Title: Borderline
Author: Tess/mihane_echo
Rating: Rated E for everyone
Word Count: 2732
Spoilers: 4.07 The Unicorn and the Wasp
Summary: Was he overreacting? When had he become so weak?
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to the Beeb and I'm borrowing it to play with. I promise I will return them (marginally) unharmed. ;3 Also, I do have some direct quotes from They Loved to Laugh by Kathryn Worth. So not mine. I'm not that good.
Author's Note: katherine_b timestamped Bedtime Story: she wanted Donna having the Doctor read a book he's never read and the moment she asked for it, I thought of this book, which (I admit) is my absolute favorite book on the planet and yet NO ONE I've ever met seems to know it. So I thought it was perfect. ;) I snuck in her other request too.



"Oh, that's it! That is it," Donna proclaimed with a screech, and in a whirl of lacy skirts, marched out of the library in a huff. The Doctor stared after her from his place on the ladder, blinked in bewilderment. The change in tone and volume had been rather sudden, and he wasn't sure what he had said to set her off. To be honest, he wasn't even sure what she'd been talking about. He was a little busy reorganizing the shelves.

Donna had a nasty habit of bringing something down to read and then leaving it; bringing down another book and leaving it, again and again and again. She now had a fine collection of books, fiction and non, paperback and hardcover, scattered about the library in stacks. On the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table, on the mantle...

Sometimes a book managed to make it back to a shelf, but more often than not, it was the wrong shelf and usually left carelessly on its side on top of the other books. The Doctor's neat bookshelves were beginning to look like the mouth of a six-year-old too eager for the Tooth Fairy to arrive. He'd taken to tuning her out as payback. A little juvenile, but he was miffed at the constant disruption of his library.

Yeah, that could be it, said a small voice in the back of his head, Or you could just be making excuses not to talk to her.

Now why would I do that?

Because she kissed you, taunted the voice.

The book he was holding thudded heavily onto the wooden shelf and the Doctor paused there a moment, glared at the book but didn't see it. He was miles away, years away, in a kitchen, with Donna's hands on his face, and her lips... He swallowed, his hearts hammering away in his chest and pushed the book forward to even it with the rest of the bunch.

It was different with her now, and she didn't seem to notice. Donna Noble acted like nothing had happened, and so nothing had changed, but the Doctor felt a tremble in him when he was with her. Well, he always had, but now the feeling was more pronounced. Suddenly her hand in his was enough to knock him off his feet and yank him back up again at the same time. Even her smile seemed to throw him. He felt ridiculously giddy just being with her. Emphasis on the ridiculous.

Especially since it had occurred to him that it was probably just him. It bothered him that she hadn't felt a shift in their relationship when she kissed him, that she could have so much power over him with such a tiny, huge act. Why did she not realize what she was putting him through? Did she expect something from him now? Was he overreacting? When had he become so weak?

And at the same time, he was glad she was acting the same. It left him feeling very off-balance, as though she had one-upped him and he owed her, but he didn't want this to become complicated, worry her with his stupid little crush. He hated the thought of Donna feeling uncomfortable around him, leaving him, over this.

Get over it already, he commanded himself. She's your mate; you're just mates. It didn't mean anything, she did it because it was the alternative to setting you on fire.

Feeling thoroughly reprimanded, the Doctor took another book from the several cradled precariously in the crook of his elbow, skimmed the title emblazoned clearly on the spine, and then pushed the ladder over a few shelves to slide the little tome back into its proper place. The sound of clomping feet drew his attention back down to the floor, and he let his spectacles slide down his nose to look properly at Donna. She was carrying a book with her.

"Get down here, you," she commanded. "We're not even waiting until after dinner, we're sorting this out now." She snorted, shook her head in a mortified kind of way. "I can't believe you've never read this."

The Doctor sighed, pushed his specs back up. "I told you before I hadn't read everything ever put to page," he reminded her.

"Yes, well I thought you were just trying to be modest, as though you ever could, your ego's bigger than your bloody ship," she declared, blue eyes blazing up at him. She tossed her red braid off her shoulder flippantly. Oh, she was beautiful. "But this is inexcusable. You get on to me about not having read this or that, and you haven't even read They Loved to Laugh." Her eyebrows furrowed in disappointed disbelief and she shook her head again, tutting under her breath.

The Doctor repeated the gesture, though his headshake was more amused and followed by a breathy laugh as he descended the ladder; when he hit the ground, he set the remainder of his homeless books onto the ladder step and flopped a hand out expectantly. Donna handed the little hardback over and folded her arms over her chest, awaiting his approval.

The book was fairly worn, the formerly sharp corners of the hard cover smushed and blunted. The cover image of a young nineteenth-century couple was faded, and frequent handling had scrubbed away the image in patches here and there. The book creaked loudly when the Doctor opened its musty, yellowed pages; he raised his eyes to Donna curiously. Her cheeks flushed indignantly.

"It's one of my favorites," she said by way of explanation. "I take it with me everywhere."

"Yeah, I can see that," the Doctor remarked with a fond smile.

He paused to scan the title page and his eyes narrowed. "How did you even get your hands on this book? Printed in 1942 in the United States of America and... property of Largo Junior High?" With a bemused smile, he held the book open against his splayed fingers, turned it to show her. Stamped in ink underneath the title page information were the words Property of Largo Junior High School Library.

Donna made an uncomfortable little noise, shifted on her feet. Then she clicked her tongue under her breath. "Right, when I was about twelve, I had this mate move to the States, and one summer she came back to visit her gran or something. Popped in for a visit with me too, and..." She waved a hand absently, "Left it."

The Doctor pursed his lips, trying to smother the smile that was quickly bubbling up. "And you... kept it."

"I wasn't done reading it when she left," Donna reasoned, slipping past him to settle onto the sofa. She kicked off her sandals and drew her legs up underneath her. "Anyway, she hated it and I loved it so I figured it was justified."

The Doctor turned to face her, closed the book in both hands. "Why, Donna Noble," he teased, his eyes sparkling. "I didn't know you had such a criminal streak."

Leaning her chin into her palm, Donna smiled at him impishly, and then nodded at the book. "Right then, start reading."

His thoughts screeched to a halt. "Whoa, me?" He shook his head vehemently, held the book out to her. "No, you do the reading. That's what this whole arrangement entails: you reading to me because I like to hear you read."

"And the whole arrangement entails me reading books that you want me to read," she said. She pointed at her book. "This is a book I want you to read. So you're going to read it to me."

The Doctor paused, chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, wondering if he stared at her long enough, she might change her mind and take the book. But Donna didn't move, she simply sat there, never breaking his gaze.

Defeated, he groaned and flopped down onto the sofa next to her. Donna squeaked with delight and scooted back to give him room to stretch out; he toed off his Chucks and then slipped his legs over her lap. He glanced up at her briefly as he flipped to the first page, trying to look annoyed, or inconvenienced at the least.

But she had crossed her arms over the back of the sofa and rested her head on them, blue eyes wide in wonderment as she waited for him to start reading. She looked quite lovely, watching him with childlike anticipation like that. His stomach did a little flip and he dropped his eyes to the book.

"Right... uhm, okay then." He cleared his throat and then began. "Chapter one: Over the Next Hill. 'Over the next hill is the house, Martitia. Lift your eyes from your lap long enough to look ahead. You'll see the Gardner house in a minute...'"

The story was the simple one, a tale of an orphaned girl making her home with a family of Quakers in 1830s North Carolina. It was neither a grand adventure nor a work with much literary weight, just a simple period drama, really. The sort of thing he expected Donna to enjoy. A soft, romantic and girlish story about growing up.

And yet the Doctor found himself drawn into it, the solemnity and loneliness of little Martitia, trying to find her place with her new family, and finding love amongst it. He began to wonder if Donna had asked him to read this narrative on purpose to make some point or another. But each time he looked up at her, she was just watching him intently, a peaceful smile on her face as she listened to the sound of his voice. If she had been trying to make a point, she wasn't capitalizing on it.

Occasionally though, he did hear a groan from his companion in her effort not to be exasperated with his reading too fast. This was why he always had her read to him. He could polish off a book front to back in a matter of moments, but for her to hear him, comprehend him, he had to literally force himself to read at her speed. It was like moving in slow motion. Luckily, when he lost himself and started to read more quickly, Donna was just as quick to rein him in again.

It wasn't a very long story and before long they were coming up on the end. The stars had fallen on North Carolina (though in the back of his scientist's mind, the Doctor was gleefully cheering, "Oh, the Leonid shower from November 1833, I remember that!") and Martitia had fancied it Judgment Day, turning without hesitation to her love, Jonathan, for comfort.

"I couldn't feel right about it," the Doctor read Jonathan's part elegantly, "til the stars started falling and you poked your little cold fingers in mine when you thought the world was ending. I don't mind being beholden to you, Martitia, if you feel that I'm the one you'd turn to when the whole world ends."

"That's the way I feel, Jonathan. That's the way I've always felt," Donna recited the following line by heart, and the Doctor lifted his eyes to hers in surprise. He saw her gaze shift meaningfully, blue eyes filled with emotion.

Had she noticed? The turmoil inside him, the complicated mess of emotion he'd been trying to work out since their trip to 1926?

I don't mind being beholden to you if you feel I'm the one you'd turn to when the whole world ends.

That's the way I've always felt.

The Doctor swallowed past a lump in his throat, closing the book over his finger to keep their page. "Donna..."

"I know, you silly git," she said kindly. "You've been acting like a fourteen-year-old boy for three days. I'm not blind."

"It's just..." He looked away, at the hearth, at the mahogany desk and the lamp atop it, anything to keep his mind on track and not wandering away in Donna's blue-gray gaze. "I didn't want things to get weird."

"Are they?" she asked. Her tone was difficult to decipher; she sounded disappointed. He chewed the inside of his lip, not knowing what to say. Then she said, "Should we test it?"

His eyes snapped back to hers. "What?"

Donna gave his legs a shove off her lap and scooted just close enough to be comfortably in his space, looped her right arm around his left. He could feel her thigh pressed against his own from somewhere underneath a pillow of gauzy lace skirts. His hearts leapt up into his throat and he couldn't stop his mouth hanging slightly open. "Uh..." was all he managed before she kissed him.

Donna cupped his cheek in her left hand and drew him down, capturing his lips in a breath; one soft tendril of ginger hair brushed against his face, light as air. She moved over him gently, exploring him, tasting him, slowing down time until it was just the two of them in the whole galaxy, their hearts beating together being the only sound in the world.

For a kiss that had been on his mind for three days, the exchange in the kitchen was weak tea compared to the real thing. The first time had been preceded by choking and gasping and pain, and followed by a feeling that was more along the lines of having his insides flushed out with a hose.

This was an entirely different species from the first; it made him feel heady, like a child on a trampoline striving to fly ever higher, and every languid touch of her lips to his was another bound towards the blue, blue sky above.

The Doctor opened his eyes as she pulled away, knowing that his feelings were all over his face; he couldn't deny it now. Knowing that anyone could look at him and see how much he loved Donna Noble filled him with a dread he'd not known since the ATMOS factory, when she'd calmly informed him that she was going home and leaving him behind in his empty TARDIS.

But Donna didn't say anything. Didn't point and laugh or stare in contempt at him having visibly violated the just-mates rule. Instead, she just sat back slowly, her hand drifting down to rest on his lapels.

"Did that do anything for you?" she asked straightforwardly.

He hesitated. Either he wasn't as obvious as he thought, or she was playing him. She was so hard to read; he never knew what ulterior motives she had in a question and so he never knew the right answer. In the back of his mind he heard a little ginger voice whisper, I'm not having any of that nonsense.

The Doctor shrugged as casually as he could. "Well, we're mates. What did you want it to do?"

There was a flicker of something in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly that the Doctor hadn't the time to figure what it was before Donna flopped back against the sofa cushions, her hands clasped in her lap. "Among other things," she began, "...to get the anchovy taste out of my mouth."

The Doctor groaned, rolling his eyes. "Oh, would you get off the anchovies! I didn't ask you to kiss me!"

She smirked at him. "You would've preferred being set on fire?"

"No, I mean--" His eyebrows furrowed. "Among what other things?"

"Never you mind," replied Donna, going to her feet. She slipped her sandals back on and smiled down at him, her eyes glittering. "I'm going to start dinner, what do you think? Chops and gravy all right?"

"That's fine, but..." He lifted the book, still closed over his finger. "We weren't done..."

Donna's red braid bounced off her shoulder when she shrugged. "It was the last page, I already know how it ends. But you should definitely finish it." Her smile seemed to widen just the smallest bit before she turned and headed out of the library.

The Doctor watched her until her lacy skirt swished beyond the bend of the corridor, and then he sank back into the sofa cushions, his hearts feeling heavy. He opened the book and read the last line.

Jonathan bent down and kissed her.

With a sigh, the Doctor closed the book.

Oh, he had it bad. So very, immeasurably bad.

end