#International Bank Account Number

[thethief1996]

I can't stop thinking about the news out of Palestine. Israel is sieging al Shifa hospital. Videos of people's limbs being severed off are haunting (graphic video tw). The hospital has ran out of fuel and 39 babies in incubators are fending for their lives by themselves, because Israel has stationed snipers around the hospital and is shooting all medical crew that walks into their sight.

First, the narrative was Israel would never bomb hospitals. Now, the hospitals are Hamas bases. Then, we respect journalists. Now, we have a fucking kill list of journalists because they are Hamas collaborators. First, we are not letting fuel in until the hostages are released. Now, we are not accepting the hostages back because that would stop our ground invasion and let Hamas win. And I could go on about every single lie they're making up. If you look up "Hamas rape" on google, the first link leads to Times of Israel saying Israel has found no forensic evidence of sexual violence, and only one eyewitness testimony out of 3.5k people attending the rave. If you Google "Hamas beheaded babies" the top links say they have no evidence for the claim besides word of mouth from extremist soldiers. Israeli extremists think about the ugliest goriest scene they can make out in their sick heads, tell that to a international journalist and they run away with it like it's gospel.

And children are being killed in the name of these lies. Thousands are being displaced in images that remind me of the pictures of Tantura 75 years ago, with their hands up so the tanks don't shoot them. Amputees are leaving the hospitals in wheelchairs hours after their surgeries because they are being shot at. Elders who survived the Nakba on 48 are having to walk towards Southern Gaza on foot (imagine walking from one end of your city to the other on foot), displaced again. People are cheering for the haunting images of white phosphorus bombs being dropped over Gaza. Gazan workers who were arrested in the West Bank are being thrust back into the bombings wearing numbered labels.

This is not normal. We are seeing the early stages of the settler colonial genocide of an indigenous population. Native leaders who have visited Gaza say its refugee camps look eerily like reservations. We can stop this. For the first time we are able to see wide scale accounts from the hands of the people suffering the genocide, and Israel is so scared of it they have cut all communications in Gaza.

This is our litmus test. I think we have never seen more clearly, with Palestine, Armenia, Congo and Sudan how colonialism has made our world a rotten place to live in.

The South African apartheid collapsed due to boycotts. We have to do everything in our power to stop Israel's hegemony. Even talking to a group of friends about Palestine changes the status quo. There's no world where we can live peacefully if Israel accomplishes their goals.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera, Anadolu Agency, Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing protests and direct action against weapons factories across the US

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza.

Hind Khudary - reporting directly from Gaza. Her husband and daughter moved South to run from the tanks but she stayed behind to record the genocide. The least we can do is not let her calls fall on deaf ears.

You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour, HP, Puma, Sabra, Sodastream, Ahava cosmetics, Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe. If you still believe in the two states solution, this book by an Israeli professor debunks it).

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament and one specific for almost all countries in Europe, including Germany, Ireland, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Netherlands, Greece, Norway, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Austria, Belgium Romania and Ukraine

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more.

[fairyminnie444]

Manifesting $100,000 is as easy as manifesting $1

The feeling that $100,000 is a “big wish” comes from the limiting beliefs you’ve acquired about money, scarcity, and effort throughout your life. Your subconscious perceives $100,000 as “difficult” because it’s been programmed to see larger amounts as less attainable. However, manifesting $100,000 is as simple as manifesting $1, because the process is always the same.

How to Teach Your Subconscious That $100,000 Equals $1

1. Disassociate Value from Effort

• Replace beliefs like:

• “Big money requires hard work.”

• “Making big money takes time.”

• With new beliefs:

• “Money is just energy and flows easily to me.”

• “$100,000 comes to me just as easily as $1.”

2. Reframe the Value Scale

• Train your subconscious to see large amounts as normal.

• Affirmations:

• “$100,000 is a small amount compared to the infinite abundance of the universe.”

• “Money, big or small, flows to me easily and naturally.”

3. Feel Abundant Now

• Imagine what it would be like to have $100,000 naturally and everyday. Not as something extraordinary, but as something that is already part of your life.

• Ask yourself: “How would I act if $100,000 were something normal for me?”

4. Depersonalize Money

• Stop putting emotional weight on the amount. $100,000 is just a number.

• Tell yourself:

• “Money is a tool that flows to me when I decide.”

5. Practice Simple, Concrete Visualizations

• Instead of imagining the amount itself, visualize scenarios in which the money is already available to you.

• Example: Seeing your bank account balance showing $100,000.

6. Recognize That the Universe Sees No Limits

• The subconscious and the universe do not differentiate between “big” and “small.” It’s all about the belief you hold.

Powerful Affirmations

.☘︎ ݁˖ “$100,000 comes as easily to me as any other amount.”

.☘︎ ݁˖ “Money, in any amount, is always flowing to me.”

.☘︎ ݁˖ ”I see $100,000 as something ordinary and natural in my life.”

With persistence and practice, you will train your subconscious to see any amount of money as something normal and easy to achieve. It all starts with the internal state you choose to nurture!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Shifting $677m from the banks to the people, every year, forever

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

"Switching costs" are one of the great underappreciated evils in our world: the more it costs you to change from one product or service to another, the worse the vendor, provider, or service you're using today can treat you without risking your business.

Businesses set out to keep switching costs as high as possible. Literally. Mark Zuckerberg's capos send him memos chortling about how Facebook's new photos feature will punish anyone who leaves for a rival service with the loss of all their family photos – meaning Zuck can torment those users for profit and they'll still stick around so long as the abuse is less bad than the loss of all their cherished memories:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

It's often hard to quantify switching costs. We can tell when they're high, say, if your landlord ties your internet service to your lease (splitting the profits with a shitty ISP that overcharges and underdelivers), the switching cost of getting a new internet provider is the cost of moving house. We can tell when they're low, too: you can switch from one podcatcher program to another just by exporting your list of subscriptions from the old one and importing it into the new one:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

But sometimes, economists can get a rough idea of the dollar value of high switching costs. For example, a group of economists working for the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau calculated that the hassle of changing banks is costing Americans at least $677m per year (see page 526):

https://files.consumerfinance.gov/f/documents/cfpb_personal-financial-data-rights-final-rule_2024-10.pdf

The CFPB economists used a very conservative methodology, so the number is likely higher, but let's stick with that figure for now. The switching costs of changing banks – determining which bank has the best deal for you, then transfering over your account histories, cards, payees, and automated bill payments – are costing everyday Americans more than half a billion dollars, every year.

Now, the CFPB wasn't gathering this data just to make you mad. They wanted to do something about all this money – to find a way to lower switching costs, and, in so doing, transfer all that money from bank shareholders and executives to the American public.

And that's just what they did. A newly finalized Personal Financial Data Rights rule will allow you to authorize third parties – other banks, comparison shopping sites, brokers, anyone who offers you a better deal, or help you find one – to request your account data from your bank. Your bank will be required to provide that data.

I loved this rule when they first proposed it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

And I like the final rule even better. They've really nailed this one, even down to the fine-grained details where interop wonks like me get very deep into the weeds. For example, a thorny problem with interop rules like this one is "who gets to decide how the interoperability works?" Where will the data-formats come from? How will we know they're fit for purpose?

This is a super-hard problem. If we put the monopolies whose power we're trying to undermine in charge of this, they can easily cheat by delivering data in uselessly obfuscated formats. For example, when I used California's privacy law to force Mailchimp to provide list of all the mailing lists I've been signed up for without my permission, they sent me thousands of folders containing more than 5,900 spreadsheets listing their internal serial numbers for the lists I'm on, with no way to find out what these lists are called or how to get off of them:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/22/degoogled/#kafka-as-a-service

So if we're not going to let the companies decide on data formats, who should be in charge of this? One possibility is to require the use of a standard, but again, which standard? We can ask a standards body to make a new standard, which they're often very good at, but not when the stakes are high like this. Standards bodies are very weak institutions that large companies are very good at capturing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Here's how the CFPB solved this: they listed out the characteristics of a good standards body, listed out the data types that the standard would have to encompass, and then told banks that so long as they used a standard from a good standards body that covered all the data-types, they'd be in the clear.

Once the rule is in effect, you'll be able to go to a comparison shopping site and authorize it to go to your bank for your transaction history, and then tell you which bank – out of all the banks in America – will pay you the most for your deposits and charge you the least for your debts. Then, after you open a new account, you can authorize the new bank to go back to your old bank and get all your data: payees, scheduled payments, payment history, all of it. Switching banks will be as easy as switching mobile phone carriers – just a few clicks and a few minutes' work to get your old number working on a phone with a new provider.

This will save Americans at least $677 million, every year. Which is to say, it will cost the banks at least $670 million every year.

Naturally, America's largest banks are suing to block the rule:

https://www.americanbanker.com/news/cfpbs-open-banking-rule-faces-suit-from-bank-policy-institute

Of course, the banks claim that they're only suing to protect you, and the $677m annual transfer from their investors to the public has nothing to do with it. The banks claim to be worried about bank-fraud, which is a real thing that we should be worried about. They say that an interoperability rule could make it easier for scammers to get at your data and even transfer your account to a sleazy fly-by-night operation without your consent. This is also true!

It is obviously true that a bad interop rule would be bad. But it doesn't follow that every interop rule is bad, or that it's impossible to make a good one. The CFPB has made a very good one.

For starters, you can't just authorize anyone to get your data. Eligible third parties have to meet stringent criteria and vetting. These third parties are only allowed to ask for the narrowest slice of your data needed to perform the task you've set for them. They aren't allowed to use that data for anything else, and as soon as they've finished, they must delete your data. You can also revoke their access to your data at any time, for any reason, with one click – none of this "call a customer service rep and wait on hold" nonsense.

What's more, if your bank has any doubts about a request for your data, they are empowered to (temporarily) refuse to provide it, until they confirm with you that everything is on the up-and-up.

I wrote about the lawsuit this week for @eff@mastodon.social's Deeplinks blog:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/10/no-matter-what-bank-says-its-your-money-your-data-and-your-choice

In that article, I point out the tedious, obvious ruses of securitywashing and privacywashing, where a company insists that its most abusive, exploitative, invasive conduct can't be challenged because that would expose their customers to security and privacy risks. This is such bullshit.

It's bullshit when printer companies say they can't let you use third party ink – for your own good:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/01/hp-ceo-blocking-third-party-ink-from-printers-fights-viruses/

It's bullshit when car companies say they can't let you use third party mechanics – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

It's bullshit when Apple says they can't let you use third party app stores – for your own good:

https://www.eff.org/document/letter-bruce-schneier-senate-judiciary-regarding-app-store-security

It's bullshit when Facebook says you can't independently monitor the paid disinformation in your feed – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

And it's bullshit when the banks say you can't change to a bank that charges you less, and pays you more – for your own good.

CFPB boss Rohit Chopra is part of a cohort of Biden enforcers who've hit upon a devastatingly effective tactic for fighting corporate power: they read the law and found out what they're allowed to do, and then did it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/23/getting-stuff-done/#praxis

The CFPB was created in 2010 with the passage of the Consumer Financial Protection Act, which specifically empowers the CFPB to make this kind of data-sharing rule. Back when the CFPA was in Congress, the banks howled about this rule, whining that they were being forced to share their data with their competitors.

But your account data isn't your bank's data. It's your data. And the CFPB is gonna let you have it, and they're gonna save you and your fellow Americans at least $677m/year – forever.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

[odinsblog]

NEW YORK (14 November 2024) – Israel’s warfare in Gaza is consistent with the characteristics of genocide, with mass civilian casualties and life-threatening conditions intentionally imposed on Palestinians there, the UN Special Committee to investigate Israeli practices* said in a new report released today.

“Since the beginning of the war, Israeli officials have publicly supported policies that strip Palestinians of the very necessities required to sustain life — food, water, and fuel,” the Committee said. “These statements along with the systematic and unlawful interference of humanitarian aid make clear Israel’s intent to instrumentalise life-saving supplies for political and military gains.”

Covering the period from October 2023 to July 2024, the report examines developments across the occupied Palestinian territory and the occupied Syrian Golan but focuses on the catastrophic impact of the current war in Gaza on the rights of Palestinians.

“Through its siege over Gaza, obstruction of humanitarian aid, alongside targeted attacks and killing of civilians and aid workers, despite repeated UN appeals, binding orders from the International Court of Justice and resolutions of the Security Council, Israel is intentionally causing death, starvation and serious injury, using starvation as a method of war and inflicting collective punishment on the Palestinian population,” the Committee said.

The report documents how Israel’s extensive bombing campaign in Gaza has decimated essential services and unleashed an environmental catastrophe that will have lasting health impacts. By early 2024, over 25,000 tons of explosives—equivalent to two nuclear bombs—had been dropped on Gaza, causing massive destruction and the collapse of water and sanitation systems, agricultural devastation, and toxic pollution.

“By destroying vital water, sanitation and food systems, and contaminating the environment, Israel has created a lethal mix of crises that will inflict severe harm on generations to come,” the Committee said.

The report raises serious concerns about Israel’s use of AI-enhanced targeting systems in directing its military operations, and the impact it has had on civilians, particularly evident in the overwhelming number of women and children among the casualties.

“The Israeli military’s use of AI-assisted targeting, with minimal human oversight, combined with heavy bombs, underscores Israel’s disregard of its obligation to distinguish between civilians and combatants and take adequate safeguards to prevent civilian deaths,” the Committee said.

Amid the devastation in Gaza, Israel’s escalating media censorship, suppression of dissent, and targeting of journalists are deliberate efforts to block global access to information, the Committee found. It also noted how social media companies disproportionately removed “pro-Palestinian content” in comparison with posts inciting violence against Palestinians.

The Committee condemned the ongoing smear campaign and other attacks against UNRWA and the UN at large.

“This deliberate silencing of reporting, combined with disinformation and attacks on humanitarian workers, is a clear strategy to undermine the vital work of the UN, sever the lifeline of aid still reaching Gaza, and dismantle the international legal order,” the Committee said.

The Committee called on all Member States to uphold their legal obligations to prevent and stop Israel’s violations of international law and hold it accountable.

“It is the collective responsibility of every State to stop supporting the assault on Gaza and the apartheid system in the occupied West Bank, including East Jerusalem,” the Committee said.

“Upholding international law and ensuring accountability for violations rests squarely on Member States. A failure to do so weakens the very core of the international legal system and sets a dangerous precedent, allowing atrocities to go unchecked.”

The Committee’s report will be presented to the 79th Session of the UN General Assembly on 18 November 2024.

(source)

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[khawla-gfm2]

📰Khawla's Family Campaign Update: 142📰

$51,817/$80,000 as of January 6th [10pm CDT]

Currently $183 away from $52,000 as a short term goal

[Paypal where money reaches her faster!]: paypal.me/KhawlaFunds

(^send money to the paypal as "friends and family")

Please consider donating even just $5, $10, or $20 to help Khawla in her time of need! every amount counts!

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[tag list under the cut]:

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[communistkenobi]

There is a baseline transmedicalism in framing transition as a purely medical process. “transition” is synonymous with medically transitioning, with taking hormones and having “corrective” surgery. This is a framing that largely comes from cissexual doctors and psychologists, but it has also been taken up in mainstream trans discourse by many trans people. It reduces the concept of “changing sex” to a medical procedure, and as a result, reaffirms the idea of sex as a purely biological category. It doesn’t account for the fact that you are also administratively and socially trans-sexual - some of the most intensely transgender moments in my life have been signing forms to change my name with yet another governmental department, with sending human rights complaints to my phone company because they refused to accept my name change documentation, with booking an appointment with a lawyer to notarise an application to change my sex marker on my birth certificate, with emailing my employer for the fourth time to PLEASE change my name in their internal emailing system. Administrative transition isn’t just simply updating a record here or there, you are comprehensively, administratively altering your position within the family, within marriage, within insurance claims, within census data, within the state itself. To use a phrase by Stryker & Sullivan, you are petitioning the king to correct the record of your own life. There’s nothing biological about that

and yes, these administrative and social transitions are often legitimatised through medical transition - you frequently need a psychiatric diagnosis to “prove” you need to change your sex marker, you need a doctor to affirm you’ve been on hormones for X number of months in order to get a replacement government ID or get put on a surgery waiting list. I had to have a specific surgery so I could fit into men’s clothing. Medical transition allows you to move through cis social spaces while being recognised as your gender. And also like, medical transition feels good! I love taking testosterone, I’m happy with my top surgery scars. I like being treated like a man by other people & medical transition has helped me achieve that. But there’s nothing inherently biological about this arrangement - the authority of the doctor and psychiatrist is what gets you legitimacy. I didn’t have to send pics of my top surgery to the federal government to change my ID, I needed the signature of a doctor. And this updated ID means my landlord and employer and bank and phone company and the cashier selling me alcohol all gender me correctly. No biology involved here!

[godhandler]

Rent A BF!

prologue | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff (ish) series | @jimlingss core

next series masterlist

14th May, 1996

“Perfect Princes Escort Services! How may I help you this evening?” The receptionist chirped over the landline. “And who am I speaking to?”

You give the commercially cheerful intern your name. “-And, uh, I wanted to book a…”

“... an escort, ma’am? I sure hope so, because this isn’t the number for the cabs. Would you want a tour of the options available or have you chosen your preferred partner?”

 “I haven’t, no. But I looked at your brochure-”

“-Excellent, ma’am! Were you interested in Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome? Very gentle, very witty, he’ll give you haircare advice too!” You can guess who he is talking about, Suguru Geto. The brochure listed his price to be one of the highest. You admire the receptionist’s commitment to upselling. “Or perhaps you fancied our resident Prettyboy?” Yup, that’d be Satoru Gojo, a lanky albino with a shit-eating grin. “He’ll take you to sweet-shop dates all over Tokyo! They come as a pair too if you opt for our Deluxe Princes Package.” 

“Do you have, uh, someone less fancy? I don’t need excitement, just someone to relax with. And discreet.” 

“Ahhh-” Salesman supreme, the receptionist seems to totally empathise with you. “I understand. Please don’t be ashamed. Several of our clients enjoy and highly recommend our state-of-the-art discretion. Might I recommend The Gentleman Caller, Nanami Kento, for our more mature client?”

“No, I believe you misunderstood. Someone who isn't fancy at all. I’m talking about holes in your shirt and unwashed shoes.” You’re getting more confident demanding now. “Someone I can spoil.”

On the other side of Tokyo, Toji Zenin sneezes all over his instant ramen cup. Eh, he shrugs as he slurps it up, it’s my own boogers anyway. 

10 minutes from now, he’ll get a message from the receptionist that he’s bagged him the best deal in a while. A pure sugar baby contract. He’ll get your details: rich single woman, turning 29 this year, living alone in your penthouse apartment uptown, pre-paid for 10 sessions. He’ll be set for the whole summer after this job, perhaps he could even take a boat out to Osaka. He’ll whoop in joy looking at his bank account, annoying his neighbours through the peeling plywood walls of his 1BHK. 

But for now he just quietly drinks the soup out of his ramen.

next series masterlist

a/n: dividers. series to be released next week in full. also i lied its not fully fluff but i just couldnt give the trauma angst i planned for toji so its as sweet as can come from me.

[soon-palestine]

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[valve3nthusiast]

(I've talked about Drift fucking crystals before right? Like there's no way that I haven't at least once right?)

How it all starts, of course, is with Rodimus making dirty jokes about some of the more... suspiciously shaped crystals in his collections, which Drift scolds him for. None of his crystals would be used like that! It's disrespectful!

Drift definitely doesn't spend the next couple of weeks staring at the ceiling of his room, furiously jacking off, while carefully avoiding looking at his collection. Or even thinking about it. Absolutely not. (Damn it, Rodimus)

So when he's next at an alien market and perusing the crystals and gemstones section, he definitely has no ulterior motive for buying an absurdly large harmonic quartz suspiciously cut and polished into the shape of a textured spike. Complete coincidence. (Listen, it was a really high-quality quartz for dirt cheap, he had to take that deal, ignore his bank account numbers)

And Drift is simply making a smart and tactical decision when he hides it in his subspace until he gets back to his room. Rodimus would probably never shut up about it, and maybe even steal it to try and do... lewd... acts with it! Truly, he is just looking out for the safety and dignity of all involved. Minimus would be proud

It's just... curiosity, that makes him take out the new quartz before he starts... "tending to himself," so he can compare it to his spike... only to see if it actually is that phallic!

The harmonic quartz is certainly pretty, shimmering with many vibrant colors. And large. And thick. And at the base of the center pillar, there are still some small crystalline formations, lovely and polished to a shine, but decently sharp enough to make you want to keep them away from anything... sensitive

A healthy dose of self-delusion really can't cover for the fact that once Drift realizes the crystal is so generously proportioned that it's nearly twice as big as his spike, his valve starts dripping. Any internal justifications of "academic interest" or "morbid curiosity" can't cover for the way he's now rubbing the blunt tip of the quartz across his glowing node and flushed valve folds

And, all right... maybe... he's been thinking about this more than he should. Maybe, getting it out of his system would make him stop. Maybe putting that blunt, unyielding crystal into his valve won't feel good at all, and he won't lie awake thinking about it anymore, so he should just put it in and be done with it-

Drift's loud moan shatters both the silence of his room and his hopes of not enjoying this, as he forces the massive crystal past the first caliper of his valve. It's somehow nothing like a spike, and yet better, his valve desperately clenching around the too-large quartz. The burn of his first caliper squeezing down on its unyielding, solid mass is exquisite. (It's possible there are some other things he has been avoiding admitting to himself, every time an injury made him revved up with charge that he did his best to ignore)

And, well. Maybe once Drift's collected himself, he ends up staring at the ceiling again, thinking about the empty ache in the rest of his valve, and the sunk cost fallacy, and how the rest of the crystal might feel if this is just the tip, and the merits of literally just saying "fuck it."

So he does. Fuck it, I mean. Vigorously, with great enthusiasm and some mild self-injury. His needy little valve was designed take the softer living metal of a spike, or something similar. The hard quartz he's forcing his valve open with is nothing like that at all. The sweet thrill of pain lights up his array with more charge than he ever really wants to self-reflect on

If Drift could even hear himself right now, he'd probably be embarrassed by the noises he's making. The aching burn of each new caliper he harshly pushes through has him moaning like a virgin taking their first spike. But he's too distracted by how fragging full he feels, one hand brutally pistoning the quartz into his abused valve, the other furiously rubbing circles on his anterior node

Fragging hell, when he finally manages to force the whole thing inside of him and grind the fat, blunt tip into his ceiling node, he shrieks like he's being fragging murdered, and accidentally overloads himself into unconsciousness

As Drift wakes up the next morning, still aching around the crystal he didn’t have the chance to pull out, valve lips scratched and bleeding from the rough edges at the base of his new favorite false spike, he looks at the ceiling and thinks: maybe I should start a new crystal collection...

(and, oh primus, if I get an infection from this, no one is ever going to let me live it down)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tontos Bruce Wayne HC Pt 2:

You know the one thing that Tontos joy. Making her friends happy.

When she hears about how the international break is over the Ballon D’or ceremony she gets angry that her friends can’t attend so you know what sue does. Tontos buys FIFA. Not the video game. Not some other random company with the same initials. She buys FIFA (the International Federation of Association Football). She moves the international window so her friends can attend the ceremony and get the praise they deserve. She also decreases the amount of games and adds new policies to protect her friends. But like any teen she hadn’t thought this through. After she does this, when she checks her bank account the numbers have doubled and she just wants to slam her head on a wall.

So to attempt to get rid of this money she hires a team of accountants to shuffle her money around and give it anonymously to struggling teams. Whenever she hears a women’s team (international or club) get cut, she dumps a ridiculous amount into their team anonymously. And of course the ever observant Mapi and Ingrid notice how one day a team is struggling financially and then the next day the news is saying they got anonymous funding. Like they know what Tontos is doing but they don’t say anything because I mean what can you say to a person who’s helping others. But this action barely dents what it Tontos massive accounts.

So Tontos tries to help the other kids of the woso world to drain her bank accounts. Schools they go to? Paid by Tontos. Equipment they need for their various activities? Already bought by Tontos. And she spares no expense. Anything really but at this point it doesn’t touch her bank accounts at all.

Sometimes even the team forgets that Tontos is stupidly rich. Like they’ll all go out for a team dinner to some fancy restaurant and when they all go to pay they find out it’s already been paid for because Tontos gave the server her card as soon as they walked in. But it became even more apparent when they had all gone out but Sunshine was having a problem with her Santa Heart. Sunshine was rushed to the nearest hospital and when the team got there she had found Mapi and Ingrid sitting in the waiting room distraught and nervous. When asked why they weren’t with Sunshine they said they wouldn’t allow them back. So in Tontos fashion she took one look at the name and instantly called her team and bought the hospital. While the nurses were trying to keep out the entire Barca Femení plus the rest of the traumatised teens and children, Tontos instantly walked up to her and demanded at least Mapi and Ingrid to be let back with Sunshine. The conversation went as followed:

Nurse: Listen kid, I don’t take demands from you. Just who do you think you are.

Tontos: I think I own the hospital. Since this is my hospital I can go wherever I damn well want.

After that incident, the team asked Mapi and Ingrid what all Tontos owns and they were shocked to find the long list of companies and buildings she owns.

Tontos is rich but she's still young and prone to on the fly decisions which is why she even bought FIFA but she does quite a lot of good there and helps declutter the schedule and fund Project ACL and move things around so it's more fair

She's absolutely the 'mysterious' anonymous donor and she absolutely buys a hospital to get Mapi and Ingrid through and she's flying out the best doctors to give second and third opinions on Sunshine and her heart problem

[marveltrumpshate]

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[seikkoi]

ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴛᴏɴʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

18+ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ

content/warnings: named reader, explicit sexual content (very end), alcohol consumption, mentions of financial issues, employer/employee relations, explicit mentions of mental health issues (reader has the anxieties™), mentions of physical injuries, set in canon universe before aou.

genre: mostly angst ngl, sm*t at the very very end

word count: 7,463 im sorry

a/n: lightly inspired by the song 'october' by rothstein

dedicated to: the lovely @alessandraavengers

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business."  Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.  “My business is your job."

I won't complain,

I will be decent, 

though it will be freezing,

I welcome the rain.

The hands of the clock on the wall ticked silently, a sign of the building’s expense. You clutched a leather binder filled with papers in your lap as you sat. Everything you had to show for the last seven years of your life. Countless awards, certificates, recommendations—the expensive bachelor's and the bank account-draining master’s. Your leg bounced on the dark mahogany, steadily increasing frequency as seconds turned into minutes.

Ironically, this would also be interview number seven. For the job you were least qualified for. You applied for close to twenty at this point, all well below your skill, but you were desperate. You had barely a year of experience—quitting your first job one year out of school after one-too-many sixty hour work weeks. The moment you turned in your resignation, dread and regret over your choice in profession filled you. It held you down, sleeping and rotting the days away. Eventually, reality set in, pulled you out of bed and back into the corporate world. 

Turns out, lack of experience and ‘quitting with notice’ is less than ideal.

You hoped a step down in prestige would result in less stress. All your fantasies of a top floor corner office and luxury disappeared like ash under a light rain. You always held expensive tastes that you couldn’t sustain unemployed.  But the stress wasn’t worth it. All you needed now was to pay the bills. Too quickly ‘over-qualified’ or ‘under-experienced’ became your least favorite words. You had to fight back the dread every time you checked your email. 

Just when you’d started pondering entry-level positions, a notification came through for a new vacancy ‘Fit for your skillset!’. To your dismay, the description sounded no different than the job you left. More grueling expectations and personal sacrifice. On top of that, you still were under-experienced by their requirements. Not to mention who it was for. Overworked employees typically miss most current events, but far too much has been going on with this company to make even you pay attention. Working for such a high-profile, drama-ridden company might be even worse.  But after weeks and not so much as an offer letter, you had to try anything. On the plus side, at least it paid well.

Three days later, you found yourself inside of Stark Tower, wishing the silent clock would move faster.

Square breathes, internal mantras—nothing worked. Your heels still made a gentle clack against the floor. Thankfully, the general noise of the front lobby kept it from being a nuisance. 

What you swear is eons later, your ears prick up to a similar click growing near you. You turn your head as a tall blonde approaches the small waiting area. She stops at the front desk a moment, making your heart skip a beat when the receptionist points to you. 

‘Just relax, you know what to say.’ you thought to yourself. ‘They won’t hire you if you’re a nervous wreck.’

You manage to muster what little confidence you had left after weeks of rejection to stand and straighten your dress as she greets you. Thankfully, the smile she extends is friendly enough. The hand you feel is soft and manicured too— acute tells of an easy life.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ms. Potts, I’ll be bringing you up to meet Mr. Stark.” she says, turning and heading further into the lobby.

‘Maybe this won’t be too hard. Maybe this job won’t be like the last.’

-

During the entire elevator ride to Mr. Stark’s office, Ms. Potts spews out factoids about Stark Industries but you’re too busy rethinking your entire interview strategy. Something about a cave, Obadiah Stane and a wormhole whizzes through your ear to no reaction. It was nothing you hadn’t already read in the weekly papers, nor did it ease you one bit. 

You were even more taken aback when you realize you’re descending, and the silver doors open to a spacious garage. The faint sound of movement echoes, source unseen. You turn to Miss Potts, who only gives another pleasant smile and gestures into the concrete space.

Sure, the whole world knew Tony Stark was a bit eccentric. You knew that well enough when you applied. Hell, it probably explained the vacancy. Maybe this was some type of strategy, or just his nature. Either way, something was screaming at you to tell Miss Potts you had changed your mind, go home and apply for anything else. 

Then, you remembered how badly you wanted success. You couldn’t accept anything less.

The elevator closed quietly behind you as you exited, looking for the source of the noise. There’s cars (some ridiculously new and some pathetically old), studded workbenches, and chaotic piles of robotics and machinery strewn about. You have to round the corner to find him, behind a small bar tucked away from the metal mess everywhere else. 

He’s turned away from you, seated at the bar with eyes glued on a few papers before him. An ornate pen signs away without pause. You’re certain the sound of your heels against the floor gave you away, but you’re sure to clear your throat to not shock him. 

Mr. Stark, clad in a grease-stained white tee and dark denim, shifts in the barstool slightly to give you a cursory look. You can tell immediately his mind is lightyears away from the present situation, focused elsewhere. On a lighter note, you notice how much kinder he looks in person. All the magazines and op-eds made his face harsh, never smiling. 

“You’re the one who applied for assistant thingy right? Miss…” Stark trails off, scanning back through the papers in front of him. There’s a slight slur in his speech, one that forces you to remember the early hour.

“Cassian.” you interrupt his search and he laughs, abandoning the papers for a shiny glass on the counter.

He brings the amber liquid to his lips before he speaks again. 

“Right, Cassian, look—” The glass finds its way back to the solid surface despite his sway. He stands once it does, facing you with a wide smile. “You’re hired!” 

With that, you’re left more dumbfounded, staring at the billionaire as he sauntered over to one of the cluttered workbenches. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I really don’t understand—” You turn towards him as he walks by, not sparing you another glance.

When he reaches the middle of the garage, he lets out an exhausted sigh. The familiar regret seeps in, turning your nerves up another notch.

“The woman that probably brought you here—Pepper, she used to be my assistant, and handle all the tabloid bullsuit.” he mutters, fiddling with a wrench from the bench. 

“After the whole ‘tower nearly blowing up’ situation, she’s taken a step uh-out of my life. For better or worse. I didn’t wanna hire anyone else, she’s convinced I can’t manage my own life— we compromised.”

You start to speak, trying to formulate the right words to say. Stark pays it no mind, tossing the wrench back down gently.

He pivots towards you, and you see the stress in his eyes. You can see why she’d quit-hell you were starting to wish you never applied. The name ‘Stark’ proliferated in the papers these days.

“Offer letter is signed, on the bar, job’s there if you want it.” With that, he walks across the garage, past you into the elevator. 

The electronic ding! sounds, leaving you in the garage alone without another word. You’re convinced this is a terrible idea- even before whatever that just was.

Something sparks your curiosity to look at the signed papers, and put a dollar amount to this madness. You walk back to the bar, grabbing the stack of papers with a faint ring of water in the corner.

You’re certain you’re dreaming when you count the number of zeros. 

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were ready for retirement at the ripe age of twenty-six.

This was a new type of demand. Running nearly every aspect of Tony Stark’s life didn’t eat your soul, but it ate at your mind. You could spin embezzlement or drunk-driving into a heartwarming story- alien attacks and Hydra were a whole new ballpark. 

It was almost refreshing. Spinning stories for shitty people and tailoring public statements for the goal of maximum human exploitation never quite sat right with you. Handling Stark’s life just felt like defending someone who deserved it. It felt more honorable working for him than a greedy tech firm.  (There are some questionable times when he doesn’t, but you don’t bother with those).

The righteousness helped the uncharted territory be more than manageable. Still, making Stark’s technology enterprise mesh well with his role as Iron Man felt like a hero’s feat on its own. The media would come up with any number of wild conspiracies about Iron Man, most of them disparaging to his image. 

Stark was legitimately aiming for good things in the world. The weariness in your bones kept you craving more simplicity and ease, nonetheless.

You sunk down into the leather couch of the conference room, watching as the board members filed out in quick order. The room was filled with the golden ray of sunset— soon to turn pitch black. 

Officially done with the day’s meetings, you forgo any workplace formalities and kick off your heels, despite your boss’s presence. 

A light chuckle at your exhaustion breaks the silence, Stark slumping into the empty space beside you. You raise an eyebrow when he wriggles at the lavish tie around his neck, tossing the garment to the floor next to your heels. 

“What, you can kick back but I can’t?” he jests, undoing the top two buttons of his black dress shirt. 

You give a ‘fair enough’ shrug, leaning back to start mentally processing the last ten hours.

You found yourself staring at his exposed neck as your mind trailed off, his head leaned back, eyes shut. His jaw is tight, forehead pinch in a now-familiar focus. Stark looked nearly as drained as you, still you knew better than to try and equate things. Honestly, you considered yourself semi-lucky to only have to make things look nice for the cameras and not be present for them. In the evening glow, though, he looks close to ethereal.

You shift your eyes at the thought.

You two sit in comfortable silence as the sun moves behind the New York city skyline. 

You’re doing mental math on how soon you can retire when he fills the void with a question.

“Regret taking the job?” he asks, unmoving. 

You add ‘potential mind reader’  to his list of skills. 

“Some parts are better than others.” It’s as honest of an answer you can give without sounding ungrateful for the opportunity (or thinking about the alluring glow on his skin).

He laughs again, turning to meet your eyes. This would mark the first time you’re under a heat lamp from his gaze, irises tired and alluring. 

“Seriously,” 

Clearly your answer isn’t convincing, because he turns to his side on the couch to fully face you. 

“You aren’t regretting this? Because lately you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” he says with a lazy grin.

You thought you were doing a good job of burying your issues beneath walls of smiles. Hearing otherwise hurts your resolve a bit, especially from Stark. He had enough on his plate without worrying about you.

“It’s just…a lot,” 

Despite how you felt, you couldn’t lie about it, not to his face. 

“But it’s not your fault, it’s not you.” you swiftly add upon seeing his somber grin fade away.

“Ha, isn’t it though?” A dramatic sigh escapes his mouth like a deflated balloon, running his hands through messy brown locks. “This..rollercoaster I’ve put myself on.” 

“Rollercoasters can be fun.” 

“You hate it.” Stark faces you once more, propping his arm up on the back of the couch. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you quit.”

The suggestion pulls a laugh of your own. “I don’t think that’s an option.”

Stark makes a genuinely puzzled face, to which you spend the next minute or two explaining why you quit your first job, the weeks you spent rotting away after. You had hoped to never recount such a sad time outloud, but you couldn’t stand him feeling at fault for your lack of enthusiasm. 

Ease passes through you when it seems to comfort him a bit.

“Maybe I hire you for something else, maybe pay you to not deal with this shit.” he says, laughing.

You brush off his joke with another short laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something? Really, it’s fine. Just need a long hot shower.”

You start to stand, but are stopped when a hand graces your thigh. 

“No jokes, I know what it’s like to get more than you signed up for. If money’s all that’s keeping you here, trust me that’s not an issue.”

You give a flustered smile, trying not to focus on how warm his hand was. 

“It’s not all that’s keeping me here.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

“You know it’s just a dinner, right? Like just food, maybe music, high probability of dessert?” Stark taunts, noticing your trembling leg from behind his phone screen.

The car seems like it’s moving way too fast, even though you can very clearly see the speedometer under 25 miles per hour. 

“Yes, I know what dinner is.” 

You let out a deep sigh, trying to regain the ground under your feet. The part Stark conveniently forgets is that it is a very large gala he’s dragged you along to, and not just a normal dinner. You can do normal dinner, not a one hundred plus person dinner with reporters and red carpet. He’s also not considering the part where he didn’t tell you about it until two hours ago.

“Oh, that’s a relief, thought you might jump out the window.” he pockets his phone, turning to you. “I can just have Happy take you home, you know.”

“No, no, this is…excitement. I’m excited. Totally ready.” you’re really trying to convince yourself, but it only makes Tony snicker.

“These things are really boring, promise. That’s why you’re here, keep me from falling asleep.” 

Out the window, the street lights start to turn back into normal orbs instead of blurry splotches. The car pulls up the curb with enough ease for you to take in the venue. It's a marble hall, one you feel suddenly underdressed for. You make a mental note to tell Stark never to give you this little notice again. Perhaps you should save yourself the trouble and head home. 

Stark could behave himself, right? 

The black window tinting your view disappears when the door is pulled open. You hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t beside you anymore, now holding the door and gesturing to the entrance. You get your first good look at the suit he’s wearing, tailored and jet-black. The flattering seams are a decent enough distraction to join him on the sidewalk. 

Stark places both hands on either of your shoulders, giving you a playful shake. 

“You look amazing, I look amazing, please stop worrying. It’s starting to spread and I can’t eat on an upset stomach.” he forces himself into your gaze, searching your face for the supposed ‘excitement’.

A deep breath, then a second passes through you, staring at Stark's eyes until you can manage a curt nod and still legs.

“See, you’re gonna be just fine.” he exclaims, dropping the hands from your shoulders and already smiling for the line of photographers waiting by the door. 

You follow unsteadily, praying this is a speedy event. You could do this for an hour, maybe two. Stark takes notice of your delay, turning back to you just before reaching the first nerdy cameraman.

“Hey, what’s the issue with this? If your not comfortable with the cameras, you know we can just go around—”

“It’s not that,” you interrupt, gripping your clutch with sweaty palms. 

“Then what?” he asks sympathetically.

“There’s like a hundred people in there, Stark.” you admit with a long sigh.

“And I’m one of them, what’s the worst that can happen if you're with me?” He turns and props his arm out towards you. “Miss Cassian?” he says, dragging out your name.

You want to roll your eyes at his constant unserious nature, but instead you take another deep breath, loop your arm through his, letting your fingers wrap around the satiny fabric on his bicep before taking slow steps forward.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Bright bulbs of light flickering in blinding succession. In every direction, microphones with human mouthpieces spew their hurried questions. Your boss answers in his typical Stark way, earning only more adoration and curiosity. You come to humor yourself with the questions they ask. Always seemingly random, from his favorite brand of whiskey to his opinion on migrant detainment in the Mediterranean. 

You stand to the right as he smiles and poses for them. You almost hate how good he looks in the cold wind, face most definitely beaming behind designer snow-white frames. Outside of that, you admire his patience, knowing this winter vacation (where he didn’t have to be Iron Man for once) was leaked and now semi-ruined.

It would’ve been a well needed break for you as well. Three months of non-stop press releases, conferences, and meetings were wearing you ragged. Late nights were occupied with drafting memos and wishing you chose a career with less work. While you hated the time work took away, you unfortunately began to admire the work you did. Working for Stark turned out to be more desirable than you thought. You imagined dealing with another frustrating, reckless CEO- not a charming, witty superhero. Regardless of the long hours and chaos, you loved helping put more good into the world. 

Finally, as snow starts to fall, he answers a final question on if he’ll change the color of his suit before turning to enter the cabin.

“Mr. Stark— Iron Man, won’t be taking any more questions, excuse me, thank you.” 

You tried to squeeze past incessant reporters and fans, barely making it through the hotel front door if it weren’t for security. The commotion outdoors gets muffled by the tall wooden doors. You sigh and lean against them, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“Feeling alright, Cassie?” 

Stark’s voice makes you open your eyes to see him standing in the foyer. This would be the fourth time you feel his eyes burning through your skin. You expected him not to be upstairs in bed, asleep already, not in front of you, eyeing you with his hands buried in his pockets. 

The place he chose spared little expense, clearly for starlets like Stark looking for a lush, woodsy escape. Wooden walls covered every inch, adorned with fancy art and a modern fireplace in the living room.  The color reminds you of the tower lobby, a deep mahogany. 

“Yeah, just remind me why I’m here and not at home in my heated apartment.” You keep your voice light as you hang your coat on the rack by the door. 

Stark gives a playful scoff, too used to your sarcasm to take offense. 

“A certain former assistant thinks I need a babysitter on my own vacation.” He turns on his heels, heading towards the kitchen with a renewed energy (surely only now remembering he’s supposed to be relaxing). 

“She’s not wrong.” you agree only because Stark re-emerges from the kitchen with a tall amber colored bottle and two glasses. 

You can’t help rolling your eyes at his stiffened jazz hands, tossing yourself onto the plush armchair by the fireplace. The cold seemed to wrap itself around you, not leaving despite your proximity to the fire. Stark chose to sit on the side table next to you, rather than the wide array of more comfortable seating options. You’d gotten used to him entering your personal space since your talk in the conference room. You took it as a sign of his narcissism more than anything.

“Not sure I’m meant to be a drunk babysitter, Mr. Stark, ” you quip as he starts pouring.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he winks, offering you one. “And come on with the ‘mister’—making me feel old over here.”

It’s bothersome how little he has to say to change your mood. Something about being with just him, away from press, deadlines or state secrets, pulled you in and kept you coming to work everyday. In this moment, however, his solitary presence made you anxious. You’d have to get through this sabbatical without the chaos of the world bringing you back to reality. The real world, littered with expectations.

Free of any reason to decline, you take the glass. You and Tony do a lazy toast, clicking the glasses together before taking a sip. The peaceful quiet envelopes the cabin, save for the crackle of the fireplace. 

“You okay?” you ask upon seeing the weariness in his face, contrasting the grin he held.

“Better than okay,” he finishes the rest of his drink, pouring another faster than you take a second sip. “Happy to be away from everything, ‘get in touch with the great outdoors!’ as they say.” 

You laugh at the dramatic mocking tone he uses, extending your arm out when he makes a gesture at your empty glass. 

“I hope your atleast being slightly genuine, Mr. Stark.” you say once the glass is full once more.

“When am I ever not, Miss Cassian.” he draws on your name with the same mocking pitch as before.

You fake a wince at the taste of your own medicine, which amuses the hell of the already tipsy Stark. 

“I see what you mean, felt fifteen years added on instantly with that,” you admit, chuckling at his demeanor. 

“Hence why I’m such a nice guy and call you Cassie like a normal person,” he states smugly, taking another sip from his glass.

“Oh really, Tony? ‘Cause you only gave me that nickname after I explicitly told you no one ever calls me that.” you laugh.

“Yes and that was a great loss to the universe that I fixed,” Tony turns his head to meet your gaze, eyes sparkling (you tell yourself it’s just the alcohol and nothing else).

The both of you stay there silent, eyes locked for what quickly becomes far too long and the awkwardness makes your attention back to your drink. You finish the contents, hoping that the liquid would cool your now burning skin. 

You internally remind yourself that this is just how he is- a playboy philanthropist turned charming hero, nothing else. 

“Sorry, I know this isn’t really much of a vacation for you. ‘Know you wanna be at home, away from Stark Industries,” he deflates a bit, pouring a third drink.

“No, it’s not like that,” you interject, speaking softly, “I really don’t mind being here, and it’s still a good break from meetings and all that other tedious shit.” 

He takes a sip, seemingly mulling over your words. “Give any more thought to my offer?”

You let out a small laugh, thrown off by his sudden mention of it. You were certain then that he wasn’t being anything near serious. 

“What, you paying me to not be here? I didn’t think that was you being serious.”

“It’s a win-win, no? You get a salary, I don’t have to drag you along for this rollercoaster, Pepper doesn’t worry, everyone’s happy.” 

Clearly you’re left silent for too long, because Tony stands before he speaks again. He seems conflicted, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Look, I don’t need to see you miserable, I guess.”

“What, who said I was miserable?”

“Anyone would be dealing with me.” 

TWO DAYS LATER

After a few days, an air of melancholy had hung over you. Two days of nothing turned into endless overthinking about your life. Every decision made seemed to rattle in your bones, looking for a place to be. You tried to tell yourself it was normal to feel lost, to feel as though everything you’ve ever done was pointless. This was the first time you’d had room to think, of course everything would be overwhelming.

That didn’t help, but whatever red wine Tony brought did. 

You found it on night two, cracking open the second bottle when Tony comes downstairs. You gave a sluggish hey that gave away your state immediately, but you were too absorbed in your thoughts to meet his eyes. 

“Didn’t take you for a wine connoisseur.” he mutters, sitting in the chair across from you. 

You don’t bother with a response. In fact, you wished that he’d go away. Seeing Tony lately just reminded you more of the life you were sure you wouldn’t have. You were certain you made all the wrong choices, took all the wrong paths.

“Cassian?” he leans forward, forcing his face into your point of view. “Kinda' freaking me out here.”

“You ever think about what your life would be like if you weren’t,” you trail off for a moment, slurring slightly. “I don’t know—you?”

He laughs and it feels infectious, closing your eyes to hopefully shut up the twist in your stomach.

“Me, specifically? Who knows? Maybe I’d be a pilot, or own a hotdog stand.” he goes silent at your lack of reaction to his joke, resting his chin against his hands.

“Why, thinking about faking your death and adopting a new identity?”

The red liquid in your glass coats your dry throat. You’d love to start over. Go back and see what the other paths held. Then, the deep pit of your stomach turns, remembering how different and worthwhile working for Stark made you feel.

“What if I did everything wrong?” you ask quietly.

If you did, a small part of the anxiety in your gut assures you that it was worth it to find your way to him.

“Define ‘wrong’.”

“Not what I imagined, I guess”

To help someone who wanted to do so much to help the world.

“Well, what do you want from life?”

You go silent again. “I don’t know.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

With nothing to prove you,

and if I should lose you

—It won't be in vain.

On the last day at the cabin, you feel a genuine sense of sadness at the thought of leaving. 

Fourteen days with no reminder of the outside world had you the most relaxed in years. Bliss was all you felt waking up each morning to no phone calls, no emergencies, and no meetings. You forgot what it was like to just exist, to not have your thoughts bogged down by deadlines. You had even forgotten the benefits of good company. The demanding nature of your job meant little social life, and you didn’t realize until nearly two days in that you had been craving it. What surprised you more was that you received that good company in the form of your boss. Tony seemed to go out of his way to fill any voids of silence with quips and self-deprecating jokes to make you laugh. Clearly to spare himself the awkwardness of your dissatisfaction. 

Nothing changed about personality, but removing the dark shadow of responsibility made him visibly less wound up. It must have done the same for you, because you spent most of these last two weeks laughing (or catching up on well-needed sleep). You tried to avoid him lately, not wanting to add fuel to the fire you could feel growing for him. Opting for weeks of solitude with him was possibly not the wisest route.

Retroactively, if you had all this sudden free time at home alone, you probably would’ve gone a little crazy. 

You must be wearing your solace on your face, because that night, during dinner, Stark asks if something is wrong.

“Is it a bad thing if I don't want to go back to New York?” you chuckle at your own absurdity, scraping the last bits of food into the trash.

“Is it worse if I agree?” he smiles, looking up from his own plate. 

“Not excited to go back to being an Avenger?” you ask honestly, sitting back down at the kitchen table, next to him.

“Ha, excited’s the wrong word.” he sits back in his chair, letting out a sigh. “You’re not jumping to get back out there either.”

You give an agreeing nod, resting your head in your hands when you start mentally going through all the tasks waiting for you tomorrow. 

“You don’t have to go back like I do. You can get away from all this.”

When you look up, Tony’s eyes are glued to the floor. 

“You know, you can just fire me if it’s that much of a bother to you.” you say sharply. 

Truthfully, it was starting to come off as a subtle hint to leave rather than concern. It muddied whatever imaginary connection you maybe thought you’d fostered over these last few weeks. All the little touches and extra concern bounced around in the back of your head like a live grenade. You didn’t know how much of it was aimed towards you, or just his charismatic nature. Maybe there was never any charisma, and he was the same as any other CEO.

“Cassie, that’s the last thing I want.” he says, like he’s offended, and you want to laugh at the audacity.

“Could’ve fooled me.” you retort, standing to exit the kitchen.

Tony intercepts you at the doorway, however, clearly scrambling for words to ease the newly-created tension. All it really does is annoy you more, seeing those brown eyes pleading silently. Either way, you can’t get past. 

“I—This is too much for anyone to handle. I can barely handle it and that’s because you do so much behind-the-scenes for me. A lot of people have reached their wits end with me and I don’t want that with you.”

It sounds painful for him to say, and despite his soft tone, it’s the most serious you’ve ever heard him be.

“I think you’re worried a bit too—”

“I’d rather not be the reason you spend weeks in bed, okay?” 

Frozen in the doorway, your anger still boils. It felt like the thing you were most ashamed about being thrown in your face. You want to go back to that conference room and never tell him a thing. It’d save you the confusion, save you from all the mixed signals. He couldn’t mean it. You remember the way he reluctantly submitted to Pepper and hired you. Tony didn’t care, he never wanted you here in the first place. You felt stupid for thinking anything else.

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business." 

Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. 

“My business is your job, can’t you see I’m trying to be supportive?” 

You almost start to regret your words, but you can’t stand the way he looks at you like some fragile thing. 

For the fifth time, you're hot under his gaze, but it does nothing besides flare your anger more.

“I don’t need your support, stop acting like you have any idea what’s best for me.” you snap, taking a step closer.

To your surprise, Tony closes the remaining distance, and you have to look up to maintain your glare. Tony's expression shifts from concern to frustration, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Clearly, you don’t even know what’s best for you. Forgive me for giving a damn.” he scoffs.

You roll your eyes, deciding to just put an end to this conversation. In his frustration, Tony left a wide enough gap for you to try and snake through. Your heated exit must’ve been obvious, because he steps back to keep you in front of him.

“Seriously?” your fists clench at your sides, heat spreading up your arms to your cheeks. 

“Why are you still here?” he softens a bit, but not entirely folding his arms over his chest.

It’s not enough though— your irritation is unchanging even under his tender gaze.  It was easier to stay angry and pretend like he wasn’t the only thing keeping you. To not admit that you didn’t want to abandon him.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you retort through gritted teeth, motioning at the logged walls around you.

“Damn it, I thought it’d help, Cassie!”

The severity of his words leaves you speechless. You never heard him really raise his voice, let alone come close to yelling.

“But, clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered.” Tony moves from the doorway, taking fast steps past you towards the main door before you can say anything.

In an effort to keep him from storming out, you reach out for his arm as he brushes by. Instantly, he pulls away as if you're made of open flames. You try to show the hurt on your face, but now that your anger has started to dissipate, you notice a similar transformation in Tony. To your benefit, though, it keeps his feet firmly planted. 

“I’m not some broken person you need to protect.” you admit, avoiding the potential anger still in his eyes. 

“Wow, really? Didn’t know.” 

Always with the jokes and sarcasm. You lift your head to Tony’s expectant gaze, causing you to sigh heavily.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he states dryly, leaning back against the kitchen table. “Why are you still here?”

“You keep assuming I hate my life.” 

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, rather dramatically in your opinion. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” he responds, mocking your words from earlier. “You avoid me like the plague lately, and I don’t know how you expect me to just see you unhappy and say nothing”

“That has nothing to do with work-”

“Then what is it?” 

There’s something else in his eyes, something like the sparkle you saw all those months ago. 

You look at him with pleading eyes of your own. A sense of entrapment overwhelms you, stuck with the choice between potentially ruining everything or, well, still potentially ruining everything. You wish he really could just read your mind and understand. Understand that you didn’t want to leave him, that you were avoiding him to protect your own, admittedly fragile, heart. 

"Can't you just accept that I don't want to leave?" you manage, your voice barely louder than a pin drop.

Your heart flutters as he steps closer, though it shouldn't surprise you; he's never been one to respect personal space, and an argument wouldn't change that.

"No, I need to hear you say it," his tone is low, almost taunting, and his unyielding gaze sends another wave of fluttering through you.

"I don't want to leave you."

In the next second, Tony's lips crash against yours, pinning your back to the wall with a heavy thud. You don’t notice, the world fading with the taste of vanilla on your tongue and the scratch of his beard on your chin. Your thoughts become a blur as Tony's teeth graze your lips, and his hands squeeze your waist, pulling you closer, the arc reactor pressing into your skin. 

When the kiss ends, you're both left panting, yet he still clings to you, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’re going to run away. 

“I told you- the last thing I want is for you to leave.” he says sternly, voice still low. You can’t see his face, buried in the crook of your neck, but the heavy breath on your skin makes you lightheaded.

“Tony-”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s wrong to think I know what’s best for you. I just want you to be happy.” 

“I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I care about you too much for that, Cassie.”

“I’m your assistant, Tony.”

Tony gently cups a hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his, his thumb caressing your cheek. He studies your face intently, searching for any signs that he should stop while he's ahead. You stopped counting how often he leaves you a mess with his eyes, and try your best not to stare at his swollen lips.

“Then tell me you don’t feel the same.” he whispers.

A beat of silence passes, the fire crackling in the next room uninterrupted. 

“I…can’t.” you answer hesitantly.

The confession hangs heavy in the cabin’s stagnant air. Your mind racing a thousand miles per hour, waiting for the dream to end. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Doing this wrong, ruining everything.” Your eyes squeeze shut from embarrassment.

Tony laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said, before kissing you again. It’s soft and slower than before, calloused hands still cupping your face.

“I think you’re the one who worries too much. When has anything bad happened to you when you’re with me?” Tony suggests, grinning, his eyes filled with warmth. 

You want to mention an office party a few months ago, where a drunk attendee threw up on your shoes, but you let him make his point. 

“Let me do the worrying for a bit, sound good?”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You felt like you traded seasons getting back to New York at the start of spring. You hadn’t gone home, instead staying in the tower at Tony’s request. You didn’t mind it at all, being surrounded with more comfort than you could ask for. 

Tony made it his personal mission to keep you away from all things work related, despite how many times you told him you enjoyed helping him. One small problem being that he left for a mission a few days ago, and you haven’t got the faintest clue where he was or when he was returning. The first day, you relished in a bit of solitude, reading books that sat on your shelf the last two years untouched or catching up with friends that you lost touch with. To your relief, most understood your reason for disconnecting, and the books were captivating. Now, however, it was day three, and you were starting to do the one thing he asked you not to— worry.

Just as the rain starts to splatter the tall windows of his penthouse, you’re considering reaching out to Fury or Hill to make sure he’s at least still breathing. The only thing that stops you is the ding! of the elevator, turning your nerves back down to zero.

When you meet him at the door, a wide smile breaks out on his face—surprised you’re still there.

“How was it?” you ask, as Tony drops his bag and moves towards you. You feel slightly awkward in this new territory with him, shifting your weight anxiously.

“We’re getting closer to the scepter. Hydra’s pulling out all the stops these days.” 

As Tony steps into the light, a deep freshly-stitched cut under his right eye comes into view. Before you can say anything about the cut, you notice the large bandage on his arm, and a matching bruise crawling up his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” 

Tony slowly peels off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch behind you. “Oh, this? This is nothing, you should see the other guy.” he says with a flashy grin.

You’re busy scanning for more injuries, eyes raking for more bandages and stitches. Tony doesn’t let you continue for long though, taking your hands in his.

“What’d I tell you about worrying?” he teases, stroking your hair and planting a quick kiss on your lips.

You give an annoyed sigh, wishing he didn’t irritate and charm you in the same breath so much.

“I think it’s natural to worry when you’re bleeding.” you gruff, letting Tony pull you into a tight embrace. 

“Then I’m not doing my job, am I?” You don’t protest when his hands roam over your body, placing light kisses against your neck. “Let me take your mind off things.”

The light kisses on your neck turn into heavy bites, leaving marks along your collarbones. He creates his own path along your skin, sighing softly as his mouth finds every inch of skin your pajamas didn’t cover. You’re a panting mess as he trails down your body, twisting a hand into his messy locks. 

When he kneels before you, you feel unsteady on your feet. You wish you could say you two had gone this far already, but Tony considered himself a self-proclaimed gentleman and insisted you wait. It seems three days away from you was enough for the chivalry to fly out of the window. 

He stops for a moment, fingers hooked in your shorts, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the inside of your trembling thigh.

“Cassian?”

“Mhm?” You mumble, shutting your eyes. Nerves and anticipation mix terribly in your stomach, making you unable to process the desire on his face. You feel the fabric of your shorts slide down your legs with your panties. The cool air doesn’t help you any, rendering your skin sensitive and Tony’s hand feel like a furnace. 

“Relax, doll.”

You suck in a breath as his lips wrap around your clit, body stilling— the hand in his hair tightening. Weeks of Tony’s insistent waiting had you thinking your first time with him would be slower- you were ill-prepared for the way he runs through your folds with absolute filth. He moans into you, keeping a tight hold on your thighs to hold you close. 

He’s quick—grazing teeth against your clit as his tongue laps at your entrance— just to drag the tip of his tongue against your length and return your clit to start the cycle all over again. You feel the wetness coating the inside of your thighs, saturing his scratchy stubble on your skin. 

You bring your free hand to the back of the couch as he continues, sighing into your core and sending shockwaves up your spine. You try to maintain some type of balance, legs growing shaky again in pleasure rather than anxiety for a change. 

“Tony, god, that’s-” You’re cut off by your own moan when you feel Tony insert a finger into your soaking cunt, rocking slowly as his mouth finds its way back to your clit.

He pulls away a moment, letting his thumb keep the pressure against your sensitive bud. Your head tilts back, nails digging into the leather behind you. Out of your view, Tony wears a smug grin, pleased to see you taking his directive to heart. The middle of the living room might not have been his first choice, but it’s well worth it. Besides the fact you taste like heaven, it’s worth hearing every sound escape your lips.

Getting caught up in that, however, caused him to loosen the grip on your thighs. When his fingers curve inside you, your hips jerk against him. The calloused fingers tighten on your legs, to your slight dismay.

“Easy, doll, I got you.” he mumbles, returning his focus to eliciting more intoxicating moans from you.

Tony renders you a complete mess sooner than you’d like to admit, gasping above him as the warmth in your core grows overwhelming. If you told yourself a year ago that your boss would have you panting and begging, you wouldn’t believe it. Regardless of belief, his tongue pulls plea after plea from you. Your stomach feels painfully coiled- mind absorbed with the wet, filthy sound of Tony’s mouth on your cunt.

With another curve of his finger, you sent over the edge—crying out Tony’s name like a prayer and abandoning the hand tangled in his hair to hold yourself up. Tony lets you ride out your orgasm against his fingers, kissing the damp skin between your legs and muttering soft praises. 

It’s not until you sense him standing again in front of you that you open your eyes. You immediately want to take it back when you see the shit-eating grin covering his shiny face. The sight sends a new wave of desire through you, staring at his mouth with your lips parted, panting softly. Did he have to look so good constantly?

“As cute as you are when you’re worried, I think I prefer this look on you.”

[freedelusionshere]

Mikey, Cicero, and the mob as a representation of toxic masculinity.

Keep thinking about how Mikey is denigrated by Lee and others in Fishes for trying to come up with side businesses constantly, but to me it reads like someone who desperately wants to go legit but can’t? Same thing with franchising The Beef. Gets him out from owing Cicero or passing on that legacy to Carmy or Sugar. Mikey always has to act tough and untouchable and fake confidence to navigate this, which was probably handed off to him when his father went wherever he went. And it earns him admiration (Mikey was "cool") while internally he's self-destructing. And like Donna, whatever he wanted or dreamed for his life was pushed to the side.

Btw, the name Cicero could be a very “on the nose” reference to a Chicago town that was taken over by Al Capone to protect his territory. Like Capone, Cicero really “owns” The Bear one way or another right from the go. On the surface it appears he has guilt over Mikey’s death, wants to help the Berzatto family, etc.

But the entire time he’s around the family, even in flashbacks like Fishes, he’s trying to talk business in one way or another. Think about him (update: it was Lee, not Cicero, but my point stands, because Lee is also in on this) trying to bring up real estate to Donna in the kitchen (which she tried to beg off) or him jumping in on convos, Richie’s ask for a job, etc. Later all his convos are about money, about how he doesn’t want to take it from them, but he will. Tapping Sugar to handle all the financial stuff for him (I bet it will come out in S4 Donna does that for him on the real estate side).

Here are several other examples:

Mikey hid Cicero’s money away in tomato cans for Carmy to find and Carmy tells Cicero and his reaction? Thank God he didn’t put it in a bank. LOL.

Carmy “joking” in S1 about how he doesn’t want to get his legs broken. (Carmy is portrayed as very straight-and-narrow, not tolerating drugs being sold in the alley outside, and having a strong reaction to Claire admitting she liked to shoplift as a kid).

Richie having a gun to protect the shop and later telling Carmy he’ll come after Cicero if he comes for them.

Richie dealing with the mob associates lingering on the sidewalk outside The Bear, who are obviously conducting business of some kind.

The way The Beef has magically always had just enough money to stay afloat all this time and has things hidden in its walls. The story about Mikey trying to burn it down to collect the insurance money rather than allowing all this to continue when he spiraled.

Claire “joking” about sending Faks to beat up Carmy. I guarantee you there are Faks who do this, the Cena character 100% reads as a body man, you see him physically intimidating his brothers to be "funny".

The sudden presence of The Computer as a numbers guy coming to reconcile Cicero's accounts for someone(s).

Mikey not allowing Carmy to work at The Beef and pushing him away emotionally to make him want to GTFO of dodge.

The partnership agreement that seemingly comes out of nowhere, as Cicero now tries to rope Sydney into the family operation? Which is super triggering for her because she already has trust issues around Carmy as a business partner?

This also plays into the show liking to make references to Shakespeare which had violent family factions who controlled things (Romeo & Juliet being the most obvious) and Michael Mann who often focuses on organized crime in his storytelling.

This is all background noise and not the main driver of the show, but I was curious to see what others think about this and if anyone is noticing all of this? Especially when it comes to the kind of masculinity that is being idolized by characters like the Faks, even though it appears to go against Neil's actual nature.

[love-in-the-time]

I Get to Keep You: Fourteen/Donna, M for all kinds of things

Title: I Get to Keep You Author: love-in-the-time Rating: M for language, sex, violence, etc. Summary: Donna has a specialized task that no one else is truly capable of accomplishing, since it requires the willing participation of the Doctor. Fourteen/Donna DOMESTIC BLISS.

UNIT hires Donna in the days following the Toymaker's disappearance, signing a contract for a hundred-fifty thousand pounds a year, five weeks vacation, and an annual bonus. She can relax, finally, about money. It's part of why she is so excited to help the Doctor pick a house; he decides on the French countryside, to Donna's delight and enchantment.

Kate Stewart explained that if the Doctor was going to live on earth permanently, it would be safer for all involved if it was as unobtrusive as possible. A French garden with a bit of land around it would be an ideal place for a blue box that would blend gently into its surroundings. She also explains that UNIT has indeed been paying the Doctor for the past seventy years, and he has an Earth bank account with several million pounds in it, just waiting for his use.

So he chooses a pretty country house outside of Montresor, in the Indrois Valley, and buys it outright. It's surrounded by lush green land, with an enormous enclosed garden. There are many more bedrooms than he needs, and the floors are all polished wood, with high windows and charming details everywhere. Donna moves through the house with the same excitement as the TARDIS, exclaiming over the views and the crown moldings and the polished wood floors and the stained glass. UNIT provides him with furniture and a car, all official and licensed, so that he is within easy reach of the agency should it be needed. Rose is enrolled in an international school, where she is boarded with the children of UNIT employees from all over the world, and thrives in the specialized environment of the school. Location undisclosed, of course, to all except the families.

The Doctor, upon closing the contract to the house with Donna next to him, proceeds to hand her a key immediately. "This is your home too, for the rest of your life, just like the TARDIS," he tells her. "Thank you for coming to help me pick it out."

Donna just smiles. "Welcome home, Spaceman," she says.

"Promise me you'll stay here," the Doctor says. "And bring your family with you."

"As often as I can," Donna says.

"And you can come by yourself too," the Doctor says hopefully, half a question. "Just to hang out? I'll take you by TARDIS, of course."

Donna looks over the lovely house and says, "It'll be my joy."

On a Friday in late August, when the Doctor has been settled into the new house for a few months and Donna has spent the last few days with him planting a garden, she is called for a meeting at UNIT headquarters in Paris, which by train would have taken hours from either London or Montresor. But since the Doctor is Scientific Advisor Number One to UNIT and is naturally also invited to the meeting, he of course takes her by TARDIS. "Exclusive transport," he tells her, grinning. "Go man your station."

Still not quite able to believe what her life has become, Donna circles the TARDIS console with a smile on her face. She knows what to do, she can hear the TARDIS hum under her hands, and within a minute she meets the Doctor at the middle of the console, the central line wheezing away as always.

She smiles at him for a moment, and he says, "God, I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," Donna says. "I can hardly even absorb what's happening."

"Well you'd have to know that UNIT would be interested in you," the Doctor says. "And very interested, too, if that contract is any indication."

"Did you read it?" Donna asks, surprised.

"I helped write it," the Doctor says. "You don't know everything, Donna Noble."

"Is that how I got a hundred fifty instead of a hundred twenty?" Donna asks.

"Oh, I told them a million," the Doctor shrugs. "They wouldn't go for it, of course, but they know who you are. You're needed. You're good. You're fast. You can do anything, and you can help."

Donna nods. "I can help," she says. "That's all I ever wanted to do." She looks down at herself. "What d'you think, am I professional enough for it?" She's wearing an elegant slim navy suit with a soft white blouse.

"You're beautiful," is all the Doctor says. With its new Arrival Alert System in place, the TARDIS gives a bright ding as they land inside a UNIT garage. They are met by escorts who bring them to the conference room where the French delegation is assembled. They are greeted enthusiastically by everyone, and Donna is bemused to find herself in the middle of a true agency meeting, in a clean and minimalist blue-and-white conference room. But she has her credentials clipped to her jacket, and so does everyone else, even the Doctor, still wearing his brown-and-blue checked suit. Everyone is provided with standard issue tablets and there is a screen for everyone to consult on the wall.

They undergo an extensive briefing concerning the most recent events in Europe, and an American consultant joins them via the big screen to discuss international issues. At the conclusion of that, the agents file out in orderly line, leaving Donna and the Doctor with the commanding officer, Major Paulette Marnier.

"We've been informed by Brigadier Stewart in London that you're being directly trained by the Doctor," the major says. "That's better than anything we could offer you anyway, so your protocol has been adjusted and you're free to take your training aboard the TARDIS." She looks down at her tablet. "The next order is the record of Miss Noble as the other TARDIS traveler on our books. She needs to be appointed as a licensed TARDIS pilot. It's quite a sophisticated piece of machinery."

"I'll sign off on that," the Doctor says. He's beaming.

"Right," Paulette says. "I'll need to see Miss Noble alone in my office for a moment, so we are adjourned."

Donna looks to the Doctor, who rises alongside her from the table. "I'll wait for you," he says. "That's what I do now."

The major watches the two of them smile at each other as if there is no one else in the room. She thinks this woman must be extraordinary indeed if the Doctor is attached to her in this way.

Inside the lovely, wood-furnished office of the major, Donna seats herself across from the older woman. "First of all, welcome," Paulette says. "You can't imagine how pleased we are to have you join us."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Donna says. "Thank you. It's been an amazing change."

"I'm consulting with you in private regarding the Doctor," Paulette says. "We've never had him in permanent residence on Earth before, and regardless of his provenance, we are committed to the safety and security of your family since he has decided to live with you." She folds her hands. "For all intents and purposes you are our liaison to him, and in the interest of security we ask that you remain in that position for as long as you are able, even when you retire from UNIT."

"I don't know if he'll stay with me forever," Donna says.

"Oh, I think we can be pretty confident he will be around for a long time," Paulette says, with certainty that is both professional and personal.

Donna doesn't say anything in response, but her expression speaks for her. The mix of hope, fear, and joy on her face is vulnerable. She clears her throat. "Anyway," she says. "Yes, I will serve as permanent UNIT liaison to the Doctor."

"You have a specialized task," Paulette continues. "And a completely unique one, since it requires his willing participation. You're the one who will give this Doctor a reason to retire. Who will ensure that this Doctor, in order to ensure the safety of all other Doctors, will retain his peace of mind. A French countryside garden with a meadow and a view of the river is an ideal place for that, wouldn't you say? But even more important, Donna, is that the said French garden contains you. As often as possible."

"I think that won't be a problem," Donna says, her voice a little threadbare from self control. She's wanted to cry from relief a million times since he's been back and neither of them have had the chance.

"It means that you will receive information about things UNIT doesn't know," Paulette continues. "This information is released at your discretion, of course, we make no presumptions on your personal interactions with the Doctor. You are his closest contact and as such you retain specific rights."

"What does that mean?" Donna says. "That I have no privacy concerning him if necessary?"

"Quite the opposite," Paulette says. "Rather that all of your interactions are privileged, no matter personal or professional. You aren't property of UNIT, you are our most valuable consultant."

Donna has never had power in her life, and now she is humbled by the idea that UNIT seeks to protect and privilege her life with the Doctor, essentially turning their relationship into a state secret. The ultimate safety in history, she thinks. Only they two will know the truth. Even her family will have no access.

It's a terribly lonely idea, she thinks, and only not lonely because she will share it, as she has shared her mind, with the Doctor. The momentousness of the idea is a little overwhelming.

Even in her personal life she hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that she will never actually be without the Doctor again. Sometimes she lies awake at night in her room in France, looking out the window at the blue box parked in his garden, in a corner bursting with flowers and a sturdy old tree whose branches gave shade. It's like walking into Eden when she goes to the TARDIS, a feeling that she hasn't assimilated yet.

"I can agree to that," she says.

"Good," Paulette says. "It's a heavy task, but I have to emphasize the necessity of it. Your discretion is paramount in order to maintain the safety of yourself, the Doctor, and your family. It will be a contingency for your job that you maintain your silence. Any leaks are dangerous for all."

Donna nods. "I understand," she says.

"It's pretty standard for UNIT," The major says. "Well, thank you, it's been a very exciting day for us. We'll be in touch for your next in-person report, and meanwhile you and the Doctor can operate from aboard the TARDIS at your discretion." She stands up with Donna, and gives her a salute. "Good luck. Look after him."

Donna finds the Doctor sitting patiently in the vestibule of the building, reading a book he'd probably had stashed in the dimensional pocket of his coat, a suspicion confirmed to Donna when he sees her and drops it right back into his inner pocket. "We're off," Donna says cheerfully to him, and he offers her his arm. The same escort comes to bring them back to the garage to the TARDIS.

"What d'you fancy?" the Doctor asks. "Lunch in Paris? Say... seventeenth century? We're here anyway."

"Lunch in Paris sounds glorious," Donna says. "Today. Here. Now."

So the Doctor parks the TARDIS on the Rue de Richelieu, where they have an exquisite lunch at Juveniles, one of Paris's best restaurants. It's small, charming, and private. They drink wine and eat duck and steak. They talk quietly and intimately between them, since they can't discuss work, and render each other helpless with laughter over their food. At the end of it the Doctor pulls out a magnetic strip card Donna recognizes. "Oh, the intergalactic bank card," she says to him. "I remember that."

"Unlimited funds," the Doctor shrugs. "Money is a stupid concept."

On the streets of Paris, Donna takes his arm again and says, "You're going to have to wear something besides that suit, you know. People will think you're mad. Or dirty."

"I am one of those, but not the other," the Doctor says contentedly. "But fair point."

"You know I don't care what you wear at home, but for going out in public you can't be in the same thing all the time. It makes you recognizable. We're trying to avoid you being 'that skinny bloke who's always in the same suit,' you know."

"Are there any boutiques you prefer?" the Doctor asks her teasingly. "Anywhere I should go and get my suits?"

"Have you ever thought about ordinary clothes? Like a pair of jeans? You can keep those ratty trainers. Maybe a band t-shirt?"

"A what?"

"You know. A t-shirt. With The Pogues on or something."

"You mean like that Scooby Doo shirt you have?"

Donna laughs. "Yeah," she says. "Like that. Ordinary. Normal."

"Normal's a stupid word," the Doctor says. "Wanna walk along the Right Bank?" He gestures. "The Seine is right there."

"What is it with you and rivers?" Donna asks. Then she grins. "Oh. River Song, of course."

The Doctor smiles. "The Thames, the Loire, the Seine, they're all one to me now as long as you're there."

They sit at a small café on the Right Bank for hours, in comfortable silences interspersed with laughter and conversation. When the sun starts to set, Donna puts her coffee cup down and sighs. "You know we'd better go back," she says.

"All right." The Doctor gets up and offers her his hand instead of his arm this time. Donna looks from his hand to his face and they walk away hand-in-hand along the bank.

Inside the TARDIS they move quietly alongside the console, piloting the ship into stable flight. Donna sighs and steps back, leaning against the railing. She looks contemplatively at the Doctor, who catches her eye when he looks up. "What?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," Donna says. "Just... filling my mind up with the idea that you're here to stay for a while."

He comes to her to hug her close, wrapping her up the way he always used to do. Donna sighs again, burrowing into his embrace and clutching him the way she wants to. "D'you have to be married, Donna?" the Doctor murmurs into her hair.

There's a little silence. Donna wraps her arms more tightly around him. "I wouldn't have if I hadn't lost you."

"Are you happy?"

Another little silence. "I thought we were, living the ordinary way we did. But I always knew I wasn't doing enough. I always knew I was missing something," Donna says.

"Do you love him?"

"In my way," Donna says. "He was there for me when I forgot. He was kind to me and he's been wonderful to me. He accepted me as I am. As I was. I can't speak for now until I see how this new life affects us." She unravels herself from his embrace to look up at him. Again, her face is vulnerable. "These are circumstances all beyond our control, right?"

"I s'pose some of them are," the Doctor says.

"What about Rose?"

"She is your beautiful daughter, and anything that is part of you is something and someone I love beyond measure," the Doctor says.

"But not Shaun?"

The Doctor smiles. "He's not part of you."

"You called him your brother-in-law," Donna says, exasperated but smiling.

"And so he is, as long as he's married to you. Just a useful human label to characterize," the Doctor shrugs. "So! Are you allowed to tell me what the Major briefed you about?"

"Er," Donna says. "She made our relationship a matter of national security. Everything we say and do together is entirely privileged, and UNIT has no access to anything except what we choose to tell them. Nor anyone else without a security clearance."

"That means your family," the Doctor says. He gives her a little compassionate look and says, "That could be lonely, Donna."

"Not with you around," Donna says firmly. "That's my compensation, even more than the money. So you don't go anywhere, or it all means nothing."

The Doctor starts to smile, then, big and delighted. "So now everything between us is only between us by international and intergalactic statute," he says. "That sounds like a lot of fun, Donna Noble. We can do anything, remember?"

"It sounds monumental," Donna says. "It sounds like infinite possibility, even more than it did the first time around."

"You all right with it?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Yeah. I am. It's right."

"Good!" says the Doctor brightly, to disguise his emotions. "Let's go home, eh?"

"Yes, please," Donna says.

So when they land in his garden once more, the little ding signal chiming their arrival, Donna settles back against the railing. "Aren't you going to go back in the house?" the Doctor asks, his eyebrows raising.

Donna shakes her head, smiling a little. "Not yet," she says. "I'm going to my room for a minute. I have some things I want to get."

In an instinctive gesture, he follows her down the hallway to the first door on the right, where the TARDIS always puts the door to where its inhabitants want to go.

Donna's room has been stored in the TARDIS memory banks since Donna left, and has been preserved in the state it was ever since, down to the page in the book Donna was reading on her bed. She opens the door into what was her sanctuary, a room where she had everything she could imagine, everything she wanted, everything she needed, and best of all, the Doctor to make her laugh.

"Remember?" Donna asks, and the Doctor nods wordlessly, as if he could speak around the lump in his throat.

"We slept in that bed a lot," Donna says, pointing to her giant, purple-covered bed with the plethora of pillows and huge plush blankets.

"Yeah," he says. "We did. Best sleep of my life."

"You need more of it," Donna says.

"Maybe I'll get more of it now that you're around," the Doctor replies, and Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Anyway, it's an intergalactic secret whether I sleep or not," the Doctor adds.

"Well, what you need is plenty of good food, and lots of sleep," Donna says.

"And joy, and laughter," the Doctor says. "And you."

"I've got all those things," Donna says, putting her hands on her hips. "I just want to grab a few things from here for the house."

In a few minutes she comes out with her clothes changed into comfortable leggings and a sweater. She has an armful of things, including her giant purple blanket to give to Rose for her bed. She has a box full of jewelry and clothing, and a set of Shakespeare editions she'd hidden away because they were seventeenth-century prints, beautifully and expensively bound. "Just some treasures," she tells the Doctor, who smiles at her proudly. "The rest of it can stay here."

She carries them herself to the TARDIS doors and leaves them just inside so she'll remember to take them with her when she goes back to London. "Meanwhile," she says. "What d'you say, should we crack a bottle and sit in the library?"

"Oh, you know I always loved doing that," the Doctor says.

"Me too," Donna says. "Something about being surrounded by books. Comforting. Like sitting in your imagination."

Inside the TARDIS library, somewhere between a medieval archive, a university library, and a cathedral, Donna sits down in the same spot in front of the enormous fireplace (merrily lit as usual) that she always used to, on the red Persian rug that was always soft and comfortable. A moment later the Doctor joins her with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"You should think about picking an Earth name," Donna says. "People will want to know even if they call you Doctor."

The Doctor shrugs. "Whatever," he says, filling the glasses and handing her one. "I'll pick something serviceable. It'll take me a while to answer to it anyway." He gives her a sideways smile. "I always liked the way you said 'Doctor' anyway."

Donna clinks her glass with him. "To knowing who you are."

"Hear, hear," he says feelingly, and they both take a good deep drink. Donna grimaces and puts her glass down.

"Did you ever in your life?" she asks next, turning herself to face him.

"What?" He does the same so that they are facing each other, sitting cross legged.

"Did you ever, ever think we'd be here again?" Donna asks, and suddenly, unexpectedly she is crying. She surprises herself and the Doctor with the force of her sobs, burying her face in her hands so that she doesn't make noise.

"Oh, god, Donna--" the Doctor says, leaping forward immediately to embrace her. "God, it's all right, I'm here."

Her arms go around him tightly, a feeling he'd been crying out for since the last time she hugged him, and she buries her face in his shoulder. He lets her cry until his shirt is soaked and she is collapsed against him. She never lets go of him, and he draws his hands in long, comforting caresses up and down the length of her back. "Where have you been?" she asks him, her voice thick with tears. "Where did you go, why did you leave me? I was dying without you."

"I died without you," he says back. "And that's why I'm going to live with you now." He holds her against him so that she knows he means it. "And I am so sorry that you were lonely without me. I'm sorry that your hands were ever empty. I'm sorry that you cried. It was my fault for not listening to you, but I couldn't have lived with myself if you'd died back then."

Donna shivers. "I've died twice now," she says.

"But now you live," the Doctor says, kissing her hair. "Now you live with me."

"I've never been so happy in my life," Donna says, echoing him from days before in their garden, eating dinner with everyone around. That makes the tears flow from his eyes, so that Donna wraps him up again and presses her lips to his cheek.

"You can stay," she tells him. "I need you to stay."

They stay in that embrace for a long time. Finally Donna pulls back and moves back onto the floor. "Sorry," she says. "I've wrecked your shirt."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," he says immediately. "I have lived much too long without you to waste our time with that nonsense."

Donna reaches for her glass of whiskey and drinks deep before she speaks again. "I suspect that's going to happen a few more times before I really feel like I've processed it," she says.

"That's okay," the Doctor says. Then he reaches for her hand. "I don't want to make you cry."

"Way too late for that," Donna says. She watches him kiss her hand again, the same way he had so unhesitatingly done on the ship, and feels a few fresh tears roll down her face. "It's all right." She gestures to his glass. "Drink up," she says. "And then you're going to tell me whatever I ask about. The truth." She holds his gaze. "The truth. Even if it's ugly and horrible. Even if you think it makes you look bad." She sees the way he drains the whiskey at that. "And then another day you're going to tell me about everyone who flew on this ship with you." She picks up the bottle and refills both their glasses. "We're going to get that pain out of you one way or another. A million years my arse."

"There's going to be a lot of crying," the Doctor says. "And I've only just got you back."

"Maybe we have got a lot of grief to work through," Donna says. "Maybe you will have to stop being a crazy Martian for long enough that we can take care of each other. Maybe I am the safest person in the universe to tell your secrets to."

There is a little silence then, when the Doctor works furiously to keep his eyes from overflowing again. "Why do you still want to be my friend?" he asks her.

"Why do you want to be mine?" Donna shoots back immediately.

"Because I love you."

"It's the same for me," Donna says. "Fuck you, Spaceman, you're going to make me cry again," she adds, with a slap to his arm that has no force behind it.

"I watched you die," the Doctor says. "I held you while you died. I've only just got you back and I--" He stops to swallow hard. "I still can't understand, but I am so, so grateful to you."

"I understand," Donna says. "I told you." She breathes deeply. "I'm not going to cry again," she says. "I'm not. I swear." She has to stop, which belies her words. "I shared your mind. You and I were one. I've never had that experience before and I never will again. But we were us. There was no line between you and I, however long or short the time was. I can't go back to living the half-a-life I had without you." A thousand yard stare blooms in her eyes that makes the Doctor feel so desolate. "I stared into an abyss for a while," Donna says finally. Then she seems to gather herself. "And now I don't have to anymore," she says. "So I just have to adjust to that."

"So what did you want me to tell you about?" the Doctor asks next. "No more abyss."

"The Flux," Donna says. "I saw it in your head. The Toymaker mentioned it. You can start there."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, and the whole awful story pours out of him like a lanced boil, the infection of grief draining from him in small measure. Donna listens with her hands in his, alternately wiping away tears and wiping away his tears. When he's finished Donna moves back into his embrace, this time climbing into his lap and holding him tightly. "I've waited fifteen years to do this again," she says. Wordlessly the Doctor clings to her so that they can absorb the comfort and still, the astonishment and joy, of being together again.

"D'you want me to take you back to London or do you want to stay here?" the Doctor asks eventually.

"No," Donna says. She doesn't move for a little while longer, and the Doctor huffs a small laugh into her shoulder, his arms going back around her.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Remember when we went to that little island with the campfire city?" Donna asks. "And we just danced by the fires and ate good food and had a good time?"

"Meridion Ten, yes," the Doctor says. "That was beautiful."

"Can we do things like that from now on?" Donna asks. "You told me a long time ago you had so many places you wanted to take me. Can we just do those things?" He can feel her fingers caressing through his hair in the back, the same comforting feeling from so long ago. She used to do this and it made him feel--

"You'd better stop that," he tells her. "I'll take you anywhere but if you don't let go of me I'm going to kiss you, Donna Noble, and we both know that is not a good idea."

"Oh, it's such a good idea," Donna says, starting to laugh. "It's the best idea. I want to so badly."

"To answer your question," he says, pulling back and away from her so that he doesn't tip her over onto her back and kiss her on the floor of the library the way he used to all those years ago, "is yes. I will take you to all those places and more. And you can bring whoever you want."

Donna slides back onto the floor and sighs. "Good," she says. "I need a nap," she adds. "Between the whiskey and the crying I've worn myself out."

"Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asks, unfolding to his feet. He holds out his hand. "C'mon."

Donna gets to her feet and adjusts her clothes. "I think I'd better go back to London," she says. "No one's home in France, right?"

"Nope," he says.

Donna nods. "Fine," she says, smiling a little. "I'd better go back then." She leads him back to the console room, hand in hand, and the Doctor feels an old magnetism in their contact.

At the console, instead of starting the flight sequence, Donna pulls him down by the collar and kisses him deeply, hard, greedily. He responds immediately, pulling her up against him from knee to mouth. "Yes," he says in between kisses.

"Mm-hm," Donna answers, and kisses him until she's finished, both of them a little out of breath afterwards.

"Don't you dare cheat on your husband," the Doctor says, his hands pushing her sweater off her shoulders with the complete opposite intention.

"I won't, I won't," Donna says. She steps back from him, shrugs her sweater back on, and starts to move around the console.

"Swear on my life I'll fuck your brains out," he tells her as he turns the ignition dials.

"I know," Donna says. She smiles at him, a million watts.

"It's a new body," he continues. "All my faculties are fresh."

"So why haven't you gone and tried them out on some French ladies?" Donna asks cheekily. They circle the console, flipping levers, pushing buttons, always a few feet apart.

"Don't want to try them out on anyone but you," the Doctor says. "Bit of a problem, that."

"Ah, well, we can work on that," Donna says. "Our relationship's a state secret after all." The TARDIS hums into stable flight and Donna steps back from the controls. She leans on the railings and says, "You know, the other Doctor was right. You do need a chair in here."

Instead of answering, the Doctor just puts his hands in his pockets. "Stop distracting me with your chair talk." He regards her with a look full of intent. "What about Shaun?"

Donna nods. "I know," she says. "I have to figure out how to explain it to him."

"Has he asked?"

"If we've had sex? No."

"D'you think he suspects?"

"No," Donna says. "He knows as much as my mum and grandfather could tell him, but some things only I know."

"So you're going to ask his permission?"

"Maybe," Donna says. "I haven't decided." She shrugs. "Lots of new things are happening now."

"Don't ruin your marriage," the Doctor says.

"Spaceman," Donna says, coming to stand right next to him. "I won't do anything of the sort."

"Listen," he says. "Look at me."

Donna regards him with the most amused and affectionate face, and he can't help smiling back. "I want you to know that I want you as much as I did before and more," he says. "If you weren't married you'd never have made it out of your room in my house. You'd always be there."

"I'm always there anyway," Donna says.

"Yes. And I love it," the Doctor says. "And I would shag you in every room of that house if I could. You know that."

"I do know that," Donna says. "Would be an absolute joy." She looks him over with the same kind of approving desire she always used to. The Arrival Alert System dings brightly, and Donna smiles. "Right, then, Spaceman," she says. "I'm going to get some sleep. Because I won't sleep if I stay around you." She kisses him many little times on each cheek and then his lips, and adds, "I'll be back."

"You better come back, Donna Noble," the Doctor says, dropping his hands to pull her hips up against his. "Good night."

He watches her pick up the boxes she'd left at the door and leave, his mind moving at light speed as usual. The first time around they'd worked hard to keep their relationship a secret, for fear of exploitation. This time around UNIT has made their relationship an actual secret, for the same reason and more. There was never any concern of pregnancy or risk of disease, so they were free to do as they pleased then.

It won't be different this time. He can already tell.

In the kitchen of the London house, Rose is sitting at the table reading a book. "Hello, darling, I love when you come home for the weekend," Donna says, dropping a kiss on her head.

"Hi, mum," Rose says. "Where've you been, then?"

"Work," Donna says. "Had a briefing. I changed my clothes on the TARDIS." She indicates the boxes in her arms. "Look. I've brought us some treasures."

"From space?" Rose asks, and Donna laughs.

"From space," she says. "And this blanket is for you."

"Ooh, purple, lovely," Rose says. They go upstairs together and spread it onto her bed, where it hangs onto the floor and pools around the bed frame. Rose laughs and jumps right into it, wrapping herself up. "Oh, it smells like you," she says to Donna. "Like your perfume and your shampoo."

"Oh, good," Donna says. "It's been out of use for fifteen years."

"No, I love it," Rose says. "Now. What's in those boxes you brought?"

So Donna settles herself on Rose's bed, and she and her daughter go through the two boxes, laughing like best friends. Donna puts the Shakespeare books aside for her bookshelf, and she and Rose pull out the jewelry box Donna had kept in her room aboard the ship.

"Ohh, wow," Rose says when Donna lifts the lid. "Oh, mum. Look at this, it's a treasure trove." She picks up a necklace, with an intricate pendant of precious stones. "Where's this one from?"

Donna proceeds to tell her the story of each piece; each pair of earrings, each necklace, what was a gift and from who, why she has a collection of Amaran bangles (a story she tactfully edits as they had been part of an offering made to her for something she and the Doctor had done together that was decidedly not saving the universe), the pendant she'd made of a sapphire from the waterfall of Juno's Tears, and finally the simple gold band, at the very bottom, that the Doctor had put on her hand all those years ago.

"A biodamper?" Rose asks. "Mum, this is a wedding ring."

"Yes, it looks like one," Donna says. "But it suppresses biological signal so you can't be tracked."

"Why is it a wedding ring, though?" Rose asks.

"I was in my wedding dress, you know the story," Donna shrugs. "It made sense at the time."

"Nothing makes sense with the Doctor," Rose says. "That's my favorite part of all of it." Then she gives her mother a knowing look. "But he could have given you anything and he chose a ring. Interesting."

Donna smiles wryly as she replaces the jewelry back into the box and shuts the lid. "If you ever want to borrow any of it," she says, "just ask me." Then she yawns, the tiredness from aboard the TARDIS returning in the wake of her excitement. "I need some sleep," she says. "Where's your father?"

"He's out driving," Rose says. "He says he'll be back around nine."

"Right," Donna says. "I'm going to have a kip and I'll start dinner when I get up."

Sleep, of course, is easier said than done for Donna, and has been for fifteen years. For the last fifteen years she's been a bad sleeper, waking every few hours, restless with fear and anxiety. Now with her memories back, she knows what her dreams are, but they are still terrifying. She'd thought those would subside now that the Doctor is back, but it seems it's her own problem. So as tired as she is, it's often hard for her to get into bed and sleep.

So she crawls under her covers and sighs, resting her head on her pillow and attempting to breathe her way into sleep. She is tired, has been tired for as long as she can remember. Even half an hour would be nice, she thinks.

After ten long minutes of lying there discontentedly, Donna goes back to Rose's room to retrieve her blanket. "I'll bring it back," she says, and Rose just smiles and says okay.

Back in her bed, Donna pulls the purple blanket over herself and sighs. She closes her eyes, and tears slip from beneath her closed lids. The instant relief and comfort she feels under that blanket has eluded her for fifteen years. She wipes at her eyes and turns over onto her stomach. In a few minutes she actually drifts off to sleep.

And dreams. She dreams of terror, of running, of things exploding. And then she dreams of pleasure, vividly, of hands and mouths and tongues and the way she would embrace the Doctor with all four limbs, both of them focused entirely on each other. She dreams of sunrises and vistas of sky, and the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning.

When she does finally wake up, it's dark. She looks over at the clock and it says 2:43 AM. She sits up immediately, looking around herself. Shaun is asleep next to her under their regular blanket, and the house is quiet. Donna gets out of bed softly, so as not to disturb him, and goes down the hallway to check on Rose, who is also asleep in her room. So she goes downstairs to the kitchen since she's missed dinner.

In the fridge there is a container of pasta and meatballs, probably made by Rose when she realized her mum wouldn't be up to cook herself. The dishes are done and the counters are clean, so Donna flips on a low light and puts the leftovers into a bowl to heat up. She sits alone at her kitchen table to eat, thinking, thinking, thinking.

It isn't that she doesn't love Shaun-- she does. In fact in a big way she owes him a lot, since he'd taken on the burden of knowing her without hesitation. With her memories back she'd been able to understand more why he'd been so accommodating. But he knows only as much as Wilf and Sylvia, and would never be able to know everything Donna knows. And now, in the face of UNIT's directive, he would know even less. Donna contemplates the unfairness of that, how it would exclude the person who is supposed to be closest to her from the inner workings of her life. It is a lot to ask of one person, and she thinks guiltily she's already asked so much of him. First when she gave away her lottery winnings, she'd been mad with grief and confusion. Then when Rose wanted to grow into herself and Donna insisted, insisted her last name be Noble and not Temple. He'd put up with her, put up with all of it, and complained to no one. For that alone he deserves her love forever. But for that reason he will also be excluded from any future knowledge of her life and her work.

And now, after fifteen years of an unfathomably heavy burden of embarrassment and shame and tears for her perceived ineptitude, for a breakdown she didn't even have, Donna is ready for some joy and some good work. She's ready to stop seeing herself as someone other people only tolerate. She's ready to stop feeling like she only tolerates herself.

And for all his generosity and easygoing spirit, Donna isn't sure how much longer Shaun will be willing to be on the outside of her life. He's been on the outside for so much of her thought process for as long as she's known him that in the end she has to admit she isn't quite sure what made her marry him. She thinks he will probably come to that same conclusion at some point, if not soon at least in the near future.

"Donna?"

Donna looks up from her bowl of pasta to see Shaun standing in the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing up?" he asks. "It's 3 AM."

"I didn't eat," Donna says.

"Yeah, you were sleeping pretty good so Rosie knocked up dinner before I came home," Shaun says, coming to sit at the table with her. "I didn't want to wake you. I've never seen you sleep so deeply."

"I needed it," Donna says, taking another bite of her food. "You want some?" She offers him her fork.

"Nah," he says. "I just came down to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine," Donna says. She smiles at her husband gently. "I actually got some decent rest."

"Where did that purple blanket come from?" Shawn asks. "I've never seen it before."

"It was on my bed on the TARDIS," Donna says, without thinking.

"Oh. You had a bed on that ship?" Shaun asks.

"Well, yes," Donna says. "It was my home for a year." She's gotten herself into it now, no doubt. "I had a very nice room and a nice bed, and that blanket was my favorite." She breathes deeply to steady herself. "I've been told by UNIT that I can't tell you anything about what goes on aboard the TARDIS. Intergalactic directive."

"Oh," Shaun says again, and he is quiet. "So you can't tell me anything you do at work? Or with the Doctor?"

"No," Donna says, aware of how he must feel.

"Oh," Shaun says again. "Er. I guess that's for safety?"

"Yeah," Donna says. "State secrets."

"That's quite a directive," Shaun says. "So this means I'm on the outside of your work, too. Like everything else."

"What do you mean?" Donna asks, in spite of having the same thought.

"Donna." Shaun takes one of her hands. "I have known you for fifteen years. And now I feel like I don't know you at all. You saved the world again, you saved the universe, and I have no idea how you did it or what happened. And now you can't tell me." He lets go of her hand. "I want you to know that I see how the Doctor looks at you. I see how you look at him. And this is one of those major life decisions you've made without me. Again."

"I didn't--"

"I'm not angry at you," Shaun says, holding up a hand. "But you obviously have something very big to do with your life, Donna. Something beyond all of us. Something you can't do tied to me."

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks again. She's glad the light is low so he can't see her blushing-- she can feel her cheeks are hot.

"I mean that I've watched you make life decisions that affect both of us without you ever consulting me," Shaun says. "And I've accepted it. I accept you. I always have."

"So then what are you saying?" Donna asks, feeling her heart constrict all at once.

"I'm saying, Donna, that maybe it's time for me to go. I can't keep feeling like I'm going to be a permanent outsider in your life."

There it is.

Donna doesn't know whether to be happy or devastated. "I don't understand," is all she can say.

"I'm nothing here," Shaun says. "I'm no one. Your mum and your grandad know nothing more than I do, but they're old and they're not obliged to know. You're my wife and I don't know you anymore. You're different."

Donna is quiet. "So was it easier when I was the sad one?" she asks. "When I had to depend on you?"

"No," Shaun says. "I hated seeing you suffer. Maybe you don't believe me anymore when I say I love you. But I love you enough to let you go and do this thing that you have to do with your life." He shrugs. "I've accepted you for who you are as long as I've known you. But I don't know you anymore, and even if it hurts, and it hurts--" His voice splits along the seams a little, "I know it's right. You know it's right."

"I don't know that," Donna says, feeling as though she could cry too. Again. More tears. She's so tired of tears.

"Yes, you do," Shaun says. "I think it's time for me to cut my losses. I can't ever smile at you the way the Doctor does. It's not possible. I don't know you the way he does. I didn't share his mind or his ship. And you had a bed on that ship. Am I supposed to believe the two of you never shared that bed?"

Donna knows for sure she is blushing red now. "I..." she says, and then: "No. You aren't."

"All right then," Shaun says. "Look, Donna, we both know this is better."

"Do we?" Donna asks.

"Everything will be all right," Shaun says. "We can sell the house and split the money and Rose can come and stay with me whenever she wants."

"Keep the house," Donna says. "You can have it. We don't have to sell it. It's yours."

Shaun nods silently. "Fine," he says. "That's good too."

"It's the one thing I did right by you," Donna says unsteadily.

"No," Shaun says. "You gave me a child. You made me happy. Now things have changed in ways that none of us could anticipate. But you can't think I haven't seen the two of you in the garden, or when you sit up late at night in the living room just talking. You can't think I don't see that. Where does that longing come from?"

"I can't explain it to you," Donna says.

"I know, your job."

"No, it's not that," Donna stops him. "It isn't work. I couldn't explain it to you before, because I didn't remember. Now I think I understand it even less, because he was gone for so long and he came back for me, and I never expected--" And she is crying, just quietly, because she is so relieved. An unexpected relief. "I never expected any of this. I never asked for any of this."

"So don't you think it's time for you to ask for what makes you happy?" Shaun asks. "If it isn't me, or it can't be me, why would I hold that against you? In the face of all this... space work you do? This is all so much bigger than us. And you are so clearly needed, by the Doctor and by our planet. And we had no idea until now."

Donna lowers her face into her hands.

"It's time to stop being ashamed," Shaun says. "I'm sorry that things aren't going the way you expected but you should know by now that they never will. And I just can't take that kind of danger or that uncertainty."

"I understand," Donna says from behind her hands. She picks her face up. "I said the same thing to him when I first met him."

"But then you spent your life looking for him," Shaun says. "And the two of you keep finding each other in this vast, stupid, unfathomable universe."

Donna nods wordlessly, more tears falling.

"And I've seen you cry so much over these fifteen years," Shaun says. "I've never once seen you have any relief from it and now I think you do." He sighs. "I know you, Donna, or I did at one point. I see the weight off you. I see the way you actually smile with your eyes now. I see how you are different. And because I love you, I want only what will make you happy. Can you want the same for me?"

"I always did," Donna says. "I always did. I never wanted to hurt you or exclude you."

"I believe you," Shaun says. "None of this was your choice, I believe you on that front."

"And I never, ever cheated on you," Donna says.

"I believe that too," Shaun says. "You hardly know which way is up at this very moment. I can't imagine you'd want to go shag some alien bloke when you've had your life upended again."

Donna wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says.

"I know," Shaun says. "You just have to see if from my perspective. I've been on the outside the entire time. I've done my best and so have you. But this is bigger than all of us." He smiles a little painfully. "I thought I knew what you looked like in love, but now... I really know. And I can't be part of it."

"Okay," Donna says. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Shaun says. "But I can't do this life. We have a child we need to keep safe. I can't be shuttled back and forth between two houses and watch you look at that man like there is no one else around you. I see you. There's nothing for me here. So it's time for me to just... have a life I can accept. I'll drive my taxi and I'll do whatever it takes to make a life for myself."

"You won't be alone," Donna says. "I can help you."

"I don't want your help," Shaun says. "I want you to go and do what it is you need to do. That will be the way you pay me back for all these years. Fulfill your purpose. You married me because you didn't know better. Now you do. So be free."

"Is this really what you want?" Donna asks.

"Yes, I think it's right," Shaun says. "We can sit down and tell Rose tomorrow morning so she has the weekend to absorb it before she goes back to school."

"Oh, god," Donna says. "I think this might be the worst night of my life."

Shaun smiles a little bittersweet smile. "No," he says. "That's already happened to you. This might be the best thing that's ever happened to us as a couple. To just... not be one anymore."

So Donna takes her pillow and blanket from the master bedroom and goes to sleep in the spare bedroom, her bowl and cup in the sink unwashed. Shaun stays in the master suite.

In the morning over breakfast they sit down with Rose together and explain what they'd talked about. After her initial surprise, Rose's face turns sad. "And there's no way you can see to work it out?" she asks her father.

Shaun shakes his head. "I can't live like this," he says. "I need stability and I need safety, and as long as I am here, I will have neither of those. And I won't even be allowed to know what your mum does for work. It's too much."

Tears fill Rose's eyes. "Are you sure?" This is to both her parents.

"I think so," Donna says. "I'm sorry. But I think so."

"So what will happen next?" Rose asks.

"I'm going to move to France permanently," Donna says. "And your dad will keep the house in London, and if he decides to sell it, he can. Wherever he goes you'll have a home with him, and you always have a home in France with me."

"Where are you going in France?" Rose asks. "With the Doctor?"

Donna nods. "It's my other home," she says. "Well... it's my home too."

"Does the Doctor know?" Rose asks.

"No," Donna says. "But I will talk to him. He's coming to take you back to school on Sunday."

As it turns out, Donna is not home when the Doctor arrives to bring Rose back to school. She's out at the supermarket, and Rose is big-eyed and anxious when the TARDIS wheezes and groans into the back garden. She gives her father a huge, tight hug. "I love you, Dad," she says. "I'll always love you and I support your decision and I will always be your child no matter what."

Shaun tears up at that. "Thank you, darling. I'll see you when you come home again?"

"I'll be back," Rose promises. "I'll be around. You won't be alone."

"Your mum said that too," Shaun says. "Go. I love you. See you next weekend."

Inside the TARDIS Rose hugs the Doctor too. "You look less than chipper," the Doctor says. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Rose says. "Just thinking about something I can't change." And she says little else until the TARDIS lands with a smooth thump in the side courtyard of the UNIT school campus.

"Thank you," Rose says, gathering her things. "I'm coming home next weekend, if you want to get me. I can always take transport."

"The other kids will be jealous if they see you traveling by TARDIS all the time," the Doctor says. "I'll be back on Friday. Behave yourself."

"Never," Rose says, smiling, and walks off the TARDIS back to school.

For the next week, Donna operates awkwardly around Shaun, moving into the spare bedroom and going to London UNIT headquarters on the tube every morning instead of in his taxi so they can start their work day together. They have small conversations with no malice or arguing, just sadness. Donna comes home to an empty house, and Shaun starts staying out later to drive, so they miss each other in the mornings and evenings.

After the first awful night, when Donna sobbed into her pillows for a while after, she begins to accept that this is a time to move forward. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Shaun to decide to leave.

But then what? she thinks. I would have been wearing two wedding rings? Or sleeping with both of them? Or cheating on my husband? Or what? She honestly doesn't know. What she does know now is that she's free. It's terrifying to be standing at the precipice of everything she wants and needs. She isn't sure she's brave enough to take it for herself. She contemplates just being alone, and almost right away has to let the thought go, because it's too late for that. And the thought of being without the Doctor again makes her heart tighten painfully and constricts her breath.

So that next Friday, when Donna has been texting with Rose all day to arrange her dropoff in London, the Doctor comes to collect Rose from school. She still has the same look of worry on her face, and the Doctor frowns a little.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asks.

Rose takes a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you something, but it's personal."

"Well, you are my favorite niece, and I'll decide what's too personal," the Doctor says.

So Rose just decides to ask it, no hesitation. Better not to. "Do you love my mum?" she asks.

"Well, of course," the Doctor starts, but Rose holds up a hand.

"Are you in love with her?" Rose clarifies.

"Oh," the Doctor says, his hands stilling on the console. "Er, I'm not sure that's--"

"I mean it," Rose says. "I need to know."

"She is married to your father," the Doctor says, resuming the flight sequence with a grimace. "I would never come between that."

"My parents broke up last week," Rose says, and the Doctor freezes. "So she didn't tell you. I thought not. I was wondering where you were."

"What?"

"My father decided he doesn't want this life and they broke up," Rose says. "I think they did the right thing."

The Doctor would be lying if he denied the painful pang of desperate hope and wanting he felt at those words. Instead he just clears his throat. "Is your mum all right?" he asks.

"You're glad," Rose says. "I can tell. You weren't happy she was married."

"Don't be angry with me," he says.

"No," Rose says. "I'm not angry. It's just another big thing we didn't expect. I think my dad is right. And I think my mum is right. So really, this is good."

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asks, knowing he should have asked this first.

Rose smiles a little. "There you are," she says. "You asked about my mum first. That alone tells me what I want to know."

The Doctor sighs. "Well," he says. "Let me get this ship in flight and I'll drop you home. And I'll talk to your mother. If she'll let me."

He enters the Noble house tentatively to find Donna standing in the kitchen, wearing a soft cream-colored dress and slippers. She looks like home. "Hello," she says, waving her spoon. "Staying for dinner?"

Rose kisses her mother on the cheek and disappears up the stairs with a meaningful look at the Doctor, who misses it because he's looking at Donna.

"I could do that," he says. "If you want."

Donna gestures to the kitchen table. "Sit," she says. "Thanks for bringing her home."

"I always will," he says. A short silence elapses. "I heard what happened." He sees Donna's shoulders drop, and she bows her head a little.

"Right to business, aren't you?" she asks him, turning around. "How did you know?"

"Rose," he says.

"Ah, I should've known."

"She loves you, Donna, she wants you to be happy."

"Well," Donna says, turning the heat down on her stovetop. "She told you Shaun doesn't want to be married anymore."

"Do you?" the Doctor asks. "That's the real question. I know you."

Donna takes a moment before she answers. "I don't," she says. "Can I tell you the truth?"

"It's all I ever want from you."

"I would never have married him without losing you," Donna says. "And if I have you back I have what I want, so in a way, it's not so bad." She watches the smile grow on his face, like a break of sun through clouds. He gets out of his chair, takes the spoon out of her hands, puts his hands in her hair, and kisses her. It's a kiss of memory, because they both know this in their bones. And it's a kiss for a new beginning, because they know that too.

"You'd really leave him?"

"He left me," Donna says. "He said he wanted to go. And that he didn't know me anymore, and that he didn't want the life. So I'm letting him go. I want him to be happy, and if he's not happy here, I want him somewhere he's happy."

"So what are you going to do next?" he asks.

"Thought I'd go home with you, didn't I?" Donna says, and this time she's ready for him when he kisses her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to fuck off to France forever and you can work it out?" he asks her, hoping, hoping, hoping.

"Don't you dare," she says. "I would die without you. Knowing what I know. How could you even ask me that? Fuck's sake." She says it with no rancor, but only half-teasing. She moves to stir the fragrant pot of beef mince she'd been working on for a pie. The Doctor winds an arm around her waist.

"Smells nice," he says. "When are you coming home, then?"

Donna smiles in profile, adding a bit more fresh thyme into the mix. "I'll wait til Shaun gets in from driving and I'll bring my things."

"What do you really need from here, anyway?" the Doctor asks. "You have clothes on the TARDIS."

"It's tacky not to move my things," Donna says. "Too much of a reminder. Besides, I always make sure he has a hot dinner when he's out late."

"Wife material, Donna Noble," he says, and she gives him a sidelong look.

"You have no idea," she says, and the tone of her voice makes it something much more naughty and fun. "I'll tell you what you can do," she says, "is not be here when Shaun gets here. Just wait for me on the TARDIS. I won't take long. Rose wants my books and knickknacks so I'll just empty my side of the closet and pack my jewelry."

Shaun gets home around eleven, the Doctor having disappeared back into the ship an hour before, so that Donna is alone in the living room reading. "Hello," Shaun says when he comes in. He sounds normal. Donna smiles a little.

"Hi," she says. "Dinner's in the oven warming up if you want it."

"What's on?"

"Beef mince pie," Donna says. It's an imitation of a conversation they've had a million times, but it's lost its savor.

"Sounds lovely."

"I thought I'd move my things out tonight," Donna says next.

"Oh," Shaun says. "Yeah, okay. Do you want help?"

"Nah," Donna says. "I've got it in hand."

"Are you getting picked up?" Shaun asks.

"Yeah," Donna says, and leaves it at that. "I just wanted to be sure you got home okay before I left. Didn't want to leave Rose alone."

"Ah, she's big, she'd be fine," Shaun says. He goes to the kitchen to dish himself up a plate and Donna goes upstairs to get her bags and goes to Rose's room with her purple blanket. She covers Rose gently, so as not to wake her, and goes downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase she looks back towards the kitchen. "Shaun?"

"Yeah?" he says, looking up from his plate.

Donna rushes into the kitchen and embraces him hard. "Thank you," she says. "I know you don't think I do, but I love you so much. You have no idea how you saved my life."

Shaun hugs her back and she feels his breath hitch. "I'll miss you," he says.

"I know, me too," Donna says, her own voice coming apart at the seams. "You will always be Rose's father, and you'll always have whatever you need. I will never let you go without. I'll make sure." She kisses his cheek, and holds him tight.

"Okay," he says. "I hope you're happy in France, Donna, I just want you to be happy."

"Me too for you," Donna says. She takes a few fortifying breaths before she lets go of him, which hurts much more than she expected, and wipes her eyes. "Well. I'm off, then."

"Yeah," Shaun says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Be careful."

"Bye," Donna says, her face so sad. But as she takes her bags towards the back door to the garden, where the TARDIS is waiting, she feels herself start to smile. Even through the tears, the joy of knowing that she'll be somewhere she's known and safe and loved, it's all priceless. It's all worth it.

She uses her TARDIS key to get in, and the Doctor helps her move her bags, just like he had fifteen years before. He sees the tears in her eyes and the brilliant smile on her face and gives her a long hug. "Welcome home," he says, the way she had all those months ago when he found his house.

"Oh," Donna says when he lets her go. "That was so much easier than I thought it would be. Thank god."

"Because it's what's supposed to happen," the Doctor says.

"Innit," Donna says, in her very Donna way. "Let's go to France, Spaceman."

"Let's go to France," he agrees. They circle the console in their usual way, and within three minutes they are landed in his back garden in Montresor. It's nearly midnight, so they decide to light the fire pit and sit out in the balmy night air for a while. There isn't much around so the stars are plentiful, and Donna settles herself on one of the loungers.

A free woman, she thinks. That is what I am right now. It wasn't Shaun who was the trap, of course, it was her own memory loss, but still, she feels like something very good is beginning. And though she feels horrible for hurting Shaun, she knows he is right when he says all of this is bigger than them. And though she had never expected him to leave her, she couldn't blame him. She knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't have said anything if he didn't really feel it.

"You all right?" the Doctor asks her, pulling his chair next to hers.

"Yeah," Donna says softly. It's actually true. "It was time."

"it was time," he says. "It was more than time." He takes her hand. "I'm so glad you came home. I was hoping you would." He stops himself. "I mean, I wasn't hoping you'd get divorced, but I was hoping you'd stay with me instead, and I--" He stops again. "Sorry. I'm saying that completely wrong."

"I know what you meant," Donna says, smiling. "Spaceman."

The affectionate nickname has always stuck with him. "I was thinking about something," the Doctor says after a while. "Why this face? Why this me?"

Donna nods. "Any breakthroughs?"

"Yeah," the Doctor says. "I know why this face is back. You were right. I wanted to come home, but you are my home. I wanted to be that man that you loved back then, so here I am again. This is the face you know. It was for you. All of it."

"D'you know what I love?" Donna asks him by way of an answer. "The way you say 'my Donna.' Makes me so happy. Even the not-thing knew about that."

He just smiles. "It's true," he says, shrugging as if it's the most well-known fact in the world. "You are. You always have been."

"I think something is happening here that has never happened before," Donna says. "I think that I am getting exactly what I want and need at the same time for the first time in my life."

"It's all yours," the Doctor says. He sits up. "Hey," he says. "Grandad gave me some biscuits last time he was here, do you want some?"

Donna smiles again at how he calls Wilf "Grandad" now, like real family. "Let's have some," she says. "Why not?" He brings her back a box of Jaffa cakes and another of Chocolate Hobnobs, and Donna laughs. "The most basic British biscuits to exist," she says. "You like a Hobnob?"

"Love a Hobnob," the Doctor says. "Simple and delicious."

"Well," Donna says, taking a Jaffa cake from the box, "we are in France and as such, we will be eating French pastries just as often as these little things." She turns onto her side on the lounger to look at him as he sits down next to her again. "We'll go walking, and we'll take little trips when I have holiday time, and we'll just be." She takes a bite. "It's all I ever wanted anyway," she adds. "Mm, raspberry jam."

"What'll I do while you're at work?" the Doctor asks. Donna smiles with her whole heart at this.

"Oh, will you miss me? Whatever you want except running off to fight aliens," she says. "Don't you have any hobbies, Spaceman?"

"Not Earth hobbies," he says.

"Ah, so something for you to explore," Donna says. "Even the weird stuff. No one has to know what you do."

The Doctor starts to laugh, looking at her earnest face. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah," Donna says. "You can... tinker, you know? Build things. Paint things. Pick up the guitar. Something like that."

They stay out in the garden talking until nearly sunrise, when Donna drifts off in the middle of a sentence, finally tired. The Doctor, who has different needs for sleep than humans, wakes her up to go get into her bed. "It's Saturday," he says. "You can sleep as late as you want."

Donna's room in the house in France is her own now, furnished with a big comfortable bed, an armchair, tall, rounded airy windows covered with white curtains, and plush rugs. She climbs into her bed with relief and buries herself in her blankets, so that she looks like a little kid peeking out from the covers. "You gonna join me?" she asks him.

"To sleep?" he asks, and shrugs. "Sleep is boring."

Donna smiles immediately, both their faces full of intent. "All right," she says. "I'll be boring for a while." She's still wearing her clothes from the night before, so she discards them piece by piece and tosses them on the floor. "See you, Spaceman. Join me or don't, but I'm definitely going to sleep."

He pulls the blankets down off her to get a good look at her, and kisses her. "I'll never let you sleep like this," he says. "So good night. Or good morning. Come back to me when you're rested."

"Your self-control is something else," Donna grumbles good-naturedly, laying back on the bed without covering herself back up.

"Er, it's not," he says. "It's killing me. But you need to sleep."

"You need to sleep," Donna says.

"Later," he says. "I'm going to go watch some telly and make breakfast. You eat whenever." And with another kiss, his thumb making a short, electric circle on her right nipple, he goes back downstairs. Donna rolls over onto her stomach and actually sleeps.

She finds him at noon in the garden sort of just looking off into the distance. She comes outside in just her bathrobe and slippers, joining him on the chair next to him. "What're you looking at, then?" she asks, and he seems to come out of deep thought.

"Nothing," he says. "Slept well?"

"Never better," she says, exhaling contentedly. "Haven't slept in fifteen years."

"Right," he says, with a laugh of recognition.

"Nice day," Donna comments.

"Gorgeous," he says, looking at her instead of the sky. "Want a coffee?"

"Yes," she says. "Would be amazing."

So he gets up and brings her out a hot coffee with cold milk, just like she likes it, in a flowered mug she'd bought at a shop in their little town. He hands it to her and kisses her forehead so that she tilts her chin up to him to kiss him properly. "Don't spill it," he says to her against her lips.

"Fuck off," Donna says, smiling, skimming her tongue along his bottom lip. She puts the mug down on the little glass topped table next to her. "What do you do on Saturdays, then?" she asks.

"That question has a different answer now that you're here," the Doctor says.

"Oh," Donna says, interested.

"For example, if you weren't here, I might just spend the day doing nothing," he says. "But since you're here, maybe we should take a little trip to Prague or something. See some castles? Have lunch on a tropical island somewhere?"

"Ooh, Spaceman, you do know how to talk to a woman," Donna says, laughing.

"We also don't have to go anywhere, given that robe you're wearing," the Doctor says, giving her a good once-over. "That's all you're wearing, Donna Noble."

"That's true," Donna says. "Get used to it. I live here now and I never had the chance to just be naked. I always had people around me."

"Oh, you'll never hear me object," he tells her. "You're home. I'll have you in every room of this house."

Donna just regards him contentedly, full of desire and happiness. "So," she says. "Did you think any more about that Earth name?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Do I have to?"

"People will ask," Donna says. "They might accept Doctor as a nickname, but you need some kind of name for your registrations and everyday interactions."

The Doctor shrugs. "What are you going to call me? Are you going to stop calling me Doctor?"

"Not unless you want me to," Donna says. "But for other people it's just handy. I'll tell you what; you should ask Rose. She picked her own name. You should see what she says."

"I'll do that," he says, smiling.

"Right," Donna says, draining the last of her coffee. "I'm going for a shower." She gets up and says, "Are you joining me, Spaceman?"

He grins at her. On the TARDIS they never cared to stop their conversation or interrupt themselves for something as trivial as bathing, so the Doctor would often sit by her bathtub or outside her shower, or they would keep a video link open so they could keep talking. "C'mon, then," he says.

Donna has her own bathroom now, since the floor with her bedroom has Rose's room on it and no other. The Doctor's room is on the third floor, a sprawling master suite with an attached bathroom that was nearly as glorious as the one Donna had made for herself on the TARDIS. Her own bathroom is large and airy, with a tub and a shower, and Donna drapes her robe over the towel rack, standing there naked and adjusting the shower to her liking. It's not like the TARDIS which knew her preferred temperatures and which soaps she liked. It's ordinary, and comforting, and the Doctor seats himself on the counter the way he always used to, just watching her with a smile.

“We’ve got to find a little café,” she says, “to be our spot.” She steps into the shower behind the glass door. The glass begins to steam up from the heat of the water so Donna swipes away a swath. “Can you fix it?” she asks. “I can’t see you.”

The smile on his face grows even wider and he pulls out the sonic to press it to the glass so that it won’t retain stain or steam. “Better,” Donna says, as she reappears from behind the steam. “Didn’t have that issue on the TARDIS. Anyway.” She gives him a smile in return. “What was I saying?”

“There’s a café in town,” the Doctor says. “That can be our spot.”

"All right," Donna agrees. "I should work out a schedule with Shaun for when Rose is here. She can decide, of course, but I want to make sure he doesn't miss out on her."

"Her dorm mother says she's coming out of her shell a lot," the Doctor says. "She's a lot happier."

Donna nods, sighing. "Yeah," she says. "She's so smart, but she got tortured by those boys at school and it got in her way."

"You'd never know she had any issues from her grades," the Doctor says.

"That's my girl," Donna says. She lathers her hair with shampoo.

"Now this is what I missed," the Doctor says, watching her as she moves around the shower.

"Ah, you were always the best company," Donna says. She scrubs herself clean, her hair glossy with conditioner. "When are you going to take a shower?" she asks.

"Do I stink?" he asks.

"No, but what's the standard?" Donna asks.

He smiles. "I'll shower every day if it makes you happy, but it's not necessary for me."

"Martian," Donna says, stepping under the water to rinse herself off. She turns off the water and steps out of the shower, her hand out for her towel. The Doctor doesn't move. Donna smiles.

"Are you trying to get a look at me naked or something?" she asks.

"Always," he says. He wraps her towel around her and pulls her up against him.

"I'm all wet, Spaceman, you'll get your clothes wet--"

"Don't give a fuck," he tells her, with an openmouthed kiss that proves his words. He follows a bead of water with his tongue, down her neck to her right breast, and Donna inhales. "Don't even know why you wear clothes around me," he adds. "Especially now."

"Told you, I always had people around me," Donna says, her voice breathless. "Oh, Doctor."

"You want me to pick an Earth name when you say 'Doctor' like that?" he asks, and Donna bites her lip. "You always said it so nice."

"Oh, I'll call you whatever you want," she says, watching him use her towel to dry her body for her. She tilts her head to the side, regarding his bent head. "Having fun?" she asks.

"Mm," he answers, flicking a look in her eyes and going back to massaging the towel along her hips and waist.

She thinks that he looks thin, and tired, but less than he did before. She thinks that even though he is thin and tired, he is filled with a kind of wanting that he's clearly suppressing to the best of his ability. That must be hard work, she thinks. "Oh," she says a moment later, when she feels him rub the towel between her thighs. "You'll never get that dry around you, Spaceman," she tells him, and his eyes snap to her face.

"Good," the Doctor says. Donna gasps again, rising on her toes a little bit when he dips his fingers between her legs. Then he sticks those fingers in his mouth, like he's been in a jam jar, and says "Still delicious."

"You remember," Donna says.

"As if I could ever forget," he says. "I've waited a long, long time for you, Donna."

"Then how long are you gonna make me wait for you?" Donna asks.

"I didn't want to move too fast," he says. "I've only just got you back. Couldn't live with myself if I fucked it up."

"Impossible," Donna says immediately. "You're fucking stuck with me, Spaceman. I'm not going anywhere."

He takes the towel back from around her and rubs his face with it. She gives him a look of scandalized delight. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll go and shop?" he says. "It's Saturday, we should party. Get a bunch of wine and pastries."

"You're no fun," Donna says.

"Oh, I'm so much fun," he says. "I think I made you a promise, something about every room in this house?"

"You did," Donna says.

"But I also promised Grandad some of the green beans from the market, and they're only here today," the Doctor says. "Otherwise he has to wait a week."

"Oh, no, a week," Donna teases, but she is so moved by his care for her grandfather. They're thick as thieves, the two of them, and though the Doctor looks younger he is not. The combination of boyish silliness and wonder alongside the soldier's broken heart in both of them makes them comrades. They can relate, having seen the worst of the worst and still believing in the best. She loves them both to overflowing for it.

"Fine, we'll buy some wine and pastries and beans," Donna says. She turns to go without her towel and the Doctor follows her immediately. In her bedroom he turns her to face her full-length mirror so she can see herself. He stands behind her, his hands on her hips.

"I won't make you wait forever," he says, and points at the mirror. "Watch." And he dips his fingers back down between her legs and doesn't stop until Donna is begging for more and mercy at the same time. "See?" he tells her. "Look at how you look. That's you and me and this is what we're supposed to be doing."

"Yes, yes," she moans. "I want it."

"It's yours," he says. "For as long as you want it."

Donna is pretty sure she can hardly stand for pleasure, but he's holding her up so she won't collapse. "That'll hold you over," he says to their reflection. "Get dressed," he adds. Donna reaches up to kiss him hard, to make him fuck her then and there, but even though he is ready for her (has been ready for her for millions of years) and even though she gets a hand down below his belt and she knows exactly what he likes, he steps back from her.

"So you're just going to edge me all day?" Donna asks.

"Trust me," he tells her, and licks his fingers again. "Put your clothes on, Donna Noble. Otherwise we're getting nothing done today and we need food." Donna grumbles about responsibilities, but gets dressed, the Doctor sitting contentedly on her bed watching.

They are about twenty minutes outside of the town proper, along a bright country lane lined with fields on either side. Donna has bags and a basket, a hat and a pretty blue dress. The Doctor offers her his arm and they make the walk together for a leisurely half-hour.

The farmer's market is in the square of the town, and there are various stalls set up. Donna makes the obvious jokes about the cucumbers and corn on the cob but only so the Doctor can hear since she knows the TARDIS translation circuit means everyone will be able to understand her. Donna notices him squinting in the afternoon sun and hands him her sunglasses. They get a generous portion of green beans along with the rest of the produce and then they stop at the butcher for chicken, the boulanger for fresh bread, and the patisserie. Donna picks out a bunch of tarts and pastries, as well as a big bag of freshly ground coffee beans.

On the walk back Donna takes his hand instead of his arm, and the Doctor takes two of the bags from her so that she's only carrying the basket. "Should we bring him the beans or have him over?" Donna asks.

"Tomorrow he can come over for dinner," the Doctor says. They walk quietly for a while in the warm sunshine. These moments are so ordinary for a human, but there is something golden about it for both of them; aware that in the broad, unfathomable scope of time and breadth of the universe they are on the same path again. And that path is a sunny country lane in one of the most beautiful places in the world, just them. The elegant simplicity of it convinces him this is the right place to be.

Instead of dinner, they eat pastries in the garden like two kids, drinking coffee and laughing over everything and nothing. Afterwards the Doctor keeps his promise about every room in the house (except Rose's room). They end up in his bedroom, Donna asleep with an arm flung over him while the TV plays a movie. The Doctor sits at his ease in a robe, something he's got to try and become accustomed to, his legs outstretched and his ankles crossed. He has his glasses on, providing him subtitles and analysis and tracking his surroundings as he watches. In his left peripheral the glasses keep a running track of Donna's vital functions and sleep pattern.

After an hour or so he moves and Donna makes a sleepy noise of discontent as she feels him start to shift. Her eyes open. "Don't go," she says. "I want you."

The words wrap around his heart like an embrace. "Okay," he says hoarsely, and moves back into the warm spot he'd been in. Donna settles back against him.

“Can’t sleep without you,” she murmurs. She picks up one of his hands and presses his fingers against her temple, then sleepily places hers against his, caressing his cheek as she does so. Instinctively he entrains onto the psychic connection, built of the remnants of their shared consciousness. In the past they had used this connection for sex, among other things, but now Donna just breathes, her sleepiness and contentment in his arms communicated to him without words. So he can feel what she does. She sends him the feeling of sleeping in his arms, so he knows. She sends him little images of them asleep together like a wave of sedative joy. And among all of it is the feeling of wanting, the word stay, the feeling of being protected. And then she sends him a memory of sleepy, easy sex in the dark, aboard the TARDIS in her bed. She drops her hand to wind her arm around him again.

“That too,” he says softly to her.

“Mm-hm,” she says, and her breathing evens out a moment later. He presses three kisses to the top of her head and closes his eyes to see if it works.

When his eyes open again the sun is up, painting stripes of bright light across the polished wood floor. Donna is sound asleep next to him, so he scoots out of the bed quickly and unobtrusively. Just enough time to go to that one bakery on that one street on that one planet that made those moonfruit tarts that Donna loved all those years ago.

Donna's eyes fly open immediately at the sound of the TARDIS wheezing and groaning. She's out of bed faster than she can remember in years, and down the stairs. In the kitchen the Doctor is standing there setting up the French press for two fresh cups of coffee, and Donna nearly skids to a halt. She pushes her hair out of her face, trying to act as though she had not just run down the stairs in a panic that he'd decided to disappear off into danger.

But the Doctor knows her. He gives her a wry, affectionate look and says, "Good morning."

"Morning," Donna says, moving to sit at the kitchen table. "Where've you been, then?"

"Might have been off getting us a little breakfast," he says. He hands her a green paper box from the counter. "Have a look?"

Donna lifts the top and looks for a moment. "Oh!" she says, realizing. "I remember these! They were fruit tarts. From that planet... Alabria. I remember that!" She looks up at him with shining eyes. "Moonfruits! These were so good, weren't they?"

"You remember," the Doctor says.

"Yeah," Donna says. "And no blowing up my head to remember it."

So they eat a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen, and spend the day cleaning and tidying in preparation for Wilf. Around five PM Donna starts to cook. She sets up her Bluetooth speaker and phone and starts to prep and wash. She has filets of chicken, a bag of potatoes, the bounty of haricots verts, and a fresh loaf of bread in the bread box. She puts her chicken in a bowl to marinate, then pulls out a very expensive wooden cutting board. All of her kitchen equipment is top of the line; expensive, high-quality items she'd synthesized on the TARDIS to spare the expense of buying them. She has cast iron everything, chef-quality knives, a stand mixer, a pasta-maker, a waffle iron, everything she ever wanted in a kitchen. She makes quick work of the onions and rinses the beans, spreading them on a baking sheet with olive oil and salt to roast in the oven. She chops fresh herbs, even chiffonades some basil for extra fanciness. In a pan she puts butter, fresh garlic, chopped onions, rosemary, thyme, basil, and tarragon.

The Doctor hears music from where he is standing in his bedroom looking through his top drawer for something he wanted to show Wilf. He looks up from his perusal and follows the sound down the stairs. He goes through the living room towards the kitchen and stops a few paces back. In the kitchen is Donna, dressed in a long green-and-white patterned dress, dancing between stove and counter, her red hair glinting in the light, her hips swaying to the beat. The air smells delicious and comforting. She doesn't notice him, so he stays there for a bit, thinking that he'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

Partway through a turn Donna spots him and stops, embarrassed at being caught. "Hello, Spaceman," she says, smiling ruefully. She can tell by the silly smile on his face and the look in his eyes he's been standing there for a bit. He always gets that soft-eyed expression when she isn't looking and he thinks she hasn't noticed. "How long have you been standing there, then?"

The Doctor only shrugs and comes into the kitchen, inhaling appreciatively. "The combination of the music, the food, and the beautiful woman in my house just... brought me down here." He melds himself to Donna's body, her back to his front, finally free to be as intimate with her as he pleases. "What's all this?" he asks, resting his hands warmly on her hips as he surveys the chicken sizzling merrily in its herbed butter sauce.

"It is poulet au Provence," Donna says, in perfect French. "And I have the beans in the oven and the potatoes on to boil. So we can go get Grandad when it's just about ready so he doesn't have to wait." She points to the counter. "We have wine, and we have lemons for his water, so besides dessert I think we're pretty set. What do you think?"

"I think that I love you," the Doctor says, pressing a kiss to her head. "I'll go get Grandad and we'll bring you back dessert, deal?"

"Deal," Donna says, and looks up over her shoulder at the Doctor. "I love you too, Spaceman." She puts her hands over his to savor the moment before he moves away.

Half an hour later she hears the Doctor and her grandfather laughing in the garden, the Doctor pushing Wilf's wheelchair along their path to the back door. "Hello, Donna, my love!" Wilf greets his granddaughter cheerily from the door. He's holding a box that turns out to have a strawberry shortcake in it, frosted in fresh whipped cream. Once inside the house, Wilf eases himself into his comfortable chair in the sunroom, and Donna comes to give him a hug.

"Hello, Gramps," she says, smiling. "We got you those beans. It's about twenty more minutes until we eat, so you make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything?"

"I'm going to talk to your Doctor for a while," Wilf says. "If you don't need him."

Donna smiles, flicks an affectionate glance at the Doctor and says, "I never need him for anything, he's all yours." She goes back to the kitchen, humming along with her music.

In the living room Wilf looks around and says, "Looks lovely in here."

"We haven't changed anything since you were here last," the Doctor says.

"I know," Wilf says. "Just homey, that's all. Anyone else here?"

"Nah," the Doctor says. "Don't know if you know what happened?"

"Oh," Wilf says. "Yes, with Shaun. About that. How is she?"

The Doctor sighs, shrugging a little, remembering how she'd looked with her head thrown back in pleasure the night before, wrapped around him in his lap on the sofa where he is sitting. "She's here permanently now," he says. "I think she's going to be all right once the shock wears off."

"She looks happy," Wilf says. "I'm glad she seems to be all right. She sleeping?"

"Now she is, yes," the Doctor says. "She says she wasn't before."

"Yeah, yeah," Wilf says, nodding. "She'd be up most nights until about 4 AM. It made the newborn stage easy with Rosie, though. She was just... awake. She said she had nightmares all the time and that sleeping wasn't restful for her anyway. She refused to take sleeping medicine and just lived with it."

The Doctor looks over his shoulder at Donna in the kitchen, still shaking her hips to the music as she whisks the mashed potatoes into fluffy peaks and adds butter and salt. "My poor Donna," he says. "She's been through a lot."

"She used to say she felt like a refugee," Wilf says. "She blamed herself for forgetting, and she worked really hard to make sure we didn't feel like she was dependent on us in any way. She went right back to work and she married Shaun and soldiered through."

"She must be tired," the Doctor says.

"Not like you and me of course," Wilf says. "But yeah. My girl. She deserves a break." He smiles and chuckles a little. "When she was wee she looked like Little Orphan Annie. Just a head full of red curls like you've never seen before. The other girls used to call her Carrots and make her cry."

"I'd love to see pictures of her," the Doctor says.

"I'll show you some when you take me home," Wilf says. "She tried to cut all her hair off one day but I caught her before she could make the first cut. Sylvia was furious of course, but no harm was done. We asked her why and said she didn't want to be ugly anymore. She was about six, I think."

"My Donna? Ugly?" the Doctor says.

"She was convinced," Wilf shrugs. "She never really got over that hurt, I think. It's always affected her. Ugly and stupid, that was usually her line. And Sylvia was no help, so she never really listened to anyone that told her otherwise."

"I mean, have you seen her?" the Doctor says, pointing towards the kitchen.

"I know," Wilf says. "She's my only granddaughter, she's always been my favorite. She just can't remember." He sniffs appreciatively. "Smell that good food," he adds. "She's got such a talent for cooking." He smiles at the Doctor. "So? How's living with her?"

Wilf can tell by the look in the Doctor's eyes that he's happy. "It's only been a few days of her being here permanently but I never wanted her to go in the first place, so you can imagine how I feel," the Doctor says. He looks as if he could cry from joy again, a look Wilf has seen so often since he returned. "But I think we're going to be great."

"Take care of her for me," Wilf says. "You don't have to marry her--"

The Doctor huffs a laugh. "I wasn't planning on asking, but I doubt she'd say yes to me anyway."

"Just make her happy," Wilf says. "She's been through so much, and she needs you so badly. It's been like watching a horror movie to see her live the last fifteen years. Even with Rosie and all."

"She hasn't said much," the Doctor says.

"I hope she will someday," Wilf replies. "My poor girl."

"You make it sound like she suffered a lot," the Doctor says. "What happened?"

"She tried to kill herself a couple of times before she found out she was pregnant," Wilf says. "But for god's sake don't tell her I told you."

The Doctor is horrified. "What?"

"Yeah, we had to talk her out of it a few times," Wilf says. "Luckily she spoke up every time, but--"

"Every time? How many times was this?"

"Four," Wilf says. "Twice within the first year or so. She kept insisting that she had no reason to live. And this was before Shaun and the wedding." Wilf grimaces. "She was so matter-of-fact about it. She said she'd obviously lost everything and was insane and had no reason to stay alive any longer. She used to sneak out to the garden at night when she thought I couldn't hear her crying. She used to look through my telescope for hours, but she never could say what she was looking for."

Donna comes into the room with a plate of cheese and crackers. "Stilton?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with happiness. The Doctor and Wilf are both looking at her with such tenderness, the Doctor's face a bit helpless with love. Donna's smile fades a little. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Wilf says. "We were just discussing something."

"Oh," Donna says. "Have a snack, Grandad, it's an appetizer. We'll be at the table in ten minutes. D'you want to eat outside?"

"Sure," Wilf says. "Go on, roll me outside now so I can enjoy the garden while you get ready. Don't you want my help?"

"Absolutely not," Donna says, smiling again.

The Doctor helps Wilf back into his wheelchair and rolls him outside to the table on the patio. He pats Wilf on the shoulder and goes back into the kitchen where Donna is plating up big clouds of mashed potatoes and topping them with chicken and vegetables. She sprinkles fresh parsley on top with a mock flourish and says, "Dinner is served, monsieur."

He takes the little container of herbs out of her hand, buries his hands in her hair, and kisses her thoroughly. Donna relaxes into him after a moment, and when he lets her go she's a little shiny-eyed. "What was that for?" she asks.

"For being here," the Doctor says simply. He picks up two of the plates. "Come on, Donna Noble. Another ordinary night awaits us."

They give Wilf half a glass of wine since he isn't technically supposed to be drinking with his medications, but Donna doesn't have the heart to deny him at least a few sips of the best French vintage they have to offer. The evening is balmy and warm, populated with crickets and cicadas singing in the foliage. They talk and laugh and eat cake, and Wilf stays up until about midnight. Around then he asks the Doctor for a lift back to London instead of staying the night, and murmurs, "I've got a photo album for you." So Donna kisses her grandfather goodnight and lets her two favorite men go off on a ship through space and time, knowing soon enough the Doctor will be back. Wilf's hands are full of fresh green beans in a bag and an extra slice of cake in a tupperware container.

When the Doctor returns he's holding a leather-bound photo album and a little box. Donna has finished the dishes and put away the food and is sitting in the kitchen with another glass of wine and her laptop, just browsing Facebook idly. So he joins her at the table and says, "Look what Wilf gave me."

Donna looks up from her screen and says, "Oh, that's his photo album!" She looks happy. "He loves that old book."

"He said he wanted me to look through it," the Doctor says. "Maybe we can do that."

"What's that?" Donna asks, pointing to the small box.

"Ah," the Doctor says. He pushes the box towards her. "That, is for you."

"From Grandad?"

"No," he says. "From me." He regards her with a bit of trepidation, his tongue braced against his bottom lip.

"Oh, you don't have to--" Donna opens the box and stops. "That's a ring, Spaceman," she says, looking up at him.

"It's not a wedding ring," he hastens to assure her. "it's not an engagement ring or anything like that. It's just... a ring. Made it for you on the TARDIS. I was just thinking."

"It's gorgeous," Donna says, as the low kitchen light catches the stone and metal. It's an exquisite blue sapphire, round and perhaps a carat and a half in weight, set in yellow gold flanked with finely tooled blossoms on either side. Small, perfect diamonds wink at their centers.

Blue for her eyes, blue for the TARDIS, blue for the limitless sky they travel together, and flowers because ever since he met her his path has been strewn with them. He wishes the same for her, since she has brought joy and beauty into his life again.

"It's not a wedding ring," he says again, and Donna takes the ring out of the box. She hands it to him.

"You were the first man to put a ring on me," she says. "It's only fitting you should be the last."

He gives her a speaking look, his eyes full of many emotions, and Donna expects him to pick up her left hand. Instead he goes for her right hand, sliding the ring onto her ring finger and kissing the back of her hand reverently. "So you remember that you're here by choice," he says, tugging her left ring finger gently. "And that you are my right hand."

"I am here by choice," Donna says, a few big tears springing up and rolling down her face. "Sorry," she adds. "I wasn't expecting that." She gets up to get a napkin to wipe her eyes and the Doctor follows her to the counter. She wraps him up tight around his middle. "I don't care about your ship or your time travel or any of it," she says, resting her head against his chest. "I just want you. I choose you."

He props his chin on the top of her head. "Thanks," he says quietly. "I know it's only been a week--"

"Oh, I think Shaun might have made his mind up a while ago," Donna says, her voice a bit unsteady. "I don't blame him. I don't want him to be sad. I don't want him to think I picked UNIT over him."

"You picked me over him," the Doctor says. "Whether you realized it or not, you did. And he saw it. He could have chosen to stay, but then what?"

"I had the same thought," Donna says. She doesn't dispute him. "Where is the line between us?" she asks. "What would I have done? Have two husbands? Worn two rings and pretended like you were a boarder or something? Imagine what Nerys would have to say. I bet she already has the rumor mill at full speed back in London."

"D'you think she'll put a move on Shaun?" the Doctor asks.

"He'd rather eat his own foot," Donna says with certainty, and the Doctor bursts out laughing. Donna sighs. "He's such a good bloke. He's good, down to his bones. He accepted me for who I was, he didn't blame me the way I blamed myself. He stayed when I gave away the money. He stayed when Rose transitioned, and he loves her still just as much. He works hard, and he cares about his family."

"Do you miss him?" the Doctor asks.

"Of course," Donna says. "Yes. But not in a way that would make me want to force him back here. He said he doesn't want this." She sighs, inhaling the scent of his soap and cologne, Earth habits he'd picked up long before he met her. The dual heartbeats thump in concert against her ear. "I s'pose there really is no line between us, eh, Spaceman?" she murmurs.

"Nah," he says, and she can hear his voice resonating in his chest. "Who needs it?" His hands move in comforting circles on her back. "Would you want both of us?"

Donna laughs against him. "Who has time or energy for that?"

"Ah, well," the Doctor says. "I'd rather have you entirely to myself anyway. Don't really want to share."

"Would you have?"

"Of course, if you wanted," the Doctor says. "I would have done anything for you. Anything to keep you in my life. Even stayed away, if that's what you wanted."

"Impossible," Donna says.

"I would also have given up the sex if that's what you wanted and just been your friend."

"Impossible," Donna repeats, and he smiles to himself, glad that she can't see the relief and triumph on his face.

"That's quite hot," he says, tapping her behind lightly and letting her go. "So. Hope you like the ring."

Donna looks down at her hand. "I love it," she says, and she means it. "I will wear it forever."

The next morning Donna reports to the London headquarters of UNIT for work, dropped off as usual by the Doctor in the TARDIS. She makes it her business to get her morning work done quickly, and goes to the Transport Division garage around lunch time. There she quietly puts Shaun's CV and a job application in, and in a week he's been hired as a Transport Supervisor at a salary of seventy-five thousand pounds a year.

Shaun will never know it was Donna who got him hired.

Rose visits every other weekend, always happy to see her mother and always willing to update both the Doctor and Donna on how her father is doing. She tells them about the new job at UNIT, and how Shaun is thriving in his position as supervisor, and how he seems to be settling into the house without Donna more easily than expected. The Doctor leaves Donna and her daughter to talk in Rose's room.

"The two of you should talk," Rose says to her mother. "He's doing okay, but I know he's sad."

"Does he want to talk to me?" Donna asks. "He seemed so final about everything. Like he didn't have anything left to say to me." The thought makes her throat close with grief. "I didn't know what he'd want," she finishes.

"I think he just wants to settle down into a life that's not going to keep being upended," Rose says. "And I can't say I blame him, Mum. We... you did sort of make his life chaos."

To Rose's surprise, tears start to well in her mother's eyes. "I know," Donna says. "I know. It was wrong of me." She wipes her eyes. "Is he angry at me?"

"No," Rose says. "He misses you. But he told me he has no regrets."

Donna lowers her head for a moment. "I hope he knows that I love him anyway."

"Yeah," Rose says, and she feels like she could cry too. "He does. He says he loves you, but that he stepped back for a reason."

There is a little silence. "All right," Donna says. "This is a conversation I can have with him when I see him again. Your birthday is coming up. I want to have a party for you here and your father should be part of it." She sighs. "What is he doing with himself outside of work?"

"He's got friends," Rose says. "He goes down the pub on Wednesdays and last week he took Grandad with him for trivia. He's joined a football league at work, too." She notices her mother seems relieved to hear it.

"And school? How are you?"

Rose shrugs a bit. "You've seen my grades."

"Yes, but your friends? Are they treating you all right?"

"Mum, it's light years away from public school in London," Rose says. "There are other girls like me around. It's just another world."

"And you're happy?" Donna asks.

"Mum, you ask me this all the time," Rose says, smiling. "I'm happy. I'm happy there. I can be myself. And I'm safe."

"All right," Donna says. "I can't ask for anything more."

Rose's eyes fall on Donna's right hand. "What a gorgeous ring," she says. "Where did you get this?"

Donna's eyes go to the Doctor before she can help herself, and Rose smiles. "He has very good taste, doesn't he?" She sees the glow of happiness in her mother's smile, something that she had rarely seen in the past. There is an emptiness about her that has been filled, a sense of completion. Donna just looks... different.

They spend a quiet weekend together, the three of them taking a few trips locally to sit by the river for a picnic. Sunday night Donna is standing in the kitchen cooking while Rose and the Doctor are sitting in the garden, talking rather seriously if their postures are any indication. From inside the warm, airy kitchen, Donna thinks she'll never leave this little French outpost as long as she lives.

The nights are starting to cool off as they approach mid-October, so Rose is wearing a giant hoodie over her clothes and sitting bunched up in one of the lounger chairs. She has been sitting in contented silence with the Doctor for a few minutes, just enjoying her coffee and the evening.

"So," the Doctor says. "What kind of mother is your mum?"

Rose smiles at the look in his eyes. He wants to know everything he missed. She looks over her shoulder at her mother, who is absorbed in her cooking. "She's the best mother I could have asked for in this world," Rose says, and he can tell she means it. "She has been by my side at absolutely every point in my life. She has been my strongest advocate and she has never failed me."

"That's my Donna," the Doctor says, and Rose can hear the warmth with which he says it, the easy possessiveness.

"I would be nowhere without her," Rose says. "She has always accepted me for who I am and protected me as I became myself. I'm safe with her, unconditionally, and that's all a child needs from their mother."

Safe with her, unconditionally, the Doctor thinks. That's my Donna. "What was she like when you were little?"

"The most fun!" Rose says. "She played sports with me, she taught me to read books and music, she taught me to cook and bake." Rose shrugs. "I can't remember a single hurt I had as a little kid that my mother didn't fix."

"That's my girl," the Doctor says again.

"You really love her," Rose says.

The Doctor doesn't hide the fact that he's blushing a little. "Yeah," he says. "She's safe with me, unconditionally." He points a finger at her. "And so are you, miss."

"Yeah, about that," Rose says. "I have to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Mum says you contributed some of my DNA?"

The Doctor grimaces. She had known the answer to this before the metacrisis released itself, but he has to explain it again to her now that it's gone. "Your mum underwent a biological metacrisis, yes," he says. "Her DNA and mine were fused through an energy collision that resulted in a human hybrid being created, that had her humanness and my Time Lord consciousness."

"What?" Rose asks. "So she had a baby with you?"

"No," the Doctor says. "Er... that hybrid was an adult and it grew out of a spare... body part I had lying around."

Rose's face is just like Donna's when she'd heard those words. "So... you're like starfish?" Rose asks. "You lop a bit off and a new one grows?"

It's so like what Donna had said all those years ago that the Doctor has to laugh. "Yes," he says. "In the simplest terms."

"And that means your DNA is in me too?"

"Well... it altered your mum's mind and body forever," the Doctor says. "She ended up with my consciousness too, and my DNA fused to hers. So technically... you have some of my DNA in your makeup. No 23 and Me for you, young lady."

"That's fucking weird," Rose says after a silence. "So do I have two fathers?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor hastens to assure her. "Your father is Shaun Temple. You couldn't exist without him contributing his DNA to father you. You just... have some extra makeup from me."

"So can you reproduce with humans?" Rose asks.

"No," the Doctor says. "I'm physically analogous to human males, but genetically I'm completely incompatible. Even if an egg was fertilized, it wouldn't implant or begin to develop because it lacks the necessary chromosomes."

Rose looks over her shoulder at her mother and then back to the Doctor. "So you two don't have any risk," she says, and the Doctor blushes for real this time. "Well, Mum's also fifty, so she's not getting pregnant."

"Er," the Doctor says again. "Not sure what to say to that."

"Don't," Rose says, starting to giggle like the teenage girl she is. "Don't. Gross. Ew. Disgusting."

The Doctor laughs. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's not important anyway." He leans back comfortably in his chair. "Your mum said I should ask you about picking an Earth name."

Rose smiles at him. "Well, I picked my own name, so I'm good at that."

"That's what your mother said," the Doctor says.

"Told you, she's the best," Rose says. "What kind of name do you want?"

He shrugs. "I don't care." The fact of the matter is that Donna knows the name he grew up with, his real name, from having shared his mind. She knows that name and she never uses it because she also knows he won't say it. "Sometimes I've called myself John Smith."

Rose scrunches her nose. "Boring. John's not bad, I guess, but not Smith."

"What about Noble?" the Doctor asks. "John Noble?"

"Not bad," Rose says. "Want a middle name?"

"A what?"

"A middle name," Rose says. "My middle name is Margaret."

"Rose Margaret Noble," the Doctor muses. "Pretty. Why not Temple?"

Rose shrugs. "Just seemed... wrong. Mum was okay with it, she told Dad that it didn't really matter as long as I was happy and he'd still be my father no matter what sounds I strung together to identify myself."

That's my girl! he thinks again, so proudly. "What did he say?"

"I think he was a little hurt," Rose says. "But I've always been really clear with him about how I feel about him and that no matter what he'd always be my father and I would always love him."

"Maybe," the Doctor says. "Something with a D. Something for her."

"There's no male equivalent of Donna," Rose says. "Maybe Donald?"

"No," the Doctor grimaces. "Awful name. What about David?"

"John David Noble," Rose says. "Doctor John David Noble. Ooh, Doctor J.D. Noble. Sounds like a physicist or a famous surgeon."

So when Donna leans out the garden doors to tell them supper is ready, Rose gets up and pulls her mom outside. "I think we have an Earth name," she says.

"Oh?" Donna says. "It's about time. Let's hear it." Rose watches her smile soften as she looks at the Doctor, who gets to his feet and clears his throat.

"John David Noble," he says, making her a little bow. "Nice to meet you." He takes her hand and kisses it.

"Doctor John David Noble," Rose chimes in. "Or J.D. Noble, if you want to be mysterious about it."

"I wanted to be sure there was a D. Noble in my name," the Doctor says. He still hasn't let go of Donna.

"Well," Rose says. "I'm going to wash my hands." She sees the look that passes between her mother and the Doctor. She looks over her shoulder as she goes to the kitchen and sees the Doctor wrap her mother up in an embrace. Anyone who cares to look at them can see the devotion between them.

Around the dinner table they laugh and talk as always, and Rose has a glass of wine with them. "I'm supposed to get an assignment at work on Monday," Donna says. "My first."

"Ah," the Doctor says delightedly. "Any ideas?"

"Well, Kate has me under the impression there is a kind of social work department for UNIT?" Donna says. "She referred to it as Intergalactic Humanitarian Relations."

"That sounds good for you," Rose says. "I think you'd be amazing at that, mum. It sounds like you'd be helping people."

"Yeah," Donna says. She looks to the Doctor. "What's it mean?"

"IHR is one of the most important departments in UNIT," the Doctor says. "You'll be the first contact for a lot of people coming to Earth. Most of them will be refugees or victims of crimes. Some of them will be witness protection cases. Some of them will be accidents. It all depends." He takes a sip of wine. "Oftentimes the first contact those people have with Earth can determine their entire future."

"I assume this means I'll need more familiarity with the Intergalactic Code as it pertains to those issues," Donna says. "Have to study up."

"That and the policies on assimilation, protection, identity classification," the Doctor says. "Lots to learn."

"Sounds like school, but infinitely more interesting," Rose says.

"Yeah, better than algebra," Donna says.

"Having bamboo shoved under my fingernails would be better than algebra," Rose says, and everyone laughs.

"You need a maths tutor?" the Doctor asks.

"I don't know why," Rose grumbles. "If my DNA is part-genius, maths should be easier."

Rose goes to bed around eleven PM, and Donna follows the Doctor to the TARDIS parked in the back, where they go to the library and pull out the Intergalactic Code, the Interplanetary Refugee Charter, the Shadow Proclamation's Manual on Interstellar Diplomacy, and several textbooks on the theory of interspecies assimilation and cultural diffusion. There are language manuals and translations for countless cultures contained in Interstellar Diplomacy. It's a massive amount of information. UNIT has designated the Doctor as Donna's training supervisor, so she will take her training aboard the TARDIS and attend in-person seminars as instructed. All told, the department trains for three months after the initial six-month probationary period. This means Donna has reached the end of her probationary hire and is officially appointed to IHR for her 90 days of training.

"We have some options," the Doctor says, spreading the books out in front of them on the big table in the TARDIS library. "We can read, of course."

"Right," Donna says. "And what else?"

"We could... use the psychic connection," the Doctor suggests, raising his eyebrows. "We'd have to go slow to avoid a headache, but you can technically just... learn what I know."

Donna's eyebrows also raise. "And it saves us all the reading?"

"Technically, yes."

"Spaceman," Donna says. "How long have you known me now? Do you think that if I can save myself some trouble I won't go for that option immediately?"

The Doctor grins. "Come here, Donna Noble. Sit down."

"Doctor J.D. Noble," Donna teases him as she settles herself on the sofa. Her smile is full of affection and mirth. "Where'd you get your PhD?"

"Right," he says, tweaking her nose gently. "You'll get used to it soon." He sits down next to her on the sofa and turns her to face him. He touches his fingertips to her temples and Donna flinches away, fast as lightning.

"Ow," she says, and the smile falls off his face.

"Oh, sorry--" he says, and Donna grins.

"Just kidding," she says. "Just payback for that gloop." She settles herself again and gives him a cheeky look before closing her eyes again. His fingers descend on her temples again, and she reaches out to do the same for him. They entrain onto the connection immediately, like stepping from one room to another, and the Doctor can feel Donna's bright, electric, joyful presence in his mind. He feels wrapped in her consciousness like a warm embrace, as always.

Right, he says to her in their minds. I'm going to transmit the contents of the Intergalactic Code. I'll go slow.

Good luck, Donna says.

Tell me if it hurts, he says, and Donna's eyebrows raise but she doesn't open her eyes.

Hurts?

You could get a headache if we go too fast, he responds. Get ready.

He keeps his word about going slowly, so much so that at one point Donna interjects and says, You can't speed it up a little?

Instead of an answer or any acceleration in transmission, the Doctor adds on a second layer of image and sensation, so that Donna gets a full picture of them having sex on the library floor, their clothes scattered around them. That's what I really want, he says. I'll be done soon.

Ooh, that's a nice multitask, Donna says. That'll make this much more fun.

So instead of making his transmission faster, the Doctor simply retains the second layer of sex and sensation to it. By the time he's finished with the code and is sure that Donna has absorbed it, both of them are a little out of breath when they open their eyes. "Right," he says, smiling at her with intent. "Now for your quiz."

He asks her as many questions as he can think of regarding interplanetary refugee policy and cultural crossovers. He quizzes her on the duties of the officers of IHR and where they are limited in their jurisdiction and why. When they get done, Donna settles herself on the sofa comfortably and says, "You do realize, of course, that this makes you my first and most important case?" Her smile is languid and content.

"Oi," the Doctor says indignantly. "I'm not a case, I'm your favorite person to ever exist!" Off her teasing smile he adds, "I don't think caseworkers are supposed to have my cock between their tits on a Wednesday night."

Donna laughs uproariously. "Fair play, Spaceman," she says. "But no, seriously, you're my case number one. My most important, my most personal. My most precious."

"Ah," the Doctor says, waving a hand. "But your file on me is top secret anyway, so it doesn't count."

"Shall we do another?" Donna asks, picking up Interstellar Diplomacy.

"If you like," the Doctor says.

"Yeah, and this time can you also do the sex thing again?" Donna asks. "It's much more fun that way."

It takes about three and a half minutes to transmit the entirety of Interstellar Diplomacy and its appendices, and when he's finished the Doctor leans forward and gives her an openmouthed kiss. "Done," he says. "That's enough for one sitting, you'll get a migraine."

"Well, that saves us a ton of time," Donna says, rolling her shoulders. "And it's fun. I love your active imagination, Spaceman."

"And I love this little telepathy game," he says. "Pretty great."

"Mm-hm," Donna agrees.

"I think it is very fucking hot that you can do that, Donna Noble," he tells her. "You know you're the only human alive who has this ability. Makes you special."

Donna shrugs. "All the better for me."

The Doctor leans back at his ease on the sofa and regards her contentedly. "You're gorgeous, you know."

"Shut up, Spaceman," Donna says. "You don't have to flatter me, I'm already fucking you."

"Oh, now, wait a minute," the Doctor says. "Hang on. Hear me out."

Donna smiles indulgently at him. "Go on, then."

"Do you know what it's like for me to have someone I can talk to?" he asks her. "And it's you, Donna. I missed so much time with you. And best of all you're still you but better." He gives her a once-over she can positively feel. "And you still have all that red hair." Another man would have made her blush but Donna just smiles, a million watts. "The point is," he says, "time is precious and joy is having the time to spend with those you love."

"God, if you are not the wettest, most sentimental--"

"Oh, fuck off," he says, laughing. "I love you, Donna."

She reaches over and picks up his hand and kisses it, lingering for a moment with her vivid blue eyes locked with his. "I love you, Spaceman," she says. "Don't leave me again, eh?"

"You don't leave me," he says. "C'mon, let's go to bed." They lock up the TARDIS and go back into the house together, hand in hand. He's made a nightly habit of going to bed with her, even if he doesn't stay or sleep. The routine is comforting for both of them. Tonight they decide to sleep in her room.

The Doctor changes his clothes and watches Donna shed her clothes and get into pajamas. She brushes her hair through and goes to wash her face and brush her teeth in the ensuite. Just the sheer ordinariness of these actions is inexpressibly comforting to him. No more desolate silences or dark, solitary years. Just the chance to breathe and live in the present, surrounded by comfort. Donna comes back into the room massaging a bit of lotion into her hands and arms and elbows. She climbs under the duvet and holds out her arms. "Come."

He settles himself in her arms, resting his head on her chest. "I hope you stop thinking about how much time you lost," she murmurs to him, placing a kiss or two to the top of his head among the wild spikes of his hair. "It doesn't matter."

He listens to her single heartbeat, his most tangible reminder that she's human, and temporary, and he wants her to stay. He sighs. "I just don't want to lose any more time," he says. "It's been so much."

"And now we've had six months," Donna says. "And four of me living here permanently."

"Best time of my life," he says immediately, fervently.

"Well, it's not going to change," she says. "And I'm not going anywhere. So from here on out, Spaceman, it's you and me."

"And Rosie."

"And Rosie," Donna says, laughing a little. She thinks of her daughter asleep on the floor below them in her beautiful green and blue bedroom that the Doctor had let her decorate any way she pleased. For her upcoming birthday he'd been building her a workshop in the basement of the house, a bright and spacious area with new equipment: a sewing machine, an adjustable table, a comfortable rolling chair, and all kinds of notions and trims and fabrics. He's also building her a packing station, supplied with boxes, tape, tissue paper, a label maker, anything she could imagine. Everything is immaculately organized. Even Donna doesn't know about it yet.

"Donna?" he says into the comfortable silence.

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"D'you... maybe want to stay young?" the Doctor asks. "Like. Not age?"

"What d'you mean?" Donna asks, looking down at him. He tilts his head up to look at her.

"I mean... slow down the cell aging process so that you don't age like other humans and live an indeterminate amount of time with all your abilities and mental and physical health intact?" His eyes are very bare, and in earnest. "I've been wanting to ask you."

"Can you explain it?" Donna asks.

The Doctor makes as if to sit up, but she stops him, too comforted by his solid presence in her arms to let him go. So instead he burrows back into her side and says, "I can do that. And that way you and I can be together for a long, long time."

Donna sighs, and the Doctor feels her fingers carding through his hair gently, comfortingly. "Does that mean I live to a hundred and fifty?" she asks.

"Oh, more like five hundred," the Doctor says and Donna's fingers stop moving.

"What?"

"Yeah," he says. "More like five hundred. Or more. Don't really know."

"What?" Donna asks again.

"You don't have to, you can forget I asked, but I just thought--"

"No, wait," Donna says. "Wait." She sits up and so does the Doctor. "Wait. So you're offering me five times the human lifespan?"

"Or more," he confirms.

"Where was this the first time around?" Donna asks.

"I was much too stupid and young and inexperienced to know what I needed then," the Doctor says. "But you're back. And I just thought I'd ask. You don't have to."

"So what does that mean?" Donna asks.

"It means you will outlive everyone. Rose, Shaun, your mum, everyone you know," the Doctor says. "It's not for the faint of heart. But then again if I thought you were fainthearted, I wouldn't have offered. My Donna can handle the prospect."

Donna nods slowly. "All right, Spaceman. Let me think about what that means."

"Are you all right with watching Rose grow old?"

"Doesn't every parent want their child to live a long, happy life?"

"Yes, but you'll be young still."

"And you won't do it for her too?" Donna asks.

"No," the Doctor says, simply and matter-of-factly. There's nothing else to say. Donna nods again.

"Right," she says. The implications of his refusal are enormous, but then the implications of their entire existence and relationship are enormous. "So only me."

"You're part of me," he says, another factual, simple statement. "And I'm part of you. That's how we ended up here. And that's all I care about ultimately."

Donna is quiet for a few moments. "You know," she says. "This is like a marriage proposal but much more serious."

"I have no plans to ask you to marry me," the Doctor says. "You know how I am about Earth rituals. Rituals in general."

"Yes," Donna says. "But you're asking me to commit to an unknown lifespan with you, because if we were ever not together, I would just be some medical miracle lady who no one knew when I was gonna die. I don't want that. And I don't want to live indefinitely without you. So you'd have to be able to assure me we'd be together, because I can't live centuries without you. There's no point. I'd be lost."

"Right," the Doctor says.

"So I get to keep you?" Donna asks, her palms turned upwards in a gesture of inquiry.

"You will never lose me," he says, and the truth of the statement rings in its simplicity.

"Well," she says. "Then what else is there?"

He practically knocks her over with the force of his embrace. "Fuck's sake," Donna says softly to him. "You're mine, Spaceman. You can have a happy ending."

There is a short silence and then he bursts into heartrending sobs, more forceful than she has ever seen from him. She knows he works hard to keep himself in check, and the most she'd ever witnessed was a few tears, but this is real. She clutches him close, curling her fingers into his back until her knuckles are white. "I'm here," she murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm here."

He makes very little noise, but she can feel how the sobs wrack his body, the way his chest and stomach heave and wrench with the pain. She rocks him just a little, resting her cheek on top of his head. She wants to end the pain for him but she also knows he needs the catharsis. So she rides it out with him, never once letting go of him, only shifting to murmur softly to him or kiss his head or redouble her embrace. When he starts to calm down, she presses her fingers to his temple so she can send him comforting sensations and images. He refuses to reciprocate the connection to spare her the onslaught of emotions. "You're the only one," he says to her, his voice hoarse. "You're the only one that can do this for me."

"Do what for you?" Donna asks gently.

"Make me feel better," he says simply. "I don't know what I would do without you anymore." He sits up and takes both her hands in his. "If I'm going to live it has to be with you. I need you. I couldn't tell you that the first time because I had nothing to lose. Now I have everything and I need you. That's why I asked you."

"So what was that?" Donna asks. "Me saying yes made you cry."

"Relief," he says to her earnestly. "It's relief. I was terrified I'd have to watch you grow old and die married to another man, and when he left you I didn't dare hope, but now--" He sighs a great sigh and rubs his face. "I don't have to worry anymore. We can just be."

"I did wonder about that," Donna says. Then she gives him a little smile. "Too bad you couldn't have stopped me fifteen years ago, eh?"

"Oh, you look exactly the same," he says.

"You fucking liar," Donna says solemnly, and he laughs a little through his tears. "It's more about my knees and my back than my hair," she adds.

"Ah, I'll take care of that," the Doctor says, waving a hand. He reaches out to cup her cheek. "Take all the time you need," he says. "It's not a snap decision." He can feel how Donna turns her face into his palm, seeking comfort he knows she's been without. He leans forward to kiss her gently on the lips. "Take all the time you need," he says again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Can't take too long or I'll get even older," Donna says.

"You don't mind stopping at fifty," the Doctor says.

"No, I like myself," Donna says, and she can say that honestly now. "I know who I am, I love being a mother, and I love my work." She settles herself back among her pillows and holds out her arms. "Come back."

So he wraps himself around her again and breathes another great sigh of relief. "Tale your time," he tells her. "It's on offer. I just don't want to live without you."

In the morning they drop Rose off at school together. Just before they open the doors to the UNIT London office, the Doctor takes Donna's hand. "See you later?" he asks.

"Obviously," Donna quips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to explain this whole slowdown process to me when I get back."

"Don't worry," he says. "You'll get the full information."

"Oh, I know that," Donna says, and kisses his smiling mouth. "See you later."

He's had to learn to distract himself in different ways while Donna is working, so the Doctor has joined a local engineering club in a town about an hour north of Montresor. After attending a few meetings and deciding they're a good group of people, the Doctor had discovered at the last meeting that one of them was his neighbor. His name is Laurence Miller, and the Doctor had also met his wife Simone at the last meeting when she came to pick him up. They are both about sixty, married for forty years, have three kids who are all grown up and left the nest, and a retired life in the countryside after living in Paris and Nice for most of their earlier lives.

For an experiment in his ongoing trial of living like an ordinary human, the Doctor plans to invite Laurence and Simone for dinner that Friday evening. When he runs the idea by Donna at the end of her workday, her eyes actually fill up.

"Oh, Spaceman, you made a friend," she says proudly.

"Oh, fuck's sake," the Doctor says, grinning. "I have lots of friends."

"No, but," Donna says. "You made a friend that you can be a friend with for a long time. Someone who can stay around. Who is he?"

"His name is Laurence Miller, and he has a wife called Simone, and he's part of my engineering club," the Doctor says.

"What does he call you?"

"John, mostly," the Doctor says. "Jean-Davide doesn't really trip off the tongue, and the French rarely abbreviate. And 'le Docteur' is a bit off-putting."

Donna laughs as she circles the console, the flight sequence automatic under her fingers. "What do you think we should make?"

"They said they'd be interested in anything we have to offer," the Doctor says. "So I'd say priority number one is good wine."

"Ah, but of course," Donna says, in an exaggerated French accent. "Life is pain, zat is why we have wine."

"Exactly," he says. "I'll make lamb shanks and potatoes and you can handle dessert." He adjusts several dials. "Can you make more of that fresh whipped cream with the vanilla?"

"'Course," Donna says.

"Make extra," the Doctor says, giving her a smile full of intent.

"Right," Donna says, catching his drift. She throws the thrust lever and they take off with a smooth boost.

"You're so good at that," he says. "Great takeoff. If you can land her just as nice as me I'll let you fly her solo."

"Let me?" Donna raises an eyebrow. "Mate, I don't want to fly this ship without you unless it's an emergency."

"Fair enough," he says, and Donna turns her attention back to the console to prepare for landing. She manages it with a slight thud, and gives the Doctor a smile and shrug.

"That was easy," she says.

"Smug," the Doctor says.

"Fucking right," Donna says, and walks to the doors of the TARDIS. "I am going to change my clothes and collapse in front of the telly, what d'you say?"

"Telly's a bit boring for me," he says. "I'll sit with you but I'll probably do something else."

"Fair enough," Donna agrees.

They end up with Donna draped over him on the sofa, both of them covered with the same blanket, limbs tangled. He has a book and she is watching a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough. Donna listens to his heartbeats thrumming in concert, steady and calm. He feels solid, and less thin than he had been before. Well, she'd been sure to feed him rich meals and good wine, and ate all his experiments in the kitchen with him. She'd made him a regular at the patisserie and the boulangerie for bread and sweets. Between the sound of David Attenborough's voice and the steady drum of his heartbeats, Donna is lulled to sleep.

The Doctor notes the slower rhythm of her breath and moves his book aside to look down at the redheaded woman in his arms. Now moments like this don't have to be secret, confined to the TARDIS, snatched in moments of brief reprieve where the knowledge thereof could destroy their privacy. Now he can just be with her. So he tilts his head down to press a kiss to her head and goes back to his book. If he can have this, keep this... it will be all he needs.

When Friday rolls around the Doctor spends most of it cooking and shopping while Donna is at work. It's Shaun's week to have Rose in London so they are free for the weekend.

Donna, meanwhile, has been given her first cases as part of the IHR department. That day she witnesses shivering refugees from a war on a planet located in a star system adjacent to the Milky Way Galaxy. There are about 45 of them, mostly children, blank-eyed and numb. With Donna are a second agent from her department, and a team of nurses, doctors, and therapists. The refugees are people from the planet Harbara, which has been historically a target of invasion due to its location in its star system. Another invasion has taken place, this time by a more advanced civilization, and they are the last of their city. Donna is responsible for processing their intake, and helping to direct them to housing and medical care. She knows everything she needs to thanks to her training and the Doctor's work with her, but the impact of seeing these people leaves her shaken. They are confused and terrified, hungry, some injured, others seeming to have lost their grip on reality. One little girl won't talk to her at all, but only cries, clinging to Donna like a mother. That little girl has a bloody wound on her arm that stains Donna's shirt purple, but she won't speak. The nurses take her from Donna, whose eyes are streaming tears, and another IHR agent called Danielle Charles, a veteran of the department, reminds her to get herself together.

"You can cry later," Danielle whispers to her. "They need you now. Be strong." Her own voice is a little unsteady, and Donna breathes in and out a few times.

"Yeah," she says. "Let's help."

The intake lasts the rest of her workday, and when Donna finally gets back to her office, she is exhausted and worn out. She takes her things and goes to the garage to wait for the Doctor to arrive, which he always does, right on time. Almost as soon as the TARDIS wheezes into view Donna breaks down. She gets her key out and goes into the ship, shutting the door behind her and leaning on it.

His face, in his usual big bright smile to see her again, falls right away. "Oh," he says. "What happened, Donna?" He sees the bloodstains on her shirt and neck. "Oh, no. Come here." He wraps her up tight. "What happened?"

For a moment she considers telling him about the invasion. But she knows in her bones that her Spaceman will want to help, will want to go to Harbara and fix it, and that can't happen. So instead she turns her face into his chest and lets the tears fall, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't ask any more questions until she lets go of him. "Just work," she says. "Saw a lot of hard things today."

"Like what?"

Donna shakes her head. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Donna--"

"No," she says, cutting him off. "I don't want to tell you. You'll want to go running off to fix it and I can't have that, I need you--"

"Okay," he says gently. "Okay. Let's go home, then." He starts to circle the console. "You don't have to help me fly."

Silently Donna ignores him and starts to assist in the flight sequence. She throws the lever before he can and stands wordlessly, watching the central column of the TARDIS glow blue-white, its components working away. "D'you want to cancel dinner tonight?" the Doctor asks.

"No," Donna says. "It'll distract me. When are they coming?"

"About eight thirty, I think," he says. He kisses her temple and slips an arm around her as they wait for the TARDIS to land.

"Okay," she says. "It's fine, I'll be fine as long as I have you."

When they land in the garden in France, Donna goes straight to the bathroom to wash off. "There's no weird alien disease I can catch from this blood, is there?" she asks as she scrubs herself at the sink.

The Doctor, perched on the bathroom countertop, shakes his head. "It's just blood, like yours and mine."

"It's purple," Donna says.

"Yes, less oxygenated."

"Is our air safe for them to breathe?"

"Sure," the Doctor says. "Whoever it was might be a little lightheaded at first, but they'll adjust."

"What color is your blood?" Donna asks.

"Red, like yours," the Doctor says. "Maybe redder, with the two hearts and all. More oxygen being processed."

Donna flings her stained shirt aside and strips off the rest of her clothes. "Might as well change for dinner," she says. "I'm thinking I'll make a strawberry cake for dessert."

"Ah, what a good vehicle for that whipped cream I like so much," the Doctor says, attempting to lighten the mood. Donna smiles a little bit. "There's my girl," he adds.

Her bundle of clothes in one arm and her other hand holding his, Donna pulls him into the bedroom with her and seats him on her bed. She goes to her closet and pulls out two dresses. "Purple or blue?" she asks.

"Neither," he says, and Donna turns to put the dresses back. "Something else?"

"Nope," he says, looking her over. She smiles at him.

"Spaceman," she says. "You're no help."

"Thank you," he says. He gets up and slides his hands around her hips. "I like the purple," he says, giving her the lightest kiss. "You can wear that one without a bra."

"Spaceman," Donna repeats, scandalized and delighted as he goes out of the room.

"What?" he asks innocently over his shoulder. "No pants either, all the better," he calls as he starts down the stairs.

She hears him thump merrily down the stairs and smiles to herself. She decides to wear pants after all but no bra, just for him. She can always put a sweater on.

Down in the kitchen the Doctor starts to prepare his lamb shanks and potatoes, and Donna joins him, retrieving her apron from the pantry. "Ah, perfect," he says, turning from the pile of potatoes on the counter. "Just the way I like it." He reaches out and nudges the neckline of the dress aside so that one pink nipple is exposed. "Leave it like that."

"Spaceman," Donna says a third time. "There is fire in this room. Do not subject my breasts to fire. I thought that went without saying. It's a ground rule."

He laughs and leans down to kiss her nipple, pulling the fabric back into place. "Fair enough," he says. "Take what I can get." He slants her a cheeky look. "I'm determined to distract you tonight."

"It will be appreciated," Donna says. "Meanwhile, who are these people you've invited to our home?"

"Laurence is about sixty, I'd say?" the Doctor says. "So's his wife."

"Yeah, and they call you John," Donna says. "I'm gonna have to practice."

"Oh, speaking of that," the Doctor says, and Donna turns from the fridge where she is getting out the ingredients for a cake. "I know how you can practice." He dances her back against the kitchen island and hooks his fingers in her neckline again, dropping his mouth to her neck and collarbone. His hands pull her skirt up her thighs and his fingers skim between her legs. "Oh, you did wear pants," he says, lifting his mouth from her neck.

"I did-- oh, yes," she says when he runs his tongue along her throat. He's an expert at this now in a new way, a better way than before. He always did what she liked but now he can get her off fast and efficiently and deliciously. He sucks a nipple up into his mouth, laving it thoroughly. She doesn't say many more words until he feels her wind up and her mouth opens.

"Say my fucking name," he says to her, and Donna's eyes squeeze shut in utter pleasure.

"Oh, John," she moans. "Oh, fuck, yes."

"Amazing," he tells her, continuing the motion of his hand. "Sounds fucking great."

Donna gives him a lustful little smile. "You like it?"

"I love it," he says. "it was a good choice of a name." He pulls his hand out from under her dress and Donna covers herself back up. "There. Now you've practiced."

Donna goes back to the refrigerator. "I'll work on it," she says. "We'll need to do a bit more practice as we go." She sets out her ingredients: milk, eggs, butter, sugar, flour. She has an expensive stand mixer on the kitchen island and she whips up a simple sponge in no time. While her cakes are baking and the lamb shanks sautéing in the pan, Donna changes out her bowl and adds fresh vanilla and a bit of vanilla extract to a saucepan of cream on low heat to let the bean infuse the cream. When she's happy with it, she puts the cream in the mixer with sugar and whips it until there are stiff peaks.

The Doctor moves around her efficiently and within two hours there is a meal and a strawberry shortcake thickly frosted with whipped cream. Donna retrieves two bottles from their wine storage cabinet and the Doctor sets out four wine glasses. Then he faces Donna and holds out a hand. "John Noble," he says.

Donna looks down at his hand.

"Practice," he says.

"Donna Noble," she says, without shaking his hand.

"Rude," he says, shaking his head at her. "Can't even shake a bloke's hand after he's had it in your knickers."

Their doorbell chimes, and they both look to the front door.

"Perfect timing," Donna says, grinning. She goes for the door and on the threshold is an attractive older couple, smiling and holding a shopping bag. "Hello!" she says.

"Hello, darling," says Simone, the wife, and she and Laurence give Donna the customary two kisses on each cheek.

"Come in, come in," Donna says. "John's in the kitchen." She commends herself for how naturally she said his name. She makes Simone and Laurence comfortable in their living room, and they hand her the bag which turns out to be filled with cheese and bread, which she puts out for an appetizer. She pours everyone a glass of wine and seats herself comfortably with the couple.

The Doctor comes in to join them a minute later, taking a glass of wine from Donna and smiling contentedly. He seats himself next to her on the arm of her chair, one arm around her. "Welcome to the house!" he says to Laurence and Simone. "We've done lamb shanks, potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and strawberry shortcake."

"Ah," Laurence says, raising a glass. "Sounds perfect."

"Tell us about yourselves," Donna says. "We're so glad you're here."

"Well," Laurence says. "As you know I met your husband at our engineering club. He's extremely smart."

"Thank you," Donna says proudly, not bothering to correct the mistake as she would have previously. Even back then she'd been starting to give up, since everyone seemed to take for granted that she and the Doctor were married, even without rings. It doesn't matter anymore.

"He told me the two of you just moved here a few months ago," Laurence continues. "How are you liking our little French outback?"

Donna smiles. "I love it here. Private, quiet, everything we could ask for."

Simone nods. "That's what drew us here too when we retired. After our youngest son left home, we decided no more Paris."

"How many children do you have?" Donna asks.

"Three, two sons and a daughter," Simone says. "The youngest is twenty-six now, so we've done our jobs. Do you two have children?"

"I have a daughter from my first relationship," Donna says. "With my ex-husband. She's fifteen. And we don't plan on having any children." She looks to the Doctor. "John, what d'you say we light the fire pit and have all this wine and cheese outside?"

"I'll help you with that," Simone says, and she and Donna start to gather the wine and food. The Doctor opens the garden doors and goes to check on his lamb shanks. Laurence follows him to the kitchen.

Out in the garden, where the late October air is mellow and cool, Donna arranges the food and wine and takes the top off the fire pit. Simone stops her, taking her right hand. "What a magnificent ring," she says, looking at the sapphire. "And flowers, how lovely."

Donna smiles. "Yeah, he gave it to me about a month ago," she says.

"Ah, so you are married to a romantic," Simone says. "Lucky you."

"Isn't Laurence a romantic?" Donna asks. "John tells me you've been married forty years."

"Oh, yes," Simone says. "I never would have married him if he didn't have poetry in his soul."

"Well said," Donna smiles, arranging the wooden logs in the fire pit. It's a big round structure made of stacked stones and mortar, polished and rustic looking. She pulls out a long match and strikes it, setting a pile of tinder under the logs aflame. "There we go. Give her a few minutes and she'll be big and bright." One of her sweaters is already draped over the garden chair from earlier that day, so Donna puts it on over her dress. She makes herself comfortable with Simone and smiles. "Welcome."

"Merci, darling," Simone says. "You look very happy."

Donna takes a sip of wine through a smile. "I have, in fact, never been so happy in my life."

"Well, what woman doesn't want the privilege of saying that sentence?" Simone toasts Donna, who clinks glasses with her. "To loving the love of your life."

"Hear, hear," Donna says, looking back over her shoulder at the men in the kitchen. This little masquerade as an ordinary happy family is so achingly needed by Donna, who has waited so very long to feel this feeling. They are talking animatedly about something scientific, no doubt, and Donna smiles softly. He needs friends so badly, friends with no obligations or strings or betrayals. In all honesty, so does she.

"How long have you been married now?" Simone asks.

"Oh..." Donna says. "It's a very long story."

"Oh?" Simone says. "Do you care to share it?"

Donna takes a great deep breath. "I met him fifteen years ago, before my daughter was born, and he... we... fell in love. Tried to deny it. And then we were separated by force and we lived our lives apart, and he found me seven months ago."

"Oh, my god," Simone says, putting her glass down. "He came back."

"He came back," Donna says, and the enormity of it chokes her for a moment because she's seeing it from someone else's perspective since it all happened, and recanting it makes her realize she hasn't been living in a dream for nearly a year. She clears her throat. "Sorry," she says.

"That's quite a story," Simone says. "No wonder the two of you are so closed off here. Your home is like an enclave. A lovely hideaway."

"Yes," Donna says. That is entirely deliberate, even beyond the rules of UNIT for their safety. "I don't think we've really recovered from being apart for so long. We just don't want to be disturbed."

"How incredible," Simone says. "How did he find you?"

"I think he was looking," Donna says, and while that's not strictly true, it's how it had evidently played out. "And I just knew I had to be with him. He's part of me. There's no line." Then she seems to realize she's been pouring her heart out to this lady who barely knows her. "Excuse me," she says, a bit sheepishly. "I know I'm gushing--"

"Oh, no," Simone says. "Do you think I don't know what a woman in love looks like? It's lovely. I wish you happiness and peace, you've clearly earned it."

If you only knew, Donna thinks. Sometimes she sits in her garden and just looks at things. She knows that she is even still alive because of her own heroic actions, though she never seems able to really absorb that fact. It's part of why she's still so surprised to be so thoroughly loved by this brilliant man. She has never truly absorbed that she has saved the actual entire universe before in her life. Even without that he would love her, but that's an idea Donna can't yet accept. Maybe now knowing that she had saved everyone everywhere at one point in her life, even if it cost her half of herself, gives her a reason to think maybe she's earned his love and this life.

"Well surely you can see him with Laurence," Simone says. "He's alive with joy." The men are laughing in the kitchen while the Doctor plates the food for everyone.

"Yeah," Donna says. "Isn't he just." She's so glad. She looks back at Simone. "Me too."

"Mesdames," Laurence pokes his head out the garden doors. "Shall we eat around the fire?"

"We can do that," Donna calls back. "Do you need help?"

Laurence shakes his head. "No," he says. "You stay there. Entertain my wife. She gets up to no good when she's bored." He goes back inside the kitchen. "Your wife is quite a lady!" he says to the Doctor, who smiles proudly and doesn't bother correcting him.

"Isn't she just," he agrees.

"How long have you been married now?" Laurence asks.

"Tell you the truth, mate," the Doctor says. "We only found each other again seven months ago."

"Again?" Laurence says. "You were separated?"

The smile on the Doctor's face fades. "Yeah," he says. "And I didn't... I don't think either of us ever thought we would see each other again, but I had to look for her. I had to know she was all right."

"That's quite a love story," Laurence says. "If you don't mind me asking you, what separated you?"

"War," the Doctor says, which is as close to the truth as he can get.

Laurence's smile fades. "Oh," he says. "Forgive me, you don't have to say anything else."

The Doctor shakes his head. "Sorry for bringing the tone of the evening down. Why don't we get out there?"

Laurence puts a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that. Simone and I have always been grateful for our boring lives." He and the Doctor go out with two plates each, and join Donna and Simone around the fire.

And for the next few hours they laugh and talk with Simone and Laurence like any ordinary people, until around one in the morning. They've shifted position so that the Doctor is sitting behind Donna with his arms around her. "We'd best get on the road," Simone says, yawning. "What excellent wine."

"Thank you," Donna says, a bit tipsy herself. Laurence, ever the responsible driver, has nursed a glass for the last hour or so.

"You light an excellent fire," Simone says, getting to her feet. "An evening to be applauded."

Donna makes a little bow, and she and the Doctor see Simone and Laurence to the door. Once they're in the car and driven away, Donna turns to the Doctor. "So, John," she says playfully. "Did you like our little performance tonight? Our Regular People Show?"

"You did very well," he says, and Donna makes another little bow.

"And so did you, Spaceman," she says. "If I didn't know better I'd say you had a good time."

"Ah, but luckily you know better," he jokes, and Donna nods.

"I do," she says. "No, but really. Did you? We can do it again." She watches him go back to the garden to gather the dishes instead of answering her. "We can, if you want," she says again.

The Doctor puts the dishes into the sink. He turns to her. "You had to know that tonight was a dream come true for me," he says. "I can't remember the last time I felt so at peace." He goes back out to get the wine glasses to avoid the moment, and Donna takes them out of his hands when he gets back inside the kitchen.

"Spaceman," she says, and the word is filled with so much love. It makes him stop and listen. She's really the only person he'll listen to anyway. And it helps that she looks so pretty just then, in one of his favorite dresses with a cozy sweater over it, her hair shining in the warm kitchen light. She smells like perfume and wine and that essence that is entirely hers, one that humans can't detect but that he can, and that comforts him.

"We'll do it again eventually," he says, ambivalent about it all.

"Don't you like them?"

"Yes," the Doctor says. "Of course. Laurence is a good bloke. I just... maybe we don't really want a bunch of people around us?"

Donna smiles. "Security concerns or you just don't want to share me?"

"Call it both," he says. "In equal measure." He tilts his head towards the sink. "I'll do the dishes if you put out the fire."

"Deal," Donna says, and he watches her walk back out into their thriving garden. He watches her douse the flames and turn off the firepit, putting the round metal shell back over the top. When she walks back inside, closing the garden doors behind her, he comes to pull her back in by the waist.

"Do you really mind that it's going to be a show from here on out?" he asks her. "Everything we do as normal people is a show."

"Well, yeah," Donna says as if it's obvious. "'Course it is! No giving away the game."

"Might wear on you."

"Oh, please," Donna rolls her eyes. "It's literally the best secret in the entire universe. Why would I mind keeping it?" She tilts her chin up to look at him properly. "I live with a time traveling alien who's a billion years old and mysteriously never dies, and who is going to confer upon me the closest to functional immortality that exists with the added bonus of super-slow aging so I get to keep my fabulous hair. You think I can't put on a couple of dinner parties a few times a year for that? A Christmas here or there? For the entire universe at my feet for as long as I can imagine?"

He pulls her in to kiss her and Donna says, "Speaking of which, Spaceman, when does my youthful journey begin?" instead of kissing him back. She feels the Doctor huff a laugh against her lips and closes the gap between them, kissing him deeply.

"Let's say tomorrow," he says. "I have more important things to do now."

"Like dishes?" Donna asks.

"Fuck no," he says, pulling her by the hand up the stairs.

He does do the dishes of course, after, when Donna is lying contentedly on her bed. She just smiles at him languidly when he gets up and puts his shorts back on. "I'll be back," he says.

Before long Donna can hear the hum of the dishwasher. She pulls a blanket over herself and thinks about what she's been offered. The chance to outlive everyone. The chance to see her daughter through an entire life, and to stay the same as she is now. The chance to be loved, as long as she lives, no matter where in the universe she goes. The chance to love, to be free to love the man she thinks she was always destined to know. The chance to exist, to no longer be invisible, lonely, defective, unimportant Donna. How could anyone turn that down?

And she'll be useful to UNIT and IHR for as long as she's able. Think of how many people she could help. How many wounds she could heal, how many psyches she could repair. How much progress she could see and help to come to pass. She can do good for as long as she can.

And for love, she can give up the normal life. It was never much for her anyway. So when he comes back into the room she is solemn. "So tomorrow I get to live forever," she says, resting her chin on her hand on his chest.

"Not forever," he says. "But yeah."

"Will it hurt?"

"I don't know," the Doctor says. "It's a process invented by Gallifreyans alongside the regeneration technology. Regeneration doesn't hurt, but you never know." He squeezes her a little. "I won't let you suffer."

"And it'll work?"

"It's been used before for scientific and legal purposes," the Doctor says. "So yes, it works. But you'd be the first and only human to ever have undergone the process."

Donna rolls her eyes. "How many more times is that going to happen to me?" she asks, smiling. "The first and only human to undergo a metacrisis. The first and only human to engage psychically. The first and only human to get awards from aliens for heroism. You know. Old hat for me now, Spaceman." She gives him a playfully wicked look. "I'm special."

"Yes," he says. "Finally, you get it." It's nine million people... who cares about me? And out of nine million, out of eight billion, out of the infinity, she will always be the one. For her, he will live the normal life.

In the end it doesn't hurt. Donna goes into the TARDIS with him at sunrise, since neither of them managed to sleep but instead talked until the sky turned light again. She goes to the medbay with him, and clings to his hand until he helps her onto the bed. "Don't be scared," he tells her. "On the other side of this is our life."

"How long is it going to take?" Donna asks.

"Don't know," the Doctor says.

"You don't know much," Donna says softly, without rancor.

"It's never--"

"Been done on a human before, I know," Donna says, finishing his sentence. She squeezes his hand. "Here we go."

He pulls out the Chameleon Arch and connects to the mainframe of the TARDIS processor. He gives her a look full of affection and love as he places it on her head. She reaches up to adjust it and breathes deep. "I'm gonna turn it on in a moment," the Doctor says. "Stay with me."

She nods, and a moment later she feels her entire body go rigid, as if she has been bound in straps. There is a prickling sensation, a great shrieking ring in her ears that makes her wince, and then she is shivering uncontrollably. It seems to go on for ages, but eventually Donna feels her body slow and still. She is out of breath and a little shaky, but she opens her eyes to see the Doctor still standing there. He looks concerned and scared, until she says, "Blimey. What the fuck was that?"

He makes a noise between and laugh and a sob, pulls the Chameleon Arch off her, and helps her sit up. "You all right?"

"I feel fine," Donna says. "Maybe a bit dazed?" She gets to her feet and stands still for a moment, the Doctor's hands hovering on either side of her to catch her if she falls. She looks down at herself. "What now?"

"Er," the Doctor says. "I think we're done."

"Oh," Donna says. "Good. I could use a giant meal and to sleep for days."

"Those are good side effects," the Doctor says. "There we go. Let's go eat and you can get into bed."

Donna ends up sleeping nearly a full 24 hours afterwards. She wakes up feeling no different physically. When she comes down to the living room the Doctor is sitting there attempting to look as if he has not been anxiously checking on her for the last day and night to make sure she's still breathing. He'd been resisting the urge to wake her up for nearly that long. He smiles with relief when she joins him on the sofa. "Status report?" he asks her, only half-playfully.

"Er," Donna says, considering. "I just slept the entire day and night, right?"

"Yep. Hungry?"

"Maybe?" Donna asks. "So now what? Is something supposed to happen?"

"I'm pretty sure it's what doesn't happen that will tell us we were successful."

"What time is it?" Donna asks.

"About 3:30 in the morning," he says.

"I love these weird hours with you," Donna says. She moves to nestle up against him. "I feel exactly the same."

"Good," he says. "Time will tell, as usual." He hands her the TV remote. Their TV is wi-fi enabled, of course, and it's hooked up to the TARDIS computer via said wi-fi, so they can get any programming they want, past or present, Earth or not. Donna settles on reruns of Seinfeld, since she had discovered it during their long, happy, timeless nights together. She stretches out so that her head is resting on his chest. He puts his arm around her, under her arm so he can rest his hand on her breast. It's an easy, possessive move, and Donna smiles to herself, hoping he can't see it.

After a few minutes, Donna says, "I can't decide whether this show is funny or not."

"The audience thinks it is," the Doctor says. Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Is it a laugh track?"

"Maybe," the Doctor says. There is a comfortable little silence.

"Will we always live here?" Donna asks.

"If you like," the Doctor says. "We can go anywhere if you get bored of France. We just have to let UNIT know. We have time."

"Yeah," Donna says. She puts her hand over the Doctor's. The sapphire ring glints in the light from the TV.

They finally do have time.