Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. that honour belongs to RTD and the mighty and glorious BBC. The only thing I get out of this is a warm fuzzy feeling knowing I am trying to put right what once was wrong.
Authors Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has added this story as a Favourite or a Story Alert. I'm dedicating tonights chapters (there's two - go on count them) to bbmcowgirl, MizScarlet and blaidd drwg cariad who gave me my first three lovely reviews before I'd even had my breakfast. I really appreciate it.
It's time to meet Ms Noble. I know by rights she should be as obnoxious as she was right at the start of the Runaway Bride but I'm working on the principle that a year on from Journeys End she has started to question her life just a bit and is more like she is at the end of Runaway Bride. Mea culpa.
Chapter III
Donna Noble was in the pub. Of course she was, it was Friday night wasn't it. She was celebrating surviving another week as Mr Goodhew's secretary in the engineering firm of G.W. Gooodhew and Sons, a two-bit, tin-pot operation making rivets and allen keys for the masses. Although, she had to concede lately it was more for the odd hardware shop given the way sales were going. But at least for another week she had a regular if somewhat small payslip which kept, if not the wolves from the door, at least her mother off her back. It was a good enough reason for a swift drink at the Gunner's Mate before heading home.
In the last year since her 'episode' (her friends insisted she'd missed some big alien invasion sleeping off a hangover – as if!), her mother had been a bit odd. Always looking at her out of the corner of her eye as if Donna might do something strange like grow another head. Sylvia Noble's tongue had always been razor sharp and more often than not Donna would bear the brunt of it, Sylvia's disappointment in her only child frequently voiced. Now though she would start to say something, glance around wildly as if she was afraid of being overheard, give Donna a swift hug instead and leave the room. Donna supposed her mother was having a post mid-life crisis. She didn't fool herself into believing her mother was any more fond of her. Thank god for Grandad Wilf. Wilfred Mott treating her like a queen, like she was the most precious thing on the planet. A few months ago when all the children had gone weird for a bit (Wilf told her it had been due to some dodgy vaccination they had all had), he had suddenly whisked her away on a star-gazing trip saying she needed a holiday. Two weeks in a tent in deepest, darkest Yorkshire in the rain. They hadn't seen many stars but they had talked. He'd told her how special she was, how she was wasted being a temp. How she shouldn't listen to Sylvia, she was just grieving for Donna's dad. It was after that trip that Donna had taken the job at G.W. Goodhew & Sons even though it paid less than temping. She needed stability, to make a career for herself. Even if was just as a secretary. Besides Wilf wasn't getting any younger and she had always promised herself to provide for him in his old age. She wasn't sure how she was going to do that on her current salary but at least it was a start.
Donna sipped her vodka appreciatively and let her eyes wander around the pub. Terry and Gavin, two mechanics from the firm, and her usual drinking companions, were playing their customary Friday night drinking game. Donna had never been able to fully grasp the rules, even though she had participated on a number of occasions, but the main aim seemed to be getting as legless as possible in the shortest possible time. From what Donna could see they were well on their way to breaking their own record. She'd let them play alone tonight, getting ratted on a Friday night and spending all day Saturday recovering from a hangover just wasn't that appealing anymore. Maybe she was getting old. Old and alone. Sod that for a lark, she thought viciously, a woman in my prime that's what I am! She let her gaze move on, she loved people-watching. It was her favourite pastime, even better than reading the gossip mags.
Her eyes settled on the lone figure of a man sat at the bar nursing a shot glass. There were several empty shot glasses beside him lined up with precision along the bar. Donna liked precision. Nice profile, she decided, studying him closely. As if aware of her scrutiny the man shifted in his seat and she caught a glimpse of his face. Bloody hell, though Donna, an unexpected bolt of attraction shooting through her. Now he is handsome. What the hell, she decided suddenly, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Surreptitiously she pulled her compact mirror from her bag and checked her hair and make-up. Finding everything in order she took a gulp of vodka and got to her feet.
"Another round?" she asked Terry and Gavin, ignoring her own half-filled glass on the table before her. "My treat." Gavin and Terry whooped their approval and signalled they wanted more of the same. Putting her hips to full effect Donna sashayed towards the bar nonchalantly positioning herself besides the man ostensibly trying to catch the barman's eye. Surreptitiously glancing down she caught a glimpse of a silver ring on the man's wedding finger. Bugger. Married, she thought disappointedly. She was about to move round the bar under the guise of gaining a better position to attract the harassed barman's attention when, taking a final rueful look at the face of the man beside her, she stopped. His face was somehow familiar, like someone she'd met at a party once years ago. But it was the expression on his face which stopped her dead. The face of a man who had gone to hell – and was still there.
Without thinking she turned to face him properly,
"Excuse me. Are you alright?" she found herself asking, all at once wondering if she had made a very bad mistake getting involved.
The man tilted his head to look at her and for a split second she saw the pain in his blue eyes replaced by a spark of recognition. Then it was gone and in its place was just appreciation and crinkled half smile. I would kill for eyelashes like those, she thought absently.
"I am now sweetheart," the man smiled suggestively.
Donna sighed as disappointment washed over her. A bloody American. And a seriously cheesy one at that.
"Oh pleeease," she returned sarcastically. "What is this? 1973. I guess that's still a good line back in the good 'ol US of A. We'll let me tell you... sweetheart was it... I wasn't actually coming on to you..." Guiltily Donna crossed her fingers behind her back. Well she hadn't been, not then. "...I was concerned. Strange alien concept for the British I know, but there it is." Donna paused for breath realising that if she continued she would be in danger of making a fool of herself. "Since you're clearly fine, albeit American, which I realise is a bit of an insurmountable problem, I'll be off."
With a toss of her vivid red hair she started to move away, but the man put a restraining hand on her arm.
"Oi..." she began indignantly, turning an angry face to him and looking pointedly at her arm.
"I'm sorry, bad joke..." the man began, immediately releasing her. He seemed to struggle for words. "It's been, well, not a good day."
Suddenly remembering the haunted look on his face which had prompted her to speak in the first place, Donna's face softened.
"Please sit down." The man patted the stool next him. "Let me buy you a drink to apologise. Please?"
"What the hell," Donna assented, sitting down and dropping her bag at her feet. Nothing ventured nothing gained, she reminded herself. And he is cute. Smiling she held her hand out,
"Donna Noble," she said briskly.
"Jack Harkness," he replied taking her hand and shaking firmly. "American. Pleased to meet you."
After that it had been easy, Donna realised. Jack was so easy to talk to. And he didn't seem to think she was brash and loud, or at least if he did he hid it well. And he wasn't as cocky as he appeared. It was all a front, Donna sensed, there was something deeply painful hidden away. Something to do with his ring, which he kept unconsciously touching and turning over and over.
It was closing time, the barman was chivvying people to finish their drinks. Around her people were putting on their coats and saying their farewells. Glancing round, she noticed Terry and Gavin were long gone, probably to a club where they could continue the contest in earnest. With a sinking feeling she realised that it was coming to an end. This unexpected, and she conceded, frankly bloody marvellous, encounter. She had to say something.
"So Jack, back home to the missus then." She winced. Even to her own ears it sounded unbelievably crass and rude. "Sorry," she apologised wildly. "That was..."
Jack held his hand up to stop her and smiled sadly, "Don't worry about it. No wife, no anyone."
"I just thought," Donna said uncomfortably. "The ring..."
Jack looked down at his hand as if he was seeing the ring for the first time. "Widower," he replied quietly.
For once Donna couldn't think of a single thing to say. Blushing in embarrassment, her hair and face approaching the same colour she rapidly stood up and bent down to retrieve her bag. Her hair covering her face she began to mutter an apology and started to back away unwilling to meet Jack's accusing eyes. As before Jack put his hand out to stop her.
"Donna. It's OK. Really OK," he said softly.
"No, it's not Jack," Donna said hotly, bringing her suspiciously swimming eyes up to meet his face. "I'm crap at this. I think I better go before I say something else crass and stupid and rude and..."
Whatever else Donna was going to say was lost as Jack leant over and gave her an intense, searing kiss on the lips.
"Oi...I...Jack..." Donna spluttered incoherently as he pulled away.
"When can I see you again? Tomorrow 8pm Gino's on the High Street?" Jack grinned at her. Still shocked to her core, Donna could only nod.
The following night Donna resolved to be calm, collected and sophisticated. She had leapt out of bed so early that Sylvia had been too shocked to say more than good morning, forgoing her usual diatribe about how Donna would never make anything of her life if she stayed out all night partying with Suzie. Dashing into town she had spent way too much money on deep purple calf length dress which looked Roman and sexy and was completely at odds with her usual wardrobe. Then she had bullied Kath at the hairdressers into fitting her in, letting her twist her red hair into a sophisticated French plait she would never have dared to try on her own. Finally at seven thirty she stood and looked at herself in the mirror of her childhood bedroom. She hardly recognised herself, it was like a stranger looking back at her. With a muttered curse she pulled down the elegant French plait and brushed her hair back into its usual flowing style, then she kicked off the deep purple stilettos. Very painful and a hundred and twenty quid down the drain. Burrowing in the back of her closet she pulled out some flat knee length brown leather boots. Pulling them on she looked again in the mirror. Now it was someone she recognised. Not a stranger, but not the old Donna Noble either. A new Donna. A better Donna.
At two minutes to eight the taxi dropped her off outside the restaurant. Jack was waiting, leaning against the door frame in a sharp dark suit. Somehow he looked out of place, lost. When he saw her his face lit up. It gave her a warm feeling inside. Giving her an appraising glance Jack wolf-whistled.
"Oi..Watch it Yank," Donna warned him in mock outrage.
"Ms Noble," Jack greeted her laughing. "Looking good may I say."
"You may Mr Harkness." Donna replied jauntily with a pronounced posh accent. "You may escort me inside." She crooked her arm in Jack's direction.
Jack took her hand and placed it on his arm. "My pleasure ma'am." he replied as he opened the door and led her inside.
The indignant retort of, "Who are you calling ma'am. I'm young, free and single I'll have you know..." was lost was the door swung shut behind them.
Later that evening, after four more hours of mundane second date conversations when she had managed to limit herself to only half a dozen acerbic witticisms and Jack had dealt out another tantalisingly short, heart-stopping goodnight kiss, Donna settled down under the duvet and fell asleep smiling broadly. For once her dreams were not full of a strange skinny man in a brown suit and a shock of dark hair, but with the lantern-jawed American who for some reason she was dying to call Captain Jack.
Across town, in his rented flat, Jack hesitated before pulling out his mobile and dialling the special number. After half a dozen rings it was answered,
"Doctor," Jack greeted him with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I've made contact. You were right. She's going to be a handful. Might be fun though."
As usual the Doctor was not fooled for a second, "I know this is hard Jack. Thank you. Let me know if you...I mean she, needs anything. Take care."
Jack put the phone down feeling desperately lonely in the silence. Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled off his boots and looked at the photo by the bed, his one concession to homeliness. It was a picture of him, one arm each around Gwen and Ianto, laughing at the camera. He remembered the day Rhys had taken it, a rare lazy day with no rift activity. They had gone to a beach, eaten ice-cream, stayed in a hotel because they had all drunk too much to drive back to town. He and Ianto had made love until dawn. And they had talked, really talked. Letting down the barriers if only for a moment. A perfect day and night. Just one. Two days later the 456 had sent their first message and their lives had crashed down around their ears.
Swallowing hard he leaned over and touched Ianto's face.
"Goodnight Ianto" he said, as he did every night.
Ianto just smiled back.