Donna's Dilemmas

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Disclaimer: Doctor Who and the characters of said show do not belong to me, no matter how hard I've wished for it. No infringement meant on the owners and associates, nor BBC.

A/N: A special thanks to Catharticone, who always knows the right words and ways to make my work look like I know what I'm doing. (And giving this chapter it's title as well!)

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Chapter One:

Shades Of Murphy's Law

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"Doctor, I want to go home." The words were spoken carefully, evenly, with each word pronounced impeccably. Perhaps because Donna Noble had said them for the fourth time in as many minutes, rather like her new-found mantra.

"Really, it's not as if I'm doing this on purpose," the Time Lord mumbled lowly from underneath the center console.

"I'm not plannin' to be stuck here, trapped on this vintage contraption of yours, for the rest of my life! I need to go home!"

"I've been trying to get us there. For some reason, she just won't budge."

"Well don't look at me. I'm just the gal that got hit with the Bee Gees' blow dart. The only thing I did was stumble in through the doors before losing consciousness, and I'm pretty sure I didn't hurt any of your precious equipment before everything went black."

"Beilgeedanies," the Doctor corrected.

"Yeah, well, bloody brutal whoever they are," she responded, absently rubbing the back of her left shoulder, where the poisonous dart had made contact.

The Doctor watched her hand rub over the wound, the action haunting him with the memory of when he and Donna had finally managed to make it to the safety of the TARDIS interior. Relief had flooded him, only to be taken away suddenly at the sight of Donna collapsing.

"I mean, what did I do to them, anyway?" Donna continued, though he barely acknowledged her. He remembered running toward her and falling to his knees, fear gnawing at the back of his mind that he'd done in yet another innocent. Especially when he saw the blood streaming down the back of her shirt.

"I said 'Hello' and smiled," she continued, pulling him from his morbid thoughts. "Polite I was. And then all hell just broke loose."

"Hmm, well, that was probably my fault. I seem to recall now that scratching one's ear is a sort of rude gesture. They weren't too happy after that. And I didn't even realize -"

"Yeah? So how come I'm the one who got darted instead of you?"

"Better reflexes on my part?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "I just want to be in my own bed for the few days you said it'll take for this stuff to leave my system," she responded, looking down.

Sighing deeply, the Doctor raised himself above the grating and stretched as his gaze moved over her appraisingly.

"If you hadn't noticed, I have been trying to get the TARDIS to go," he stated with forced calmness. "I really don't understand why you can't just rest here. Comfortable accommodations - you said so yourself. And I can keep an eye on you and make sure all the toxins leave your system."

"Exactly."

"What's that mean, 'exactly'?"

"It means, fly boy, that I don't need you hoverin' all round, playin' nursemaid. You probably just want to take peeks at me anyway."

"What? Are you bloody mad? Has the infection reached your brain?" the Doctor asked, arms folded as his defenses rose. Suddenly though, his arms came down and his posture softened. "Oh. Maybe that is what's happened," he stated, stepping quickly towards his newest traveling companion.

Before Donna realized what he was going to do, the Doctor sat down beside her and placed his fingertips on either side of her face, readying to scan her brain with his own. That was when she jumped up, breaking the contact and stepping away from him.

"Whoa! Just what do you think you're doin', Space Monkey? Trying a little Spockiness so you can have your way with me?"

"A little what? Donna, I'm just trying to examine you. Make sure you're all right."

"Oh no - you're not playin' doctor with me, Doctor. If you were a real doctor you'd've had a cure for the poison in the dart. But nooooo. All you can do is ease the pain and tell me I have to wait it out. You're no better than the doctors from Earth and all their mumbo-jumbo."

She paused, taking a deep breath between her rapid ones as she continued backing away from him. "You just keep your grubby hands workin' on gettin' me home and keep 'em off me, you, you ... alien pervert!"

"Donna ... Donna! Stop!"

He tried to warn her, calling to her as he launched himself to grab her, but he was much too far away, and she wasn't listening. She stepped back to where the grating slanted down towards the doors, and when she fell, it was far from gracefully. Donna Noble came to a stop only after she'd rolled herself into a heap of ginger hair and limbs.

"Donna!"

The Doctor ran to her, kneeling beside her before she could begin to protest. She was shaken, but all in all she wasn't as hurt as she could've been. She was still conscious and nothing was obviously broken. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and scanned her head and torso.

Finishing, he met her eyes, watching as she looked at him for just a moment, then looked down at the floor.

"Was that really me a minute ago? Doin' all that wicked talkin' an' nonsense?" she asked quietly.

The Doctor grinned. "Yep."

"Hmph. Maybe you ought to sedate me," she offered with a small grin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's really not your fault. The poison the Beilgeedaniesians use isn't really meant to hurt you physically; it's a mental drug. Makes a being go mad, it does. And although I was able to produce an antitoxin, you're still going to have some side effects. Muscle soreness and a small bit of paranoia it seems, but nothing we can't handle. I'm just sorry that I can't do more."

"It's enough, really it is. I mean, at least I won't go bonkers and end up with a seven day wardrobe of straight jackets, yeah?"

The Doctor grinned at her. "Yeah." He took her hand and stood up, urging her to do the same. "Come on, let's get you seated more comfortably so I can get the TARDIS working and get you home for a few days. You can drive your mum and granddad batty instead of me," he teased.

"Oi!" she snorted with affront, but grinned nonetheless. She moved to stand beside him but suddenly moaned, leaning into him heavily.

"Donna?"

"It's my ankle. Must've twisted it," she admitted quietly.

The Doctor wrapped her arm around his shoulders while his went around her waist for support, keeping as much of her weight off the painful joint as possible.

"Okay?" he asked.

Donna nodded. "Yeah."

"All right. Nice and slow. Let's get you over to the jump seat."

Once she was sitting as comfortably as possible, the Doctor knelt down in front of her. He pulled out the sonic screwdriver again and aimed it over the injured ankle, looking at the readings before clicking it off.

"At least it's not broken, though I could fix that, of course." He began feeling the ankle, his soft touch sensual if one's ligaments and muscles weren't swelling and aching. Donna did not flinch, steeling herself with a brave front.

"You can breathe now," the Doctor said knowingly.

She let out the breath she'd been holding and then immediately inhaled deeply.

"Sprained, not broken. I like saying that, sort of like 'shaken, not stirred'," the Doctor mused.

"Comedy supposed to be part of the cure? Because if it is you're terrible at it."

"Yes, well, we can't all be comedians, now can we?" he winked.

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