Prompt: Donna in "Human Nature" instead of Martha

Warning: this assumes you've seen and know these episodes of Series 3.

Disclaimer: none of this is mine; but I have read a few versions now.

A/N: written for the prompt given by develish1 and plot bunny provided by dm12.

A/N2: isn't it funny how you can contemplate a whole story just to lead up to a particular point that you've envisaged? Or that might only me, come to think of it.

Donna's Human Nature

Part One

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"I'll have to do it, Donna," the Doctor had told her when they had found out the Family of Blood were hunting him down using a stolen vortex manipulator, sniffing him out like bloodhounds to use his Time Lord knowledge. "I'll have to become human and hide from them."

Then he had placed that torture chamber mechanism, better known as the chameleon arch, on his head; and had begun screaming. If she had known it was going to cause that reaction she would never have allowed him to do that to himself.

As it was, the TARDIS had provided him with a new persona and a new job. Who knew the TARDIS was also a temping agency? Except his job had nothing to do with offices, unlike her usual temporary appointments. No, he had to go and get himself a supply teacher's job in a private school, of all places. 'Talk about feel out of place!' Donna thought. All she had to do was open her mouth and it would be obvious that she didn't belong there.

It was alright for him, he could turn up on the doorstep wearing something akin to his usual clothes. Okay, the TARDIS had chosen 1913 of all times to land them in, but that meant he still had a fairly normal suit and tie ensemble. Although that detachable collar looked decidedly dodgy now that she looked at it. She had no intention of scrubbing at it like a demented ferret, trying to get any stains out with a well-applied bar of Fairy soap on a washboard. Instead she had sneaked out a small bottle of bleach to do that little job with. When needs must, as they say.

Anyway, her own getup could only be described as… well… frumpy, to be honest. It did absolutely nothing for her. Obviously the TARDIS had been thinking 'Suffragette' with her costume, because it had no redeeming feminine features. That had made her extremely grouchy at first. Talk about rub it in that she'd never get a permanent man! And then she had seen exactly what type of establishment they were going to be spending the next three months in, and she became extremely grateful.

Farringham School: the place was a school for boys. The place was a school for boys. Boys, I tell you! Hundreds of hormonal, adolescent boys! It didn't bear thinking about if she so much as showed an ankle. They'd be like jackals in for the kill. So in the end, Donna had been grateful for the dowdy brown dress that buttoned up to her chin, missed defining her breasts completely, made her hips look like a sack of potatoes, and swooped down to cover her knees and end up at her ankles. Her feet were encased in boring black button-up boots. They couldn't have been less sexy if they'd tried. Add in the hairstyle that looked like a cottage loaf, a squashed on brown felt hat that had definitely left style at the door on the way in, no makeup beyond pinching your cheeks, and the effect was complete. Except the TARDIS had also given her some glasses to hide behind.

In the same way that the Doctor's glasses were brainy specs, her glasses were nerdy specs. They practically shrieked unattractiveness. Taking them on and off again in front of her bedroom mirror, Donna finally understood how Superman had hidden behind his glasses as Clark Kent. She was unrecognisable in the things, and reminded her of some sad old woman you used to see in Buster Keaton films. Not such a great image to live with, but it would keep her totally safe until they could return home. At this rate she'd be tempted to use her hat pin to commit hari-kari with in order to fight the boredom.

They had stood on the school doorstep like yesterday's dinner when the door was opened by a middle-aged man who greeted them with the words, "Hello, I'm the school caretaker, Mr Hedges. If you'd care to follow me, Mr…?"

"Smith," the Doctor had said as he stepped forward to shake the man's hand. "Dr John Smith, the new history teacher, and this is Donna."

Mr Hedges then shook Donna's hand in greeting. "How do you do, Mrs Smith."

Oh gawd! It was happening again. "I'm not Mrs Smith, I'm Miss Noble," she had automatically replied.

To her consternation, the Doctor had then laughed apologetically. "Donna has joined the Suffrage Movement, and claims her own title; but I assure you she is my wife."

What?! Donna couldn't believe her ears. Surely that hadn't been part of the information the TARDIS had given her before they had turned up at the school. She would have stern words with him when they were alone!

Fortunately her thoughts had been distracted away by them being taken to the Headmaster's office, and she had heard from the horse's mouth, as it were, what he thought he was in this life.

Apparently he was a proper Ph.D. type of history bod who had been investigating historical artefacts until recently. He claimed Donna had been with his research assistants and had, despite her lack of academic knowledge (and she wanted to kiss him in thanks for not making her a university graduate), shown herself to be capable and willing. She was not only there as his wife, but as his archivist, typing up and cataloguing his notes.

Phew! Thank goodness for that! For a moment she thought she was going to end up being a put upon servant or something equally gross. But if she was only there to help him compile his next book or two and, from what she could gather by reading between the lines, was merely in a marriage of convenience, well, that wasn't too bad at all. The only difference from her normal temp job was that she wouldn't have to have a pink fit with a photocopier on a daily basis or worry what the code was for the printer.

So sitting there like a spare wheel, she had smiled brightly when he had condescendingly referred to her as his assistant. The label of 'assistant' suited her fine. And these load of old fogies knew she was marriageable material. What more could she ask for?

Donna felt quite smug as they were lead through several wood-panelled corridors and up a bare wooden staircase, with magnificent carvings, she quietly noted to herself as they tramped up it, to the masters' rooms above the school rooms. She felt smug until they met a group of sixth formers, and could feel their greedy, eager eyes, follow her ascent up the stairs, and she drew her skirts closer just in case they were trying to peep up to see her underwear. Once at the top of the stairs she wondered why she had bothered. Her undergarments weren't exactly that exciting after all. In fact it might be funny to give them a flash of bloomer, just to see if it was true that they'd keel over. But since they were standing with the Headmaster, it was probably advisable to behaviour with propriety. Wouldn't that make her mother laugh?! Her, being a model of decent behaviour as a schoolmaster's wife. How she didn't burst out laughing at the thought, she would never know.

"These will be your rooms," the Headmaster announced, and unlocked a heavily carved door. "After you, madam."

Donna stepped politely in and thanked him automatically. The room had a musty air, as though no one had lived there for some time. The Doctor and the Headmaster were exchanging pleasantries and saying something about all meals being taken in the refectory as she explored this new space. There was a bedroom with two single beds, thank goodness, a rudimentary bathroom for which she sent prayers heavenwards, because what wouldn't be worse than sharing toilet facilities with droves of young boys; and a tiny AGA type stove that was built into the fireplace, with a lidded hotplate that was only big enough to take a kettle. At least they'd be able to make tea, she thought, since a butler sink stood in the corner near the window that boasted the mod con of having a cold water tap. Actually, now that Donna thought about it, having a cold water tap rather than having to go out to a pump, or even a well, certainly was a modern convenience.

As she walked around their new temporary home she removed her leather gloves, took off her hat very carefully and finally shrugged off her coat. The boots would have to wait until the Headmaster had buggered off and left them on their own. She did mentally make a note to see if her biodamp ring was back in the TARDIS, as she feared wearing it would be deemed necessary by this punch of sexist pigs.

"Is it to your liking, Mrs Smith?" the Headmaster asked her.

Except Donna didn't turn her head, because she wasn't used to the term, and so she completely ignored the question.

"Miss Noble," the Doctor quietly corrected him. "My wife does not accept what she deems my ownership by taking my name. I'm still trying to get her to accept Smith-Noble."

Donna had turned at this snippet of information, and given the Headmaster a consoling beaming smile.

"Oh, I see," he remarked; in that way people do when they don't at all, and in fact totally disapprove.

'I bet he's grateful I'm nowhere near little girls,' Donna immediately thought; and then tried not to giggle when she imagined loads of St Trinian girls rampaging through his school. It'd serve him right if they did. "The rooms are to my liking," she told him as pleasantly as she could.

The two men continued their previous discussion, starting with which servants would be at their disposal, and were now determining exactly what duties the Doctor would carry out as part of his job, and the peculiarities of his timetable. All of the teaching stuff was gobbledegook to her, so she mentally planned where her workspace would be, and what she would allow herself to be in charge of.

A young man appeared breathlessly at the open door to the private rooms. "We have brought your luggage, sir," he announced, and three other boys appeared lugging a hat box and two trunks.

"Magnificent!" the Headmaster declared. "Well done, Tompkins Major. Good job, Simmons, Smyth-Flock and Livingston."

They all chorused their thanks and left the room.

Had they really brought that much stuff? Donna was appalled by how many cases they had. She knew she had packed every single item that she owned when she had boarded the TARDIS but these were simpler times. It was one on, one off, wasn't it, that you put in the wash. She was about to ask about washing when she spied the typewriter case, and almost squealed with delight.

"As you can see, Headmaster, my wife is keen to get back to work," the Doctor was saying with some amusement.

Yeah, that was exactly it. Not. I dunno, you get all excited about seeing an antique and you're made fun of. "Work is my life; as you know all too well, husband," she forced herself to say. 'Now pick the bones out of that one!' she thought to herself.

The Headmaster had merely smiled politely back. "Don't forget that there will be a faculty soirée after dinner tonight to welcome back new and old teaching staff. Until then, may I bid you both a good day." He bowed slightly, and swept out of the room; leaving them all alone.

"He seems nice," Donna said, pleased with herself for not sounding as sarcastic as she had wanted to be.

She was completely surprised when the Doctor crossed the room to take hold of her hands. "Thank you, Donna, for doing this for me. I'd have never been able to teach here if you had not come as my wife; and I know how trying this will be for your nerves."

"That's okay," she immediately responded. "I knew we'd go to some odd places when I joined up with you, but I'm fine with this. So don't worry about me, and you're lucky enough to escape my cooking again, I've noticed. "

He blushed. He actually blushed at that! "I am sure your culinary expertise is exemplary."

"It's X rated for something," she joked; and was pleased when he laughed. Yes, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all if they could still laugh together. "This shindig tonight, do I have to dress up fancy for it?"

"Oh erm…" He cast his eyes down her outfit completely nonjudgmentally. "I'm sure you can wear whatever you feel comfortable in."

"Do you have to wear your cap and gown?" she wondered.

"I assume not," he answered, clearly puzzled. "But I expect it would be advisable to wear it when we eat in the refectory tonight."

She wanted to clap her hands in glee. The thought of him dressed like a posing penguin was already amusing her. "I can't wait to see you appropriately dressed," she lamely excused herself.

But it gained her a beaming smile.