged, orange, squid-like creatures that the Doctor called Misandae.) The task of ridding the Earth of the Alien Threat required a ride in the TARDIS. Donna was beginning to realize what a position of power being a companion put one in – she was quick to notice that the Doctor had no problem with basically ferrying Martha about, in spite of his borderline-obsessive overprotective attitude towards his beloved ship.
He stepped out of the TARDIS with far less uncertainty than last time, a big grin already affixed to his face. "Doctor Jones," he greeted warmly, and gave her a hug. Donna did the same when he moved away, and then her eyes went to the handsome young man standing uncomfortably a few paces behind Martha.
Martha followed her gaze. "Oh, Doctor, Donna, this is Tom Milligan, my fiancé. Is it all right if he comes with?"
"Of course it is!" Donna answered immediately. "More the merrier. Doctor?"
He had a grimace on his face. "That would be fine. Excellent, even; always nice to meet nice people." He looked Tom up and down and twitched a smile, though the grimace was deepening.
The pediatrician obviously took this as a judgment on his character, and he drew a great breath and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"And you." The Doctor shook his hand, now practically cringing. "And sorry about this. I'm so sorry; really don't want to, but it's best if I get this over with or it crops up at the most inconvenient times." And, with a final wince, he leaned in and planted a very chaste, very, very awkward kiss to Tom's lips. Out of the corner of her eye, Donna saw Martha's eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise, and she was pretty sure her own jaw had sagged open. The Doctor pulled away quickly, posture rigid, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"Seriously?" Martha said, looking between the Doctor and her fiancé. "You mean he does that to everyone?"
"Apparently," Donna said, shock transforming into wry amusement.
Tom looked befuddled and not a bit appalled. "Some… alien tradition?" he hazarded, glancing over at Martha for confirmation.
The Doctor finished scrubbing at his mouth and said brightly, "Right! Good. No chance of that happening ever again now. Taken care of. Done with, finished, moving on." He clapped his hands together. "Misandae, eh? Fascinating species. Capable of selectively liquefying their bone structure, allowing them to fit anywhere. Slippery little creatures. Excellent singers, though, if you happen to speak Misandase – which, who would? The TARDIS can't translate their singing properly, or at all. It's not her fault, of course, only they have five sets of vocal chords. Range like you couldn't imagine. Singing aside, though, they do tend to eat things. Like livers. Rather ruins their theatre potential. It's a shame, really, because…" He wandered back into the TARDIS, his voice fading slowly away, leaving the three humans standing still in the street.
Martha shifted. "No, seriously: everyone?"
"Oh, don't ask," Donna said wearily. "He thinks he's cursed or something."
"Life with the Doctor is never dull, is it?"
Donna grinned at Martha and patted a shell-shocked Tom on the shoulder. "Welcome to the world of space travel, Dr. Milligan."