Rhyme Scheme

"Okay, how about… bump."

Donna touches the swelling above her right eye, throwing him a lop-sided glare. "Very funny."

"Bump, Donna."

" Thump."

"Lump."

"Jump."

She's getting tired, he can tell, pausing just a little too long before each response. He can't get close enough to be sure, but he's fairly confident she's concussed; certainly showing disorientation and mood swings, though he suspects the crankiness might just be Donna.

Either way, it's bad. And bed rest is currently not an option, unless they want to spend the next thirty or so years tied to a wall.

Now would be a really good time for something brilliant to happen.

"Your turn, spaceman."

"Jump," he echoes, sounding out the 'p' with unnecessary gusto. "Jump, jump, jump, jump…"

"Yeah, think I got that one." Donna is pinching the bridge of her nose with one manacled hand, and he raises the tone of his voice a notch.

"Keeping you awake, aren't I?"

"Great."

Monosyllables, he thinks, panic-stricken. Donna just doesn't do monosyllables.

"Mugwump!" The word comes out as a kind of strangled yelp, making both of them start. Donna frowns.

"Mug-what? Thought we said no aliens…"

"Nonono, mugwump. It's an American word, comes from Massachusetts actually."

"Well there you go."

"Still counts. I'm winning."

"What's it mean, then?"

"Doesn't matter." Under any other circumstances he'd rise to the bait, unable to resist a chance to show off. Now he only wants to keep her with him, keep her thinking. For once they're not doing this to let him talk.

"Tell me." Even with one side of her face swollen out of proportion the grin still manages to be smug. "Or I'll sing you all the rules of the Dewey Decimal System. It goes to Oranges and Lemons, 'case you're wondering."

Checkmate.

"Mugwump", he intones. "'A word deriving from the Algonquian dialect of Native Americans, meaning 'war leader'.'" Something catches in the back of his throat, and he looks away. " 'Later, someone who refuses to take a stand in matters of importance.'"

Overlord. Pacifist. Coward. All of these have been levelled at him, at one time or another. Once he used to throw them at his own people, holding them at arm's length as he did so; dusty, archaic senators who would let whole worlds go to hell so long as order was preserved. Their presence never anything but a burden to him, their coldness unfathomable.

Still the void inside his head refuses to heal.

"Doctor."

He looks up. A shadow has appeared from behind the cell door, and there is the sound of bolts being drawn back. In a single frantic moment he casts around for something ready to hand, and settles on the length of chain attaching him to the cell; tripwire.

Just time to catch Donna's eye, crossing the fingers on both hands as he does so, and then the door opens.

-

Three chases, four locked gates and an explosion later, they reach open ground. Donna is resting most of her weight on him, her face paler than he has ever seen it. Together they limp, slide and shuffle the last hundred yards before falling in a tangled heap within the TARDIS doors.

After a long while Donna lifts her head from his shoulder to whisper: "Plump. And if you say anything cheeky I'll kill you."

The Doctor laughs.

"Donna Noble, did I tell you you're amazing?"

Just for a second the emptiness seems to lessen.

AN: Okay, that was my first-ever attempt at writing Donna. She was surprisingly co-operative, but I'm still not completely happy with her, so let me know what you think.

And yes, 'mugwump' is a word.