Hi all! Sorry for the long absence - been traveling overseas! I'll tell you - the Mediterranean hasn't seen the last of me!
Anyway, if you'll recall, Donna and Martha had a conversation in the previous chapter that definitely did not pass the Bechdel test (thank you, reviewers, for reminding me of the name of it!). I've discussed in author's notes before the fact that I think Donna has some deeply-seated personal insecurities, perhaps exacerbated by her experience with Lance. And I don't think these are insecurities that could be reassured away by a woman who is fifteen years younger, and from Donna's point of view, would have no real idea of what she's going through. This is my take on Donna's very complex character, at least from a relationships standpoint.
So, the next couple of chapters might be hard for some readers, but please know this: I am not, in any way, trying to phase Donna out! I meant what I said about exploring the dynamic between the two women! Bear with me - Donna will have her due, in the end!
And so, here we go!
SEVEN
Martha Jones, once more, came through the double doors beside the security desk, only it was seven pm. She'd been "cut" two hours before the end of her shift because she'd stayed so late the night before, things were slow tonight, and she was, after all, filling in for a colleague.
She had left her scrubs in her locker – she'd bring them home tomorrow – and decided to simply walk out of there, feeling unencumbered in her street clothes. She wore a black tank top and loose black trousers, with flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was tied up messily on top of her head. She'd phoned ahead to let the Doctor and Donna know she'd be free soon, and was looking forward to settling into some TV with them, or some online gumshoeing.
"Oh! Hi!" she said, surprised to see a very familiar, tall man in pin-stripes standing there when she walked out of A&E. "Fancy seeing you here!"
"I know, it's mad!" he squeaked, to match her tone. He gave her a hug, and kiss on the cheek, and said, "Since you're off early, I thought I'd take you to dinner. How does that strike you?"
"It strikes me well," she answered. "Wow, people I like keep turning up here to feed me."
"Yeah, Donna said you two had lunch, and a bit of a chat," he said, ushering her toward the door leading out of the building.
"Mm," she confirmed. Then, with a delighted, cheeky smile, "Don't bother asking what we talked about…"
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with a smirk. "I would be loath to do anything to get between you two."
"Yeah, there's a lot of that particular sentiment going around."
"I know." His tone had changed, as they turned right on the sidewalk, and made their way toward the TARDIS, parked across the street.
They didn't say anything while they navigated traffic.
"She and I both feel as though we're imposing," Martha sighed, reaching the sidewalk again.
"You're both wrong, you know."
"Yeah, I think we both know that, intellectually," she said. "Feelings are different, though. And they are stubborn."
Again, there was a few moments of silence, while the Doctor contemplated. Then, "In all seriousness, Martha, is everything okay… on that front?"
"It's hard to say. It didn't really get resolved. It might be a work in progress."
"Okay. I can see that."
"She says she thinks she'll be all right… I don't know her that well, but I wasn't really convinced."
"I got the same impression from her last night when she and I talked. I do know her a bit better than you do, but the thing is, I'm not used to seeing her hold back emotions," he explained. "I mean I don't think I've ever seen her not say exactly what's on her mind. So, if she seems a little off when she talks about it, I don't know if off means that she's stopping herself from saying something she'd like to say, or what. I've no frame of reference."
Martha took a moment to ruminate. "I think, ultimately, it really is going to be okay. Right now, we're in this holding pattern, and we've had this delay from getting out on the road, and we've got all this time to sit around and overthink it. We just need to get in the TARDIS and go… get into a groove. We'll get used to each other, and how things are."
He slid his key into the TARDIS' front lock, and opened the door. The two of them stepped inside.
"So, I'm not just daft to think I can travel with both of you, and everyone will be all shiny and happy?" he asked, walking up the ramp ahead of her. "I mean, on the surface, it sounded like a fine idea because, well… I can't not be with you now, and Donna, she has no interest in me that way. And the two of you seem to get on really well…"
"No, you're not daft to think we can make this work," she assured him, sidling up to the console with him. "But you are daft if you think it won't take some effort, especially on our part – yours and mine."
"I would never think that."
"Speaking of which, you didn't just leave her alone in my flat tonight, so you could take me out to dinner, did you?"
"No, I invited her," he said. "Today I read about this place called Casa Tua, supposed to be amazing Italian food in this cool, rustic cabin-like environment… thought it might be a good time for the three of us."
"But?"
"Her friend Madeleine called and invited her to game night with some mates."
"Oh. Okay. What's that – board games?"
"Unless they're headed to Blackpool."
"So, just the two of us, then."
"Indeed."
"Brilliant," she chirped with a smile. "But, Casa Tua. I've never heard of it."
"Yeah, it's in Aspen.
She laughed. "Aspen?"
"Mm-hm," he answered. "Problem?"
"No, but… isn't it, like, noon in Aspen right now?"
"We have a time machine," he reminded her flatly.
"Okay, then," she conceded, laughing again. "Lead on."
He set coordinates on the console, and threw the TARDIS into gear. Within a minute, the vessel stopped, and when they stepped outside, it appeared to be the same time of day, and they were parked just outside of the posh mountain village.
"So did we just jump forward seven hours?" she asked.
"Yep," he said. "It was five minutes after seven when we left, and it's five minutes after seven now."
"Cool," she shrugged, stepping onto the sidewalk.
He took her hand and led her the few blocks into town.
They enjoyed an elegant, but relaxed, dinner of Northern Italian cuisine and better wine than Martha was used to. The Doctor ordered Tiramisù for dessert, while Martha had cheesecake with blackberry reduction sauce.
After dinner, they took a walk, and decided to take the ski gondola up the side of the mountain, which ran all year long for tourists, hikers, bicyclists, et cetera. By then, it was just after dusk, and the town's lights illuminated the world below, like a cluster of a hundred thousand little stars. There was a pub on the mountaintop with a terrace, so they ordered one more drink, just so they could sit there, and they hardly spoke, as they watched the sun completely disappear.
Then, they rode back down, and on the way, the Doctor said, "You know, it's already about, oh… four-thirty in the morning in London."
"Think we're still awake there?" Martha asked, leaning her head back to kiss his neck… just once. Just enough.
"I hope so," he replied, and he took her hand, and kissed her fingertips.
They refrained from any scandalous snogging on the way down the mountain, but made their way back to the TARDIS, back to London (at nine-thirty pm) in Martha's back garden, and up the stairs to bed.
Two-and-a-half hours of wine, mountain air and relaxation practically flowed through their veins, and seemed to make them sink into one another in a slow, languid, moaning mass, guiding them through the first hour of lovemaking.
Cooling in the bedroom's dim light, she rolled over on her side, placed one hand on his shoulder, and said, "Hey, I almost forgot to ask, what did you find out today while you were skulking?"
"Not a whole lot, but I do have a theory, based on what I overheard from two blokes chatting at the urinals."
"That's sexy. Do tell."
He turned over as well, to face her.
"I think that whatever is buried, or locked away, beneath that engraved slab is in a different reality."
"Oh, so, like the slab is concealing a portal, or something?"
"Could be. Something like that," he said. "In addition, I think that the slab itself has been, until very, very recently, on a different plane of reality as well. Which is why we are perceiving it in Latin, and the TARDIS translation circuit is working on our brains, but not on that."
"So, what, it appears in our reality suddenly a few weeks ago, in preparation for opening it?"
"That's what I'm thinking. In preparation for the time of answering," he said, exaggerating those last three words as though they were meant to boom throughout the block.
She laughed, then asked, "What the hell does that even mean, have you worked it out yet?"
"No. But I will."
This conversation led to talking about past experiences, when the Doctor had seen slightly similar things, and more theorising over what was actually happening here…
That gave way to reminiscing, which gave way to sentimentality, which gave way to a different type of sentiment…
So, the second hour of lovemaking was punctuated (interrupted) by a phone call, just after midnight.
"What the hell?" Then, upon seeing the display of who was ringing, Martha mumbled, "Damn it!"
"You're going to answer it? Now?" he asked, exasperated, pulling back from her, in a bit of disbelief.
"We've been knocking the wall with the headboard."
"So?"
"Hi, Mrs. Finley," Martha said, practically trembling, speaking into the phone to her overly-sensitive neighbour.
The Doctor was in much the same incredibly tightly-coiled state, on his knees beside her on the bed, waiting rather impatiently. "Who's that?" he mouthed, irritated.
Martha mouthed "neighbour," and gestured at the wall. Aloud, she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was so late. Yes… of course, we'll try and keep it down."
The Doctor stifled a laugh.
Martha frowned at whatever Mrs. Finley had said next. "Oh, erm… it's racquetball practise," she responded.
This time, he couldn't hold it in, and let loose a guffaw.
Martha reached over to the space beside her head and threw his own pillow at him.
"Well, it's just, there's no time to practise during the day… I know, it's daft… all right, yes, sorry. Good night, Mrs. Finley," Martha said, ending the call, tossing the phone onto the floor.
"Racquetball practise?"
"Pssh," she scoffed. "What's she thinking, asking what we're doing? Like she doesn't bloody know?"
"She just wanted to see what you'd say, make you squirm a bit," the Doctor offered. "The truth would have shut her up more quickly, but I liked your response. It showed vision."
"Well… what do we do? Stop?"
"There's always the TARDIS."
"Good idea," she said, rolling sideways out of bed, and hurrying for her robe.
By eight a.m. they were back in Martha's kitchen, having coffee and toast. Martha had wanted to take advantage of home before becoming a fully-fledged TARDIS resident again in a few days, and the Doctor had wanted to scour the newspaper for new info about the time capsule.
They checked about for Donna, but she hadn't made it back yet.
"Anything new?" Martha asked from the table by the window, as she checked her e-mail.
"Nope," the Doctor said, closing the paper. "Just an ad for the event… stuff we already know. I was hoping to find a mini-feature on the firm, or a profile puff piece or something, but I've looked over every page, and there's nada."
"Okay," she said, sighing, sitting back in her chair. Her mind seemed to wander, as she watched him move toward her, pick up her mug, smile at her, then walk back over to the counter to refill both of their cups. She watched the way he moved, the earnestness of his face while he poured, the way his trainers hugged the floor while he walked about. She loved it all.
Today, he was wearing blue, which he only did about a third of the time. She preferred this to brown, as this had been the way she'd seen him when they'd had their first adventure together, when the hospital went to the moon. This morning it was the blue suit with white pinstripes, dark burgundy shirt, with a blue and burgundy tie, and red shoes. The ensemble was clearly a bit tongue-in-cheek, but it was part of the smouldering-hot "package" she'd mentioned to Donna on the previous day, on the terrace.
They'd retired to the TARDIS in the wake of Mrs. Finley's complaint last night, and upon waking today, for the first time, she'd got to see the inside of the Doctor's wardrobe. It had been fascinating to glimpse the dozen identical brown suits and the four blue ones – all well-tailored, and extremely intentional. There was also a myriad of blue, white, brown and red dress shirts hanging nearby, as well as the same colour palate of t-shirts and ties. Way over to the right, there hung a tuxedo, which Martha had only seen him wear once.
But it had been a good once.
All of this brought something to mind. "Doctor, do you have a black suit to wear to a funeral?"
"Eh?" he asked, looking at her with a confused frown, and approaching again, with her second cup of coffee.
"The funeral is in two days. You said you would come."
"Oh, right," he sighed. "Gee, I never think about clothes."
"Ironic," she said under her breath.
"I suppose I can't wear a tux."
"No, sorry," she said. "If you want people to ask as few questions about you as possible, you'll need to wear something conventionally appropriate for a funeral. Blend in."
"Okay, fine, but I'm not wearing dress shoes. Not even for you."
She chuckled. "Well, one has to draw the line somewhere. We can go today and buy you a new suit. I don't have to work."
"You don't?" he asked, sitting down across from her.
"No," she said. "Today was Julia's day off."
"Oh, okay. I mean, I could choose something on my own…"
At that, there was a knock at the door. Martha got up first to answer, and the Doctor followed.
When she opened it, there stood Donna, and another woman. She was about Donna's age, straight blonde hair, a warm, bright smile.
"Hi," said the woman sprightly. "You must be Martha and the Doctor."
"Hi, guys," said Donna. "This is my friend Mads. Mads, Martha, Doctor."
The woman reached out to Martha for a handshake. "Madeleine McBride, pleased to meet you. Just wanted to be sure Deanie got back safely."
"Deanie?" the Doctor asked.
"Nickname," Donna said, waving it away, stumbling into the house. "It's a thing. Sorry… forgot the key you gave me."
"That's all right," Martha said. She ushered Madeleine into the house, as the Doctor grabbed onto Donna, who was not at all steady on her feet.
Everyone noted the distinct scent of alcohol that wafted about Donna's person.
The four of them went back into the kitchen. The Doctor deposited Donna onto the barstool where he had been sitting a few minutes before, moved the newspaper out of the way, and walked to the cabinet immediately, for another mug. He poured her some coffee and deposited it right in front of her.
"Drink this," he said, not gently.
"Thanks, but I don't really do coffee," she told him. "You know that."
"Drink it anyway."
"I don't need it!" Donna shouted, insistently.
"Yes, you do!" he shouted back, matching her tone.
"Er, Madeleine," Martha interrupted. "Coffee? Tea?"
"Whatever's on," Madeleine replied, sitting down beside Donna. "Coffee's fine. With milk, if you have it."
Martha obliged, while the Doctor studied Donna rather too closely, and Madeleine tried not to look at either of them.
"So, Madeleine, how long have you and Donna known each other?" Martha wondered, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.
"Oh, maybe twenty-five years," Madeleine said. "We met at school in Chiswick. Some girls were teasing me because I had frizzy hair back then. Deanie told them off for me."
Martha smiled. "That sounds like her."
"Doesn't it just?" Madeleine remarked with gusto. "And thus, a friendship was born. We even introduced each other to our existing mates, such as they were. So, there used to be a bunch of us, went about together, did things, drummed up trouble… now it's just the two of us."
Donna stood up suddenly, almost knocking her stool over. "I need a shower. Please excuse me. Thanks for the lift home, Mads. Call you later."
With that, she disappeared upstairs, while the other three watched her go, rather nonplussed.
"Okay. That's odd," Martha observed, as soon as they heard the bathroom door slam.
"Yeah," the Doctor sighed. "Game night must have been a bust?" It was phrased in a way that Martha knew, it could have been rhetorical, or not.
"Game night?" Madeleine asked, sitting up straight.
"Yeah. She said it was game night with some mates," he shrugged.
"Erm, no," Madeleine responded, uncomfortably. "It was just the two of us… all night. She rang me up in a bit of a state, and asked if she could come round."
"When did she ring? I mean, what time?" asked the Doctor.
"I dunno. Maybe quarter to seven, seven o'clock."
He looked at Martha meaningfully. They both realised then that this was after the Doctor had invited Donna out to dinner with the two of them, and after she had told him that Madeleine had called her about game night.
"She made it up?" the Doctor asked. "Why would she do that?"
"She was just… well, a bit despondent," Madeleine said, sipping her coffee. "She had a bit of an episode over Lance."
"Lance?" asked the Doctor. "Seriously? That guy was a wanker. Actually, wanker doesn't even..."
"Doctor," Martha interrupted, stopping him with a touch of his hand.
"Well, to be honest, I don't really think it's about Lance," Madeleine explained. "It's more about the before and after. The fact that everyone before Lance had been such a tosser, and there hasn't been anyone since. I don't know how much you know about Deanie's past, but she hasn't had good luck with men. I don't know what's brought it on this time, but... she was more upset than I've seen her since our friend Nancy got married for the fourth time, to a millionaire. In Tahiti."
"I see," the Doctor said, quite subdued.
"She cried a lot last night. Drank at least a bottle of wine all on her own. Talked about turning forty next year, and urged me never to take my life for granted – my husband, my kids, and the like."
The Doctor whispered, "I guess we should've seen this coming."
"We did… sort of. Just not specifically this," Martha said.
"Well, look," Madeleine said, getting to her feet. "You should know that she thinks the world of you two. She spent a chunk of the night talking about how good you are, and how lucky she is to know you, and how lucky you are to have one another. I would never just dump her in the care of people I've never met before, not in the state she's in, if she hadn't insisted that she'd be in excellent hands."
"She is," Martha said. "We'll get her sorted out."
"Good. Tell me, how do you know each other?"
"Oh, erm," the Doctor began, nervously pulling at the hair on the back of his head. "I helped her sort out some of her issues after… Lance."
"Oh! Well, no wonder she calls you the Doctor," Madeleine remarked with a smile. "Truth be told, I didn't know she'd seen a therapist after all that, but I'm glad she did. Glad you became her friend, in addition."
"We are, too," the Doctor answered.
"Well… thank you for the coffee," Madeleine practically whispered now, in her most British manner. "I'd better be going, then. Please ask Deanie to ring me a bit later, let me know how she's faring, would you?"
"Absolutely," Martha promised.