I don't own Doctor Who. Just a little Donna/Doctor for my amusement.
It was just a little blip on the screen. He had been under the grating, tinkering if he was honest, but he had pulled himself out just now. Donna had gone to bed a couple of hours ago. She had declined an invitation to do anything of their normal evening activities. Such as television, and reading, anything to help them both settle down. She had a headache, but it had been a hard day, as they tended to be.
She had waved of his offer of medicine, gave him a dazzling smile- he would deny that it was if asked- and he had let her go. Now there was little blip. It was a temperature, the elevated temperature of the only other TARDIS occupant. Not a dangerous fever, but still. He worried about her.
He knew that he should have scanned her, even if it had only been with the screwdriver. She would have called him paranoid, but even if she was correct, sometimes paranoid people were right. Plus, if he had done that, he might have been able to prevent this illness.
He padded off to her room, knocking too softly to get a reply. He just wanted to claim that he tried if she yelled at him, but didn't actually want to give her the option to refuse his help. He slid the door open, expecting to find her awake, but she wasn't. She was on the bed, eyes closed, hair wild.
She was tangled in her sheets, as though they had a wrestling match and she had lost. She was lying mostly horizontal on the bed, and muttering softy in her sleep. He scanned her now, before he woke her. He was relieved to find that it was just the flu. The TARDIS did a pretty good job of filtering out illness, but if something had to slip by he was glad it was something simple.
He went to her now, and started to unwrap the blankets from her body, trying to free her from her prison. He heard a mumble that he was fairly certain was 'hands' but he didn't stop and she didn't make any farther protest. When he finally had her free, he turned her, letting her rest against the pillows he had adjusted at the head of the bed. She settled against them with a sleepy sigh.
Now that she seemed more comfortable, he would go get something to help her feel a little better. He was surprised when she caught his hand when he was scooting off the bed.
Her voice was hoarse, but he heard her clearly. He knew she was sick, and sick people often wanted others with them for comfort, but he was touched she wanted him. He knew there wasn't any other option, but this was Donna and if she didn't want him she wouldn't ask for it.
"I'm going to run to the med bay," he told her gently, giving her hand a soft squeeze.
"You are coming back?" She asked.
"Yes," he assured her, pressing a gentle kiss to her warm forehead. "I'll be right back."
She nodded her agreement, and released him. He left the room, hoping to hurry this up. He stopped by the med bay, getting something to help her feel better, but knowing that it was usually best to let the illness run its course. She would be fine in a day or two. He stopped by the kitchen, finding soup and juice already ready. The Doctor thanked the TARDIS and made the short trip back to her room.
She was sitting on the side of the bed now, wobbling just a little. He sat down his items, and laid his hands gently on her shoulder. "Lay down, Donna."
His instruction was gentle, but she glared up at him. Her eyelids were half closed, so it didn't hold a lot of power, but it was a Donna glare all the same. He didn't smile, but he wanted to. She could give him butterflies even in sickness.
"Bathroom," she insisted.
He nodded, moving to help her, when he saw her move forward. He caught her, but knew the moment the fluids hit his clothes, that she wasn't falling…she had leaned on purpose. He let her finish, rubbing her back, and ignoring the vomit that was beginning to seep farther into the layer. It was hardly her fault. When she was done, she looked up, tears in her pretty eyes.
She was crying now, probably emotional from not feeling well, but he was also certain she was embarrassed. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, she was sick. This was hardly her fault, and he told her so.
She finally calmed, letting him leave to get a washcloth, and he wiped her up, before helping her lay back down. The TARDIS took care of the carpet, and she had remained clean, so he only had to change his clothes. He made quick work of it, changing into pajamas, hoping she would ask him to stay.
She refused the soup, but he got a little juice into her. The medicine helped, her temperature dropping in minutes. He opened his arms, and she snuggled into him.
He smiled a smile she couldn't see. Not glad that she was sick, but glad that she was close, and that they had found each other. He kissed her wild, flaming hair, and held back a chuckle. He couldn't explain what he felt for Donna, it wasn't friendship, but he wasn't sure that it was exactly love. Maybe it was, and he was too scared to admit it. His Donna was as simple as she was complicated. Her trust in him, as complete and unwavering as his was in her.
No, he didn't know what they were, except close and in love…even if he couldn't define the love…but he knew one thing for sure. The woman in his arms was his, and he was so glad that he had her.