Accio-Spaceman

Her heart twisted as she remembered the brief heart-broken expression that had crossed his face at her denial. It had been so quick that she doubted anyone else had seen it, but it’d been enough that she was sure it would haunt her whenever she looked at him.

Despite this, Don Pedro’s proposal and her mortifying response wasn’t the only thing causing her inner turmoil.

Having reached her private chambers, she sank down on the edge of her bed, knowing Hero would be celebrating her own engagement for hours yet.

No, the thing occupying the forefront of her mind was the thought that had caused her to reject Don Pedro, for he was certainly a nice enough man to have to endure for the rest of her life.

In the past, it had always been the fear of marriage and being owned by anyone that had driven her to refuse suitors, but this time, she was terrified to realise it was another thought that had driven those words from her mouth.

“But you’re not Benedick.”

The name spun around in her head, making her dizzy with the repetition of those three little syllables and the confusion they were currently inspiring in her.

Where had that treacherous thought even come from? He’d made it perfectly clear earlier that very evening exactly what he thought of her; “harpy” indeed. Not that either of them had even been secretive about their mutual loathing.

There had been a time, many years ago, when perhaps- but no. She cut that thought off before it could go any further. That was done with now. Behind them, in the past; she’d moved on!

But apparently not.

Raising a hand to her face, she was surprised to realise there were tears running down her cheeks. Swiping at them furiously, she berated herself for her lack of control. She’d been concealing these feelings behind her carefully constructed mask for years, so successful in her bluff that she’d managed to convince even herself – why were her walls suddenly crumbling?

She knew why of course. With Hero soon to be married, she’d be alone under her uncle’s rulership. With no ally against him and no daughters to distract him, he was sure to shift his attention onto her own lack of a husband.

Perhaps she would have done better to accept Don Pedro’s proposal, lest she be matched with an idiot? Her uncle was no doubt trying to soothe things over and accept on her behalf this very moment, and she could certainly do worse. The Prince did at least seem to genuinely enjoy her company.

But would she have been happy? She doubted it. How could she be when her heart belonged to another? No, she would be better to remain a maid then to burden someone else with her when she was unable to love them, no matter how much they cared for her. It would be unfair to both of them. She highly doubted Benedick would ever lower himself to marry an apparent “harpy”, so suffer in silence she would.

Donna sighed, pulling the TARDIS doors shut behind her and hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as she resigned herself to following him until he was satisfied that they were in optimal position to enjoy the sunshine. What was another few minutes trekking after him when she’d already waited this long, especially if it kept him quiet – even for just five minutes – while she relaxed?

At least, that’s what she’d told herself.

Nearly two hours later, when they were still hauling their deckchairs across the sand and the sun was almost directly above them, she was beginning to question the wisdom of this course of action.

The Doctor paused again, staring intently at an a invisible imperfection on ground in front of him, and then another just to the right, before dropping so suddenly that Donna’s heart lurched, and she almost dropped her bag. The Doctor, meanwhile, had pulled out his glasses from the suit jacket that he was still wearing, and was “umming” and “ahhing” as he watched the sand he’d scooped up trickle through his fingers.

Donna rolled her eyes impatiently. This was the fifth time he’d done this in the last ten minutes.

“Doctor, can you just pick a spot, already? There’s nothing wrong with here, or back over there, or the last twenty places you inspected before that! If I wait much longer to put some sunscreen on I’m going to start clashing with my hair!”

The Doctor looked at her, startled.

“But I…”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to make sure it’s perfect for you!”

Donna’s ire faded just a tad.

“Spaceman, you’ve already gotten us here in one piece – the only thing that would make it more perfect would be to actually have some time relaxing before sunset.” She smiled at him. “And also, hopefully making it back to the TARDIS still in one piece. That would be good too.” She added hastily, remembering their recent close call on a planet that The Doctor referred to as Twel X Seven.

She preferred calling it Planet Of The Lobster Chefs.

“What are you looking for anyway?” Donna asked, dropping her bag and deckchair somewhere off to the left and moving closer to crouch beside her favourite of the aliens she’d encountered.

(Well, her current favourite alien. He’d been briefly overtaken by one that had morphed into her favourite actor, but then he’d turned out to be shape-shifting yellow slime, so The Doctor had quickly retaken the top position.)

“There’s something not quite right about the sand, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It doesn’t make sense. For all intents and purposes the crystals look like your standard quartz sediment, touch of magnetite, some calcium-carbonate, all pretty standard, but it doesn’t taste right.”

“Taste right?”

“Yeah.” The Doctor said distractedly, frowning at the sand again as his tongue darted out to lick the grains left on his fingertip.

With considerably effort, Donna managed not to gag, and instead focused her gaze just as intently on the sand in front of them. Still seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she paused to consider her next actions.

“Doctor, is it life threatening?”

“Probably not.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nearly definitely not.”

“Well, those are pretty good odds, don’t you think? Nearly definitely not going to get killed by grains of sand that look, feel, and act pretty normal?”

“Yeah…”

“So can we please put our deckchairs up now?”

“Yeah.” The Doctor agreed, not hiding his disappointment very well at all. Donna narrowed her eyes at him.

“An hour relaxing with me and then you can go investigate on your own to your hearts’ content.”

The Doctor’s demeanour brightened considerably.

“You mentioned sunscreen?”

Donna rolled her eyes as she stood, grabbing the nearest chair to begin wrestling with.

“In the bag. You can do my back first.”

The Doctor managed nearly three-quarters of the allotted hour sitting with Donna before the whirring of his sonic caused her to send him off on his own early. Twenty minutes later, when The Doctor returned with seaweed caught in his hair and a dejected pout, Donna’s hysterical laughter made up for the fact he was now missing his left flip-flop.

Benedick frowned as he tried – and failed – to follow Beatrice’s words, only succeeding in grasping the final sentence of her declaration.

“Nay, ‘tis true! Thou would doubt mine word?”

“I dost trust thy word as far as I dost trust thy memory! That is, I trust thou remembers whose bed dost await you at home.”

That accusation at least cut through the mead-induced fog.

“Dost mine lady truly think of me so ill? That I would forget her majesty at the first sight of a pretty face?”

Beatrice gasped, feigning shock. Toying with Benedick’s unusually dull wits was such fun.

“Is mine face not pretty enough to turn thy head? Or dost it merely lack the ability to retain thy gaze?”

Benedick tripped over himself, literally and figuratively, in his haste to apologise. Beatrice was immediately at his side to steady him, allowing him the opportunity to grasp her face within his hands and cradle it not quite as softly as he would have done had he been sober.

“My love, thou dost twist my word! Thy face be-est the fairest face I hath ever laid eyes upon. Thy face is as Helen’s – no, Aphrodite’s! – was to Paris.”

Beatrice was caught up in sincerity in Benedick’s gaze, but managed to break the trance enough to raise a single eyebrow.

“Thou should be careful with thy vows, lest they offend Athene. Messina would not thank you if thou were to invite a Trojan army.”

Benedick frowned again, casting Beatrice face aside suddenly and swaying dangerously in the opposite direction. Waving an arm that his wife had to duck to avoid, he decided;

“Peace, my lady! Thy wit is too sharp for mine tonight; indeed I am heavy in the cups. Let us rest now, and tomorrow I shall attest your beauty to all.”

After several hesitant brushing-of-lips, and a slightly more confident but no less gentle one, Donna drew back slowly, allowing eyelids that she hadn’t been aware of closing to flutter open.

“Donna, Martha’s Tom needs her, but I… I need you.”

“I’m nothing special.” She automatically denied, shaking her head even as a soft blush rose to her cheeks.

“You’re brilliant!”

“You’re daft.” She retorted, her eyes and face already gravitating back towards his lips.

“Mm, we’re all fools in love.” The Doctor murmured, half muffled by her mouth.

Donna jerked backwards a whole inch within the circle of his arms.

“You’re in love? With me?”

The Doctor’s hand left Donna’s waist to tug at his ear.

“Ah, well… Yes. Is that okay?”

Donna’s dazed eyes fell back to The Doctor’s lips.

“Yeah.” She thought for a moment. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Good.”

They kissed again, hands tangling in hair, exploring backs, and cradling faces.

When they parted, breathless, Donna rested her forehead against his.

“Peter!” Nellie finally succeeded in detaching Peter’s mouth from her person. “I do have some standards you know!”

“You didn’t last week after-”

“-Okay!”

Nellie spared a weak smile for the scandalised old lady walking past.

Her momentary distraction allowed Peter to resume his attack just behind Nellie’s ear. He grinned as he felt her weight sink into his arms as her knees gave way. That spot was always guaranteed to dissolve her defences. He didn’t know why she even bothered to argue with him anymore.

“Peter, I’m serious!” she groaned, batting half-heartedly at his shoulder. “Not here! Anyone could see!”

“We are in a hotel. I’m sure an empty room wouldn’t be too hard to come by. In fact-” Nellie gasped as his fingers suddenly delved into her bra without warning- “We’ve even got a keycard to one of them!”

He grinned proudly, brandishing his trophy as she once more wrestled her dress back into place.

“Or-“ Nellie began, annoyed- “You could just stop kissing me.”

Peter pulled a face at the suggestion, slipping the card into his trouser pocket as his arms twined around Nellie’s waist to draw her close once more.

“You don’t want me to do that.”

“Mm.” Nellie refused to give him an answer.

He knew her far too well.

“Nell…”

“We’re not going somewhere else! I promised Sarah we’d stay until at least-”

“-Even if I said that that keycard unlocked a bridal suite?”

Nellie froze. Why would he have booked the bridal suite? Even in his most lavish moods, he’d never have splashed out in that category, and certainly wouldn’t have referred to a hotel room as such unless… Surely he wasn’t…

Peter moved his attention from her ear lobe to her cheek bone, before drawing back a minute distance to study her expression.

Nellie’s breath caught in her throat at the flicker of vulnerability she caught in his questioning gaze.

“I’m sure Sarah would understand if we disappeared.” She conceded with breathless excitement.

“Good.”

Peter drew away slightly, resting their foreheads to each other as he reached behind her neck. It took Nellie a moment to realise he was trying to undo the clasp of her necklace – the necklace that held the promise ring he had given her all those years ago.

She gently rested her hands over his, blinking rapidly against the tears threatening to manifest as she undid the necklace herself before resting it in his palms.

With shaking hands, he removed the ring from the chain and moved back the tiniest distance – barely enough space between them to allow his to clasp her hand between his and slide the ring to its new home.

Meeting her eyes once more, they shared a nervous but joyous laugh. Melting back into each other’s lips, it didn’t take long for Peter to murmur;