1. Melting Away - The Fires of Pompeii
They sit in the Tardis opposite each other - he tinkering with some gadget that doesn't really need fixing, and she slumped on the jumpseat, obviously deep in thought. Every few minutes he glances up at her above the rims of his spectacles, just to make sure she hasn't melted away into sadness.
It's unfortunate that her first proper trip in the Tardis just happened to end in genocide. From what he's seen of her so far, he's not sure she'll be able to take it. She might be able to bluster her way past earthly sceptics, but no resident of earth has witnessed the haunted look the Doctor caught in her eyes as they tried to settle back into 'normal life' - such as it was.
It isn't as if she's delicate. Volcanoes, escape pods, and a terrific amount of running didn't faze her. But now, only just now, he's witnessing the gentle side of her, the tearful broken Donna that weeps not only for the whole city but also for the one child she tried to save. That's the main reason he's so worried - the look on her face when the little boy was snatched away was almost too much to bear. Laws of space and time? Those could be bent if only to dry Donna Noble's tears.
And he doesn't want her to go, not at all, but he has such a propensity for getting into trouble of the worst sort that he fears he wouldn't be able to steer them around the bad days. And then she might cry again, and ask to go home. Better later than right away, he thinks a little selfishly, and glances up at her again. Well, she hasn't melted yet. Quietly he studies her, the tools in his hands falling idle into his lap.
Her eyes are downcast, her chin buried into the blanket she's got wrapped around her (no he wasn't going to turn the heat up), and her feet tucked under her much like a child afraid of monsters under the bed. And she looks like a child, and yet so much older than other companions. Donna, he realises, has already seen much of the world. Resilient nonetheless, she carries her jaunty response to all the lemons she's been tossed out to the boundaries of the universe.
It's been a day since Pompeii, a full 24-hour cycle unmarked by celestial movement as they huddle hollowly in the Tardis. Immediately afterward, he'd taken her to Lethe, a gorgeous sworl of violet stardust, and they'd forgotten their troubles for a while as they sat in the doorway, dangling their feet off the side as if they were wading through galaxies, sending tiny ripples out like undetected signals of their presences.
But even Lethe could not erase the memories forever. He blinks slowly as he continues to study her, watching as her eyelashes likewise sink down upon her cheeks as drowsiness pulls them lower like the force of gravity. If only he could let her sleep, but she would not appreciate being left on the narrow jumpseat. He should wake her and offer a goodnight, giving her the decision to get up and go to bed.
The Tardis is so quiet as it hovers in the vortex that his footfalls on the metal floor sound like explosions. But Donna continues to nod, her lips parting a little as her breathing deepens. What a crime to wake her, but it must be done.
"Donna," he says, not too near her ear lest he frighten or offend her. There's a good psychological reason for those boundaries, he knows, but he'll let them wear off with time - what time they have - and worry about it later.
At the sound of her name, she sighs and shifts languidly, testing the muscles worn to dull aching by the exertion required to destroy a city. Loathe to open her eyes, she turns her head in the direction of his voice, and murmurs thickly, "What is it, Spaceman?"
He's not reviling that nickname as he once did. The name suits her - if that made sense - the choice of name she gave him suits her. No, it doesn't make sense. He pushes the fleeting thoughts away and replies. "Bedtime? It's been a long day."
"All days are the same length, you idiot," she laughs briefly, fondly, opening her eyes at last. She stretches and then grabs for the blanket when it starts to slide off. A yawn follows.
"You're very tired. You'd be more comfortable in your own bed. That's the only reason I woke you - didn't think you'd appreciate waking up here next morning." He smiles at her, still not comfortable with giving her a real one, but a friendly one, at least. It feels ungrateful to hold his defences after what she's done for him in so short a time, but perhaps it's justified as Donna does not fully trust him, either. It's new for him - people with nothing on their conscience usually trust him right off.
Oh, but there is something on her conscience, he reminds himself as she stands and gathers up the blanket round herself like a queen's robe. So many deaths already - the Racnoss, her fiance, Stacey, the Matron, and now the people of Pompeii - no wonder she shows such uncharacteristic restraint around him. Death follows him everywhere, be it indirect or horrifically purposeful, and when such destruction is accompanied by vows of peace, it's no wonder Donna can't make up her mind about him.
"Are you all right?" he blurts; he stops her before she can walk away.
She'll want to go home, he knows. Maybe not today - at least, she won't say it today - but within a week she'll ask. He's only grateful he hasn't had time to get too attached.
Then again, perhaps he has underestimated her. Donna looks at him, sees the resignation and sadness and weariness etched into his features, and puts her arms around him, all sympathy and familial care. The Doctor is startled by the revelation that Donna feels like family - a vibe he never expected from her, and hasn't received from a companion in a long time. She doesn't draw out the embrace but it's enough. Her lips tip in a melancholy, empathetic smile - I feel your pain, Martian-not-from-Mars. She's not telepathic but her eyes convey more than words could. He even picks up on that tiny bit of sarcasm.
As she turns to leave for her bedroom - the initial discovery of which delighted her immensely ("It's like a proper house!") - she casts him another smile over her shoulder, a more playful one, because she's in the Tardis and welcome aboard.
All right, so Donna Noble won't be melting away any time soon. She's obviously made of tougher stuff than he guessed. Mostly, he's relieved, because it won't mean another goodbye so soon, but he's also really, really overjoyed because it seems there is nothing this woman can't do, and he likes to have that kind of person by his side.