"You did say 'anywhere'," the Doctor pointed out.

He immediately knew that it was precisely the wrong thing to say at that moment (though, to be honest, he actually couldn't remember the last time he'd dropped them into a situation like this and managed to say anything that didn't make Donna look less than impressed). He half-hoped that the rushing of the wind would drown out his words.

He was never that lucky.

Donna's answering glare proved that she'd heard him just fine. She shouted over the noise, "'Anywhere,' I said, 'as long as for once it's not raining, or snowing, or in the middle of some volcanic eruption, or any other place where the sky might as well be literally falling.' And I seem to recall that there was this thing you said in return. You remember that thing, right?"

"Now, Donna..." the Doctor said, backing away slowly.

"Well I definitely remember, because you sounded even cockier than usual about it, and because temps have to have excellent memories; better than Time Lords, apparently. You said, 'Donna, if there's one thing I can manage with my eyes closed and my fighting hand tied behind my back, it's landing on a beach in Spain on a warm, sunny Tuesday afternoon, because there's nothing the TARDIS likes better than setting down on a beach, or on a Tuesday.' Well guess, what? This isn't exactly sunshine we're standing in. Also? It's a Sunday! And, according to that couple back there, Christmas. I already told you how I hate Christmas, remember? Well, I hate rain at Christmas even more, so thanks a lot."

"It's not my fault!" the Doctor claimed. "It's a freak storm, I'm telling you. I swear it wasn't meant to rain today."

"Oh, right, sure. And do you even know what year we're actually in?" Donna asked pointedly.

The Doctor frowned, thinking that clearly that wasn't the point. "Well it wasn't raining when we parked, anyway. Well, not more than the tiniest little drizzle. Well, all right, maybe a bit more than that, but it definitely wasn't gushing down anything like it is now." Donna didn't look placated in the slightest. "All right; you're right," the Doctor finally offered sheepishly. "Maybe this wasn't the best timing ever. But you have to admit, I did manage to land us on a beach. Nothing stopping us from still going for that nice stroll along the shore that you mentioned a while back."

Donna gestured demonstratively around them, veritable rivers of water flicking off her outstretched hands as she moved them. "When I said that you should think about taking up a single normal hobby like taking long romantic walks on the beach," she began, "what exactly was it that made you think that right in the middle of a monsoon would be the best time to start?"

"Oi, perfectly good time for a walk, monsoons. In fact, as you said, it's the best time. Not that this is monsoon season, anyway. At least, I don't think so. But you just don't see enough people taking advantage of this kind of weather. Look: we've got the whole beach to ourselves because of it. What could be better?"

"Yeah? Well how about this for 'better'? You can go for your walk on the beach and risk getting swept away by some massive storm wave thing or getting lost because the rain's coming down so thick that I can't see two feet in front of me – and don't try and tell me that your 'superior' spaceman senses are letting you do any better on that count, because I've known you long enough now not to believe a word of that rubbish. As for me, I'll go back to the nice, warm TARDIS and – here's a thought – not meet an untimely end just because of pure stubbornness. How's that work for you?"

Donna started stalking away – or more sort of flouncing, really, as far as the Doctor was concerned – but the Doctor quickly called after her. She sighed, clearly annoyed at being forced to continue standing in the downpour any longer than strictly necessary, but she did stop in her tracks.

"I've got a better idea," the Doctor offered. "How about we both go for that walk along the beach, only we go in the exact direction of the TARDIS, and we take the walk at a bit of a brisk pace. And by 'brisk pace', I mean a jog at the very least. Or, even better, there's always that thing that we do best."

"What, you mean fighting off aliens?" Donna asked.

"Nope, not that one. I mean the running," said the Doctor with a grin.

Donna huffed, but she apparently couldn't quite stop the slight smile that was quirking at the corners of her lips. She'd been right to say that they'd been together long enough that he could hardly ever fool her anymore, but the opposite was definitely true as well. He knew that she wasn't really even half as bothered as she was acting, not least because she had to be aware that he'd make it up to her, just as he always did.

When he reached out his hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly at her, she rolled her eyes and grabbed on tight. With that human warmth of her skin touching him, the water suddenly didn't seem as cold.

The Doctor went to break into the mentioned run, but was beaten to it as Donna unexpectedly sprang into action with a laugh, tugging him along behind her.

He really didn't mind following happily behind her, even as she (probably on purpose) kicked wet sand back onto his trousers and paid no attention to his shocked squawks of protest.

As long as it made her happy, he thought fondly.

Yet again, Donna sneezed violently enough that her whole body whipped forward before she slumped back against the cushions. The Doctor reached over and reassuringly patted her shoulder before trying to surreptitiously inch a little further away, though he quickly found that he was being trapped in place by the armrest of the coach they were sitting on.

It wasn't that he was worried about catching something, even with her sneezing in his general direction – it'd been a good two hundred years or so since his immune system had last failed to immediately annihilate something as basic as a silly human virus – but however much he wanted to be there for her in her time of need, he was also a little worried about being within striking distance when she was in this sort of mood... especially when he was the one who'd caused it. The last couple of years had repeatedly proven that one human thing to which the Doctor was clearly not immune was a sound slap.

"Do you know whose fault this is?" Donna asked, as if reading his mind.

"Er... mine?" the Doctor said tentatively, shuffling in place as if hoping the armrest would magically give way right at that second.

"Well duh. That bit goes without saying. But I don't believe for a second that you actually ever have any say in where we're going."

"I'll have you know that I'm in complete control of every aspect of this ship," the Doctor protested.

Being tired and ill didn't affect Donna's ability to pull off a look of complete disbelief.

"So since you're obviously not the one in charge," Donna continued as if he hadn't spoken a word, "this is really all down to your ship. If it hadn't landed us in the middle of the biggest storm to hit Earth in a couple of dozen centuries –"

"Actually, that would be the one in Thailand in 2394," the Doctor corrected, then quailed slightly under the expression that Donna shot his way. "But that's not the point at all, even slightly. Sorry. Go on."

"If it hadn't landed us there, then I'd never have got sopping wet and freezing cold, and I wouldn't be sick now," Donna concluded.

The Doctor reminded her, "We've got a roaring fire going to warm you up now, even if it might be a few days too late. It's the thought that counts, I'm told. And you might still have fallen sick anyway," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "You probably would have been exposed to the germs one way or another; the elements just made you more prone to succumbing to them."

"You're really not helping your case here."

"No, I can tell that," the Doctor said, wincing slightly. "Know how I can tell? Well, there's the fact that my brain can categorise all sorts of tiny details that the human race won't ever become physiologically advanced enough to notice without technical aids, and it can sort out what all of those things mean in just milliseconds. Milliseconds, Donna! Don't tell me you're not at least a tiny bit impressed with those Time Lord senses you were disparaging not that long ago. But mostly, I can tell because of the very obvious – even to a human – way your fingernails are digging into my knee. You can stop that any time now, by the way. It really tingles, and not in the nice way that that massage chair you told me to sit down and wait in when you made me take you shopping the other week did, either."

"I thought you said we were in this together," Donna reminded him. "What happened to 'I won't leave your side 'til we get you better, if you want' and 'your pain is my pain'?"

"Well, I didn't mean to be quite that literal, did I?" the Doctor muttered. "I mean, I really don't fancy having to share all your symptoms. The red, blotchy nose alone is –"

Donna swiped at the Doctor, missing her change to make his nose red and swollen to match hers by less than an inch as he leapt back out of the way.

"Actually, now that I think about it," the Doctor said hastily, "I think I might have a cure for the common cold stashed somewhere in the console room storage under 'C'. I should just... go... look for that. Yeah."

"I thought you weren't planning on leaving unless I wanted you to," Donna griped.

"I'm not leaving," the Doctor said, "I'm running away. It's what I do best!"

As the Doctor strategically retreated, he realised that he'd been wrong after all.

Time Lord immune system or no, getting too close to Donna Noble when she was ill could apparently still be very much hazardous to his health.