Total nonsense about nonsense. Not meant to be taken seriously. So please, don't.

Everything belongs to BBC. *Tears.*


Donna blinked, feeling a headache rise quickly within her. A night of heavy intoxication allowed her little recollection of the night before—only the vague realization that whatever happened, something was wrong.

She sat up weakly. She was alone in her bedroom, at least. She had learned through unhappy experience that waking in the same bed as a man, especially a friend, could have devastating consequences.

Groggily she slipped from her bed and stretched, instinctively passing a hand through her hair before her eyes widened and several things became clear to her. Or, rather, several words that had passed the Doctor's lips the night before.

"You and that ginger hair…oh, what I'd do to be ginger."

She bolted through the TARDIS (who seemed to guide her way through the millions of hallways) until she found the Doctor lying on his floor, slowly waking. She wasted no time on being polite, delivering a deft kick to his side.

He scrambled to his feet, and Donna yanked a massive wad of ginger hair from his hand. He looked at it for a moment, then back up to her, and then back to the hair.

"Whoops," he murmured.

A crack could be heard across time and space as Donna smacked him across the face.