Summary: Donna is completely miffed with the Doctor; he's put his foot in it again!

Disclaimer: I wasn't there when they gave these characters out. Bugger!

A/N: Written in response to travellers' tales prompt #17 – awkward at doctor_donna.


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Donna stormed in through the TARDIS doors in a right ol' strop. She turned to glare at the Doctor as he removed his overcoat and tossed it over a coral strut. "I cannot believe you just did that!" she almost spat at him.

"Did what?" he tried to innocently reply.

"Don't play the innocent with me! You know perfectly well what you did!" she blazed.

"What? I didn't do anything wrong!" he defended himself, flinging his hands in the air to emphasise his innocence.

"Don't give me that!" she desperately fisted her hands in an attempt to stop them lashing out at him. "Since when is saying something like that not wrong? And to Gramps of all people!"

"Look, it was an accident, okay? I didn't mean to…," he began to explain; walking bravely up to her and grasping her by the shoulders.

"I'll have to go back and face him one day; but you, you can just swan off and forget it ever happened!" she glared again, but there was slightly less fire this time.

"I promise I'll be with you next time. And don't give me that look… I will! A promise is a promise!" he stared intently into her eyes.

"And a turd is a turd, fine words don't change anything," she could feel the effort of the staring contest now. "Like 'I promise I'll take you to a beach Donna', or 'I'll be back in a minute Donna'; or my favourite so far 'no nothing can go wrong Donna if I push this button'!"

He blushed slightly, "Yes, well, I admit that a few of those did happen… okay, all of them, but that doesn't mean that I'm not completely genuine when I make the promise."

"Being sincere and genuine is your excuse for lying now, eh?" she gained back the upper hand.

"Oi! I wasn't lying when I said those things; it only turned out that way in hindsight!" he huffed. But he kept up a gentle rubbing motion on her shoulders to stop any unexpected movements from her, ones that might end up with a slap.

"And I'm supposed to be grateful, am I? Or do…" She narrowed her eyes suddenly in thought, "You've been deliberately distracting me away from what happened earlier! You are so calculating at times!"

"I wasn't! Well, not really… but it worked for a moment, didn't it?" he tried to coax a smile out of her.

"I ought to stop your chocolate biscuit allowance for the next week!" she threatened.

"You wouldn't!" he gasped at her, horrified.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't!" she challenged him.

"I… erm… I… because you love me too much?" he tried a cheeky grin on her. Damn! It didn't work.

"You think I don't know about tough love, don't you?" she sneered at him. "As if I'd let you go unpunished!"

Something about that statement had an unexpected affect upon him, one that he certainly wouldn't admit to Donna. "Punished? You wouldn't want to do anything to me, you're not like that." He went to place his arm around her shoulder, but he backed off when she flinched away, "Oh, come on, Donna! Let me make it up to you with a cup of tea. We have coffee cake!" he tried to bribe her affections.

"A cup of tea would be nice, I admit; and a slice of coffee cake… but don't think you've gotten away entirely with this!" she warned him.

He tugged on her hand and started to lead her towards the kitchen, and they amiably set about making tea and serving up slices of cake.

"You still owe me an explanation," Donna reminded the Doctor as they sipped their tea.

"Do I? For what?" he noticed her questioning glare and backtracked a bit. "Oh that!"

"Yes that! Giving me a generalised apology isn't enough, before you try it," she pinned him with another glare. "I want to know why?"

"Let me get this into context…," he went off into a thoughtful haze. "We'd just told Wilf about the Gidzom Perimeter, you mentioned the woman with that crunchy dress…," Donna nodded at him, "then we talked about the mud and the ligit…," they both chuckled in remembrance, "and then I said about the Kalootian strip club we ended up in, just before I mentioned how good a dancer you were and how you had the body of a pro."

That was when Donna totally went red, "Do you not see how incriminating that is?"

"Not completely," he admitted. "I thought I was paying you a compliment."

"Gramps doesn't know that a 'pro' is the name given to a Priestess of Oriana on the planet Bhundax," Donna informed. "To him a 'pro' is a professional… as in the oldest profession."

The Doctor looked suitably shocked, "Oh, I do apologise! I didn't think…"

"You didn't mention that the dancing bit happened way after Kalootia, at a do given by Jane Austen-types on Misileric," she poured scorn on him. "So you managed to make it sound like I danced at a strip club with all the style of a Kings Cross tart!"

"Did I?" he thought for a second. "Oh dear! I did, didn't I? What must Wilf think of us?"

"Exactly!" Donna tearfully looked at him. "And you dragged me away before I could properly explain." They shared a knowing look. "It's going to be a bit awkward when I go back," she admitted softly.

He leant across the kitchen table to give her hand a squeeze, "I'll help explain that I had a raging case of foot-in-mouth syndrome."

"You'd better!" she gave him a small smile. "I can't have Gramps thinking I go round dancing in strip joints."

"I'm sure he'd be as proud of you as always if you did," the Doctor tried to console her.

"That is not the point, and you know it," Donna admonished him with a reluctant smile.

"In that case, you can tell your granddad about what happened to me with the mallet that time," he magnanimously offered.

"Are you sure?" Donna was overcome with gratitude.

"Anything for my best friend," he grinned at her. And they happily sipped their tea together again.

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