Chapter 10

"Donna?" Sylvia called.

The redhead sighed. "Yes, mum?" She awaited her mother's endless list of orders with less than bated breath.

"Could you hurry up and take out the trash? I need another bag to throw out the cans of creamed corn from dinner. And then if you could turn on the dishwasher…"

"Trash, dishwasher, got it," she interrupted. "By the way, mum, I'm meeting a friend at Starbucks later tonight, we're going over a…work project."

"Alright. Man or woman?"

"Hmm…do I want to cast myself as the slut or the spinster?" Donna wondered for a second, then answered, "He's just a bloke from work, mum."

And Sylvia was off. "Oh, and wasn't Lance just a bloke from work, too? Really, Donna, I don't see why you can't settle down. Going around like this, different man in your life every other week, you'll get a reputation. Chiswick's a small place, people hear things…" Sylvia continued muttering to herself.

"Good choice, that was a lot shorter than when she goes on about how I'm going to end up single and miserable." Donna exterminated her chores in record time, retreated to her room, and picked through her closet. She wanted an outfit that was both casual and attractive, something that told John Smith, "Yeah, I'm good looking, but it's perfectly normal, not a special treat for YOU." She pulled her hair into a ponytail and eventually decided to wear a sea foam green, long sleeved top, a grey scarf, her favorite pair of blue jeans, and black flats.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was preparing for their meeting much differently. Namely, instead of excavating his closet for the perfect shirt/pants combo, he was scouring the depths of the TARDIS' computer for information about Cam Bryen and came up with nothing out of the ordinary, which quite perturbed him.

"I'm not blaming you," he assured the box, "but SERIOUSLY? There's nothing odd about this bloke? No weird family history, no affinity for canoodling with some alien race? Just boring old human hobbies? Collecting baseball cards, stamps, things like that, it seems." He paced the floor. It didn't add up. Surely, a man who brewed such a strange strand of tea had a few screws loose himself. Making a mental note to tell Donna about his findings, he snapped his fingers for the TARDIS doors to open.

They did. And then slammed shut in about a second.

"Hey," he glared at…well, everything in the TARDIS. "What's that about?"

His closet door suddenly burst open.

"Is there something wrong with pinstripes?" he asked innocently. "I heard they were all the rage this season."

Seemingly out of nowhere, the wind gave a long sigh. Tinged with the perfume of fall leaves, it blew in through a slightly cracked window and sent dead leaves in a jig around the floor.

"Okay, fair enough, a human not changing his clothes at all in two days is a bit unusual," he pouted. "Plus, if she sees me in that suit too much, it might trigger residual memories." He changed into a grey v-neck and black jeans. "Got your approval now?" he glowered, snapping his fingers again.

The doors opened, letting the sunlight in. It overwhelmed the Time Lord's dour mood, leaving him grinning like an idiot at the prospect of seeing his best friend.

The Doctor walked into the coffee shop chained armed with little more than a laptop, a thirst for information, and a strong hankering for a double chocolate brownie. He stopped for a second. "Remember, to you, she's still the same old Donna. But to her, you're John Smith. So this isn't just like old times." This realization, of course, was the only reason his breath caught in his throat when he spotted Donna settled in a cozy corner booth. It was John Smith who had to resist from greeting her with a compliment about how her shirt compliments her eyes: the epitome of springtime.

"Snap out of it!" He ordered himself. He regained his composure and coolly (he hoped) walked over. "Hello, Donna."

"John." She acknowledged him with a small nod, appearing to be wholly engaged in what was on her computer screen. Truth was, she was struggling to keep from bursting out laughing. "John Smith, d'you really think I didn't spot your eyes bugging out your head?" She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. "The art of subtlety is lost on all men." She assessed her new acquaintance with quick glances: a look at a painting in the corner, a craning of her neck to peer at the menu that loomed over the counter. "Blimey, he IS skinny! Makes it work though. And I'm glad he ditched the suit," she mused.

"Donna?" A gentle voice tiptoed into her reverie.

Her head snapped up. "Sorry, what?" she stammered.

"Fancy something to eat? I could go for a bite, myself." He smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds good." She ordered a scone while he got a cup of tea and the coveted brownie.

"So, you survived the chores alright, I see."

"Yeah, barely," Donna grumbled. "My mum can be an absolute pain in the arse sometimes. How's you article coming along?"

"It's getting there. It's just a quick little write up."

"Find anything interesting about Bryen?"

"Nope. Nothing to conclude that he's doing anything fishy with his company," the Doctor admitted. He took a sip of his tea. "Maybe the man just makes a bloody good cup of tea after all?"

"Maybe…but really, your search didn't turn up anything? Not even something in the National Inquirer or anything like that?" she asked.

"National Inquirer?" he echoed, nose wrinkling. "Why would I look into that rag?"

"Cause if anyone or anything gets as well known as Bryen or his company, crackpot stories are bound to crop up. Publishers love to make a quick buck by sensationalizing things and selling it to whoever will read." He'd touched a bit of a nerve; Donna found those types of stories interesting and, while they were far from educational or really informative, they were always good for a laugh.

"How can humans think like that? It's ridiculous, crazy!"

"Makes some sense, though," he countered.

"Well spotted, Donna." He smiled. "Time for a quick Google search." He took a longer draught of tea. "Good stuff, this is. You know who makes it?"

She shook her head. "I figured it was a house blend." She opened a new Google search for Cam Bryen and scrolled down the first page, then the second. "You're right…nothing really unofficial coming up about him. It's all press clippings. Guess I was wrong."

He slipped into the seat next to her, poring over the search results. "Wait a second…no…you're dead on," he breathed. He turned to her, excitement growing. "The very fact that nothing like that-no scandals, no bad press from a hack writer-is available makes Cam Bryen an anomaly."

"Yeah, you're right," she nodded. His enthusiasm was an airborne disease. "It's like he's too normal."

"Quite right." At lightning speed, the Doctor opened another tab, eager to continue the search for knowledge, wondering where the almost overwhelming burst of ideas had come from. "I do love cracking a good mystery, but I don't see why I'm working this hard over a tea company. Seems a bit much…oh well, perhaps not." He typed "Cam Bryen interview" into a Youtube search and hit enter. Another flash of inspiration-he winced.

"You all right?" Donna placed a hand on his arm.

"Yeah…dunno what just hit me." He opened his previous search in a new window, found two different interviews, and opened them. In the first: "We here at Cam Bryen Tea Company feel that our success will come by appealing to the widest consumer audience possible…"

In the second video, slightly delayed, the man droned the words verbatim.

"Fishy, for sure," he remarked.

"Seriously sketchy," Donna agreed. The duo watched the two videos for another three minutes, amazed that Bryen's monotone drone followed the exact same script in both interviews. The Doctor tried to figure out where the implications led him. All he saw was more running, more things to do, more places to go. The wheels of his mind churned like the legs of a cheetah, and he was burning hotter than Mount Vesuvius.

"There is something really not good in that tea."

"Clearly. Get…back…TARDIS," another part of him wheezed.

"Can't ditch her. She'll notice something's wrong." He gritted his teeth.

Donna tilted her head and drew back from him a bit. "John, are you alright? You look…well, awful, no offense."

He shook his head. "Really bad fever. Don't know what the matter is…" He slumped on to the table.

She gasped. "Alright, up we get. You need some fresh air, now." She dragged him outside, thankful there was a bench directly across from the Starbucks. "I'll be right back," she promised. "Just let me nip back in there for my stuff, and I'll grab a glass of water for you." She hurried back in and found one of the employees taking her laptop behind the counter. "I'll be taking that back now, thanks, miss."

The barista gave her a hideous look before her smile snapped back into place. "Of course. I was just taking it for safekeeping until you returned."

"Yeah…thanks." Donna backed away slowly. "Could I get a cup of water for my friend? He's taken ill."

"Certainly." The woman's eyes never left Donna as she efficiently filled a cup. "Have a great day, miss."

"You too," Donna shuddered. She returned to John, glad to see the color had slipped back into his cheeks. "Here." He greedily gulped the water. She lightly slapped him on the wrist. "Slow down. I don't want you to choke to death on me now, too."

"Alright, Nurse Donna."

She barely resisted the urge to dish out a stronger slap. "Oi, you ever learn manners from anyone, Mr. Smith?"

He zipped the grin up a bit, but it still played at the corners of his mouth, defying the redhead. "Course I have. Thank you, Ms. Donna…I don't think I've ever caught your last name?"

"Noble."

"Alright, then. Thank you, Ms. Donna Noble, for the help. And I'd like to apologize for throwing a scare in you, if I did. I really don't know what came over me, I feel absolutely fine now. Oh, and I'm sorry for ruining our meeting."

She smiled. "Apologies accepted…and it's alright, that barista that gave me the water was such a creep. Don't think she much liked what we were searching." Like a guitar solo on a soft rock ballad, concern crept quietly into her voice. "And are you sure you're alright?" She clapped a hand to his forehead. "You still feel like you're running a fever."

She could imagine her mother's voice: "Donna Noble, you will take ANY excuse to get your hands on a man, won't you?"

"Shove off, Sylvia."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really. I'm good. Thanks for asking, though." The Doctor's face flushed, and it had almost nothing to do with the fever he'd just suffered. "So, since this meeting ended rather abruptly, I was wondering if we could maybe…"

"Finish it later?" She finished his thought. "Sure." The pair swapped numbers. "You sure you can manage getting home alright?" she asked. "I could give you a ride."

He waved off her concern. "Nah, my place is real close."

"What, you live in one of these tiny apartments?" She gestured at the cookie cutter complexes.

"Yep. It's not that small, actually. Bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside, if you can believe it," he winked. I'll see you later, then, Donna?"

"For sure, Jo…ow!" A painful twinge interrupted her goodbye.

He stopped and looked back. "You okay?"

She laughed. "Hey, who do you sound like now? Yeah. I'm okay," she lied. The twinge was reverberating through her skull like a snapped rubber band, and random memories came bouncing back with it. She couldn't shake the feeling that John's face should snap into place with them, as well.