Chapter Text
Rustling across the room roused Donna far too early. “Wh—D’ctor?” She rolled over with a deep sigh. “C’mon, s’too early. C’n’t you just—”
Donna caught herself just in time.
“I’m sorry, darling...” A warm hand caressed her hair before pulling back abruptly. He spoke again, more coolly. “Classes start soon. You can go back to sleep, I’ll—er—get out of your hair.”
She hummed in an approximation of sleepy relaxation. Her body was stiff as a board under the covers.
Donna lay awake for another hour before getting out of bed.
“Morning, sir,” Martha said.
“Yes, hi,” John Smith replied absently as he headed up the stairs.
“Head in the clouds, that one,” remarked Jenny.
“Too right,” Martha snorted.
A knock came at the door.
“Your tea, Mrs. Smith.”
Donna’s head snapped up. “Martha!”
Martha raised an eyebrow. “It usually is.”
Donna leapt to her feet to assist her with the tea things.
“Everything alright?” Martha asked warily as Donna rearranged her skirts and sat back down.
Donna waggled her hand in a noncommittal gesture.
“That good, is it?” Martha muttered.
“Do you have time—?”
Martha sighed. “Five minutes—ten if I stretch it. Go.” She collapsed into the chair opposite.
“It happened. Again.”
Martha rolled her eyes. “What a surprise.”
“I don’t even know what set John off, really—”
“We both know he’s prickly at the best of times,” Martha interrupted. She eyed a biscuit, then rapidly crunched it down.
“Well, yeah, but—” Donna struggled for words.
Martha took another biscuit as compensation.
“—Anyway, that’s besides the point,” Donna finally claimed. “I do my best to keep calm, but it’s just so hard when he’s so bloody stiff. Drives me bonkers!” Donna poured a cup of tea to scowl into.“I just wish I knew why ‘John Smith’ is so bloody sensitive!”
“Mmhmm...” Martha frowned at her hand, delicately picking at a cuticle.
“—I mean we ended up married anyway, can’t have been that bad, but he’s always been so...standoffish! That has to mean something‘s wrong with our marriage!” Donna froze for just a moment. “Our fake marriage!” she rushed to add.
“Yep,” Martha sighed. “Believe me, I know...”
Donna slumped back into her seat. “...Threw me in the deep end with no warning. Can’t have me knowing what’s going on or anything,” she grumbled. “Bloody TARDIS is still no help at all...but I’ll manage just fine with no context, no problem at all…”
Martha stood and pointedly brushed off her apron. “Yeah, it’s all a bit shit, isn’t it?”
Donna eyed her uniform and grimaced. “...Sorry, Martha. How’s...?”
“Still not great, but no new incidents to report.” She straightened her cap. “Only a few weeks left now,” Martha reminded her, not for the first time.
“Thank god,” Donna moaned.
Martha was about to whisk the tray and herself out of the room when Donna’s hand landed on her wrist.
“What—” Donna cleared her throat before speaking more quietly. “Sorry, I know you need to go, but it’s just—well—I don’t know what to do. About…how loving he’s been.” A streaky flush spread up her neck. ”It’s been, I mean.”
“What?”
“He—” Donna’s cheeks coloured. “It’s been...softer...I mean, it was never too—” She turned scarlet. “But...”
“And this is shocking...why?” Martha asked dryly.
“What?”
Martha just raised an eyebrow.
“But he’s so cold! I—he—” Donna visibly searched for words, but came up empty. Her hands spasmed in a meaningless gesture.
Martha sighed. “Okay. Well. With how your relationship was before—” She caught herself, breaking off abruptly.
Donna’s mouth opened and shut again with a click.
“Er...I mean, with what I think your...” Now Martha was the one foundering and lost for words. Her hands came up in a sort of shrug. “I sort of, well, know some things about—like, you said some things...but he clearly felt, um. Well.”
She tried again.
“It’s been complicated, I know...” Martha trailed off again.
Donna fidgeted with a teaspoon.
Finally Martha gave up and shrugged. “Bit of a mess, isn’t it?”
“Great. Thanks for the diagnosis.”
Martha briskly straightened her apron. “I do my best. Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Smith?”
“Could do with a whisky. Neat.”
Martha gave her a severe look. “I’ll be back with some more biscuits if you’re lucky.”
“How were your lessons?” Donna asked.
“They went well...quite well,” John said vaguely.
The clink of forks on china was deafening in the quiet room.
Donna tried again. “The Napoleonic wars, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. In one of my classes, anyway.” John’s tone was stiffly polite.
“Oh, right. Of course.” Donna looked down at her half-empty plate and set aside her silverware with a sigh.
“How was I supposed to know you’d—?”
“Maybe if you ever listened to a word I—”
“Feels like I’m always listening to your bloody lectures!”
Once their lips met, the argument didn’t deescalate for quite some time.
His arms cradled her to his chest. Donna stared straight ahead at a particular knot in the bedpost. She kept her hands firmly clasped together.
His single heartbeat was slow and steady in slumber.
“S’posed t’be a gesture...” John muttered.
Her lips moved in silent counting as her eyes flitted over the whorls in the wood. Her tired eyes almost drifted shut—but she forced them open again.
“Jus’ mates...”
She stiffened. John shifted uneasily until Donna made herself relax into him.
“S’what she wan’s,” he mumbled. “Tryin’ to...” The tip of John’s nose traced a circle on her neck as he heaved a sleepy sigh into her hair. “Bad. But m’trying...”
His body tensing up behind her roused Donna from a light doze. She stayed limp as he disentangled himself from her despite the sudden chill, letting herself droop into the bedclothes.
It was so still each button could be heard slipping into each buttonhole as he dressed.
The silent room filled with some ineffable tension as John stood over her for a long moment. His eyes greedily traced her form under the covers. John’s fingers reached out—but he snatched them back with a muffled oath.
“Ridiculous, sentimental...” he muttered to himself. “Must stop this—she doesn’t...”
John hastened from the room, taking care to be as quiet as he could.
Donna buried her face in their blankets the instant he shut the door behind him.
“No better?” Martha asked wearily.
Donna slumped face-down onto the table with a groan.
“There, there,” Martha said. She shifted the sugar bowl safely to one side, cautiously patting Donna’s stiff Edwardian hairstyle. “At least you’re getting some—that’s more than I can say.”
She graciously ignored the rude gesture Donna aimed at her.
“If it was just less confusing,” Donna moaned.
Martha valiantly didn’t roll her eyes. “Yes, it’s very confusing how he feels about you,” she said flatly.
“Right?!”
Martha didn’t bother to hold back this eye roll.
The students jockeyed for petty power, status, and fun.
They couldn’t know the horror that would claim their lives in just a year.
Almost no one could.
The instant the TARDIS door shut behind her, Martha finally relaxed. “Oh, my god,” she moaned, “You wouldn’t believe how ridiculous they still are!”
A curious buzz emanated from the dimly lit roundels nearest the door.
“The work never stops! When it isn’t racist snots making messes, it’s hearing all of Donna’s complaints yet again...” Martha tossed her jacket over a pillar. “Not like she’s even wrong about how shit this all is,” she allowed, “But she’s always banging on about John this, John that—’oh, no, I pulled my husband again! Oh, dear, looks like he’s as in love with me as ever!’ Cry me a river...”
The dim lights flickered a little.
“And she’s so sure that he’s completely different from the Doctor, but he’s just the same person he’s always been...but without the obvious masks. Still avoiding being straightforward with all his might...”
Martha collapsed into the jump seat with a groan.
“I’ve tried to tell her a few times, but Donna simply won’t hear it,” she sighed. “God. And I promised both of them that I wouldn’t breathe a word of what they said...I won’t make that mistake again.”
A low, sympathetic hum resonated through the seat. Martha leaned back more comfortably.
“I still don’t know exactly what happened after her dad died, either,” she told the ship sourly, “But he seemed so—hurt.”
A warm tone like a wet finger circling the rim of a wine glass filled the room.
“It can’t have been good,” Martha agreed. “I dunno...but she actually sent him away, it had to be massive! I thought they’d talked or whatever when we got back, but...” She sighed. “And then he was so careful with her, taking us to the safest places...like he thought she might leave...”
She trailed off, frowning.
“He really doesn’t know how she feels, does he?” she murmured with fresh understanding. “No wonder John doesn’t either.”
The TARDIS hummed affirmatively.
Martha shook herself. “Right—never mind their nonsense, I’m off for a shower.”
“John?” Donna rushed over to him the moment the door shut behind him. “Oh, god, what happened?!”
“What?” John touched his head and winced. “Right, of course—”
“You’ve got a massive bruise!”
“Yes, I—I may have fallen down the stairs a little.” He carefully set down his books and papers.
“‘A little’, he says,” Donna sniffed disapprovingly. “Come on, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair closest to her.
“What?” He stared at her, taken aback by her assertive tone.
“I’m going to take a look.”
“But Nurse Redfern already—”
Donna puffed up. “And when exactly did Nurse Redfern check you over?” she demanded.
John thought back. “Perhaps...a few hours ago?”
She glared at him, though her concern showed through the irritation. “Then it’s about time it was looked at again!”
John took a seat.
“Oh, dear, that has to hurt,” Donna murmured from above him. She gently ran her fingertips over the bump and he couldn’t hold back a wince. “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll be gentler.” She smoothed down his hair. John leaned into her hand shamelessly and she didn’t pull back.
“I’ll be right back—” Donna bustled away. She quickly returned with a cloth soaked in cold water. “Here, this should help with the swelling.”
John hummed approvingly as she laid it over his bruises.
“You’ve got to be more careful,” she said matter-of-factly. Her fingers idly combed through his hair.
“What?”
“With that giant brain of yours! Falling down the stairs, I ask you…”
“I didn’t intend to!” he protested, bristling, but Donna just tutted.
“We’re living off that brain, aren’t we?”
John couldn’t hold in a chuckle. “You’re not incorrect,” he allowed.
“What would we do without it? It’s a little important.” Donna grinned down at him. “Can’t have our living banged about, can we?”
He impulsively took her free hand and kissed it. “For you, I’ll try harder,” he promised. Donna coloured, but didn’t reclaim her hand from him.
John’s face filled with sudden resolve.
“Can—” He hesitated before continuing. “Donna, this—this strangeness between us has long pained me.”
He averted his eyes from hers.
“And I think—er. It might help if we…discuss what occurred before we came here.” His gaze flicked back to her face the instant the words left his lips.
Donna stared at him with clear trepidation before slowly nodding her assent.
John held the cloth to his head as she took a seat beside him. She squeezed his hand as she sighed. “All this...” Donna gestured vaguely with her free hand. “It’s been hard to deal with.”
“I know,” he said gently. “But I want to root it out completely, for once and for all. The conflict, I mean.”
She blinked with surprise. “Okay then.”
John grinned with relief. He pressed another kiss to her hand and watched his wife colour again. “I suppose we should go back to the beginning...”
Donna gave him a crisp nod, and John steeled himself.
“First I must assure you that I understand the sacrifice you made in choosing to marry me,” he said firmly. John set the cloth aside. She watched him closely, her cautious eyes mapping his every expression. “Your grandfather, bless his soul—I know his approval meant everything to you. It meant a great deal to me as well, but...well. You remember it didn’t signify with your mother.”
“Of course it didn’t,” Donna said dryly.
“That—that scene with her, when she tossed aside his letter...” John broke off briefly. “It was an…inauspicious start to our engagement, I know.”
Donna’s eyes widened. “Yes, it really was,” she said faintly.
“It’s still burned into my memory, every detail—the disgust with which she abused my ancestry, how she laid out in no uncertain terms the disadvantages of accepting me, and finally disowning you...” John clutched her hand tighter with each example. “Darling, in that moment I had second thoughts about asking for your hand at all,” he confessed. “I’m just a lowly schoolteacher, after all, while you’re, well...noble...”
Donna cupped his cheek and turned him to look her in the eye. “I chose you,” she said firmly.
But John pulled away, straightening his back and loosening his grip on her hand. “You did,” he allowed, “Yet what you said when you sent me away still gives me pause.”
“Do—John, I—” Donna stopped speaking and visibly held herself back. “Sorry. Keep going, please,” she said gently.
“You blamed me for missing your father’s passing.”
She opened her mouth but no words came out.
“It hurt, but I can’t disagree,” John said softly. He tried to release her hand, but she kept hold of him. “It was my fault—it was another moment with your family that you sacrificed to be with me, following me in my senseless wanderings...”
“But—”
John hushed her, and unusually Donna obeyed without protest. “You gave up a great deal for me, and I can’t deserve that from you. I haven’t behaved myself as I ought,” he admitted, colouring as he looked down at their hands. “I’ve been—distant, and ungentlemanly...I was so afraid.” The last bit came out in a hoarse whisper.
Donna looked at him like he’d admitted to having two heads. “Afraid?”
“Yes, afraid—afraid you were still angry with me—afraid you were tired of all the travelling...” John swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. “Afraid you’d fallen out of love with me.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I couldn’t—if you told me you—” He choked on his words. “I was trying to hold myself apart to protect myself. To keep you from telling me those things. But all that did was hurt you—and it hurt me, too.”
Donna’s lips moved, but no words came.
John clutched her hands tightly. “What you said was painful, but I’m so sorry for my—my reaction. But from now on I’ll do better," he promised, “I’ll try to be worthy of your sacrifice.”
“John—”
“Your father’s gone, and you weren’t with him. Nothing can possibly make up for that—but perhaps I can do one thing. Once my contract is up...I might find some employment your mother would be less ashamed of. Closer to home.” He glanced up at her face for a moment. “I can’t deprive you of your last remaining family. For you I’d change my whole life—”
John’s speech only halted when Donna gathered his hands together, kissed each of them, and pressed them to her heart.
“Oh, D—John,” she sighed, “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I was sorry the moment I sent you away, the moment I said it I took it back—it was easier to be angry than sad, but that’s no excuse for listening to my mother.”
His throat worked.
“I was trying to apologise for ages,” Donna gently told him, “But you—well, let’s just say I couldn’t find the right moment.”
John’s eyes widened.
“You’ve been carrying that all this time...” Donna trailed off. “You ridiculous man.” She paused, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “I don’t want you to change yourself for me.”
“But I—”
“No.” Donna looked him in the eye. “I chose you for who you are.”
His mouth fell open.
She gave his hands a tender squeeze. “I don’t want you to give up anything for me. Just like you’ve never wanted me to give anything up for you.”
John began to say something else, but Donna stopped his mouth with a kiss. He promptly tangled a hand in her hair, returning it fiercely.
Not far away, a meteorite landed in a farmer’s field.
A nearby student stumbled into something far bigger than himself.
“Donna?”
“Oh, Martha!” Donna looked up with a giddy smile. “I was hoping—” She broke off at Martha’s strained expression. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m not...sure,” Martha admitted. She set down the usual tea tray and collapsed in the chair opposite Donna.
Donna quickly poured Martha a cup.
“Alright,” Martha started once she’d had a fortifying sip. “I was out with Jenny last night and there was this weird green thing like a shooting star that might’ve landed nearby.”
Donna froze. “Guessing it wasn’t just a stray firework,” she muttered. “It never is, with him.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” Martha hauled herself up in her seat. “So, guess it’s contingency plan time.”
“Right,” Donna said distractedly. Her fingers tapped absently on the table. “Right. I—I’ll have to get hold of his watch. God knows where he put it, could be anywhere by now, especially with no infinite pocket space...but then we can make a run for the TARDIS at the drop of a hat if we need to.”
Martha chuckled and relaxed into her chair. “Something about having half a plan makes me feel loads better.” She cheerfully crunched a biscuit.
Donna laughed. “Hopefully it was just a firework, but there’s no harm in being careful.” She took a biscuit too.
Then Martha’s head snapped up to stare at her. “Hang on—why aren’t you still all miserable?”
“What?!” Donna squawked. Crumbs went everywhere, but Martha just narrowed her eyes.
“Worked out the kinks, have you?" she asked dryly.
Donna choked on the remaining biscuit and flushed bright red. “We may have...resolved some things,” she muttered grudgingly once she’d stopped coughing.
“Things,” Martha said, even more dryly.
“Yeah. Things.” Donna aimed a glare with little force behind it at her. “And, well—John and the Doctor might be...they might have a lot more in common than I thought...”
“Like everything. As I’ve been saying.”
“Ye–e–es,” Donna dragged out.
Martha eyed her expectantly.
“...Sorry, Martha. You were right,” Donna finally said. She made a face at her friend. “That good enough, or do I need to bow down before you too?”
“Wouldn’t hurt...” she started, but Martha quickly cracked, grinning at her. “Nah, don’t actually.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Donna grunted into her tea.
“Good.”
Silence rested between them for a long while.
“God, Martha, I actually am sorry,” Donna told her, much more sincerely. “I must’ve been insufferable all this time.”
“I’m very happy for both of you,” Martha said seriously. She gave Donna’s hand an affectionate squeeze before she flashed a smug smile. “And happier that I was right all along!”
“Yeah, yeah...”
“You seriously owe me, though,” Martha added, taking a sip of tea. “Months of that.”
Donna held out a hand. Martha eyed it suspiciously before taking it. Donna gave her hand a firm, business-like shake. “Martha Jones, you’re getting anything you want when this is over.”
She slid the biscuits closer to her.
“Starting with all the biscuits you can eat.”
Somewhere in the school, Timothy Latimer borrowed John Smith’s fob watch without permission.
The Son took a deep sniff.
The Father and the Daughter, too, took human form.
Two more human families bore a great loss.
Hutchinson’s eyes narrowed. “Permission to give Latimer a beating, sir.”
Latimer didn’t move a muscle.
The headmaster looked to John. “It's your class, Mr. Smith,” he said calmly.
The absence which so characterised John Smith left his expression all at once. He blinked rapidly.
He stepped closer to his students. He took a moment to look each of them in the eye before beginning to speak. “These doubts and fears are only natural,” he finally said. He turned to Hutchinson. “There’s no sense in punishing good men for their thoughts or moral scruples. That only leads to disorder and savage brutality. Their actions—their choices—are what matter, and at no time more than a time of war.”
Disbelief was plain to see on the vast majority of their faces.
“The choice to kill—or not to kill,” he continued. A spark of something that hadn’t been there for weeks now kindled in his face. “That is what will decide what sort of men you are. A great man I knew told me that killing is always a decision you make. You won’t be soldiers forever, after all—the war will end. There always comes a time to beat swords into ploughshares, and you may not recognise the man you’ve become in the end...”
His voice trailed off and the kindling sputtered out.
The students and headmaster stared.
John Smith blinked.
The Son sniffed.
“—Donna? Are you well?”
Donna shook herself. “Oh—yes, of course, John. Sorry, I was thinking.”
He looked at her with concern a moment longer before a relieved grin stole across his face. “Good. I was worried I was boring you.” They continued down the lane.
She laughed. “Boring is the one thing you never are.” Donna reconsidered. “Well...almost never.”
John put a gloved hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “I find that hard to believe, darling, but I’m not going to question what deluded you into accepting my proposal.”
Donna hid her face by leaning into his shoulder, but she couldn’t disguise her chuckle. “Oh, John,” she said suddenly. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask—do you still have that fob watch?”
John looked down at her hat inquiringly. “That old thing? It’s broken.”
Donna dared to glance up at him fleetingly. “Yes, I do know that, thanks,” she said tartly. “But haven’t you heard that you can fix broken things?”
He couldn’t hold back a smile. “Really? I thought that was a myth.”
“Idiot,” she said fondly.
John ducked under her brim for a kiss. “Your idiot,” he smugly told her.
The romantic effect was marred by his own hat nearly toppling from his head.
“Yes, well,” Donna cleared her throat and pulled him onward once he’d got it rebalanced. “Anyway—you do still have that watch, don’t you?”
“I believe so,” John said absently. “Might be in my office...perhaps I’ll bring it back to our rooms for safekeeping.”
He was more than happy to be rewarded with another kiss.
A scarecrow shifted of its own accord in a neighbouring field, but neither Donna nor John Smith noticed.
When Martha brought up the tea tray that afternoon, she made certain to knock first.
“Come in!” Donna called with a chuckle, and she entered cautiously.
“Your tea, Mrs. Smith. Mr. Smith.”
“Yes, thank you, Martha,” Donna said. She tried to rearrange herself more decorously, but John refused to withdraw his arm. He held her comfortably to him on the settee. Her cheeks glowed when Martha slanted an amused look at her.
“Well? What do you say, wife?” John murmured against Donna’s neck.
Martha felt safe rolling her eyes behind his back as she set down the tea things.
“Oh, well, it’s been a while since I studied etiquette...what’s the correct way to accept an invitation from your husband?” Donna archly asked.
Martha beat a rather hasty retreat, pursued by intimate whispers and a throaty laugh.
Elsewhere, the Mother took human form.
She returned to the school later that day and attempted to gather more information—but her investigation was not helped by her complete lack of understanding of human culture.
Martha ran.
“—They’ve found us!”
John and Donna froze in their finery at Martha’s shout.
“What?” John managed.
Donna paled. “God—I don’t have it yet!” she wailed.
John stared at his wife uncomprehendingly. “What don’t you have?”
“The watch!” Donna began to pace, wringing her hands.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you know where it is?” Martha asked urgently.
“What?” John asked again.
“The fob watch!” Martha snapped.
A stern look crossed John’s face. “Alright, Martha, that’s enough. You’re upsetting my wife—and no wonder, considering how you just burst in without knocking—”
“Doc—” Martha swallowed back his name. “Mr. Smith—”
“I am talking! This is a real disappointment, I must say. What an attitude to take! You’ve always been the perfect servant, really—”
Martha just stared at him, open-mouthed. Donna’s jaw dropped.
“—So it’s all the more shocking to find you behaving with so little propriety now! I’ve come to expect so much better from you. This is a profound disappoint—”
Donna shut her gaping mouth with a click. “John! Shut up!”
He stared at her in disbelief. “What? Donna?”
“You’re being so rude I don’t even know how to start explaining—you owe Martha so many apologies after this,” she moaned.
His brow furrowed, but Donna continued speaking before he could say anything.
“Now, Martha—I’m so sorry, I don’t have the watch yet! Haven’t had more than a minute alone—he’s practically attached to me at the...” She flushed slightly at the incredulous look Martha gave her. “...Well, never mind. But it’s definitely not here, I did have time to check! Earlier John said something about it maybe being in his office—”
“Darling, what are you—?”
Not now,” Donna said impatiently.
“But—”
She covered his mouth. “Hush!”
“Jenny’s one of them now,” Martha said in a rush. “They’ve found us, and they’re armed—Jenny shot at me—and they seem to have an idea of who the Doctor is—”
“Are you okay?” Donna blurted out, and Martha gave her an impatient nod.
Then Donna turned to John. “We can’t go to the dance,” she said decisively. “Too many people. We need to stay put and get hold of the watch, it’s too risky—”
“You have to be joking!” John exclaimed.
She just looked at him.
John risked a chuckle. “What, not attend the dance when you look so lovely?” He glanced over her coiffure and evening dress admiringly.
His face fell, though, when she didn’t give him an answering smile.
“Donna?”
“His office, you said?” Martha asked, already halfway out the door.
Martha kept catching herself starting to run as she made her way through the corridors.
She dropped back into a fast walk again just in time to bump into Latimer when he came round the corner.
“Oh! Sorry, you alright?” she asked quickly. Martha hardly waited for a nod before continuing.
She didn’t catch Latimer’s muttered “...Martha?” as she hurried onward.
“Mr. Smith?”
The cold, unctuous voice sent Martha ducking back around the corner with a stifled gasp.
“Nobody home...?” the Son crooned.
The shuffling footsteps of the Family entered John’s office.
“Oh, god,” she whispered to herself. Martha restlessly tapped her fingertips on the wall. They beat faster and faster with every passing minute. “I go in, they kill me, they’ll know what they’re looking for,” she muttered under her breath. “I don’t go in, they might find it anyway—”
She cut herself off.
“Shit,” Martha said with feeling. She shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
An unexpected knock came at the door.
“Who is it?” Donna asked warily.
“It’s Latimer, Mrs. Smith,” called Latimer.
She opened the door at once.
“Hello.” He handed her the missing fob watch.
“What—?”
“They’ll target the dance first,” he told her calmly. “And your—ah—hair, it’s coming down...” Latimer gestured awkwardly to her left, turning a delicate pink.
Donna coloured too. She cleared her throat as she tucked the errant curls behind her ear. “Why’d you take the watch?” she asked sharply.
Latimer just shrugged. “It was waiting. And so was I, though I didn’t know it.”
“Hmm.” Donna eyed him consideringly. “Well...thanks, I s’pose. You’d better hurry back to your dormitory, Latimer. Hopefully you can stay out of this mess.”
She hesitated, then put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Keep yourself safe, okay?”
Martha’s eyes flew open when John’s office door opened again.
The instant the Family’s footsteps faded away, she leapt into action.
“Donna? Who was that?” John called the moment the door shut.
Her shoulders straightened. Donna let out a breath. “Oh, just Latimer,” she said lightly.
“Latimer?” His eyebrows drew together. “That’s odd, wouldn’t he come to my—?”
When she was within eyeshot John sat up on the settee at once. “Are you alright? You’ve gone so pale—come here, love—” He beckoned for her to sit back down by him again.
Donna allowed him to fuss over her a little longer before mustering a small smile and dropping the watch into his hand.
His eyes slid right off it. “Why are you so serious?” John asked, cupping her cheek.
“We’re in grave danger,” she finally told him.
John stiffened. “What? What’s endangering us?” His hand slid to the back of her neck.
Donna sighed. She let him guide her down to rest against him for just a moment.
“Tell me it’s not this nonsense Martha’s spouting.”
She sighed again. Donna sat back despite his reluctance and took his hands in hers. “Tell me about your dreams,” Donna gently ordered.
He paled.
Her mouth turned up. “You talk in your sleep,” she reminded him. “All the time, actually. Barely get a wink of sleep.”
He looked down at their hands, the watch cradled between them, but John’s eyes still didn’t seem able to focus on it properly. “I dream of such...fantastical things,” he said in a low voice. “Such terrible things—but somehow it didn’t seem worth discussing them. Particularly not—”
He cut himself off.
“...Not when we weren’t really speaking, anyway,” Donna finished for him with a sigh.
John silently nodded.
“What happens? In your dreams?” she prodded, and John described the strange and wonderful people and places in his dreams. The adventurer he was in them, with all those different faces. The battles, the creatures, the disasters he averted...
Donna nodded along encouragingly until she found the right moment to interrupt.
“That’s when the giant spider appeared.”
John stared at her, taken aback. “What?”
“The giant spider appeared,” she repeated, “And then Nerys—the blonde woman—she almost broke down when her fiancé told her he’d been lying to her...”
“How—did I talk about that in my sleep?” he demanded.
“No. Well, a little bit.” Donna smiled wryly. “But not that part. I was there. It really happened.”
“Hardly,” John snorted. “That’s impossible. That was just my nonsense—and it was in the future, too, in the year of our Lord—”
“Two-thousand-and-six,” she said calmly.
He stared.
“And after that we travelled back to see the formation of the Earth.” Donna locked eyes with him. “We stood together in the doorway of the TARDIS and watched the Earth—this planet, the one we’re on right now—come into being. And you said...”
She had to clear her suddenly foggy throat.
“You said you saw the end of the Earth with Gramps, and it felt right—”
“—Seeing the beginning with you.” John looked shocked by his own words. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Wait...”
Donna’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. She took his hand, the one holding the watch, and held it up before him. “You are the Doctor. Your true self is hidden inside this watch.”
John’s eyes finally focused on it.
As Donna’s fingertips brushed the surface of the watch, a shiver ran through both of their frames. Donna gasped—John’s grip on the watch tightened—
When their eyes refocused, John’s cheeks were wet.
“What was that?” he asked breathlessly.
“Our life together,” Donna said with a damp laugh.
John leaned closer, but then he stopped himself. “I’m not real, am I?” he asked wretchedly. “This Doctor, he’s the real man—John Smith is a fiction.” His voice cracked on the final word.
Her eyes filled. She reluctantly nodded. “But the core of you, the truth of you—you’re the same man,” she told him. Donna reached out to caress his cheek. Her thumb rasped against the barest hint of stubble as she managed a shaky smile. “I love John Smith and I love the Doctor. At hearts they’re the same person. I’m sure of it.”
“Our relationship—our past—is that real? Are...are you really my wife?” John asked thickly.
“Yes. Well...no,” Donna had to admit. “Not—that. We’re not married.”
His face crumpled.
“But I promised—I’m going to travel with you forever,” she added quickly. A broken chuckle escaped her. “Might as well be married, honestly—”
Donna’s eyes fluttered shut when John’s lips found hers. She pulled him closer by the lapels and he willingly moved closer. His arms wound tightly around her—her hands slipped under his coat to caress his back—
When Donna gently tugged him away by the hair, she was half in John’s lap. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. “The Family,” she said breathlessly, “They’re close—I’m sorry, John, I’m so sorry, but you need to open the watch.”
At once their eyes leapt to the watch where it sat on the settee beside them.
“We need the Doctor,” Donna told him. She smoothed her fingers down his cheek. “We’re all in danger—the students, the people in town, all of us.”
He just nodded and kissed her again. Donna melted against him—his warm hand burned against the small of her back—her hands stroked down his neck—
And John Smith opened the watch.
She broke away just in time to see the Doctor awaken in his eyes.
Donna kissed him before he could say a word.
“It’s not there!” Martha’s cap was long gone when she burst into their rooms for the second time that evening, her hair frizzing furiously around her ears and temples.
“The Family was in the office before me—I don’t think they got the watch, they weren’t gloating, so I checked everywhere! Sort of pulled the place apart, actually, books everywhere—sorry about that, John, but—”
Only then did Martha truly look at the occupants of the room.
Her hands leapt up to cover her eyes. “Oh, my god, you two—seriously?! Is this really the time?”
“Martha!” he exclaimed.
Beside him Donna anxiously smoothed down her hair and skirts.
Martha slowly lowered her hands, chancing a suspicious glance at them on the settee. “John—” she began to say wearily.
Her eyes caught on the watch glinting innocently on the floor.
“...Doctor?” she cautiously asked.
His grin and the way he bounced to his feet answered her question for him. “Oh, Martha Jones—you’re a star, truly a star,” he said jubilantly.
Martha dove at him, and the Doctor chuckled as she crushed him in a hug. “You are never doing that again,” she ordered.
“Cross my hearts,” he said solemnly. “Martha, I’m sorry for—everything. All this. What I said to you earlier, being a maid, the horrible people...all of it.”
“Are you also sorry about avoiding talking to Donna in the first place?” she cheekily asked.
“Er...well...”
Martha rolled her eyes, letting go of him. “Well, I suppose I might manage to forgive you eventually. Even though the ‘perfect servant’ was such a disappointment.” She enjoyed the sight of the fuschia, speechless Doctor for a long moment before breaking into an impertinent grin. “Maybe after some more grovelling....and seeing the moon landing. And Donna gave me full biscuit privileges.”
The Doctor whirled on Donna at once. “What?!”
Of course, the Family had not been idly watching a human social event this whole time...
“Ow!”
“It’s just a skinned knee,” Martha told Donna. She stuck a large bandage over the wound and let Donna’s skirt fall before stowing the first aid kit back where she got it.
“Yeah, well, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Donna grumbled. “I’m out of practice running...”
“At least it’s the other knee.”
“Alright!” The Doctor idly drummed his hands on the side of the console. “Now, the scanner’s caught a ship in that field just outside of town—we’ll have to make sure it’s disabled so the Family can’t just keep following us forever.”
“And they were headed to the dance,” Martha added.
“Right, yes,” the Doctor said. He frowned. “Middle of town...that’s not good. The Family probably caught my scent before I started ventriloquising, though, so they shouldn’t stay there too long...”
Donna paled. “So they’re headed to the school?”
He grimaced. “Probably, yes.”
“Can’t you just—lure them somewhere else?” Martha asked. “Without your being there, I mean.”
“Er...well...not exactly...”
“You can ventriloquise a smell, but you can’t duplicate it with some Martian technology?” Donna asked sceptically. “Can’t we just hide one of your socks or something?”
“When I finish disabling their ship I’ll stop ventriloquising—”
“We all remember the plan, Spaceman,” Donna hissed. “Now hush up and—”
The distant shouts from the school caught their attention.
The Doctor changed direction and sprinted toward the commotion. Donna and Martha followed.
“I warn you, the school is armed,” the headmaster threatened.
The Doctor ducked out of sight and pulled his companions down after him.
“All your little tin soldiers,” the Son said contemptuously. “But tell me, sir—will they thank you?”
The Doctor flinched.
“I don't understand,” the headmaster said cautiously.
“What do you know of history, sir? What do you know of next year?”
“Oh, god,” Martha muttered.
“...War is coming. In foreign fields, war of the whole wide world, with all your boys falling down in the mud.” The Son gestured widely at the crowd of sleep-drowsed students around them. “Do you think they will thank the man who taught them it was glorious?”
“Doctor,” Donna breathed. She put her arm around him.
The Doctor shuddered.
“Don't you forget, boy, I've been a soldier,” the headmaster bit out. “I was in South Africa. I used my dead mates for sandbags. I fought with the butt of my rifle when the bullets ran out, and I would go back there tomorrow for King and Country!” His voice rose to a shout.
“Et cetera, et cetera,” drawled the Son, and he unceremoniously vapourised the headmaster without another word.
“Doctor, we need to get to the ship,” Donna reminded him in a hoarse whisper. “That’s how we end this.”
The screaming of the panicked students followed the Doctor no matter how fast he ran.
“Out you come, Doctor,” the Son called condescendingly.
The Doctor stiffened as he flicked the final switch.
“There's a good boy—come to the Family,” crooned the Son.
The Doctor squared his shoulders and stalked out of their ship.
“Oh, there he is,” breathed the Mother.
The Father took a deep sniff. A greedy glint shone in his eyes. “The Time Lord comes to heel at last.”
Their smug expressions slipped when the ship imploded behind him—and slipped further when Donna and Martha burst from the trees and disarmed them.
The darkness in the Doctor’s eyes as he held them at sonic-point made them shiver.
The Family spent the rest of their days safely imprisoned aboard the TARDIS.
The victims’ families were left to mourn.
The Family were left together til the end.
It was the kindest and most cruel thing the Doctor could possibly have done.
In the end, all the evidence that remained was a battered journal abandoned in a deserted office, the memory of John Smith’s words to his students, and a fob watch forgotten on the floor of a vacant suite of rooms.
The journal sat in a dusty desk drawer for many years before an aspiring novelist discovered it.
John Smith’s words echoed in many a mind, though just as many of his former pupils disregarded them entirely.
Latimer kept that watch by his side all the rest of his life. It served him well.
“So...we may as well be married?”
Donna flushed. The TARDIS let an amused creak resound through the kitchen.
The Doctor’s playful grin only widened as he settled at the table beside her.
She took a long sip of tea before responding. “...Maybe. Sort of. A little. I dunno.”
The Doctor stirred half a spoon of sugar and a drop of milk into his cup. “Good luck walking that back,” he remarked cheerfully. “Fantastic memory, me.”
Donna’s eyes narrowed. “So you remember all of it, do you?”
He froze with the cup at his lips. The Doctor swallowed with difficulty and set it down. “Er. Yes,” he admitted.
She stared him down sternly until he visibly gulped.
“Good,” Donna finally pronounced.
The Doctor blinked. “What?”
“Then I don’t have to apologise again.” She hid her smirk behind her cup of tea, taking a smug sip.
He couldn’t hold back a blinding grin. “S’pose not,” the Doctor agreed.
“Glad that’s settled.”
They sat peacefully together for a few minutes.
The Doctor reached for a biscuit and Donna absent-mindedly swatted his hand aside. His grin didn’t dim.
“But things haven’t changed. I’m still going to die,” Donna suddenly said matter-of-factly, like they’d been having a conversation all the while. Her voice faded a little as she went on. “You’ll go on forever and I’ll die. Just like you said.”
The grin slipped right off his face. He regarded her more seriously, but a tinge of irony persisted. “Oh, like I wasn’t going to be heartsbroken anyway?” The Doctor gave her a wry look. “I was kidding myself, really...after everything we are already?”
Donna avoided his warm gaze and played with the handle of her cup. “...You’re an alien,” she finally said.
“Thought you understood that by now.” His tone was lighter than his expression.
“Well. Yeah.” Donna rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea. “I do know that—I do. Obviously. But then I think—god—”
She broke off. His hand twitched toward hers, but he stopped himself with visible effort.
“It’s like—we’re together, and in the moment everything just works. It’s you, and me, and we just make sense! But then, every time, I suddenly remember you’re different, you’re so giant and amazing—shut up—and you’ll live forever. Or close enough, anyway. And I’m just...me. So—” She made a helpless sort of gesture. “Tiny.”
“You are not,” the Doctor interrupted fiercely. “You’re brilliant.”
“Still...you know what I mean. I’m—fleeting.”
The Doctor finally took her hand. “It isn’t like that for me,” he said earnestly, chafing it between his own. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he had to admit, “Well, it isn’t still like that.”
“Thanks,” Donna said dryly.
“Not the ‘tiny’ bit!” He pressed a quick apologetic kiss to her knuckles. “I’ve been afraid, yes...so afraid. Still am. But—hmm—” The Doctor paused to gather his thoughts. “I know the pain will still come. I know that, I swear. Things haven’t changed, it’s inevitable.”
He laced his fingers through hers.
“But now...I’m more afraid of missing the joy than I am of the grief. Donna, I can’t lose this time with you—I can’t.”
Donna turned to face him properly. His smile was achingly fond. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly. Her fingertips traced over his knuckles.
“What, during Nerys’ reception? Or after you just wanted to be mates?” The Doctor gave her an incredulous look, though he was still smiling. “Or should I have said it while you were angry with me?”
She snorted, but a similarly tender smile crossed her face.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” the Doctor asked gently.
“I—I don’t know. I just...couldn’t, I guess. Not after your little ‘live forever, die alone’ speech outside the chip shop...and then Gramps, and Mum...” Donna frowned to herself. “Wait, no—I did tell you! Or—I thought I did. I said I chose you, didn’t I?”
“Come on,” he scoffed, releasing her hand. “Choosing isn’t the same as loving!”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well...” He drew out the word as he often did.
The Doctor cracked a wry smile at her resolutely unamused expression.
“Suppose there’s no use saying it, then,” he said leadingly.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t I say it while you were John...? You’re the one with the ‘fantastic memory’.”
The Doctor tried for a theatrical pout, but he couldn’t keep a straight face for long.
Donna broke too, letting a grin take over even as she caught him in the ribs with her elbow. “I love you, you daft Martian.” She avoided his eyes as she said it.
“Donna,” the Doctor said seriously, taking both her hands in his. Her eyes flicked up to meet his despite herself.
He kissed each wrist before he pressed her hands to his hearts. The Doctor’s affectionate gaze was locked on hers.
“I choose you.”
“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” Donna sighed. “God forbid I feel a little poetic.”