Part 3

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The gentlemen sat in the parlour, listening to classical music in the background as they read articles or books that interested them. A few sat chatting about the day's events but generally they were alone with their thoughts after exhausting their arguments.

Donna had left them to it and gone to her room to have an early night. It had been a long day, she told them, when she really wanted to unpack and think things through on her own for a while.

Although he had taken charge of getting her main suitcase up into her bedroom, Dr John Smith still felt a little left out. She'd been pleased with the size of the room and had complimented him on the facilities as well as the furnishings, but he couldn't help sensing something was off in her manner. It wasn't as bright as it had been earlier, even if you into consideration her tiredness.

It made him restless, so he bade his fellow academics good night and went to change into his nightwear and carry out his ablutions.

Both Dr Davison and Dr Eccleston had been seated close to Dr Smith and exchanged raised eyebrows at each other as they glanced at him. Silently, they agreed to follow him upstairs.

They all met outside the communal bathroom, toothbrush in hand, and almost ready for bed. John stepped out to head to his bedroom and found his colleagues grinning awkwardly at him in the corridor like a gaggle of geese.

"Good evening," he cautiously greeted them and waited to find out why they had waylaid him.

"There you are. Good evening. So, what do you think of your new friend?" Dr Davison wondered, pointing the question mainly at Dr Smith.

He unknowingly blushed slightly. "Erm. She seems very nice," John answered. "Everyone was suitably impressed."

Dr Davison leaned closer to whisper, "But you in particular are rather taken with her."

"Oh, I think not," John denied. "And her favourite is obviously Dr McGann."

The tinge of disappointment in his tone did not go unnoticed. "It's early days yet, and you have an unfair advantage," Dr Eccleston fondly teased.

"I do?"

A third head peeped around them to speak. "Definitely. Think, dear boy," Dr McCoy was determined to add. "You will get to spend every single moment of her working day together, should you so decide."

"There is that," John agreed, his mood brightening.

Having achieved their goal, they all nodded at him. "Good night, Doctor," the men quietly bid adieu.

"Good night, Doctors," John replied.

He then moved as though he was going to enter his room, but he didn't enter it. Instead, he waited until he was alone on the landing before considering the door of Donna's bedroom.

She was only one room away. Should he say something to her before he retired for the night? They'd hardly had a chance to talk properly, thanks to the other Doctors monopolising her attention. Would she even expect him to single her out yet for a private word?

He hesitated for a moment, and then placed his ear against the wood of the door to find out if she was still moving about or not. It would not do to disturb her slumbers.

From inside, there was a faint sniffle, and then a definite sob, followed by a couple more. She was crying, he realised in horror. Did she hate the house, them, or the thought of working so closely with them all? He had to find out.

Using a knuckle of his index finger, he lightly rapped on the door. "Donna?" he cautiously began his investigation.

The sobbing immediately stopped. "Who is it?" she called out from within.

"Donna, it's me. Dr Smith. I mean, John Smith. Are you alright?"

"Why?" she defensively wondered.

He mouthed closer to the door, "I heard crying."

"Hang on!" Having grabbed something to cover herself, the door slowly opened, and her head reluctantly peeked round the frame. It was obvious she had been crying but she tried to hide that fact. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he commented, taking in her reddened eyes and nose.

"Honest, I am," she lied. "Something must have got in my eye."

"If that's the case, let me in to see," he insisted. When she baulked at that, he qualified it by saying, "I'm also a doctor of medicine," and stepped in.

Now potentially caught out, she let him cradle her head to look into her eyes under the main light of the room. "Now do you believe me?"

But he didn't call her a liar. Instead, he caught her off balance by showing an entirely different emotion.

"What's happened?" he tenderly enquired.

"Oh, nothing much," she disparaged, "only the fact this was supposed to be my wedding night."

"What," he gasped out when her voice descended into a sob. "This is your wedding night? That is…." And without thinking, readily embraced her. "I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes, she did, but she wasn't sure if she should tell him, of all people, about it. "I'm not sure," she mumbled from near his chest.

A distraction, he decided, was needed to get her to talk. "I know," he suddenly suggested, "I fancy some hot chocolate. Do you?" Gaining a small nod of assent, he released her from the embrace and held out his hand in invitation. "Let's go and get some from downstairs."

It had been quite a time since someone had idly held her hand, she thought as he led them down through the dark and quiet house. "Will Idris mind us messing up her lovely clean kitchen?"

"Nah! She loves me," he cheekily answered and flashed a knowing smirk. "I often do this, and she never tells me off."

"Often? How often, that she has to overlook it happening?"

"Well," he considered. "Every time I suffer with nightmares, which I must admit, isn't exactly rare."

But she let him cover his embarrassment by bustling about, collecting milk, a saucepan and some mugs. It was a topic for another night. "I see you don't go the 'just add hot water' instant route," she noted as he measured out how much milk would be needed before setting the milk pan on the AGA hob to heat.

His grin came out in full force, and he patted his stomach in satisfaction. "No need to, fortunately for me. I've never had to watch what I eat. Can't seem to put the weight on."

"Are you one of them? Ew," she playfully teased, with a scrunch of her nose. "Us mere mortals have to watch every bite we take."

"I can understand watching your figure," he murmured, involuntarily taking in her appearance, travelling up from her slippers, passed her dressing gown and landing on her ginger hair framed face now devoid of makeup.

She would have told him off for the implied insult but there something about his manner that said the complete opposite. "It is a lifetime work in progress," she joked instead.

Should she think he was admiring her? Was that even possible? He didn't seem the type to find her genuinely attractive, although judging by her track record, especially in the recent past, that wasn't exactly reliant to bring her much happiness. And he wasn't her usual type either. Normally she went for more muscular men. Men who took charge. Men who also, it usually turned out, took her heart as well as her money after stomping all over her feelings. Perhaps it was time to consider the qualities of a decent nerd for a change?

"Do you tend to drink your hot chocolate here in the kitchen?" she asked.

"No, I take it up to bed," he answered. "We could do that if you like." When her eyes went wide in shock, he quickly amended his invite. "No no no no. I didn't mean to make it sound as though we should go to bed together. Well, not together-together. I meant we could go and drink it upstairs together and still talk. My room has a comfortable settee in front of the burning log fire, and it'd be a shame to waste all that."

"Smooth, really smooth," she mocked, taking his offered hand again. "But what about the washing up?"

"Tomorrow's problem," he declared. "Tonight, we're dealing with cheering you up."

-0-

There was indeed a roaring fire in his room, and an inviting sofa, as well as good company, so it was easy for her to settle down next to him and enjoy the friendly relationship they were forming.

"Ever been close to marrying?" she asked after they'd exchanged pleasantries, dried her tears and finished drinking their hot chocolate.

The way he slowly but cautiously set his mug down before speaking did not go unnoticed by her. "I was once, long ago," he began, "but had given up on such ideals. My colleagues might have mentioned that I ventured into having a romantic relationship a year or two back." He didn't have to see her nod to know that she would. "It was silly of me, I know, and she was far too young to be aware of what she was getting into when she fell in love with me. So, I never pushed it very far, lest she suddenly changed her mind and fell for someone else. I swear nothing untoward ever happened. Then, just as I allowed myself to consider that our love was possible, she left me."

Donna lifted her head from his shoulder to ask, "Left? Why?"

"It wasn't her choice. She was ripped from my life by circumstances. At the Battle of Canary Wharf," he finished. "In the long run it's better that way. She gets to have her family instead of hanging about with silly old me."

Of course, Donna wasn't convinced. "She is an extremely lucky girl, to have you grieve over her like this, waiting for the moment she can come back."

"Lucky?" he protested. "This doesn't feel lucky in the slightest."

"It is from where I'm sitting," she countered. "She gets to be loved and adored without lifting a single finger. No complaints about her weight or figure, how she is too old to attract a man, that there will never be possible grandchildren now, or decent money in the bank because she doesn't seek permanent employment. And shall I tell you what the best thing of all is for your girlfriend? You haven't secretly taken out a life insurance policy on her dying worth almost half a million pounds or plotted with your latest fancy piece to wipe her off the face of the earth. I'd call that bloody lucky."

His mind instantly reminded him of the trip incident the day they'd met. "Oh Donna. What makes you think that?"

"Let's just say that they weren't expecting me to walk in through the door later, when that train narrowly missed smashing my head in, and I was met with anger when I got home. Of course, stupid ignorant me thought it was pre-wedding nerves, that he was just anxious; but the biggest clue of all was him jilting me. The only decent thing he did was to text me this morning, saying it was all off before I even arrived at the church, but that ain't saying much. He'd cleared out my bank account and buggered off." She bravely smiled through her tears as they surged down her cheeks. "So this is my wedding night, let's have a pity party."

It was no hardship for him to pull his sobbing friend into his comforting embrace. What did a wet shoulder matter when someone's life is falling apart in front of you? "It will be okay," he soothed. "I'll help you get through this and have him return your money."

"The money doesn't matter. He can keep it. Call it payment for services rendered," she bitterly replied. "Plus, I've already blocked my account from him, so he didn't get away with much because I'd transferred a lot of it into a separate savings account. It's just…. He must have really hated me to want me dead rather than just rob me."

"Or he's a psychopath incapable of truly loving anyone but himself."

She sniffed her agreement. "That works too. Enough about me. What about you?"

"What about me?" he wondered.

"My life's just a blubfest, but we could try and get this girl back for you."

"Donna, you don't have to do this."

"No, but I want to," she insisted. "The question is: do you want her back?"

"Well, I erm… I'm not sure, to be honest," he confessed, giving his neck a faint rub. "I've rather accepted my situation."

"Or you were more in love with the idea rather than the reality," she countered.

He bristled. "Since you are very upset, I'm going to let that statement go, and suggest we retire for the night."

"Oh." That's gone and torn it, she thought.

"After we've finished our cuddle, obviously," he amended, welcoming her back into his arms. "You can't hurry a decent cuddle."

"It would be criminal to," she agreed. "Thank you, superhero, for being here for me again."

"Any time," he sincerely replied.

Once she was asleep in his arms, he risked a brief kiss to her temple, allowing himself that moment of peace.

A minute or two later, he roused her to encourage her to go to bed and sleep properly, escorting her to the door. Having indulgently watched her leave him, he turned to return to his room; and was met with a pair of disapproving eyes.

"Good evening, Doctor," he gasped out.