Warning: This contains flowers, for the allergic amongst us, and some post-JE angst.
Summary: The Doctor seizes an opportunity with Donna; more than a few times.
Disclaimer: My muse woke me and made me write this; sorry BBC! I promise to give them back, honest!
He was doing it again! He was standing so close as he gave her another TARDIS driving lesson she felt as though she couldn't breathe. What was it about him and invading personal space? Didn't they have rules about it on his planet? So far all she'd felt was his breath on the back of her neck, but if she felt anything close to being his sonic screwdriver she'd flatten him in an instant. She wasn't having any of that nonsense!
It was getting bad. He could hardly trust himself anywhere near her. When he suggested another driving lesson he had half expected her to turn him down. She was determined to learn, he had to give her that! If only he could stop himself from taking advantage of it. Thank goodness she hadn't noticed anything weird yet.
"Mind, Donna! Left hand down a bit!" he ordered.
"Any lower and it will be in your pocket!" she huffed. "I'll keep my hand where I can see it if it's all the same to you."
The Doctor answered with a faint squeak. "Anywhere you deem fit will be okay, Donna."
Donna answered him with a look that clearly said 'you are an idiot!', but she carried on with her lesson without a backward glance.
"Doctor? Can we visit earth? Specifically, can we visit a florist on earth?" Donna asked him one day.
"Why is that, Donna? Why do you need a florist so desperately? Is this some weird earth detox that I need to know about?" he asked with a smile.
"No you prawn! It's my mum's birthday next week and seeing as I might not be there in time I'd like to arrange a bunch of flowers to be sent to her," Donna explained. "Would that be alright?"
"I don't see why not!" he replied. "Any particular florist you fancy?"
"There's one near Leicester Square that's supposed to be quite good," she beamed at him, "but anywhere close to west London will do."
"One florist coming up!" he promised as he punched in some coordinates and turned a wheel.
"Is sir ordering flowers for his lovely wife?" the woman in the florists asked him expectantly.
"Ah! Well...," the Doctor started to go into their patented 'we are not a couple' routine.
"If he's married then I'd better hide myself!" Donna joked with the florist to his utter amazement. Seeing his shocked expression she patted his arm. "Don't mention marriage, it gets him all shaky," she whispered with a conspiratorial smile at the shop-woman, causing her to chuckle knowingly.
"Donna!" he whined, causing the women to giggle even more!
After flicking through a couple of books Donna chose a suitable bouquet to be delivered to her mother. Yet again she had to contend with him standing so close to her as she considered her options she was almost wearing his tie for him!
"You're not choosing any roses for her? I'm surprised by that," he admitted.
She threw him a smirk, "While I agree that roses are very like mum, fine to look at until you get close enough for them to stab you, I think I'll keep with something else. Roses are a bit pricey too."
He laughed. "True! Now, out of all of them which one would you have chosen for yourself?" he tried to ask nonchalantly as he waved towards the book.
Donna assumed this was a genuine question and not him fishing for information because, let's face it, who would buy her flowers? "Erm... I've never really thought about it," she confessed as she returned to perusing the books. "Something like that?" she asked as she pointed to a particularly colourful but small option.
His interest in the page lasted less than a second, so she assumed she'd made another bad choice and turned her attention to picking out the accompanying card for her bouquet.
"I'll pay for it, Donna; don't worry! I have to make it up to your mum for taking you away from her, don't I?" he smiled sweetly at her, glad that she was distracted enough by choosing the right wording for her card to believe him for once. Seizing his opportunity he whispered to the woman to add a large bouquet of the arrangement Donna had pointed out to him, impressing the florist with his gesture. He had tried to subtly point out that things weren't like that, but she didn't want to believe him. All he had to do now was arrange for Donna to be at her mother's the following week. Now how could he do that?
As it turned out he wished things had been entirely different.
The doorbell rang loudly, and Donna thrust the door open with curiosity. A man stood there holding a suspiciously large box. "Mrs Sylvia Noble?" he asked. "I have a delivery for you."
"Mum! It's for you!" Donna called out to her. Sylvia quickly appeared by her side.
"Ooh look! I've been sent flowers! How lovely! Who would have done that?" Sylvia exclaimed in delight.
"Read the card and you'll find out who your secret admirer is!" Donna teased her. Then she noticed the deliveryman looking expectantly at her.
"Are you Ms Donna Noble? Only, I've got one for you too," he smiled.
"Me? Since when would anyone send me flowers?" Donna scoffed. The bunch of flowers he handed her was huge! "Oh my goodness!" she cried, almost fainting with the shock. "I must have died and nobody told me about it!"
Sylvia kept schtum with that thought. "Perhaps you have an admirer of your own?" she suggested.
"Who me? Nah! This was probably done by someone in the office as an expensive prank, but a nice prank I must admit," Donna gazed wistfully at her flowers, wishing they were a real romantic gesture.
Thanking the deliveryman, they took their flowers inside to examine them properly, and find out what was written on the cards included with them.
"Oh Donna! These are from you!" Sylvia told her. "When did you arrange that?"
"Are they? I don't remember doing that," Donna said, and Sylvia felt it best not to press the subject in light of recent events.
Obviously Donna had ordered the flowers when she was still with the Doctor; so it was best to drop the subject. "Who are yours from? Prince Andrew or someone equally rich by the looks of things," she teased.
Donna extracted the card, squinting to make sense of the writing on it. "Whoever wrote this was a spider with a broken leg," she mused. "I think I can just make out the words:
My darling Donna,
May our forever never end,
Who the hell is D?"
Sylvia blanched. "Just some cracked admirer, Donna, so don't worry yourself. He has lovely taste in flowers though."
"He does, doesn't he?" she said softly as she calmly stroked some of the petals, trying to envisage who would buy her something so lovely. "I might get to meet him one day if I'm lucky."
"Luck would play a big part in it," Sylvia added as she hurried out to fill a vase with water.
"Thank you 'D'!" Donna blew a silent kiss to wherever and whoever he might be.