Glasmond Post 🌹 Doctor Who Story: Donna & 13 (Patreon)

Hey everyone! Glas here!

Lately I've been feeling more tippy tippy again, so I continued to translate one of my German stories. A link to the first English chapter hast been posted a year ago, but I'll add it here, too.

You can find some of Schpogs sketches to this story in this post!

I hope you like it!

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SO WE MEET AGAIN

Content: Donna Noble, Thirteen Doctor, SFW

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1

The Doctor stared at the woman who in turn stared back from behind the cash register, holding her outstretched hand in the air for a few heartbeats.

It really was her.

Donna Noble.

"Oi, are you planning to pay today, lady?"

The Doctor regained her poise. Of course Donna Noble had no idea who she was. The Doctor had changed her face. Several times. And even if she hadn't, her old friend wouldn’t be able to recognize her. After all, she took great care of that.

"Oh," she began, "um, of course. Money. I have that. Euros, right? ”

Donna gave her this typical look in absolute disbelief, and the Doctor immediately felt a few centuries younger.

“Pounds, lady. Even before the Brexit. ”

"Of course. Naturally. Absolutely. ”, The Doctor mumbled and rummaged in her pockets for the bill she had pulled out of a machine thanks to her trusty sonic screwdriver. Contrary to the general belief - that the theft of her TARDIS could result in - she really wasn’t a thief. But almost all banks on every planet were corrupt in some way, hungry for power, and way too rich. To in this specific case she didn’t mind.

She found the note and put it on the money shelf without taking her eyes off her old friend.

Donna was still exactly the same old. And yet it felt absolutely different. Naturally; for she was now looking at Donna from a different perspective, from a different height, it had been over a millennium since her last meeting, and besides, Donna was wearing a white polo shirt with a green apron, a gas station uniform that did not suit her in any way.

Not because it wasn't flattering about her looks, but because she was so much more than a gas station employee. She was witty, loving, open, brave and had one of the greatest hearts that the Doctor could ever witness. Besides that, she had saved the earth more than once and even knowingly given her own life to save it.

So yes. The gas station uniform didn't suit her.

Donna stared at the bill in her hand, still without moving, and peeked her tongue over her back teeth.

"Lady. That's 50 pounds. ”

The Doctor nervously cleared her throat. "Yes. So?"

"... for a packet of chewing gum."

The Doctor nodded.

Donna rolled her eyes.
One of the doctors' hearts skipped a beat. Not because of fear, but because of the familiarity of this expression.

"I can't change that, lady."

"That’s fine. Keep the change. ”

Instead of being glad she drew her eyebrows closer together and her blue eyes darkened into a skeptical look.

The Doctor had to smile involuntarily.

Of course Donna was skeptical. She was empathetic. Even if she could not comprehend the person in front of her, she was smart enough to feel that something was going on.

That - or it really was an absolutely surreal tip.

Probably ... probably the latter.

"Are you rich or something?"

The Doctor cleared her throat again.

“Yes, um. Yes. I'm rich."

Donna just shrugged and took the bill.

"I don't need that, you know," she growled softly.

The Doctor couldn't prevent her smile from widening.

"Yes I know."

“I'm sure you only do this to feel better about yourself. The rich are all the same. Giving alms to feel generous. Just so much that it doesn't hurt them. Don't expect me to slide on my knees and tell you saved my week, sunshine. ”

"Yes, I know."

She felt the almost uncontrollable urge to hug Donna. It felt exactly as it used to be. No mincing words, regardless of consequences.

"I'm really sick of it," she continued, and spoke so loudly that the whole store could hear her as she sorted the money into the till and typed something on the screen, "That we 'little' people are looked down upon like this, and we are patronized in this way without being really granted privileges. We are worthwhile, too. ”

"I know, Donna," replied the Doctor, feeling how her pride and joy overflowed her hearts.

"Don't pretend you have any idea what I -", Donna paused, "Wait a minute. How do you know my name?”

The Doctor couldn't hold back.

"Let me take you out for dinner," she said instead of answering, grasping for Donna's hand over the counter, "it would be my greatest honor. Pleasure, I mean. In years. Decades!”

Donna Noble looked at her in surprise, her mouth wide open; then at their holding hands.

Did she feel anything? No. Not possible. In the Doctor, however, a firework of emotions had started. Oh yes, she knew it would be better to leave Donna alone, but she just couldn't help it. The joy and longing was too overwhelming. She wanted to know everything about her old friend. She wanted to hear her talking, yelling and swearing. There was something magical about Donna that it even made another lifeform, like the Doctor, stop and wonder. In such a natural, banal and authentic way. She was so wonderfully real, and so wonderfully loud. So fragile and so strong. So rough and so sensitive. And so incredibly human. If the Doctor had to choose a single human representative, with no doubt it would be Donna. She summed up everything in humanity that the Doctor loved. And she was so terribly inspiring. So much so that it made the Doctor a better person.

She felt completely succumbed to her loud, crude charm.

"You know how that sounds," Donna finally replied a little quieter than before. However, she didn't pull her hand back.

"No, I do not," the Doctor replied honestly.

"I'm into men," Donna replied skeptically.

The Doctor shook her head. "That's not what it is about."

Donna bit her lip and said nothing.

Then she finally pulled her hand back.

The doctor started to already feel disappointment, Donna called into an adjoining room: “Gloria, I'm leaving for today. Don't you dare to backtalk, I did the last three shifts for you. ”

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2

“And then - I kid you not, I’m serious - he said I’m “too bold” and “too characteristic”. TOO CHARACTERISTIC! Oi, what kind of dense bloke says something like that?? Is that supposed to be an insult, boy? Am I supposed to feel bad about that, ay??”, Donna burst out so loudly that the whole café resounded; but not without showing her colloquiest a little hint of a smile. To show that she’s not that angry as it might seem, especially for people who aren’t well acquainted with Donna.

Many hours ago the stranger had dragged her into the nearest etablissement they could find. A posh little ice cream parlor that Donna had passed a couple of times, but never entered before.

Of course everything felt, well, to put it mildly, very particular. And Donna demanded the obviously rich stranger to buy her a damn drink, coffee and ice cream if she had to nobble her like that. The blonde woman smiled an absentminded, but very sweet smile, and ordered promptly, following her wish. Donna had been sceptical at first, and just observed her silently.

She was something between 30- and 40ish, didn’t wear any make-up, had a pretty, tidy blond bob haircut, but radiated a very androgynous energy and wore clothes that looked like they were the first best things grabbed from a thrift store and cobbled together. From the delicate ear jewelry to the bright yellow suspenders right to the boots that looked like they had been pulled right off some lumberjacks feet. To be honest, she actually looked anything but rich. More like the complete opposite. But Donna had to admit that the whole package of her appearance had … something, somehow.

Right when Donna was about to ask how the hell this stranger knew her name, she asked out of nowhere: “So, please. Tell me about your day.”

Donna had been irritated, but she answered nevertheless. Hesitantly at first, by saying that nothing much interesting happened. Then she started to talk. How she had to run to work today, because Gloria, that lazy rotten egg, hadn’t given her back her bus card. Then, how she had to endure these sorts of things again and again because elseway her chef would get her fired. Then, how that gas station job was already the third one this year, and how her mother would kill her if she would lose this one, too. And before she realized it she already babbled about everything that happened to her in the last years. That she had an extremely eventful life. That she had married and won the lottery. That she had spent all that money to travel the world, because she was confident that she’d find a goal or purpose in life this way. And that she did all that against her husband's wishes, so that he had left her to stay again with her overbearing old mother.

Donna wouldn’t have been capable of explaining why she’d tell all these things like a burst open valve, but the mysterious stranger didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she even seemed to welcome Donnas outburst. She had listened to her like none other before. Not even her ex husband had shown such an interest, at least not longer than a few minutes. Her grandfather, whom she loved a lot, was willing to listen to her stories, but she knew his poor heart was already worried enough about Donna, so she took great care to not encumber him with negative feelings.

Encouraged because of the ladys silent, but honest condolence Donna eventually proceeded to not only talk about relevant events, but also little moments that have been occupying her mind, feelings and wishes.

It was lovely. She felt heard and accepted. And somehow pretty damn at ease. As if she wouldn’t talk to a new acquaintance, but a proper soul mate she’d known for her whole life.

So now she was already sipping on her third cup of coffee, while the streets behind the parlour’s shop window first turned gloaming red, and then into a cool, dark blue.

Her opponent was smiling at her blissfully. Then she raised her arm and took a hold of Donna's hand to gently squeeze it.

Again Donna felt something she already had noticed at the gas station: For some reason the spot the women had touched felt strangely warm and made her nervous. In a good kind of way.

“And?”, the lady asked in a pleasant, curious tone.

“And what?”, Donna replied distractedly, because the presence of her conversational partner made her repeatedly lose her train of thought. Or was it something else?

“Did you feel bad?”, the woman specified her question.

“About what?”, Donna answered, making her laugh.

“Well, that you’re “too characteristic ``?''

Oh, right. Of course. Why was she so confused today?

She laughed. “Of course not. If anybody was anything, then him. Namely a wussy wimp.”

That made her chaperon smile warm and wide, and Donna started to feel a little hot.

She cleared her throat and withdrew her hand, breaking off the skin contact. The spot they have touched tingled slightly.

“Well, ehm… I … blimey, I talked for hours… probably for….”, she took out her phone and flipped it open to check the time, “...four hours??”, she yelled.

The stranger smiled and pulled out the tea bag from her cup of peppermint tea she had ordered a couple of minutes ago. “Is that a lot?”, she asked, curiously.

“‘Is that a lot’??”, Donna repeated in disbelief, “I haven’t talked this much in - well - okay, I talk as much when I’m on the phone sometimes, so I guess it’s average? But the point is - I mean - I talked the hind leg of a donkey to a complete stranger”

The woman smiled at her cup while putting a dash of milk into it. Into peppermint tea. Gross.

Donna raised an eyebrow.

“A complete stranger”, she repeated, “I don’t even know the name of”.

The lady nodded in agreement, focusing on the little milk jug.

“...because that said person didn’t even introduce herself.”, Donna pursued with a special emphasis.

The stranger put away the milk jug and smiled friendly at Donna.

“Oi! Lady!”, Donna exclaimed.

The stranger's smile changed into a more alert expression. Donna almost felt sorry.

“Ehm, yes?”

“Do you have a name.”, Donna clarified, talking slowly as if it was meant for a dense child.

For some reason the women looked strangely surprised.

“Eh, of course. Yes. Naturally.”

Donne now slightly bent over the table - because of curiosity, but also because of the woman's strange behaviour. Who, unbelievably, attended to her tea again, adding a piece of sugar to it.

Donna slapped her hands on the table.

“Oi! A little rude not tellin’ me, ay?”, she nagged at the now slightly startled looking woman.

“Smith”, she answered.

“That’s either just your surname or your parents over at Yorkshire are little sadists.”

“That’s a surname.”, the woman confirmed with a small, cheeky smile. Her nose crinkled a little.

Donna moaned. “Don’t give me such a cute grin, sunshine, just tell me! My god.”

“Just a moment.”, her new acquaintance said, taking a sip of her tea. She seemed to be pondering. When she sat the cup back down she finally answered plainly: “Jane.”

“Jane?”

“Yes. Jane.”

“Jane Smith?”

Again the woman smiled her muddle-headed, cute crinkle-nose smile and suddenly seemed kind of excited. “Yes. Jane Smith. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Jane Smith.”

“It sounds like the most average name an English woman ever beared.”, Donna commented stoically, irritated because of Jane's behaviour.

“I know. Isn’t that great?”, Jane asked.

At first Donna stared at her perplexed, but then she couldn’t help but to grin wrily.

“If you think so, lady. If it makes you happy.”

Jane simply smiled.

Donna went silent, too, and looked at her.

There was something between them. It was obvious. Donna just couldn’t put her finger on it. It felt strangely urging, like with a song you can’t remember the melody of. Or like the memory of last night's dreams. No, not even the memory - rather the hunch of an existence of a memory. Or maybe a Déjà Vu? Maybe Jane just reminded her of somebody from her childhood. Like maybe her favorite Sesame Street character she couldn’t properly remember anymore. Whatever it was: Donna couldn’t categorize it. She only felt this faint thread of nostalgia pulling on the most hidden parts of her brain whenever she looked into Jane's eyes. Then she remembered something.

“Hey. How did you know my name?”, Donna asked. “Back then, at the station.”

Jane tapped onto her chest while drinking from her cup.

Donna stared at her fingers in disbelief at first, then she understood and looked at her own dekolleté where her name plate was still attached, and felt a little dumb.

She coughed slightly and fell silent for a while. But Jane didn’t avert her eyes. Like many people around Donna, she didn’t seem intimidated by her. Donna felt that it even was quite the Contrary. Might that really be what people calle spiritual kinship? That you’re able to feel and understand each other without words?

Though she didn’t know anything about Jane, really.

She needed to change that.

“Is there a Mr. Smith?”, she asked without thinking. Then she paused. Did she… just really asked such a kind of question? No. Yes! Ohgod. Who, in god's name, has ever asked such a question without any romantic interest in mind? Noone, ever. Right? But it wasn’t meant like that. It was just honest interest. Right? Yes. Well, platonic interest. Or general interest. But Jane wouldn’t know. Right? No, most likely. She didn’t know much about her, but she definitely was peculiar with such things. She probably didn’t find that question strange. She probably -

“Yes”, Jane answered and took another sip of her tea.

Donna felt like someone had pulled the rug from under her.

“Well.”, Jane then added, “There was one. A while ago. But that, ehm, was in a different life. Just forget what I just said.”

Before Donna could react, a waitress entered her field of view, holding a tablet. On it a milkshake with whipped cream, red heart gummy bears and two straws.

“Hey you little cuties. Thank you for staying this long. We sadly have to close up in a few minutes, but our manager thought that you were pretty adorable, so this is on the house. How long have you been together?”

Donna raised her hands in defense and responded simultaneously with Jane, vigorously: “Oh, no, we’re not together, no”. She looked over to Jane, who smiled at her as if Donna just had said something that made her really happy.

“Oh”, the waitress said and smiled apologetically, “Sure. Then just enjoy it as friends, alright?”
She then put the shake on the table and returned to the kitchen, while taking off her apron.

Donna put her hand on her mouth and leaned back. Jane was still smiling at her.

“Unbelievable. Never happened to me before”, Donna murmured into her Hand. She had to avert her eyes, but she, too, had to smile. “What gave her that idea?”

“It must be our energy.”, Jane remarked whimsically.

“Or”, Donna said and gave a little cough, “because today is Valentines day.”

“Oh! Valentines day! My favorite earthly commercial holiday!”, Jane said, beaming with joy, “So that’s why there were red balloons and roses at your gas station!”

Donna stared at her, irritated. “Who doesn’t know it’s Valentine's Day? Why else should a cheap gas station be redecorated like that?”

“I thought it was some sort of customer coaxing promotional campaign.”

Donna laughed.

“Well, you don’t see me complaining - “, she said and pulled the shake near to help herself. In actuality, this was the first thing she’d consume today. Not because she was on a diet, but because she simply forgot, with everything that was happening.

“Be my guest! I’m quite content with my drink.”
Something in Jane's voice made Donna think that she actually knew that she hadn’t eaten today.

She took a sip and sighted happily. The creamy vanilla drink tasted fantastic. In fact, everything here was fantastic. She hasn’t felt that relaxed and balanced since months. Actually… since years. It was as if a burden was lifted off her shoulders, or pressure. The sort of pressure that has caused her to put all of her money into travelling. The one that prevented her from staying for too long at the same place, that forced her to always search for something that she didn’t even know what it was.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that fulfilled.

“That’s probably the nicest Valentine's day I ever had”, she mumbled. It was meant to come out sarcastically, but when she felt tears running down her cheek, she laughed nervously.

“Huh, why…”, she muttered and hastily wiped her face dry.

Jane, again, grasped her hand, and Donna instantly felt more at ease.

“I feel the same, Donna”, Jane commented. And for some reason, Donna believed her.