Doctor Who

Because Your Special

Best-Mates

The Doctor slipped into his TARDIS, and leaned back heavily against the doors. For a minute, he just stared up at the console, noted that Amy and Rory were sprawled out on the floor with an alien board-game that neither of them could possibly understand between them on the floor. Swallowing, he straightened his bow-tie and climbed the ramp with a forced bit of energy.

"Look who the cat dragged in, Mr. Williams." Amy's Scottish voice went high as she teased. Swinging her long legs around, she sat up and gave him a pouty grin. "Do you have any idea how late it is, Doctor? I even sat up for you."

"I'm Nine-hundred and nine, Pond. I can keep whatever hours I like." The Doctor replied with a small smile. He kept his pace and wandered past the newly-weds to descend to the lower section of the TARDIS console. Settling his goggles on his face, he flopped into the swing and consoled himself by stroking a wire-snap above his head before tugging down some wires. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do with them but when he couldn't fix the world, sometimes fixing the TARDIS was the next best thing.

"So that's it?" Amy called down, flopping on the glass floor above him. "You said you were off to meet an old friend and I couldn't come and then you're back without so much as a "how-do"?"

The Doctor waggled his fingers at her. "How do, Pond?"

"Amy, it's late." Rory, the sensible one of the pair, shuffled about above the Doctor's head. Twisting slightly, the Doctor could see him cleaning up the board-game. He was always cleaning up after Amy, which was good because she was like a tornado of energy and adventure and every room she went in showed it. The Doctor had gotten a little sick of making sure she put the jam in the fridge when they'd been traveling without Rory.

"Rory." Amy said sharply, leveling a "don't you boss me about" look at her husband and turned back to the Doctor. "So, we're leaving Barcelona, yeah?"

"As soon as I finish with this," He called up, twisting two wires together for absolutely no reason. Well, they were the piping that carried the bio-commands from the console to the rest of the ship, one primary wire and one secondary wire so it made some sense for them to be together.

"Right. Well, since you're in such a foul mood, I'm going to bed." Amy bounced off, slapping Rory playfully on the arm before vanishing from the room.

The Doctor untwisted the wires he'd just twisted together. No, putting both the backup and the primary wires together meant they stood a better chance of being damaged at the same time. That would be bad.

The Doctor turned his head at a sound to his left. Rory, dropping the board-game box down on a step, sat down on one of the stair and looped his arms through the stair railing. The young man smiled slightly in greeting.

"Doctor…?"

"Hmm?" He turned his body slightly, the swing sweeping back and forth with the movement. Hands entangled in wiring, he peered at Rory from behind his goggles. "What can I help you with, Rory the Roman?"

"Nothing. I just wanted…" Rory fiddled with the zipper on his poofy "Marty McFly" vest—which the Doctor always thought was sort of ironically appropriate since Rory was a time traveler too now—and watched the Doctor with a quiet thoughtful expression. "…are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay. I'm always okay. I'm the King of okay." He swung wildly back and forth on his swing. He stopped and gave Rory a questioning look with a slightly demented smile. "Why would you think I'm not okay?"

Rory shrugged. Polar opposite, the Doctor noted, his wife was an extrovert to the point of being a kissagram and Rory kept mostly to himself. Which made it difficult for the Doctor to make friends with him—especially when the only thing they had in common was looking after Amy, time traveling and having an interest in medicine and helping others. Of course, that list was much larger than the one he'd had with Teagan or Peri.

Rory paused, eyes staring at the ceiling as he tried to sort out what he wanted to say, and how to say it. For someone like the Doctor who always blurted out his thoughts, it seemed to be an unnecessary and irritatingly long step in the talking process.

"Well, when you think of it, drop it in a postcard, will you Mr. Pond?" The Doctor returned to his project.

"You seemed so happy this morning." Rory leaned his head on his hands that were folded on the stair's railing. "And you come back and you're not."

"You shouldn't read too much in to that. I'm a Time Lord. We get terrible mood-swings. You know, harmless geek to mad man in seconds. Probably something to do with temporal tides. Vortex seasons. Maybe volcanic eruptions. Really it could be anything. Bad fish and chips…an uncomfy pair of socks…" He split a wire apart, cleaning the oil off by rubbing the ends on his extended tongue. He glanced over at Rory, who was shaking his head and preparing to head for his bed.

"You want to help?" He asked, removing the wires from his mouth and swallowing.

"Only ones you haven't licked."

"No. No. No! Help fix the TARDIS."

Rory stopped, crouched on the stairs, blinking. "You mean it?"

"Of course. You're not as stupid as you look, you know. Some people are—which I think is just tragic and not very mysterious or cool." The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out an extra pair of goggles. This pair had one cracked lens and a mechanical Victorian look to them. He tossed it at Rory. "Besides, I think the TARDIS likes you. She didn't drop you into the pool yet. That's a good sign."

Rory slipped through the railing, cautiously pulling on the goggles and kneeling by the Doctor. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold that." He dropped a panel and some gears into Rory's hands. He found himself smiling, genuinely smiling, and was glad of it. "And…just, be good company, Roranicus."

"Can you not call me that?" Rory complained. But since Rory tended to put with a lot, his few complaints didn't get on the Doctor's nerves like Amy's usually did.

"I could. Yes. I could. But where would be the fun in that?" The Doctor removed a gear from the panel Rory held, "On a scale of one ant to all eternity, does it bother you that much?"

"I dunno." Rory considered, balancing the improvised tray and watching the Doctor work with curiosity. "It just reminds me of battlefields and my men dying and killing my best-friend."

"Who was that?"

Rory blinked at him. "Amy, Doctor, Amy's my best-friend."

"Oh that's right. You shot Amy."

"Yeah."

The Doctor stopped what he was doing. He looked Rory in the eyes and said softly, "I just killed my best-friend today. Not from a gun in my wrist but by wiping her clean of her magnificence, her bravery and all of the times—the best of times—that we had."

Rory shifted into a sitting position, his blue eyes staring up sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"And the worst part of it is…" The Doctor stared off into space. Remembering tears streaming down Donna's face, her whole body shuddering as she begged him not to take her memories. "This wasn't the first time."

Rory didn't ask any question. For a moment, they sat in quiet companionable silence. The Doctor rocked lightly on his swing and dropped a few more gears into Rory's panel-tray.

The sandy-haired human inched his goggles up from his nose to his forehead. "Do you want a hug? Would that be awkward? Yeah…probably."

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Well…yeah." Rory added mindlessly, seeming a little more uncomfortable than normal.

Rory didn't seem to want to explain why hugging would be awkward. Which was alright, the Doctor supposed, he could probably guess at the reason if he really wanted to put some mental effort into it. For his part, the Doctor liked hugging his friends. It made him feel connected with other people. Granted, he hadn't hugged all his companions—only the closest ones and some like Amy and Martha had always seemed to get the completely wrong idea…Oh. What was it with these humans from the twenty-first century who made everything out to be about romantic love and romantic interest?

Swinging again, the Doctor announced, "Okay. No hugging. Except for you and Amy. And me and Amy. I can still hug Amy? Can't I? We hug…you know…usually after you've died again."

"Why is that?" Rory looked up, "Me dying all the time. What is up with that?"

"Oh, the universe probably hates you. It does you know. Hate people. Certain people just have all the bad-luck." He nodded like a wise man, gesturing with his fingers, and grinning wildly, "Like Frodo Baggins. Nothing ever worked out for him. Plus he lost a finger."

"Frodo's not real."

"That is the biggest lie in the universe. Also the best secret." The Doctor smiled conspiratorially. "We'll keep it from Amy, eh?"

"That Frodo is real?" Rory chuckled lightly, "So what exactly are we doing here?"

"I believe the term is "hanging out" like regular blokes. Or two very old men who have been both healers and warriors in their times." The Doctor paused, "Unless you want to go to bed."

Rory shook his head. Something in his slight grin made the Doctor think that even newly-weds needed some time away from each other.

"Go on then," Rory settled into a more comfortable position. "Tell me about your friend."

"Oh… you don't want to hear that…it's mushy. Domestic."

Rory fixed him with a look that seemed to say that he did in fact want to hear it and that, no, he wasn't Amy, and that he actually liked domestic. Which all rang true. Rory had always been the one trying to chase Amy up the aisle.

"I could tell you about the TARDIS's bio-command structure?" The Doctor said hopefully.

"Another time, Doctor. Now, you, tell me about your best-mate."

"It's not a very happy bed-time story, Mr. Pond. No happily-ever afters…But it does have its exciting beginning." The Doctor nudged his foot to send his swing rocking, "I was on the TARDIS, in the vortex, no way to get in—now suddenly, a very angry ginger-haired bride appears in a sort of goldish glow…now, unknown to both of us, we'd already met before…a lifetime ago, for me…"

Donna sat quietly on the TARDIS's jumpseat, discreetly rubbing at stray tears on her cheek. Tired. And not the good tired—not the satisfied at a good day's work contented feeling—but, instead, the utter empty, stupid can't-think straight, drained of emotion tired. The only thing that sounded good to her was her bed.

She looked over at her wild-haired elf in pin-stripes. Quiet. He was quiet too. And old, exhausted looking. But he was not beaten down; a little of his dashing energy lingered and flickered in his eyes. He'd saved River. Amazingly, brilliantly, triumphantly, he'd snapped River Song up from the jaws of death and the abyss and let her live forever inside CAL's dream. Not exactly a happily ever after but a better ending than she and Lee—her beautiful, sweet fictitious husband—had gotten.

"Am I a burden to you?" She asked, putting a sharp edge to her voice.

The Doctor slipped around the console to make eye contact with her. He blinked and grabbed at the nape of his neck and made his "Donna-is-being-incomprehensible-again" face. "…sorry?"

"It's a simple enough question, sunshine." She rose from the jumpseat and went to lean on the console, next to the Doctor, her arms crossed. "Am I a burden to you?"

"'Course not. Well…there was that one time when I had to drag you across the Bigminilili Wastelands for a mile or so…" He paused, smacking the side of his head, "Oh! Oh! I am so thick."

The Doctor skirted around the console, busying himself with some pointless switch-flicking and gear shifting and whatever else TARDIS console button pushing thing that seemed to randomly come to his mind. Unable to make eye-contact, he muttered quietly, "Yeah…yeah…this is about the… wellll…the thing."

"Yeah." She prompted, reaching up to tighten her ponytail, "The thing. The whole send Donna away by tricking her into a transporter thing."

"Transmatter." He corrected, sniffing, "Transporter is Star Trek…Donna, I was saving your life! You know—saving you from the evil predatorial shadow-monsters—you know—saving people? Vashta Nereda? Eaten alive? No…no?"

She glared at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I know! Where do you want to go? How about Barcelona—not the planet, the city—I could use some dampers for my sonic screwdriver…? No? How about we go see Benjamin Franklin—haven't seen him in forever—did you know that he used to have…?" The Doctor's babbling died out slowly. Not because he lacked the steam, but because Donna's look was having the appropriate effect. "Donna," Hands in his pockets, he shifted on his heels, "I take care of you, that's the deal. And if I think that I need to save you—against your will—then, well, that's what I'll do. I shouldn't have to apologize for that."

"No."

"Donna…" he drew out her name like an exasperated sigh.

"I'll tell you the deal, Martian boy. You save me from killer robots, runaway taxis, fire-monsters in ancient Pompeii, rabid Ood…seriously, whatever monster the day brings—" Donna looked him in the eyes, "and I keep you from getting yourself killed doing it—or going all dark Doctor crazy on the galaxy."

"…that's sweet, Donna. Bit Weird. Completely inappropriate, you know, but… sweet."

Donna clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Alright. Not sweet. Not weird…" He sighed, leaning against the TARDIS too. He was close enough that Donna could reach out and hug or slap him, if she wanted too. But she didn't. She wanted to discuss this like adults. Or like a really ancient geeky Time Lord and his ginger-haired Temp.

"You need someone." Her voice was soft and only barely audible over the whirring mechanical-organic sounds of the living Time Ship as it whirled through the vortex. "Remember. You said so."

"Donna…you can't always be there to stop me." He frowned, "Scary thought, isn't it?"

Donna remembered River Song's face when she'd been told Donna's name. That look as if Donna's ending was so very sad. Like Donna was nothing more than a forgotten ghost or some dusty myth. She bit her lip, shaking away thoughts of her mysterious unknown future, "How can I be there—to stop you—if you ditch me when things get interesting."

"Interesting? Try scary. Deadly. You saw Miss Evangelista? The skeleton? All black shadow and stripped bone. Not a good look." He sniffed, whirling away, "And that happened to Other Dave and to Proper Dave and to…"

"I don't care." Donna insisted, rubbing a hand up and down her other arm. "That's the deal. We save each other. What we don't do is go off on solo-adventures with good-looking archeologists."

"Don't be jealous of a dead—digitally immortal—woman, Donna."

"Well, maybe I don't have knowledge of the future or call you pretty-boy, but I'm just as good as she is."

"Better." The Doctor grinned up at her, from where he was bent over the controls, his crazy hair spiked and flattened in odd shapes after running about the haunted Library all afternoon. "Mind you, she did have a sonic screwdriver."

"I'll take a sonic screwdriver."

"You?"

"You taught me how to pilot the TARDIS—sort of. How hard can a screwdriver be?" Donna blinked, "Never mind. Listen, the point is—"

"That you're mad. You're mad…You're mad that your face got put on one of those librarian statues."

"What? My face? My face..?" Donna shuddered, thinking of the creepy "flesh aspect" that had spoken to them in the Library. "Thanks for telling me, mate."

"Oh. Sorry." The Doctor spun back around the console, moving closer to her, "Here. I promise—Time Lord's honor—" He saluted two fingers from his left heart to his hairline, "I won't save you in really deadly situations. Happy?"

"Sometimes," Donna growled, flopping back on the jumpseat, "Donna doesn't want to be saved. Donna wants to play with the other kids—even if it hurts—especially because a certain crazy brilliant Time Lord is rubbish on his own."

"I am not." He returned, pulling a surprised face, "I'm very competent on my own. I do it every few years and…and…welll…hate every minute of it. Just so that's established," he wraggled his index finger at her, "I am not complete rubbish on my own. Not exactly at the top of my game but not rubbish."

"Would you listen to me for a minute, you stupid Martian?" She snapped, "I don't want to be manipulated and I don't want to be separated. I'm your companion; I keep you company no matter what happens. I didn't spend all that time trying to find you so I could be put in a box like a china doll when things get hard—when you really need me."

"Whatever you say, Donna." The Doctor grinned cheekily, but something mysterious and distant was going on in that crazy head of his.

"Fine. But you do it to me again and I'll punch you in the face."

"Right." The Doctor agreed amiably, putting on his brainy specs and bouncing about the console room. He started whistling cheerily but too much had happened in the last day for him to maintain his pseudo-I'm-always-alright-jubilance for more than a few minutes.

Not willing to start another fight, Donna glanced down at her chest. Nope. Her virtual diet had only paid off with virtual pounds. Like everything else in CAL's little dream-world, it didn't exist or matter in the real world. She glanced up, "He made me forget you. That Dr. Moon. Any part of me that tried to wake up and remember, he made me forget."

"Not like he had a choice." The Doctor replied, fiddling with some wad of pink wires he'd removed from somewhere in the TARDIS. He slapped the wires into his other hand and weighed them before glancing at Donna. "Do these look red to you?"

"They're pink."

"So they are. Going color-blind me." Bouncing on his heels, he began to talk about Dr. Moon, "You take that much raw data information from a human brain and try to hold it inside the head of a virtually constructed avatar of personality, will and soul and you doom everyone stored on the hard-drive. Limited space in the virtual reality—CAL's dream. So you store the memories—like ham in a freezer—accessible but hard to get to."

Donna frowned, trying to follow his analogy. "What? Ham in a freezer?"

"Lippy-tappy too-taa."

"What? Doctor?"

"And now," he wafted the wires in the air and let them fall in shreds about his head and shoulders. Poking at them with the sonic screwdriver, he smiled cheerily at her, "I have your full attention. I hate it when I'm trying to explain a multi-faceted concept in as interesting a way as I can and your eyes glaze over."

"Okay," Donna sighed, "In order to save my life and everyone else, Dr. Moon and CAL had to take away some memories. Condense things down. I get that bit. But it still feels wrong."

"Getting mind-wiped so that you can survive?" He twisted in his wiring wad. If he wasn't careful, he was going to trip and be buried under his mountains of pink wires. "Yeah. Not the ideal way to do it. I did it once."

"Really…on yourself?"

"Yeah. Made myself human, stored my Time Lord energy and knowledge in a fob-watch. Took myself down to my bare essence…" He grinned and then grew a bit thoughtful, "Ignorance is bliss, you know. John Smith was a decent bloke, good job, woman who loved him, pursuing family and domestic happiness. Simple. But the wake-up call..." He stopped smiling, eyes staring down at his hands, "…let's just say, less than pleasant, eh?"

"Dreams are beautiful…" Donna thought of Josh's eyes, Ella's beautiful hair, Lee's geeky charming smile, holding her family in her arms, being loved. "Precious even."

"And…?"

"I love traveling with you, sunshine." Donna wiped at her cheek, blinking away at sudden weepiness, "And I don't want to have some fabricated, manipulated happiness if you're out there on your own. I guess, truth is, I'd rather be your mate than some other bloke's wife. 'Course, makes it easier to say when's Lee's not real and you are."

"Skinny Martian beats happy home life with the perfect man?"

"I loved him." Donna bit her bottom lip. She had loved Lee, really, really loved him. Donna had been more heart-broken then she'd ever been in her life when she'd realized she'd never hold him again. That he'd seemed so real, and wasn't, still stung inside. But, looking back, at the choppy segmented narrative of CAL's dream world, she really hadn't known him. They'd leapt past long relationship establishing conversations. They'd leapt past common interests. They'd leapt past a foundational friendship. And without that, it wasn't—couldn't have been—a very strong, lasting sort of love. They'd sort of glided through the virtual years—snippets of moments—without any of the testing or trials or troubles that made love mature.

She wished they could have had those moments. Any moments. Just a few real minutes.

Donna cleared her throat, giving the Doctor a weak smile, "But, honestly, he was no James Bond."

"Neither am I." The Doctor pointed out, finally slogging his way free of the wire-monster he'd created. With a graceful leap, he bent over a portion of wires and began cutting them with a tiny pair of sewing shears he'd taken from his pocket. As usual, Donna hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing or why today was the "snip the pink-wires after messing them all up" day. Could be he was just bored.

"You're close enough." Donna shrugged. "You know what? Back there, in the dream, I missed missing you. Does that make any sense? Missing something you don't know is missing?"

"Yeah. Happens to me all the time. See I'm a big mysterious Time Traveler with tangled convoluted past and future time lines. There are reality changes, subsequent memory loss, temporal adjustment…" he glanced up, "A lot of things are in flux-out there. A few meant-to-be's. A few forever-destined. A few star-crossed romances—and all that—but they are rare. Blocks of immovable stone surrounded by ever changing tides."

"So what do you miss missing?"

The Doctor paused, "Well…do you promise not to laugh?"

"Who do you think I am? Nerys?"

"And no going to tell Martha and giggle behind my back. I can't stand gossipy gigglers."

"Sunshine, I won't tattle and I won't chortle." She tucked her tongue in the side of her cheek, "Satisfied?"

"Fine. Okay. Alright. Socks."

"You…miss socks? Socks?"

"I bought a really nice pair of socks years ago. I bought it with my leather jacket—well not mine, it used to be mine before I got a mole and new teeth and started wearing trainers—but those socks were fantastic. Really brilliant. Cozy in winter, cuddly in summer. The perfect socks." He rested an elbow on his knee, staring off into space with a goofy dreamy smile, "Now, I have worn a lot of socks in my lifetime…lifetimes…but to the point… brilliant comfy socks."

"Blimey, Doctor." Donna, not allowed to laugh, stood in a sort of uncomprehending shock. "Socks? I thought you were going to say something profound."

"You asked." He said defensively. "And I spent weekends—back when I wore a leather jacket and not trainers—looking for that shop. I can't find it. My memory of that purchase is all hazy. Tragic isn't it? And I miss being him, being me then, missing those socks."

"I'm sorry, mate. But that's just daft."

"Donna," He said, looking up with infinite patience, "I am a very eccentric man. Just accept. Don't judge."

"Well, now I know what you want for Christmas."

"I don't want just any socks—you know, what?—drop it. Okay?" He bounded up, "How about we find a nice place and get some coffee, eh? Me and you? Best coffee in the universe! The verdant legendary coffee-fields of New New Mexico City on the planet of New New Earth! If you hit it during the right season, they'll let you go and pick your own beans—although that's time consuming—and really not that much fun, come to think of it. But still, a nice cup of coffee…?" He looked at her hopefully.

"Yeah. Sounds like fun." They could do with a little fun. Might be interesting to see her nerdy Martian on caffeine—though he might just vibrate right through the atmosphere. And, she smiled, grabbing a hold of the console as the Doctor brought them out of the vortex, sometimes it was just good to be with your best mate doing something pointless, fun and a little stupid.

"You know," He grabbed his brown overcoat from the hollow of his "coat-stand" coral column, "I was going to take Rose here but we never made it."

"Poor Rose." Donna smiled affably. It never hurt her to hear the Doctor talk about his ex-companion. She loved the Doctor, but not in that way, so she never felt jealous like Martha had. "I guess that makes me special."

He grinned boyishly and grabbed Donna's hand and led her into the warm golden-green sunlight. "I guess it does."

Author's Note: This the beginning of the end. Promise.