Here's where the prompt-idea went a bit haywire and decided to write itself.
ALSO…
If you're trying to find the author ErinKenobi2893, then I've been misleading you, my poor readers. Sorry. This amazing author is posting stories under the account name AnotherBook. So search for that writer name when looking for Erin. Sorry again for the confusion.
Now…onto the story itself!
God bless and have a great day (or night)!
ThePro-LifeCatholic
ErinKenobi2893: Sorry 'bout that…but you're very welcome about the prompt! It seemed like Donna Noble wouldn't be huge about that movie for some reason, so I had the Doctor introduce it to her.
…
But…wait. Hold on. That means that if Donna only watched it because the Doctor showed it to her…then she'll forget that she watched it when she forgets traveling with the Doctor…
…
Now I just made myself really sad.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own the request. I also don't own The Princess Bride (forgot to say that in the last prompt).
Writing Prompt #24: Character is Drugged
Characters: 10th Doctor, Donna Noble, mentions of past companions
Shippings: None, unless you'd like to assume implied 10/Rose. I'm certainly not gonna stop you.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Friendship
Rating: K+ (mild T)
Summary: Okay. I'd like to read a story where Donna looks after the Doctor when he gets sick. (Call me odd for wanting all these sick-fics, but even Time Lords have got to get sniffles sometimes. :-P) Adorableness and use of nicknames (aka "Martian", "Spaceman", etc.) ensues. :-P
Prompted by: ErinKenobi2893
NOTE: This is Part 2 of 2. A continuation of the prompt before this one, in case someone's trying to read this and has absolutely no idea what's going on. ;)
Donna wriggled on the sofa, trying in vain to find a position on the sofa where she wouldn't ultimately end up drowning in its super-soft cushions. The Princess Bride was turning out to be a better movie than she had first anticipated. Not only was it humorous, but it contained strong morals, a love story, life and death, miracles, hatred, and a good-looking villain with a surprising plot-twist up his sleeve, among other things The only objection she had was that Buttercup didn't seem near as independent as what Donna thought she should be. On top of that, the Doctor was making a clicking noise on-and-off throughout the film, and it was a bit distracting.
"Think you could tone it down a bit, Spaceman?" she whispered, not looking away from the screen as she spoke. Seeing the sick boy at the beginning of the movie had given her an idea of sorts.
"Maybe we could read something after this is done," she suggested. "My mom would sometimes read to me when I was feeling sick and my eyes hurt too much to stare at a screen. What books have you got here that you really like?" She glanced at the alien next to her, and all of her interest in the movie was banished in a moment.
The Doctor's gaze was fixed dead ahead, lips pressed firmly together. His expression was twisted into a grimace. White knuckles clutched and unclenched the edges of blanket methodically, the fabric hugging tightly to his shaking frame. Just as Donna turned towards him, he let out a small gasp, and his jaw snapped against the top row of teeth. A tremor rippled through his body, and he yanked the blanket closer to himself.
"What's wrong?" Donna demanded, tossing the remote to the side and focusing all of her attention on the Doctor. He scrunched his eyes shut and took several long breaths.
"Just…just a bit cold…that's all." He had to pause in between words, sucking in deep breaths and trying to control the violent teeth-chattering that made speaking nearly impossible. With a sickening twist in her gut, Donna realized what the clicking noise had been during the movie. A flash of anger, mixed with concern, left a bitter taste in her mouth and sent her stomach flopping.
"Come here, you," she ordered, scooting closer to the Doctor's shivering figure. In a manner that could only be described as motherly, she scooped up her own blanket and enveloped the Doctor in its colorful folds. He managed a wan grin of gratitude, snuggling deep into the nest of fabric.
"Sh-should be over…fairly soon," he stage-whispered in a raspy voice. "Jus…just the drug making its course."
"D'you have any medicines we could give you?" Donna suggested. She smoothed down the blanket, tucking the corners around the Doctor. One of his hands began twitching uncontrollably; she took it firmly in her own.
"You're sweating," Donna discovered, inspecting his hand closely. A knot of fear formed in her stomach until she recalled the Doctor's words. Didn't he say he'd get a fever, or a mild flu?
"Doctor," she repeated, looking up at his face, "I said you're-"
The rest of her sentence was snatched from her mouth unfinished. The Doctor's head had lolled back against the back of the couch. Brown irises rolled behind half-closed eyelids, his breaths were harsh and uneven.
"Doctor?" Donna squeaked. The knot in her stomach was twisting around her throat. "Doctor!" she said again, more loudly. She leapt off the couch, then brushed a hand against his forehead. Just as quickly she jerked it back again. He was burning up, despite the shivers that still racked his skinny frame. Snapping into action, Donna dragged the blankets off of the sofa, working the Doctor out of the suffocating swathes of heavy fabric. He reacted to this sudden change in temperature; shaking hands scrabbled for a source of warmth that was no longer there.
"You're running a fever, Doctor," Donna tried to explain, taking his hands in her own. "You're incredibly hot…and I don't mean in the attractive way." She said this more to comfort herself, to try and goad a response out of the shaking Time Lord. He inhaled sharply, eyelids flitting open. Donna squeezed his hand, praying for some indication that he was alright.
Glazed eyes surveyed their immediate surroundings with a listless gaze. They finally rested on Donna Noble, and the Doctor stared at her for a long moment. Then the corners of his mouth pulled up, ever so slightly, and he opened his mouth once, twice. Noises gurgled to the surface, pouring out of his mouth in incoherent sounds. Donna shook her head, not sure of what to do.
"Come on, Doctor," she implored. "Tell me what's wrong. What can I do?"
He stopped, blinked. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. A moan escaped his lips.
"Donna," he heaved, pushing himself into a sitting position. His nails ground into her palms, but Donna didn't push his hands away. He stared at her, hard, with an unsteady gaze. He gulped several times, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to force words out of his dry throat. "I'm…The drug is…has worse effects…than I anticipated."
"No kidding," Donna snapped, doing her best to stay composed.
"Worse than I thought," he repeated.
"I hadn't noticed," she rebutted. "But I'll slap you later. Tell me, Martian: what can I do?"
But instead of answering, the Doctor reached forward, grabbing her arms in a tight grip that made her wince. He sucked in a large, harsh breath, staring hard at her with intense concentration and working his mouth desperately.
"The drug," he panted, limbs taut and veins clearly standing out along his neck and backs of his hands, "It…one of its effects…"
Donna leaned forward, ignoring his nails digging into her arms. "What, Spaceman?" she asked impatiently.
He opened his mouth, struggling to form the correct words. Just when it seemed he was ready to talk, he went limp again as the drug took hold, his head flopping onto the arm of the couch. Donna sat still, holding his hands in her own. She was panicking, but had no idea what course of action she should take. Did Time Lords take human medicine? How long would the fever last? Would it be minutes, days, weeks? Thoughts like these flooded her mind, filling her to bursting.
"Come on, Doctor," she begged, squeezing his warm fingers. "Wake up."
His mouth turned down into a frown, his eyelids fluttering open. He glanced up at her, seeming to have a hard time focusing on her face. When he finally did, a ghostly smile played over his lips.
"Hello…" he whispered softly, roughly. "…Suzan?"
Donna opened her mouth, then shut it again. She was completely speechless for several long moments.
"Not Suzan, Doctor," she finally managed. "Donna, remember? It's me, Donna Noble."
The frown deepened as he pondered the information thoughtfully, trying to place the name. At least, that's what Donna was willing herself to believe. The Time Lord shifted suddenly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and beginning to examine his surroundings with a vague, slightly confused expression.
"Where is it, then?" he croaked.
"Where's what?" Donna replied, holding one of his arms to keep him steady.
"My recorder," he responded as he sank back into the soft cushions. Donna, who had been struggling to understand the Doctor before, was now hopelessly lost. A recorder? One of those little plastic flutes that every kid in Kindergarten learned to play?
"Yes, my recorder," the Doctor continued, breaking into Donna's thoughts. "Lovely things, recorders. Keeps me busy when I don't have anything else to do." He fiddled with his coat buttons absentmindedly, sniffing and beginning to hum a tune that Donna had never heard before. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked up at her suddenly and cleared his throat.
"Jo, it seems I'm feeling a bit under the weather," he stated. "I'm sorry for bothering you with this. It shouldn't last much longer. Time Lords are generally-" he broke off in a fit of coughing so violent that he nearly fell off the couch. Donna helped the disjointed alien clamber back onto the cushions.
"Doctor," she nearly pleaded, "Tell me you know who I am." Worry like a stone was weighing her down, and she couldn't do anything to help him. Her best friend in the whole world was suffering here, right in front of her face, and there was absolutely nothing she could think of to do.
"Oh, I'll be fine, Rose," he murmured, searching his pockets. "Jus' don't tell Jack. Last time I was sick, he made a fuss." He stopped his search and looked at Donna with glazed eyes. "D'you have a tissue?"
As it happened, Donna did have one, which she handed to the Doctor. He sneezed into several times, and a violent tremor shook through him. Donna instantly recognized this symptom; he probably felt cold again. Sliding closer to him, she picked the blankets up off of the floor and shook them out. Then she wrapped them around the Doctor, tucking them tightly against his form. He didn't resist like he'd normally do in such a situation; in fact, he seemed to take comfort in the attention and mothering. He snuggled up against her, eyes closing as the drug stole away his consciousness once more.
Donna sat next to him for the next hour or so (give or take a couple minutes), waiting for the drug to run its course. She covered him with the blanket when he began to shiver so hard that his teeth clattered together, and shoved them off the couch when he complained about being too hot. Every now and then, she would stroke his damp hair and whisper to him in an attempt to soothe the feverish Time Lord.
For the most part, he remained quiet, either sleeping or unconscious. When he was awake, the snatches of words that she managed to hear were beyond her understanding. There were a lot of names that she didn't know, although she assumed that the Doctor was talking about people from his past. Certain names, such as "Sarah Jane" and "Rose" were mentioned more than others. Once, he murmured a chant of beautiful sounds that she couldn't understand and that the TARDIS refused to translate.
If Donna could, she would have stayed with the Doctor the whole time he was ill. However, despite the concern that gnawed at her empty stomach, she was forced to relinquish her post and take a quick bathroom break. She ran the whole way there and back, hardly trusting to leave the Doctor alone for more than two minutes. What if he woke up thinking he was somewhere else? He could wander into the depths of the TARDIS and lose himself in the maze of tunnels and passageways in a matter of seconds.
As she approached the entrance to the "sick room", she was surprised to hear multiple voices wafting from the doorway. A cheerful tune announced her entrance as she stepped inside. The Princess Bride had been turned back on, and a skinny figure swathed in fabric was sitting up on the couch, staring at the screen. Donna ground to a halt, staring at the Doctor. He finally seemed to notice her presence, tilting his head towards her.
"Hello, Donna," he said quietly, offering her a weak smile. Donna blinked and opened her mouth.
"You…!" she gasped. Then she hurried forward, placing a hand against his forehead. "You're still warm," she said, peering into his eyes. He leaned to the side, trying to see past her.
"Donna, I'm trying to watch the movie," he pointed out, sounding more tired than annoyed.
"But, Doctor, you're sick! Really, really sick!" Donna couldn't understand it. What had happened while she had been gone? "How are you feeling?"
"The worst part's over," the Doctor was quick to assure her. "I'll still have a mild fever, probably a runny nose for the rest of the week, but I'm not complaining." He grinned. "I'm perfectly fine." A flash of relief passed over Donna's face, soon replaced by anger.
"Ow!" the Doctor exclaimed as Donna punched his arm. "Oi! What was that for?! I'm sick, remember?"
"You just left me to care for you, and didn't even tell me that the drug would make you hallucinate!" Donna practically yelled back. "You Dumbo! You should'a told me. I couldn't do anything to help you." The last part of the accusation ended in a hush, and the red-head had to blink fiercely several times. The Doctor slid off the couch and stood toe-to-toe with his companion.
"I'm sorry, Donna," he whispered. "I wasn't quite sure myself what the drug would do. And it didn't make me hallucinate per se…" he tapped the side of his head. "It scrambles time and memory perception. Certain memories are brought to the forefront of your mind, and the poor poisoned bloke can't perceive the difference between the memories and reality."
Donna nodded her head, lips pursed. "So basically you were hallucinating," she finally stated.
"I just said-" the Doctor began. Donna jabbed him in the ribs.
"Oi, Skinny-Stick," she interrupted. "When I'm the one taking care of you, I get to diagnose what you have."
The Doctor sighed and raised his hands in the air. "I know better than to argue with you," he muttered. Donna chuckled, feeling the weight of worry finally lift off her chest. The Doctor did look better, still pale but content and acting more himself. And if the Doctor said he was feeling better, she knew he wouldn't lie to her about something like that.
"Can we finish the movie now?" the Doctor asked hopefully.
"Fine," Donna conceded. "As long as you agree to stay on that couch and get some proper rest."
The Doctor looked ready to retort, but she pushed him onto the cushion before he could say anything. Throwing a blanket at his head, she pulled her own blanket up around herself. She picked up the remote, starting up the film again as the Doctor got himself settled. Then she scooted closer to him, drinking up the extra warmth that emanated from his body.
"You're like a giant hot water bottle," she murmured.
"Really?" he asked, sounding slightly exasperated. "A water bottle?"
"Hush, Spaceman," she shot back, "I can't hear the movie."
I'm still alive, you guys, I promise. This story really spiraled out of control, and this is where it ended up. I hope you enjoyed it, especially ErinKenobi2893!
Also, I watched "The Witch's Familiar", and I liked how they resolved the cliffhanger. I haven't seen any other episodes from Season 9, though, so don't spoil it for me.
On another note, I've been watching The Flash on Netflix, and it's turned out to be pretty good so far…even though it's DC *shots fired* It's kind of hokey, and there are some cheesy moments, but it's a good show with strong morals and all that jazz.
See you around for the next prompt!
