A/N: I have Duchess67 to thank for reminding me of a certain problem here.

Part 21

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"Where is she?" Sylvia cried out with joy as she later greeted Donna and Jonathan when she appeared on the doorstep to the flat. "Where's my granddaughter?" Her eyes darted everywhere from the small hallway. Then she caught sight of the baby lying on the settee, propped up between plumped up cushions and covered by Jonathan's sweatshirt. "There she is! Oh my! She's a lot bigger than I was expecting. Are you sure you only gave birth last night? I'd have mistaken her for being a few months old."

"About that, Mum," Donna reluctantly noted, shutting the front door, "can we go in and discuss it? I've already had to dodge some newspaper reporters."

A very puzzled Sylvia led them into the lounge. "Go on then, explain, while I get a better look at her," she suggested, expertly lifting up the baby. "Look how big you are! Aren't you gorgeous? Yes, you are, "she crooned to her granddaughter. "You look just like your big brother. Have you got a name yet?"

"We've decided on 'Louise'," Donna supplied as she and Jonathan bustled about in the kitchen, making the tea and letting Sylvia have her moment. "Louise Eileen Noble."

"Aw, that's lovely. Your grandfather will be pleased," Sylvia commented.

"Where is he?" Donna asked as she reappeared in the lounge, hovering in the doorway. "I thought he would have come with you."

"To be honest, I'm surprised I've beaten him here," Sylvia admitted, keeping her attention on her granddaughter. "He was just popping up to the allotment. Must have got chatting with someone."

"I wonder who," Donna said meaningfully as Jonathan came in with cups of fresh tea. Do you think that's where he went?

Who knows? Jonathan considered with a mental shrug. "Here you go, Nan," he stated, placing a cup near her elbow. "I'll show you some of the photos I've taken of Louise, in a minute. What do you think of her?"

Sylvia didn't need to think about it much. "She's beautiful. And so like you! She even has your eyes. I thought they would have been brown." She then turned to Donna. "What was it you were going to tell me that's put you so on edge? Is that Doctor?"

"Well…" Donna couldn't decide what to own up to. "You could say that." And she sat herself down near her mother. "The thing is, Louise is growing at a faster rate than we expected, thanks to the Doctor's regenerative energy. He reckons she'll look like a two year old before it actually slows down to normal pace."

"Trust him!" Sylvia spat out. "He always spoils things."

"Nan!" an indignant Jonathan chided. "It's the same way I was formed, remember, so it's not all bad."

"Very true," she fondly agreed, giving his knee a pat. "I wouldn't do without you now; and more importantly, neither would your mother. So where is he, this instant husband of yours, Donna? I hope he's making himself useful somewhere for once."

"Well… erm…"

"We don't know, Nan," Jonathan confessed. "There was a bit of an argument, and he stormed out."

What did you tell her that for?! I'll never hear the end of it now! Donna instantly complained.

"I see," Sylvia sneered. "Just as I thought he would, he upped and left as soon as possible." She then turned her beady eye onto Donna. "You're not defending him for a change. What's come over you? Found out he's got another woman?"

Her eyes widened when Donna shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure," she tearfully stated. "I broke things off with him."

"Why?!" Sylvia demanded to know. "Did he hurt you?"

"He erm," Donna began to say, and cuddled Jonathan close when he crawled over to her to offer support. "He was a bit off with Jonathan, so I made it clear that if I had to choose between the two of them, there was no competition, my son comes first."

"Oh Donna," Sylvia instantly sympathised. "That'll be your hormones making you like that. Perhaps you'll see things differently in a couple of days. It'll be alright; we'll make it all okay."

"Thanks, Mum," Donna wetly replied in gratitude.

She couldn't help smiling when Sylvia burst out with, "And if that sulky husband of yours doesn't get his arse in gear and back by your side, I shall do more than have words with him. He'll feel the back of my hand again!"

"I believe you would, Nan," Jonathan proudly commented.

Sylvia smirked back at him, huffing a laugh. "Nobody upsets my daughter and leaves my grandchildren fatherless. Now back to this little one. Do you want me to pick her up some bits and pieces? You'll need more clothes if she is going to keep growing at the rate you reckon."

"Please!" Donna happily changed the subject.

The rest of the visit was spent fawning over the baby, making lists, and actively avoiding the touchy subject of the Doctor.

~0~0~

The Doctor had stormed into the TARDIS, intent on doing something to prove to Donna that his feelings were rational and sincere; but he didn't know what. After pouting for a few seconds, he hit upon an idea, remembering a confession Donna had once made to him as they lay in some dark, dank dungeon. He couldn't say which one exactly because there had been a few to choose from over the years. All his attention had been on his Donna at the time. And yes, he had thought of her in that way, despite her claiming otherwise, after the nights spent together mourning Jenny.

The mental mention of Jenny made his hearts clench in regret. All that pain, all that longing, had happened despite him trying to deny his attachment to her. What did that say about Jonathan? He had tried so hard to push him away, to the point of giving him to Rose. Jonathan was right; he had been handed over like a goldfish prize at the fun fair. There had been no true regard for the lad's feelings on the matter. It had been a "you can't have me so have him instead since he's almost me" sort of thing. Would the boy have fought his way back into this universe if he had been a fully-fledged adult that could satisfy Rose's demands? And didn't that thought leave a bitter taste in the mouth; as if he were a mail order bride or something.

It was no good; the Doctor had to face the truth. All he had done since Jonathan had emerged within the TARDIS was dismiss him unless it meant he could get nearer to Donna. She alone truly saw the metacrisis duplicate as a living breathing joint offspring of theirs. In fact, she absolutely idolised him. Was that the real crux of the matter? Was he, a Time Lord, jealous of his own flesh and blood? You hear tales of fathers being jealous of new babies, but that only applied to human males. Didn't it?

As his thoughts reached this crescendo, the TARDIS landed with a gentle thump. "Here goes," the Doctor said to her, adding in a soft caress to his console, and then headed down the ramp towards the doors.

It was nearing dusk outside. The end to a long sultry summer's day in busy Hammersmith, London. Judging by the warmth of the air and the luminosity of the sun, it had been a scorcher. But the people milling around him were filled with anticipation as they stood in front of a large white coach. Emblazoned along the side were the words: National Express.

He hardly took any notice of that. Instead his eyes were seeking something else entirely. Something that was a particular someone. It took only seconds to recognise her rich auburn hair in amongst all the people waiting to board the coach. If only the coach driver had spotted her rather than be distracted by some muppet trying to board with the wrong destination in mind. It took a while to describe where the passenger had to go and find the correct coach, and then the rest of the passengers could board it.

Using the psychic paper to flash two tickets at the driver, showing that the stowaway was with him, the Doctor quickly made his way down the coach and towards the seat where she was scrunched up against the window. He soon found her, and swung his body nimbly into the seat beside her as the rest of the seats filled up.

She barely looked up at him as she remained huddled, clutching a small backpack on her lap, and her eyes fixed on the boring scenery outside. It would take him a while to gain her confidence enough to speak to him, but he had plenty of time. Almost twelve hours' worth of time to persuade her to trust him if he had to last the whole journey. With a bit of luck he wouldn't have to make it passed Victoria Coach Station.

It had been growing increasingly dark by the time her eyes flickered towards him without reserve, and he smiled back with encouragement.

Suddenly a woman across the aisle leaned nearer and tapped him on the arm. "Excuse me, but your little girl has dropped her purse," the woman kindly warned.

"Thank you very much," the Doctor answered her, using a Glaswegian accent. And then bent down to retrieve the article. "Here ye go, sweetheart," he said to the small girl sitting next to him as he handed it back. "Be careful not to lose it again."

"Thank you," she politely responded in her own thick London accent. Her mother had drummed into her not to talk to strangers, but this man seemed to be extremely trustworthy to her young senses. The purse was hastily stuffed into her backpack.

"That lady thinks you're my daughter," he whispered conspiratorially, adding in a laugh.

"Have you got a daughter?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He nodded enthusiastically. "I'm going to go and see her later. She's tiny, only born yesterday. She is adorable."

"Oh." The girl didn't know what to say to that. "Have you got a little girl I could play with?"

This time he shook his head. "No, but I've got a son. You'd love him. His name's Jonathan."

"I don't like boys," she declared, suddenly looking very stern.

"Why's that?" he wondered. "Has one hurt you?"

She huffed, and reluctantly puffed out, "Yes." When the man seemed sympathetic, she added, "Gary Smith and Carl Watkins keep making fun of me; and yesterday Gary hit with his ruler, so I punched him."

It meant holding back a satisfied grin, but the Doctor asked, "Did you get into trouble for that?"

Pouting and sitting back in her seat with her arms firmly folded, she supplied, "I was sent to the headmistress's office. I told her they keep calling me horrible names and being mean, but all she did was get Mum to come up the school."

"Oh dear!" he sympathised.

"Mum went off at me about it, I'm a bad tempered menace, said we can't have a holiday now 'cause there ain't no money, and I'll have to be sa'isfied with staying in London. Well, I don't want to stay where Gary and Carl are, so I came here," she continued. "I ain't going back!"

"I don't blame you," he replied in friendly, Scottish tones. "Who needs horrible people like that? My name is John, by the way. What's yours?"

"Donna," she almost spat out, furrowing her brow in anger. "I don't like it."

"I think it is a lovely name," he enthused. "My wife is called Donna."

"She is?" she queried in disbelief.

He found himself nodding again. "My beautiful Donna, and I can't wait to get home to her. She has gorgeous ginger hair, just like you have too. Who would have thought?"

"Nobody likes ginger hair," young Donna mumbled. "I wish I didn't have it."

"No, no, no, no, you shouldn't feel that way about it. Your hair is your defining feature; it's part of what makes you, well… you," he encouraged. "I've always wanted to be ginger. Anyone who doesn't like your hair isn't worth knowing."

"That's what Gramps says."

"And Gramps is perfectly right. He is a very wise man."

She smiled more openly then, pleased with the compliment from this nice stranger. He made her feel loads better without much effort. So when he asked more questions about her Gramps, she happily chatted on. In next to no time he found out that the family were suffering financially because of some union work to rule, meaning that her dad was on a three day week, and luxuries like holidays away somewhere were out of the question for the time being.

It had been dark outside for over an hour when her eyelids started to flutter shut and her words slowed down.

"Are you tired?" he kindly asked, even though the answer was obvious. "Why don't you lean against me and sleep? Here…" He took off his coat and wrapped it around her like a blanket. "That should keep you warm. You look all happy and snuggly like a cute little rat." The reference was irresistible for him.

"I'm not a rat," she murmured sleepily, but it didn't stop her cuddling his arm and dozing off.