Author's notes: Although I'm partial to Lee McAvoy as a partner for Donna, I couldn't figure out how to work him into the 21st-century Pete's World. However, I may not be telling the truth, either... The next chapter will be less psychological POV and more plot.

Chapter 8: Partners in Crime

After Donna paid the bill at the restaurant, she took the Doctor by the arm to her hybrid car. Unlocking the doors, she ordered, "Get in."

The Doctor mumbled a musical sound that resembled sharp, dissonant notes on a saxophone as he slid into the passenger's seat. She stepped into the driver's side and pressed the start button for the engine.

"You're not going to take me home, are you?" asked the Doctor.

"Not yet. You're going to Paris, yeah?" He nodded. "Well, you're not showing up like you've been on a three-day bender. You look like paper cut shite."

"Oi! I'll have you know, sweetheart, that this is my new look!"

"Oh, Christ. Dare I imagine the old one? Modelled after Leaving Las Vegas, the musical?"

"No," he whinged. "Geek chic."

"What?"

"They must not have it here. Never mind. Timey-whimey stuff," said the Doctor.

"You are barmy, James Noble. Absolutely barmy! We're definitely not related." He just smirked.

XXX

Donna Noble loved shopping, absolutely adored it. She could hours at a shopping centre and find the best discounts on designer clothing. However, when possessing a Vitex executive credit card courtesy of Pete Tyler, she allowed herself the luxury of dragging her new charge – she couldn't bring herself to say employer – to Harrod's. A couple of suits would do him good.

As for the Doctor, he was certain that he had ended up in the Thirteenth Level of Hell. Back in his sixth incarnation, he should have told Dante that there were levels past nine! Shopping was boring and pointless. Why do humans vary their clothing so bleedin' much? All one needed was a couple of good suits and trainers. The sonic would do the rest! He threw himself in the beige armchair next to two other blokes in suits, Lance and Simon, who were attempting to be as little involved in shopping as possible.

"Is the wife done yet?" muttered Simon. "Footie's startin' soon."

"Tell me about it, mate," replied the Doctor.

"You'd think they'd give us a remote or somethin'. Top Gear or footie," said Lance.

Before the Doctor could respond, he heard a shrill "James Noble!" coming from the suit department.

"Love, honour and obey," quipped Lance.

"Oi! She's my personal assistant! We're not like that. Nope. Not even remotely."

"Is that what they're callin' them nowadays?" asked Simon.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and he dragged himself the twenty metres to Donna and a saleswoman holding three expensive-looking solid black, brown, grey and blue suits with Oxfords of different colours. No pinstripes. "Oi, Paper Cut, we need you to try on these suits. They're special Rails-for-men." She pushed the suits at him. He growled. "Sure thing, Red."

In the changing room, he first put on the black suit. Nah. Looks like I'm attending a funeral. Just no. He removed the suit and exchanged it for the brown on the door hangar. I look like him. No, that's all… wrong. The grey was nice, though a bit too light. Finally, a deep TARDIS-blue that was stiff, shiny and silky all at the same time.

Donna made him buy all except the brown. "The Vitex Christmas Party's comin' up and it's either the black suit or a tuxedo. Take your pick!" The Doctor grumbled, seizing the black suit in response. They finished three hours later and after one velvet black jacket, several different colour jumpers, three suits, light brown trousers and six pairs of Converses (which the Doctor refused to give up).

As the Doctor juggled the various bags and boxes and opened her car boot, Donna's phone blared Tina Turner's The Best. Donna's husband, Shaun Temple, a dark-skinned man in his late-thirties, appeared on the Vitexphone.

"Babe, where are you? It's half-seven!"

"Hi, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm hurrying. Gotta drop off the Spacenutter." The Doctor made a face.

"Is this the Pete Tyler project?"

"Yeah, I'll explain later. An hour. Love ya!"

Shaun smiled. "Lookin' forward to it. Love ya babe."

Donna switched off her phone. "Oi, Spacenutter, so what's your address?"

XXX

The Doctor fell into his modern, yet desolate flat. The boxes from Harrod's flew everywhere. Donna followed him inside and looked around, shaking her head. Typical bloke: dishes covered in three-days worth of mould in the sink, jellybellies on the coffee table and several magazines featuring Rose Tyler on the cover scattered on the couch.

It looked as though he hadn't left the flat in weeks.

She went to inspect the brightest, well-read magazine next to the pillow stuffed into the seat; a beautiful blonde in a red, low-cut Diane von Furstenberg dress was featured along with Rose Tyler: Chic or Chav? On the table, another magazine was opened to a photo of Rose Tyler dressed in a white blouse and a book in hand for a "London Reads!" advert.

Donna turned to him as he put the boxes on the dining table. "That poor woman, Rose Tyler. Never liked the gossips myself." She watched as his faced changed from neutral to shame and then to angry in the span of five seconds. The Doctor marched over to the couch and Donna, and collected all of the magazines, depositing them in the shelf underneath the flat television set across from the couch.

"Oh, sorry!" he chirped manically. "Where are my manners? Rude and not ginger, that's me! I didn't know you wanted to sit. Thought you were on a tight schedule."

Donna sat on the couch cautiously. "Thank you," she said as he walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. He reached into the cupboard; there were no Jammie Dodgers and no tea.

"Um," he tugged his ear nervously, "It appears I've no tea to offer. Despite what my passport says, I'm not very British, apparently."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Somehow, Skinny Boy, I'm not surprised." She removed her Vitexphone from her purse and made a short list. Tea; Jammie Dodgers; possibly food because Spacemen eat three-day-old shite. "Do you have a spare key?" asked Donna.

The Doctor looked at her quizzically. "Um, yes?"

Donna nodded. "Good. I will do this only once 'cos I'm not a child-minder. Your kitchen needs tending to and you have no food. God forbid a woman – maybe Rose Tyler – come over for a tea or wine!"

Pain echoed in the Doctor's eyes. "She doesn't need me," he quietly whispered.

Donna hesitated at his reflection of hopelessness. "James, I was joking. She's an heiress. Of course she doesn't notice people like us," she said gently, as though speaking to a disappointed child.

The Doctor sniffed. "Yeah, yeah, no problem. Oh, you know, I'm fine. I get to go to Paris, eh!" He smiled at Donna. "Paris, the most beautiful city in the world! Did you know that one of Henri IV's favourite places near the Louvre was ... ?"

"Oi! You've got a gab, don't ya?" Donna interrupted.

"Oi! At least I've got somethin' to say!" he yelled back.

"Fuckin' hell, you're hopeless! But it's like…. it's like I know you, Doctor. I know what you're going to say. This is wizard, 'specially comin' from me, but have we met before? 'S like, déjà vu."

The Doctor's heart lurched in his chest. Yes! Yes! We know each other, Donna Noble! We're best mates! You gave me your heart and a life and I gave you my mind! You're the sister that I haven't had in centuries! That I never had!

"No, we've never met," he mumbled quietly.

Chicken shite.

"Huh," grunted Donna noncommittally, as though she didn't quite believe him. "Well, James Noble, this is got to be one of the weirdest days in my life."

He moved to sit down next to her. "Tell me about it. Most of the time, I feel like I'm living someone else's life and not the one I want."

Donna snorted. "Doesn't surprise me. You're a ... Spaceman. Don't know what else to call you, really."

The Doctor smiled. "Yeah. May I ask you a personal question?" Donna raised her eyebrow in silent response. "Why did you become a PA?"

The middle-aged ginger looked down at her hands. "My Mum, mostly. Growin' up poor in Chiswick, she made sure I knew that temping was easy work for a chav like me," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the mention of Sylvia Noble. "I wanted more. So, I went to Uni in London just to spite her, finished a Master's programme in Information Management whist internin' at HC Clements." She smiled. "That's where I met Shaun. He's a barrister."

The Donna grinned in delight. "Donna Noble, that's brilliant!"

Donna grinned back. "Ain't it?" The grin quickly faded. "It's too bad that my mum never saw me graduate. She passed from breast cancer six months prior. But my dad and gramps were there. It was the best day of my life. Along with marrying Shaun!"

Unshed tears were in his eyes. "Your…grandfather's still alive?"

Donna stared at him oddly. "Yes, he is. He's not that old! Says the stars keep him healthy. So is my father. What about you?"

The Doctor looked away, shaking his head. He couldn't tell her.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. You really have no one, do you? Don't you have someone? A friend?"

He looked up at her, his heart racing. "Yeah, I have a friend. She…she works with me. She's brilliant and …" he wiped his eyes, "…and very strong, so kind, so brave."

Donna smiled knowingly. "Maybe, if she's going to Paris, you might take her out. Walk along the Champs-Elysées." The Doctor gazed at her like a frightened animal. "Oh, Blimey!" Donna bit out, exasperated. "What is it with you sciencey blokes? Pinin' after the girl, gapin' at magazines of fantasy women, and doin' nothin'? She ain't gonna bite!"

"Yeah," he breathed.

She shook her head. "Do what you want, James Noble, but this," she gestured at the disaster around them, "isn't healthy. You may be a Spaceman, but you're human."

Human. Not Time Lord. Well, not entirely. Just enough.

"Yeah."

Donna stood to leave. "Well, get some sleep, yeah? Your train leaves early in the morning. I'll be by tomorrow to take care of the Great Disaster of Chelsea."

"Oi! Wait a moment. How did you know when my train leaves?"

"I didn't become a manager by par hasard, Doctor. I'm good at multitasking and I know how to keep schedule. Take care of yourself, Spaceman." Donna picked up her purse and left the Doctor in a state of shock in the flat.

She hadn't worn a watch.

XXX

Hours later, the Doctor stared at the night shadows on the ceiling. Other than his chronic insomnia that plagued him for centuries after the Time War, his first meeting again with Donna Noble delighted and terrified him. Impossible! How could she even be in this universe? The timelines could only converge onto one Donna Noble.

No, no, no. This was all so…wrong! She can't exist!

Yet she existed. Yet she ended up in his life again. Am I going to screw up all the Donna Nobles in the multiverse? The Doctor; the Cock Up of Legends! He should have told her to run the moment Pete introduced them in his office. Yet he couldn't. She was right – the Other was right; he needed someone. Rose had her family and her friends – pretty boys included, apparently – and the profound loneliness enveloped his spirit. Though the danger to Donna was still great – she could never remember – he could not let go of the one tendril of normalcy he still had. He could keep his secrets. The faint music of the budding TARDIS and worshiping at the altar of Rose Marion Tyler from afar were the only things keeping him sane.

Rose. He never looked back, never asked a second time. But both Donna and Rose were exceptions. He'd asked twice, he would have asked a million times. Paris, the city of romance; he'd never taken her to the planet Barcelona or Paris, he realised.

There's always a chance, even second chances, he thought.

"Good night, Donna Noble," he whispered to the empty bedroom. "Good night, Rose Tyler. I love you – forever."

XXX

In a small, nondescript brick house in Chiswick, two people slept entwined in a large bed. The ginger woman mumbled, "Good night, Doctor."

Shaun's eyes flew open. Since when did Donna talk in her sleep?

XXX

The next morning, the Doctor sat in the passenger seat of Jake's hybrid. The black velvet blazer, white jumper and brown trousers from Harrod's suited him. Ta, Donna. From the rear view mirror, he spied two people walking together from Rose's building. Rose and the Wyoming Sheepherder. After placing their bags in the car boot, Rose and John opened the rear doors and sat down in the backseat.

"Ta, Jake. Mornin' Doctor," said Rose. John greeted Jake and simply nodded at the Doctor. "Morning, Jake. Noble."

"Good morning," muttered the Doctor. Jake pulled away from the curb and proceeded down the road toward St. Pancras. The Doctor tuned out the conversation between Rose and Jake about the train schedule. He may be only human, but was Time Lord enough to smell John all over Rose.