Disclaimer: the nearest I am to owning these is paying my licence fee.
A/N: if every single character David Tennant plays can be paired with someone else, why not with Catherine Tate? He is currently playing D.I. Alec Hardy in a murder mystery called "Broadchurch" btw.
A/N2: I was asked if I'd be producing fic for a picture of David and Catherine I made... and guess what happened! Hee hee

The First Cut Is The Deepest

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DI Hardy sighed in exasperation as he sat down on the cliff top bench and looked out to sea. Somewhere out there lay the answer, he was sure of it.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me the time, please?" a female voice asked him from a point behind his left ear.

He turned and wondered, "Why are you bloody asking me?" His tone was far too angry for a general enquiry, so he amended his words. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude."

She smirked back at him when he made no attempt to answer her question. He didn't even make a show of looking at his watch; she found that quite telling. "I asked because if you want to know the time, ask a policeman," she tritely replied.

"What makes you think I'm a policeman?" he countered. Did he have a neon light over his head now?

"In the same way I know I'm not." She triumphantly grinned and then walked forward before plonking herself down onto the empty space on the bench beside him. "Just in case you were wondering if I'm stalking you, I overheard you introduce yourself to the bloke in the paper shop."

"Oh," he breathed in relief, and then peered at her. There was something familiar… "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Nah!" she answered after hesitating. She had just deliberately lied, and he knew it, judging by the expression on his face. "I've got one of those faces that seems familiar and blends easily into the crowd."

"No, I'd remember you," he said as he carefully considered her. One thing he would definitely have noticed in a crowd was the colour of her shoulder length hair; a rich, ginger shade. It was unusual and striking.

"And yet you have no idea who I am," she re-joined in amusement. "Anyway, I can't sit about chatting here all day. Good luck finding that missing dog," she wished him as she stood up.

"I wasn't looking for a missing dog," he petulantly contradicted.

"I know." A cheeky smile was shot in his direction as she sauntered off, unfazed by his attitude.

He watched the woman walk away, and made mental notes about her possible identity. Long ginger hair worn loose stated that she didn't have to worry about performing menial tasks; plus her makeup was carefully applied to look as natural as possible. She was of a similar age to him yet her hands were bare of any wedding ring, however he suspected that hadn't always been the case. Her clothing had been fairly nondescript; a green padded jacket, and dark blue jeans, worn with fashionable wellington boots. But the quality of her clothing was designer label to his trained eye, despite her appearance straining to be otherwise.

Why would she want to be less than she was? That intrigued him. Could she be travelling incognito? A millionaire pretending to be one of the people, or possibly one of those rich girls that loved to slum it? It wasn't exactly unknown. Her accent certainly teetered on the edge of mockney; not quite middle class and not cockney.

If he had to choose a name for her he would probably decide on… Melissa. She looked like a Melissa. Perhaps she had married money? There wasn't a moneyed air about her.

A grin appeared briefly on his features when he caught sight of her in the distance. She had certainly distracted his thoughts away from his anxieties for some welcome minutes. For that he would be grateful.

The next time he saw her was as he walked into the Hampton Hotel on the outskirts of Broadchurch. For a moment he did not recognise her because she was dressed immaculately in creamy coral coloured clothing that complemented her hair and complexion superbly. Her dress and matching coat were knee length; and were worn with matching shoes and handbag. Even her nail polish matched. This was a woman who took care of the little details in life.

She was walking passed and away from the reception desk when the receptionist called out, "Excuse me, Ms Noble, but there was a message for you!"

She turned, wafting expensive perfume in her wake, as she stretched out to take the envelope; and she flashed the receptionist a beautiful smile in gratitude. "Thank you, Claire. And could you book me a table for tonight, about 6.30 if you can?"

"Certainly," the person who was now identified as Claire beamed back.

As she turned back to head towards what he assumed to be her room, the previously unknown woman caught a glimpse of him standing dumbstruck within the entrance to the foyer and gave him a small nod of recognition. "Hello," she murmured politely and started to resume her journey.

"Ms Noble!" he called out against his better judged.

But it worked. She stopped walking away from him and gazed at him quizzically.

"Yes, Inspector Hardy, wasn't it? What can I do for you?" she wondered.

He strode up, not speaking again until he was directly in front of her. "May I have a word in private?" he requested.

She shot the receptionist a nervous glance. Obviously she was wondering what she had done wrong for a few milliseconds before dismissing the idea as being feasible. "Certainly, where would you like me?"

Was it him or was there a certain gleam in her eye? It sounded like a possible innuendo to his ears; but then again, he might be pushing his wish fulfilment onto this scenario. "We could talk in the bar or in your room. Wherever you feel more comfortable," he suggested; placing the ball in her court, just to see what her reaction would be.

She seemed to think it over for a couple of seconds, and then she smiled a sweetly fake smile at him. "I think, for your sake, it had better be the bar," she breathily replied, speaking barely above a whisper.

And then she swept away from him.

He quickly followed to find her ordering drinks for them already from the barman. "Place it on my room bill. Room 328," she told him confidently.

Obviously she was used to giving out orders, Hardy noted; and then sat on the padded seat opposite her when she beckoned him over to a table.

"Is this a professional visit?" she asked as he adjusted the cloth on the knees of his trousers to sit more comfortably.

"I can make it so," he offered. "Where were you on the morning of the 17th last month?"

She smirked back at him as the barman appeared with a teapot, a jug of fresh milk, sugar and two teacups on a tray. "Thank you," she said before returning her attention to her guest. "At Gatwick Airport, going to a meeting in Helsinki," she told Hardy. "But I can give you a suitable alibi if you like."

"What?!" he blurted out before realising it; and she openly laughed at his shocked face.

"I take it you don't need to tell your wife that you were with your girlfriend then," she assumed with some amusement.

"I don't have a wife anymore, or a girlfriend come to that," he admitted; although he did not understand why he was telling her this.

"Really? Poor you!" she crooned at him, and began to pour out the tea. "Would you like me to find you one?"

"No thanks, I'll just take the tea," he testily answered as he accepted the offered cup.

"Then why did you follow me, Inspector?" she asked bluntly.

"I didn't follow you," he denied.

She snorted her scorn. "This is you not following me," she remarked gesturing towards his seated form. "You'll have to tell me eventually why you are sitting here drinking tea with me. You might as well tell me now."

"I just…," he started to explain and halted. "I spotted you and thought I'd find out more."

"There you go," she calmly commented, and stirred her tea before sipping it carefully. "I knew you'd tell me. What exactly did you want to know? Have you figured out why I'm familiar yet?"

"Erm… no," he confessed.

"Oh dear, this isn't very good for my ego." She then laughed a small tinkling laugh as she mocked herself. "I'm Donna Temple-Noble, or rather was. I help run a children's charity."

He sunk back in his seat as he relaxed more. "Oh yes! Now I remember you!" He grinned triumphantly. "You provided information for the Westcourt case I was on."

"Information is my forte," she re-joined proudly. "My favourite days are when we provide the right sort so that children are reunited with the people who love them."

"It must be depressing to deal with runaways all the time though," he commented.

"About as much as dealing with murders, I should think," she replied, "and we all run away from something." She then paused as she drank her tea. "What am I allowed to know about you?" she impishly wondered.

"There's nothing to tell," he immediately insisted.

"Oh I think there is," she disagreed. "For instance, this is almost a date and you haven't told me your first name."

"Haven't I?" His tone was a falsely surprised one. "I don't like the name Alec so I prefer to be called Hardy."

"Most people would have made a name up. Or do you fancy yourself as more of an Inspector Morse?" Donna pondered, and finished drinking her tea. "Am I keeping you from your duties, Inspector Hardy?"

"I see I've gone back to merely being a policeman in your eyes," he commented.

"Well, if you don't even trust me to use your name…" She then stuttered and went rather glassy-eyed. "Names are powerful things when spoken." She quickly shook herself as a blush crept up her face. "I do apologise; I don't know what came over me. I'd better go and lie down for a while." As she stood up she said, "Thank you for taking tea with me."

Hardy stood too, and thrust out his hand in offering to shake hers. "Thank you Ms Noble for the chat."

She found herself automatically shaking his hand, and was impressed with how smooth and gentle his hands were as she was held within his grasp. "Anytime you feel like another chat, Inspector Hardy, come and follow me again," Donna offered.

"If I were to do so, is it likely you would be found in this hotel in the next couple of days? Like, say, this evening around seven o'clock?" Hardy questioned her. To his delight she giggled.

"There's nothing wrong with your hearing, I take it." She smirked at him. "I'll be staying here until Thursday, when I return to London; unless you can provide a reason for me to stay longer. If you have no plans for dinner, why don't you come and eat with me? I'm sure they can find an extra chair for my table. "

"Do you have guests?" he cautiously wondered.

She leaned in to whisper into his ear, "It would be just me… and you; if you'll care to join me."

"That would be lovely," he answered, eager to see how she would tease him next.

The slow sly grin he expected appeared on her face.

"I don't mind how you dress, but I will expect you to be punctual for 6.30. If that's a problem I may have to punish you," she breathily told him. "Now I have to go to bed and you can join me later."

Later? Did she mean her bed, or was she referring to more innocent pursuits. The teasing leer he got as she glided away fuelled his curiosity and his interest. Who cared? That was a treat to be discovered later that day. For now he could run all the possibilities through his head; once he had questioned the occupant of room 36 thoroughly.

It was as Hardy left room 36 to make his way back to the station and sign off from his shift that he smelt her perfume again. He had only taken a step down on the staircase when a voice called out to him.

"I was hoping you'd still be here," came the cry from someone leaning over the bannister above him.

Hardy looked up and saw Donna standing there, regarding him with interest. "Hello Ms Noble. Were you waiting to tell me something?" he asked, even though that wasn't the question running in his head.

She smirked down at him. "You could say that. Why don't you come up?"

She then moved away from the bannister before he could answer. So he changed direction, and started to bound up the stairs two steps at a time; until he came to the same landing she was standing on, waiting for his arrival. She certainly seemed to know how to get him to follow her without question.

"Seeing as you've come running, I'd better make us some tea," she commented when he stood catching his breath and pretending that he didn't need to do so.

As expected, she turned and walked down the adjoining corridor as though he would be hard on her heels; which he was. She led him into a fairly large sized room and made her way over to the kettle sitting on the counter top and switched it on. Sitting beside it were two cups and the usual accoutrements for making tea and coffee. "Do you want anything with your tea?" she calmly offered him. "And sit yourself down, please," she quickly added when she realised he was still standing somewhat self-consciously a few feet away from her. She indicated towards the two mismatched chairs standing by the window.

He politely took the less comfortable looking desk chair and left the tub chair for her to sit in. She smiled her gratitude as she brought over their cups. "Sorry, they only have that horrid UHT milk and the choice of biscuits was shortcake."

"That's okay," he replied as he took his offered cup from her hand. He then joked, "We mustn't keep meeting for tea like this. People will talk."

A small laugh burst from her lips. "Idle talk always happens around me. I suppose I ought to have warned you about that."

"I can cope," he confidently assured her.

"Oh yes, I forgot," she remarked as she thoughtfully regarded him. "You've been on television making appeals to the public."

"Once or twice," he confirmed.

They both sipped their tea.

"I don't normally do this," he confided suddenly.

A frown briefly appeared on her face. "Which part of 'this' don't you normally do? And why do I get the impression I won't like the answer?"

"Oh no, it's nothing like that," he said to quell her fears. "I don't normally sit and take tea in the afternoon with a friend, albeit a brand new friend in your case."

"Are you lacking friends or tea in your life," she wondered.

"Hmm." He sat and thought then how best to reveal his current lonely state. "There's plenty of tea in my life."

"Then I did the right thing," she proclaimed.

His tea cup halted halfway to his mouth. "Right thing? You make me sound…" Hardy screwed his face up in disgust.

But Donna sat there unfazed. "Is it wrong to speak to people you think will be interesting? Who have a quality that you know you could help with?"

He stood up, anger flaring in him. How dare she make him sound like a charity case?!

Before he could even utter his contempt, she was standing by his side, reaching out to touch his arm; partly to retain him, and partly in consolation. Her voice and manner were of someone approaching an injured animal, which normally would have enraged him even more, but her words stopped him from retreating.

"I'm sorry I've offended you, but you remind me so much of a friend I once had. You have the same mannerisms, the same soulful eyes; so I assumed you have the same guilty feelings held deep within you. And I know you're hiding your pain, right here." She tenderly placed a hand on his torso over the worse of his pain. "I don't know how, but I know you are hiding so much more than your physical pain, cutting yourself off by using your need to get things done." Realising that she had his full attention, she carried on, "Most of all, I know you need a friend, and I'm offering to be that. It's one of the few things I am good at."

"Why me?" he hoarsely asked, shocked by this encounter and the spell she was weaving over him.

A fond smile spread over her face. "Because you deserve to have a friend," she answered.

"I don't," he countered. He was mesmerised by her movements as her hands fluttered in front of him before smoothing a course up his arms; her eyes steadily fixed on his.

When her hands reached his head, for one moment he thought she was going to land on his temples, but she retracted them to land on his shoulders instead. Her comforting smile drew him in, and he wrapped his arms around her waist; pulling her closer, until their bodies touched. A pulse of energy passed between them; the feeling was indescribable, but he knew he didn't want to let go. She had suddenly become his anchor in a stormy sea; his safe harbour; and he wanted to luxuriate in its comfort.

It was so easy to lean forward and rest his head on her shoulder, let her encase him within her embrace, and accept the deep hug that he willingly took. How long had it been since someone had hugged him? Far too long, and he was starving from such neglect.

When she began to caress and stroke his hair, he was unable to stop himself from burrowing further into her embrace. This was what returning to home was like; and he was loathe to leave.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled apologetically after some moments; ashamed of his weakness and need for physical comfort.

"Don't be," she whispered into his ear. "There's no need to be; not with me."

"But Donna…" He lifted his head to protest otherwise and found her lips within centimetres of his own. Would they offer the same comfort as the rest of her body? There was only one way to find out, so he crossed the gap between them and pressed their mouths together.

He landed on soft, pliable lips that moved beneath his own in encouraging sweeps. A warm glow began to fill his body. Breaking from their kiss, he dreamily wondered, "Are you a witch?"

"Some seem to think that," she playfully admitted. "What sort of magic would you like me to use?"

"Get me away from here."

His hard features told her all she needed to know in order to help him. His soul was crying out for release; to express his pain. There would be nowhere he could happily live until he did.

"Let's see what I can do," she murmured as she eased back into another kiss.

The only sound that escaped from them was gasps for breath as they hungrily kissed one another. They quickly moved on to open mouthed kisses, tasting and teasing each other with their tongues.

As passion built between them, his hands moved down to cup her bottom, urging her to grind on his lower torso and feel his arousal. She knew where this would lead if she let it, if she took that leap of faith that her mind had told her was necessary and her body was screaming out for. It had been a long time for her, since she had last made love with someone. She suspected it been an awfully long time for him too.

Kiss after desperate kiss they shared. She wondered why she felt this deep-seated desire for him, why she needed him so much; it was more than a gut instinct that called out to her. It was as if she were offering herself as a sacrifice to her own personal god; that by giving in to this attraction she would end so many hardships. It was an offering she was more than willing to make.

But not now. This was neither the right time nor the right place. A tryst in a hotel bedroom was so passé it was ridiculous! To give in made her little more than a tart, and she was so much more than that.

Weaving a hand between them, she pushed them apart. Hardy found himself completely flabbergasted about why she had separated them when things were getting interesting.

"Is there a problem?" He tried desperately to keep his voice on an even keel rather than express the deep hurt he felt.

She smoothed a consoling hand over his shoulder. "The problem is me, I'm afraid. I'm liable to use you in a way that is unthinkable."

"Why?" he forced himself to ask.

Donna placed a kiss on his jaw before answering honestly, "I'll come clean with you. As I'm no spring chicken, I want to have a baby before it's too late, and I need a daddy donor. In particular, I want you to be the daddy donor; so I'd like you to think about it."

Now he had NOT expected that to come out of her mouth! "Are you bloody mad?" he wondered.

She shook her head. "No, merely desperate; but I don't want to force fatherhood on you. Something tells me that can have fatal consequences. But let me know if you are willing to help me. If not, then…" She shrugged her shoulders. "You can still join me for dinner later and there'll be more when we have time. Should you want it, of course?"

He felt as though he was bathed in warmth as she smiled at him. This was an experience in this godforsaken place that he was more than willing to repeat. "Just name your day," he tried to say enigmatically.

That gained a tinkling laugh. "I have to go back to London, remember. But that doesn't mean you can't come with me. What do you say, Alec?"

It was the first time she had actually used his name, and he found that he rather liked the way she said it. "Throw in a cup of tea and I'm yours."

Hmm. Now that sounded really promising; to both of them. This was a relationship that had potential.

A/N3: you will find an extended, more adult, version of this on AO3.

A/N4: I've decided to lump all 8 parts together rather than posting them separately (at least I think I'm stopping at 8).