The Dispossessed

Chapter 2

I do not own "Doctor Who." That belongs to the BBC. Consider it and a few characters borrowed until the end of the story.

Sylvia Noble knew there was something wrong with her daughter the instant she let herself in the front door, threw down her bag and made straight for the kitchen without a hello. Taking a chance, Sylvia followed Donna into the kitchen, where the younger woman was pulling out a mug and everything else she needed for tea.

"How was the interview?" Sylvia asked, stepping out of Donna's way. She'd been gone much longer that day than the length of time needed for the job interview. And these days, considering everything that had happened recently, if Donna was out of her sight for very long, Sylvia worried.

"Well, that part of the day went fine," Donna said. "Great, actually. Better than expected. Way better. Got the job, by the way."

"What?" Sylvia asked.

".." Donna said, turning around to face her mother. "So no more temping. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Donna said, hugging Donna, who accepted the hug. "You know, I'm proud of you, really. I know the job isn't exactly what you wanted, but it's a start, and everything, so it's a chance to work your way up. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. . ."

"Shut up while you're ahead," Donna said.

"All right," Sylvia said, sitting down at the kitchen table. "So, how was the rest of your day?"

Donna frowned, taking a seat. No getting out of this one, but at least her mother would now be off her back about having a job again. A secretarial job for a small, privately-funded relief organization. Helping save the world in her own small way, even if it was filing, answering the phone and what not. And it would get her out of the house eight or more hours a day.

"Bought a few books at the shop this afternoon," Donna said. "Nothing exciting, just a few Agatha Christie novels."

"Did you find the book I put in your bag?" Sylvia asked.

"Yeah, thanks. Jane Austen? Really. . ."

"It's a good book, one I enjoyed when I was young," Sylvia said.

"Want it back?" Donna said.

"If you insist, I'll take it back," Sylvia said, hoping Donna would not pick up another copy of that accursed journal.

"Anything else exciting happen?"

"Only had a moron spill my coffee all over," Donna said.

"Was it a man?" Sylvia said.

"Yeah, but don't get all worked up. He wasn't my type. Did try and ask me out though. He was kind of nice about that, and spilling my drink," Donna said.

"And you didn't give him your number?"

"I just met the man, and he didn't even give me his name," Donna said. "Anyway, he was too skinny. Nice eyes though."

"At least you have something nice to say about someone," Sylvia said. "Come on now, you can help me fix dinner."

-----

A place to live and gainful employment were no longer an issue. For that, John was thankful. Home was now a small flat over a pub frequented by one Wilfred Mott. He wasn't going to reveal himself to Wilf just yet. No, he needed a little time to settle in, get used to his new lot in life yet again. And his job. . .oh dear. . .selling books and making coffee in a certain little shop preferred by the illustrious Donna Noble. Not exactly very Time Lordish, but it was a start. No need to draw unwanted attention to himself. He only wanted to fit in, as much as he could, but John knew the universe had ways of compensating. Once, he was anything but ordinary except now, it was all he wanted. That and a loud-mouthed ginger woman back in his life. He'd have it, only it would take time and patience. At least that's all he hoped it would take.

-----

Monday. Donna hated Mondays. Hated them with a passion. Rain made it even better she thought, as she stepped inside the book shop. It was on her way to work, and she had time to spare, and she really wanted a muffin so she stepped into line, contenting herself with waiting patiently for her turn to place her order. Five people and 10 minutes later, she was up to the counter, waiting for the barrista to take her order.

"Hello, good morning, my name is John and what would you like. . ." he trailed off, seeing Donna. Donna with that look on her face. The one from right before she always used to slap him. His cheeriness went away for a fraction of a section, quickly replaced by a grin. "So, we meet again."

"Yeah. Going to spill coffee on me this time?" Donna asked.

"I'll try not to," he said. "That comes out of my paycheck."

"Nice, papercut, so are you going to take my order or not?" Donna said.

"What will it be this lovely morning, ma'am?" John said.

Donna rolled her eyes. Lovely? "One blueberry muffin."

"That's all?" John said.

"That's all."

He reached into the pastry rack beside him, pulled out a muffin, dropped it into a sack for her.

"How much?" Donna said.

"For you, on the house," he said. "It'll just have to come out of my paycheck."

Donna snatched the sack from his proffered hand, turned on her heel, sighed. She stopped, turned back.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," John said. "Now, about that drink. . ."

Donna walked away, kept walking, but she had a smile on her face. She was not going to let papercut. . .John, see it yet.