AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Okay, look, I'm SOOO sorry for not updating in over 9000 years. (Ah, drat, internet memes invading my message!) There are a million reasons for this, but none of them more important than the fact that I am a very fickle creature. I started writing more fanfics. I wrote my own stuff. Life's been busy. I know this can't satisfy my raving fans (all four of you out there!) but also, my old netbook got a virus, so I had to start with only my thumb drives' saved files. So there.
Alrighty, let me add that I own nothing. Heeeeere's fanfic!
Silvia, it turned out, had in his absence discovered just what the Doctor meant about Donna's mood swings.
"I did not!"
"You did so!"
"Ladies, ladies!" the Doctor exclaimed, raising his hands into the air as he and Wilf entered. "What's going on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on, spaceman," Donna scowled. "We are not—" here she stamped her foot for emphasis, "—staying here."
Silvia put her hands on her hips. "All I said was that I made some cake earlier, and would she want some—"
"You're calling me fat!" Donna cried, falling back onto the couch, which groaned a little beneath her. The Doctor was quick to intervene, wiping tears from Donna's cheeks as he rolled his eyes at Wilf and mouthed, 'See what I meant?'
"She didn't mean it," he said quickly to Donna. "Slip of the tongue. She didn't mean it. Remember what that Matron on Jerafopolis said to do whenever you get upset?"
Donna sniffed, nodding slowly. "T—take a deep breath and count to eleven, and think about something I like."
The Doctor nodded. "Go on. One, two…"
"Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven." Donna breathed slowly before looking back up at the Doctor with large eyes.
"What'd you think about?" he asked calmly.
"Cake," Donna replied. "I want some of that cake."
The Doctor found himself soon in the unfortunate position of sitting in a room alone with Sylvia Noble as Wilf and Donna shuffled from the room to get cake and tea. He swallowed, leaning forward and backward in his chair and scratching his wrist uncomfortably. Sylvia didn't seem to show any weakness; she was the pitiless stone he knew she was. He looked away from her, imagining the things that could be whirling within her mind…why had he gotten her daughter pregnant; why did he bring her now; the list could be veritably endless.
"You put up with her like that for eight months?"
The Doctor blinked. Was there a whit if humor in Sylvia's eye—it must've been, for she looked away, scowling quickly. He allowed a little smile to creep to his lips before setting his jaw to match hers.
"Yeah," he replied. "It's been worse, but it can be better, too. She once locked herself in her room for a weekend, I don't know why."
Sylvia swallowed. "Still. You should've brought her back sooner; I'm her mother, and I need to know when something like this happens."
"To be fair, we were eight thousand years in the future when this happened."
"You could've come back." For someone decidedly closed-minded, Sylvia certainly picked up the whole time-and-space thing fairly easily.
"We got sidetracked," the Doctor replied. "I did mean to get around to it early on, but Donna was all moody and then we got into…some stuff."
"Dangerous stuff?" Sylvia asked, pursing her lips and staring at the Doctor. He shrank a little beneath her glare, but held his ground nonetheless.
"I protect her," he answered stiffly. "I won't let anything happen to her, or them."
At the mention of the twins, the Doctor knew even Sylvia's heart could soften; he was right. Her eyes lit up, and she leaned forwards, resting her chin on her knuckles.
"Have you thought about names yet?" she asked. The Doctor smiled in spite of himself.
"We have," he answered.
"I always thought Andrew was a nice name," she said. "If Donna had been a boy, Geoff and I agreed on that name. Are they girls, or boys?"
"One of each," the Doctor answered.
"You can't give them the wrong names," Sylvia interrupted. "My sister's girl, Nerys—lovely girl, but you can't type the name into a computer without it getting underlined in red. It's really frustrating."
"We've got the right names for them," the Doctor promised.
"I hope you don't call the boy 'Doctor Junior,'" she went on. "A name like that, no child can—"
"We've got the names," the Doctor insisted. Were Donna and Wilfred taking forever in the kitchen on purpose, making him spend time with this woman? Swallowing, and finding a rare space where Sylvia said nothing, he went on. "They're names I never thought I could bear to say again. Their names are—"
Oh my goodness! What could the names be? Well, I already know of course, but I'd like to hear what you think they should be. PLEASE comment, I LOVE to hear from you!