Phobos sat, hunched over slightly, in the armchair that the boss had given him by the fire. He was thinking hard, an exercise to which he was unaccustomed and which caused his misshapen face to contort grotesquely. He had been pleased when the boss had shown him the reading on the funny little machine and told him that it meant the girl was carrying his child. He had felt as though he had accomplished something. But now he felt restless and dissatisfied, he could barely stay still in his chair, jiggling his legs rapidly up and down.
Slowly, it began to dawn on him that he missed her. He missed the feel of her pinned beneath him, struggling fruitlessly. He missed sinking his jagged nails into her breasts and listening to her scream. He missed the heat of her around his cock and the wild hammering of her pulse. But most of all, he missed the look of pure terror in her eyes, written on her every feature when she looked at him, when he took her. Smirking a bit in remembrance, he resolved to ask the boss if he could continue to play with her. Having made his decision, Phobos grunted softly, leaned back in the chair and began to snore, worn out by the effort of so much complex thought.
She couldn't move. Something was holding her down.
These were Jenny's first thought as she struggled blearily back into consciousness. Forcing her uncooperative brain into gear, she strained against the mental fog, trying desperately to remember what had happened to her. Suddenly, a barrier within her mind seemed to crumble and everything came rushing back to her. The cell, with its tiny window, her grotesque tormentors. And the parasite.
At first, the explanation given by the short man known universally as 'the boss' had made no sense to her. She had no idea what 'pregnant' meant, or why it should meant that they had succeeded at anything. She hadn't felt any different. She hadn't thought that she looked any different. For a few days she had put it from her mind and simply enjoyed the peace. She was no longer violated daily; they had given her a blanket and best of all she was being fed well and regularly.
Then, she had felt something inside her move. It had felt different from the familiar movement of her stomach growling in demand of food; this had felt almost... alive.
She had panicked. There was something alive, something growing inside her, feeding on her blood or her organs or something and it frightened her. She had screamed, cried and scraped and pounded at the door until her nails tore and her knuckles bled.
They had come, finally, rushing through the door so unexpectedly that she was knocked backwards a few paces. The taller one, who she had heard the other one call 'Phobos' had grabbed her and used one hand to restrain her arms, whilst the other grasped her hair and pulled her head to one side to expose her throat. The shorter, yellow eyed one had darted forward and jabbed something into the side of her neck. She had continued to struggle for another few minutes before her vision had blurred and she had faded from consciousness.
Now, as she battled her way through the last vestiges of the drug induced haze, she realized that she lay naked, strapped to a cold, hard exam bed in a sterile, blindingly white room.
She raised her head to look down at herself and saw, to her horror that her belly had started to swell. The thing was growing larger. She shuddered involuntarily when she wondered what would happen when it became too large to fit inside her.
Squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall, she sent out a silent prayer to whoever was listening that her father would find her before it was too late.
Donna laughed delightedly as the Doctor seized her by the waist and spun her around the dance floor with reckless abandon. Her laughter became a shriek when he wrapped his arms around her and dipped her low to the ground.
"Stop it, you bloody idiot! You'll do your back in carrying around a great lump like me!"
The Doctor smiled and scooped her off her feet completely.
"You, my lady, are the furthest thing from a lump that I have ever seen."
She whapped him lightly on the arm.
"Flatterer! Now, put me down so I can get us some more champagne. I tell you, Spaceman, I am loving this new metabolism."
The new couple were attending an illicit party in Boston, 1928, in honour of their first kiss in the kitchens of Edison manor. The gathering was being held in celebration of one Mr Reginald Barton's engagement. Neither Donna nor the Doctor had any idea who Mr Barton was, but judging by his ballroom he was doing quite well for himself. The richly appointed space featured polished Maplewood floors and a stunningly gaudy crystal chandelier. A small orchestra occupied one corner, filling the air with lively jazz music. Along the far wall was a long, low trestle heaped with fresh fruit and sweetmeats, champagne bottles and decanters of smuggled whiskey. All in all, it was, as Donna put it, a 'proper bash'.
The Doctor smiled softly as his eyes tracked his mates swaying hips as she crossed the room to the buffet table. She really was beautiful; he had no idea why she couldn't see it herself. The other men surrounding them certainly did. He found himself suppressing a growl as he watched them blatantly ogling his Donna.
Taking a slow, deep breath to prevent his bypass from activating out of stress, he closed his eyes and exhaled, deliberately relaxing his muscles. He didn't want Donna to worry over nothing. He certainly didn't want to have to explain to her his rapidly developing jealous streak. It was irrational, chauvinistic, and he was fairly certain she would slap him for it.
Donna returned bearing two brimming champagne flutes and sporting a saucy grin. As she handed the Doctor his glass, she leaned in close to him so that her breasts pressed invitingly against his chest.
"Well old man, what do you say we show these stiff shirts a thing or two about dancing?"
The Doctor, being slightly less inebriated than his partner, resisted the urge to lean in to her body and deftly took a step backwards.
"An excellent idea, my love, but you're forgetting something. I am not old. I'm just... mature."
Donna snorted. "You keep telling yourself that, mate, the fact remains you're cradle snatching by at least 860 years."
The Doctor growled playfully. "You'll pay for that, you cheeky wench!"
She smirked and dragged him back out onto the dance floor.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."
Hours later, the couple made their way back to their ship, giggling and leaning heavily on one another. As they burst through the blue wooden doors, the Doctor released his hold on Donna to dance an impromptu little jig and announce "I love the 1920's!" Unfortunately, deprived of his steadying presence, Donna promptly fell to the ground. She sat there for a minute, with both of them in silence, before they simultaneously burst into hysterical laughter.
Wiping away a tear, the Doctor reached out a hand and helped his lover to her feet. Then, without warning, he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She shrieked with laughter and pounded on his back. "What are you doing, you moron?"
He replied in a suggestive tone "You, my dear, need taking in hand. Come on, off to bed with you."
He patted her rear in a proprietary way and set off down the hallway at a jog, chuckling salaciously.
Donna dreamed.
She lay on a cold, hard surface, a blinding white light stabbing at her eyes. It was only when she tried to move that she realized she was restrained. It was at this moment that a face which looked like it was made of every nightmare she had ever had invaded her field of vision. Large, calloused hands slid up her thighs and over her belly. Long, jagged fingernails dug into her skin. She felt the rock hard horror of the creature's arousal pressing insistently into her groin- and woke up screaming.
The Doctor, having felt her distress telepathically, was awake and waiting for her. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms and began to stroke her hair and hum softly, waiting for her to calm down. Finally, her heart rate slowed and her respiratory bypass disengaged. She took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed in her lovers embrace. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she processed the horrific imagery of her dream.
Rocking her gently, the Doctor spoke.
"There now, love, are you back with me?"
Donna nodded with her head still pressed against his chest.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" He asked gently, requesting rather than demanding.
Donna took another breath to steady herself and began to describe her nightmare. When she had finished, the Doctor looked at her thoughtfully, his brow furrowed.
"Have you ever had dreams like this before?"
She shook her head. "No, never. Why?"
"No real reason, it's just that..."
"Just that what, Doctor? I won't have you hiding things from me!"
He was quick to reassure her. "No, really, it's probably nothing; it's just that what you described sounds a lot like external psychic input. I'm not sure that was your dream."