Prompt: the bed scene between Ten/Martha, but with Donna instead

Summary: the Doctor and Donna are forced to share a bed.

Disclaimer: if I owned these characters they'd have definitely shared a bed!

A/N: This was originally written as a birthday present for Sykira.

Two In A Bed


Well, this was a turn up for the books! The pair of them lying in a bed together. Fully clothed, thank you very much! Because no funny business went on with Donna Noble, no sir!

When the Doctor had said "Let's have a bit of history?" Donna had never thought they'd end up meeting the Bard. That's right! The one and only William Shakespeare. And to prove an old quote right, you should never meet your heroes. Not that she would have classed Shakespeare as a particular hero of hers, because of English lessons in school. Too many 'thee's and 'thou's for a start! It did your head in.

She only knew one bit off by heart, and she was sure she wouldn't get far by quoting "To be or not to be, that is the question." Mainly because she didn't know what the next bit was and she had no idea what it meant in relation to the rest of the play.

Still, that Shakespeare was a saucy one; giving her a chat up line as soon as she'd seen him! Good job she knew better than to take that sort of thing seriously. They'd entered the tavern where Shakespeare was sitting with a bunch of blokes upstairs, and the old boy had thought the Doctor was some sort of fanboy; well, it was a possible. The Doctor had blustered on when she'd decided it was time to take control, so she'd stepped out from behind him, and that's when the entertainment had started.

"Who is this fair maiden?" Shakespeare had asked, and instantly dismissed the other blokes from the room. He'd leapt up and taken her hand. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" he'd asked her; and she had no idea how to answer that one. Well you wouldn't, would you? Because the obvious answer is 'cold and wet', which isn't exactly complimentary.

She'd been enjoying the attention until he described her as being the Doctor's wife! Of all the things he could have called her, he used that one! "Doctor, your wife is ravishing," he'd said, as clear as day. Of all the cheek…!

She soon put him right. "Wife? I'll have you know that I'm nothing of the sort! We just… travel… and stuff," she'd said. Ooh, that came out a bit wrong; she'd have to work on that denial.

Come to think of it, the Doctor didn't look too happy about it either. They'd left Shakespeare to it soon after that, because he had announced he had a play to finish. "Take thee to thy marriage bed," Shakespeare had joked as they left him for the night.

That had confirmed for Donna that he was rubbish at jokes. For some reason the Doctor hadn't retorted to that, so Donna suspected he had some plan worked out.

Talking of him, the Doctor had flashed the psychic paper at the innkeeper and they'd been shown into a room for the pair of them rather than one each. "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded as soon as the bedroom door was closed.

"What? I didn't do anything," he replied, trying to look all innocent.

"Prove it! Show me what the paper let him see," she ordered him.

He huffed resignedly. "Alright…" He held out the paper to show her.

"Hah! I knew you were lying! It says quite clearly 'Lord Doctor Noble and Lady Donna Noble of Tardis', you lying nincompoop," she told him triumphantly.

"It does?" He peered at the paper disbelievingly, and visibly started when he read the same thing. "Donna! I never got it to say that!"

"Well somebody did, and it wasn't me. I never even touched it until just then. And I meant the paper in case you are thinking up your own dirty jokes!" she retorted, sitting down on the bed and giving it an experimental bounce. He merely glared back at her. "Not very comfy are they, these Tudor beds. I dread to think how hard the pull-out bed is."

"What pull-out bed?" he asked as he frowned at her in puzzlement.

"The pull-out bed you're sleeping on," she replied slowly to allow the words to sink in to his fuddled brain.

"Donna, there is only one bed in this room and you're sitting on it," he said testily.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and gave the bed a Paddington Bear stare for daring to be singular. "So where are you going to sleep?"

"With you, of course," he said too brightly, and leapt on the bed as though something had bitten him.

"You what? Now hang on a minute! In your dreams, Sunshine!" she declared. "How cheap a date do you think I am?"

"What's the problem? There's plenty of room for two," he remarked, and wriggled down until he was lying flat on his back. He tapped the space next to him in invitation.

"Please note that I am doing this under protest," she pointed out, and stretched out beside him.

"Duly noted," he replied primly. He turned on his side to face her. "Come on, Donna, What am I missing? Rose would have said something by now to help solve this."

Donna just about resisted thwacking him. "Bully for her! Shall I go and fetch her for you? And while I'm at it, shall I grab Hercule Poirot for you after I've swam to Belgium?"

"Alright, calm down; I get the message," he griped. He exhaled angrily.

"I don't think you do," she said through gritted teeth. "And if you drag her up one more time and rub my nose in it I swear I shall punch you in the face, then bugger off and leave you on your own! Do you hear me?"

"Yes Donna," he meekly answered.

"Good! Otherwise I shall do my Witchy Poo impression on you. Hubble bubble, toil and trouble," she cackled playfully, flexing her fingers at him.

"Of course! Witches! Oh Donna, you are brilliant!" he exclaimed, leaning over to hug her.

She held him off with one hand. "I don't think that's such a good idea if we are in bed together, do you? People might get ideas."

He blushed. "Yes, you're right. Sorry Donna."

"Good! Now get some sleep. Some of us have got to get up in the morning," she teased him.

She hadn't had her eyes shut for long when she heard, "Donna? Are you awake?"

"No, this is all a dream," she huffed out. "Why? What's the problem?"

"I can't sleep," he admitted.

"Oh gawd, I must be turning psychic, because I totally guessed that one," she mumbled.

"Donna! Can't you help entertain me for a while?" he asked.

She sat up then, and deliberately glared down at him. "What are you on? You get us put in the same room, sleeping in a double bed that could hardly fit two munchkins, I'm laying here in my flipping clothes, with a mouth that feels like the inside of a wrestler's jockstrap because I haven't got a toothbrush… and don't wave that thing at me! I'm not using anything that's been inside your pocket. And now, to top it all, you won't let me sleep and expect me to entertain you! Do you honestly think I carry about a puppet show with me? I dunno; you'll be telling me you want to cuddle me next."

He suddenly went extremely sheepish. "No, I wasn't going to say that… but if you want to… No, forget that."

"Oh for the love of…!" She huffed in exasperation; she might as well change her label from companion to babysitter, she decided. "Come here, you daft Martian! But I'm cuddling you so that I know where your hands are at all times."

"I assure you my hands will be exactly where they should be," he told her haughtily.

"Oh I know that, Sunshine. I shall make sure of it," she retorted. "Now turn over."

The next thing she knew someone was shouting about a murder outside in the street. It was the bloke who'd got shirty with Shakespeare about censoring his play before it was performed. Ooh it was exciting! A really proper mystery to solve, with weirdo aliens. This was right up her street!