Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, especially the Doctor – He just pops in for tea sometimes.

Summary: Donna Noble and the Doctor at three *very* different times.

A/N: We have arrived at the final closing time. Thank you all for joining me.

Another Closing Time

Chapter 3

Closing time: One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer.

Closing time: You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

("Closing Time" – Semisonic)

Donna Noble sat at her desk, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, a stack of invoices and billing statements at her right elbow. She was looking over the figures for the previous quarter, and making notes on a large lined pad. She tapped her pen on the desk as she pondered the information she was gathering. She couldn't quite believe her initial conclusions. How had things progressed so quickly?

Her life these past few years had been unsettled, to say the least. She had been in some sort of accident that left her with partial memory loss. No one would talk to her about it, and the doctor's could never figure out what exactly had caused it. Eventually, the ever practical Donna put it all aside and moved on. She met and married Shaun Temple. He was a sweet man and they tried very hard to make the marriage work. In the end, they both agreed. Something was just not right. They loved each other, but love was not enough in this case. He felt as if she was settling for him; she felt she was missing something important but didn't know what it was.

Donna absently rubbed the empty place on her finger where wedding her ring had been. She never wore anything there anymore. It just didn't feel comfortable.

After the divorce, she couldn't bring herself to do much. The money from the Lottery win certainly made it easier, even after settling with Sean. But she was restless. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do, but she knew it wasn't sitting around her flat alone. So she went back to temping, much to her mother's dismay. It was something she was good at, and she thought she was making a difference. That was important to her now, being useful.

After a few months, though, she realized she was dissatisfied with the way temps were treated, either by the agency that managed them, or the people who employed them. One evening, when she was "up the hill" with her grandfather Wilf, she complained bitterly about one old hen running the agency through which she was currently working.

"It's like she's got custard for brains, Gramps!" Donna exclaimed. "I had to show her, for the tenth time, how to work the photocopier! And she's the bloody office manager!" She took a sip from Wilf's thermos of coffee. "I could do a better job of running that agency with one hand tied behind my back and in my sleep!"

Wilf looked at his granddaughter with great affection, and a little sadness. He knew she was feeling a little lost, what with the missing memories and the divorce, and all. He wished he could help her remember, but that just wasn't possible. Instead, he tried to encourage her in any way he was able. "Then why don'tcha, sweet'eart?" he asked.

"Why don't I what?" she asked, absently, gazing up at the stars.

"Why don'tcha run the place? Or a place." He turned to face her. "You know, you've been driftin' along and you're better'n that. You've got all that money. Why keep workin' for someone else? Why not get people to work for you?"

Donna started at her grandfather for a long while. "Gramps,'" she finally said. "I can't do that. I'm not smart enough for one. Who would ever imagine me in charge of anything?"

Wilf sighed. He knew exactly who, but he couldn't tell her. He patted her shoulder and said, "Just give it some thought, that's all I'm sayin'. Do it for me."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're sweet. Daft, but sweet." She got up and made her way back to her mother's flat.

But as the weeks went by, the small kernel of an idea that Wilf had planted began to grow, and Donna began to think seriously about the possibility of starting her own temp agency. She knew her mother would scoff at the very notion of Donna doing something so bold, so she decided to keep it all to herself, not even telling her grandfather.

She started to look into what it would take to open a business. She gathered information on office space, insurance, advertising. She was amazed to discover that she had a knack for this kind of organisation, something that she never had before the accident. Over the course of a few months, she contacted estate agents, advertising agencies, printers, even a solicitor! When she was ready, she talked with some of her fellow temps and convinced a couple of them to join her when launched her endeavour.

That was over a year ago. "Timely Temps" had grown from two girls and Donna in a one room shop to over twenty employees in a three room suite on Oxford Street. They offered, not just secretaries, but general office, bookkeeping, and even some limited technology services. Donna no longer went out on jobs herself; she took the orders, scheduled the temps, handled the finances, and, well, ran the business. She surprised herself sometimes. She has certainly surprised her Mum!

As she looked down again at the figures she had tabulated, she asked herself again why she hadn't hired an accountant as of yet. Sitting back in her chair, she smiled. It was probably because she was secretly proud of herself. She had always been good at maths, but never thought she had the capacity for long-range budgeting and cost projections and the like. She was finding, every day, some new aspect of herself that she never realized existed.

Putting down her pen, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She glanced at the clock on her wall, a small smile creeping across her face. It was a curious thing she had found in a small second-hand shop. It was an unusual shade of blue, and had a starfield design on the clock face, with the hour hand a gold sun and the second hand a silver moon. There was even a bell that chimed on the hour. It was like nothing she had ever owned before, but as soon as she saw it, she had to have it. It was comforting to her in an odd sort of way. She had learned not to think too hard about these feelings. It just made her head hurt.

The clock struck the hour of nine, startling Donna out of her thoughts. Crikey, she thought. How had it gotten that late? She sighed and began to straighten up her desk, readying it for the next day's work. She backed up her spreadsheets and closed down her computer. Getting up from the desk, she pushed her chair in, and dropped her keys and wallet into her blazer pocket.

She walked out of her office, closing and locking the door. Walking through the work area, she was again amazed at how her little business had grown. Who'd have thought it? She asked herself. She dimmed the lights and set the security alarm, then headed for the lifts. Reaching the ground floor, she made her way across the lobby, and stepped out into the night.

It was a typical dreary London night, cool and damp, with a threat of rain in the air. Usually, when she stayed at work this late, she would take a cab, but she wasn't quite ready to go home to her empty flat. She thought that she'd walk for a bit and then maybe take the Tube. Her mind was filled with projections and plans, and she hoped that a quiet stroll would help her sort out what she needed to do next.

A while later, she was abruptly roused from her thoughts, when fat, heavy raindrops splattered on her head and shoulders. "Bloody hell," she exclaimed , and looked around her, trying to determine where exactly she was, and how far it was to the nearest Tube station. She quickly realized that she had wandered far afield, and was in a part of town she normally did not frequent. Turning down a side street she hoped would lead her to a major thoroughfare, she was dismayed to discover that exactly the opposite was the case.

The rain began to fall harder. Looking up and down the street, she spotted a small pub with its lights on. Throwing the door open, she dashed inside to escape the worst of the weather. Walking over to the bar, she sat down on a stool. The barman, a young man in his early twenties, came over quickly and handed her a towel.

"Welcome ta The Weepin' Angel," he said in a strong Irish brogue. "Not a fit night out for man nor beast," he said. "Name's Liam. What can I get for the fair lady?"

Donna chuckled in spite of herself, as she blotted her hair. "Well, aren't you just full of the blarney?" she asked, in a fair imitation of his brogue. Liam smiled at her. She smiled back. "How about," she thought for a moment, "Scotch. Something good. Maybe a single malt."

"Got just the thing for ya," Liam replied. He turned and reached up and took a dusty bottle from an upper shelf. He came back over to Donna, placed a glass in front of her, and poured her a generous portion from the bottle in his hand. "Don't get much all for this," he told her, "but I guarantee you'll love it." She picked up the glass and took a sip.

Looking up at the barman, she beamed at him and asked, "What is this nectar of the gods?"

Liam grinned at her and answered, "Glenfiddich, 30 year old."

"Oh, my god. This Scotch is older than you are!" she exclaimed. Peering at his freckled baby face, she asked, "Aren't you a little young to be tending bar?"

"Oh, I'm just fillin' in for my cousin Donny. He runs this place, usually. But he's off on his honeymoon, and I came down ta help out for the week. Figgered I could meet some lovelies." He winked at her and said, 'Looks like I figgered right!"

Donna swatted at him with the towel and laughed. "Flatterer. Now go on with you."

Two regulars down at the end of the bar called over to Liam to refill their pints. He laughed and winked at Donna again, and made his way to the other end of the bar. She turned and sipped her excellent Scotch, and watch a couple of young men playing pool.

She sat and observed them for a couple of games, resisting the urge to join them and show them exactly how to play the game properly, She finally turned back to the bar and her own thoughts. Suddenly, the door to the pub blew open and a young man staggered in, along with copious amounts of rain and cold wind. Donna shivered and turned to look at the newcomer, but returned immediately to her drink. The young man exchanged words with Liam, but she took little notice of it.

A few minutes later, she was trying to make up her mind whether to brave the weather or have another drink, when her thoughts were interrupted by a voice, loudly asking, "Care for a fish finger?" She looked up and saw the young man who had recently entered. He was sitting two stool down the bar, grinning at her and holding up a piece of breaded haddock.

At first, she wasn't sure he was talking to her, but soon realized there was no one else in the pub but her, Liam and the young man. He looked at her expectantly. She realized she had to respond in some way, so she asked, bluntly, "Do I know you?"

"Do you have to know someone to eat fish fingers?" he replied.

"It's usually the case, yeah," she shot back.

"Ah," he retorted. "But we're anything but usual, aren't we?"

Donna didn't know what to make of this strange young man. "Are you always this rude?" she enquired.

"Are you always this defensive?" he asked back. Then he started laughing. "Is this banter? Oh, I love banter!" Putting down the fish finger, he walked over to her and stuck out his hand. "John Smith."

Donna stared at him and shook her head. "You're kidding me, right? John Smith? Who uses that anymore?"

He looked a crestfallen. "Well," he began. "I do. Would it make a difference if I said I spelled it with a 'y' and an 'e'?"

There was something rather endearing about this odd person. He seemed actually quite sweet. Taking his hand, she shook it and said, "Donna Noble. Pleased to meet you, John Smith-with-a-y." For a second, she was struck by a faint sense of déjà vu. It disappeared quickly, and she dismissed it.

Picking up his plate, the Doctor said again, "Well, now that we know each other, would you care for a fish finger? I usually have them with custard, but I'm trying something daring tonight. Devonshire cream. It was either that or lemon curd, but the cream won out!"

Donna stared at him and wondered where exactly he had blown in from. She was about to make a snide remark, asking just that, when her stomach growled and she realized that she had gone without lunch or supper again. Laughing at herself, she looked at him and, seeing the knowing smirk on his face, said, "Don't mind if I do, John." She picked up a fish finger and stared indecisively at the cup of Devonshire cream.

The Doctor gently pushed the cup toward her. "Go on," he said. "You know you want to. Take a chance. Be mad! Life is an adventure! Geronimo!" This last was said as he twirled around on the backs of his feet.

She held the crispy morsel between her fingers and debated the wisdom of combining deep fried fish and clotted cream, but the look of expectation on the Doctor's face convinced her. "Oh, why not?" She gave in and dipped it into the cup. Raising the fish to her lips, she hesitated and then took a small bite.

The Doctor watched as Donna chewed carefully. He detected the small smile she was trying to hide from him. So when she nodded and said, "Not bad," he cackled with glee and threw an arm over her shoulder.

"See?" he said, conspiratorially. "What did I tell you? I say, eat one unusual thing every day. Life will never be boring."

Donna had never seen anyone with so much energy, and she just had to laugh. After he had settled himself again on the stool next to her, she picked up another fish finger and, pointing it at him, she laughed and said, "Who are you? And more importantly, what the hell have you got on your head?"

The Doctor reached up and touched the object sitting on his head. "It's a deerstalker," he said, proudly. "I wear a deerstalker. Deerstalkers are cool."

"No, they're really not," she countered. "Makes you look like a demented Sherlock Holmes." She proceeded to dip the fish finger into the cream and took another bite. "And who dressed you this morning? I mean really? A bow tie? Braces and a tweed jacket." She grabbed at this sleeve. "Oh. My. God. Are those elbow patches?" She looked up at him in amazement. "What are you? A bloody philosophy professor?"

The Doctor grinned at her. "No, I'm an….archaeologist." he said. His brow creased. "No. Wait. I point and laugh at archaeologists. I'm an astronaut!"

Donna laughed at him. "You're a nutter, is what you are. But you're a cute nutter, and you bought me fish fingers. Besides, I think you're just having me on. So, tell me, John. What are you doing here on a Friday night in a tiny pub? You're a nice looking bloke. You should be out with your girl or your mates or something, not chatting up an old lady like me." She finished off another piece of fish.

"Interesting word, 'mate'," he said excitedly. "It means all manner of things." He bounced off the stool and paced, gesticulating with his expressive hands. "As a noun, it can mean a friend, a comrade. A companion," he stated with a sly grin. "When it's a verb, it means something entirely different. You don't really 'mate' with a mate." He stopped pacing suddenly. "Well, I supposed you could."

He looked at her with a wistful expression. She noticed his sudden change from manic to solemn. "John?" she asked, putting her hand on his sleeve lightly.

He sighed and replied, "I knew someone like that once. She was my best mate, the most brilliant woman you ever saw." His eyes dropped away from her face. "I was never brave enough to tell her how I felt." He looked up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "She's gone now. I lost her."

Donna stood up and put her arms around the Doctor, drawing him into a fierce hug. "It's alright, sunshine," she said, softly patting his back. The Doctor held her tighter at the sound of the familiar name. "I'm sure, no matter where she is, she's never forgotten you. You are rather unforgettable."

"Thank you," he whispered. They slowly stepped apart and he turned away, blinking rapidly to dispel the moisture in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he whirled around and grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "So," he said, drawing out the vowel. "What about you? What makes Donna Noble tick?"

She picked up her forgotten drink and took a long sip. "Me?" she scoffed. "What do you want to know about me for? I'm nothing special."

"Oh, I would beg to differ," the Doctor replied. "I think you are very special, probably more special than you realize. You're kind to strangers," he said, bowing for dramatic effect. "You're brave and daring," he motioned toward the nearly empty plate. "And you're very, very smart."

"How do you figure that?" she scoffed.

"Well, you run your own business, don't you?" When Donna looked at him in utter astonishment, he reached over and pulled out the brochure from her blazer pocket. "Timely Temps. That's yours, right? Catchy name, by the way."

She took the brochure form his hand and said, "It came to me one night. It just felt right, you know? Anyway, yeah. It's my little business. We're doing okay. I've got a lovely bunch of people working for me, and I think we're making a difference."

"Can't argue with that." He looked down at her for a moment and then said quietly, "Are you happy, Donna?"

She was taken aback. Nobody ever asked her that. They always wanted to know if she was alright, but never if she was happy. She thought for a minute before she answered him. "Am I happy? You know, I don't know that I ever really think about it. Am I happy? Well, I have good job. A business that seems to be doing well. A nice flat. Gramps and my Mum. I'm content, I suppose. Isn't that enough?"

She turned toward him and looked him in the eye, really looked, for the first time. And what she saw there comforted and warmed her. She stared, searching his eyes for something, but didn't know exactly what. There was a hint of familiarity, but it was so fleeting and so indistinct that she couldn't be sure she hadn't imagined it. She felt a tear slide down her face, and she wasn't sure why.

The Doctor just stood and waited, as she scanned his face. He was a little tense, afraid of the consequences of the prolonged exposure to his presence. Finally, he reached up and ran his finger over her cheek, catching the teardrop.

"Who are you, John?" she asked.

"Just a stranger you met on a lonely night. Nothing more," he replied with a sad smile.

At that moment, Liam walked up to them and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm gonna have to be closin' up now."

The two stepped back and thanked the barman for his trouble, and Donna left a hefty tip on the bar. The Doctor opened the pub door and escorted her out into the night. As they began to walk, without thinking, he put out his hand, and she automatically grasped it. They walked down the street, hands clasped, each locked in their own thoughts, and turned the corner. They continued on until they reached a well lit street she recognized. A Tube station was at the end of the block.

She stopped and, letting go of his hand a little self-consciously, turned to him. "John," she said. "I'll be fine from here. Thanks for the fish fingers. And the company. You are a strange little man, and I am so glad you blew in tonight."

The Doctor, feeling a little bereft at the loss of her hand, smiled a little sadly and said, "Who knew an atmospheric excitation would lead to this, eh?" He looked down at her intently and asked, "Donna? Would you mind? I think I would like to kiss you now. Is that alright?"

Donna stared at him and realized that he was nervous. Very nervous. On another night, in another circumstance, she probably would have either laughed in his face or smacked him into next week. But there was something so endearing, so precious, so wretched in his eyes. At that moment, she was sure he was thinking about the girl he lost, and her heart skipped a beat. She reached up and put both hands on his shoulders.

Seeing her tilt her face up to his, relief washed over him, and he bent down. He brushed his lips lightly against hers, before pressing them more firmly together. It was the oddest of kisses, Donna would remember. It was sweet and yet held a touch of desperate longing that she didn't understand. All she knew was that it felt right in a way she had never experienced before.

The kiss didn't last very long, and the Doctor broke away a little awkwardly. "Thank you," was all he said.

Donna put her hand on his cheek and smiled. "Any time, spaceman." Then she turned and began walking down the street. Suddenly, she stopped, ran back, snatched the hat from the Doctor's head, and chucked it into a nearby bin. She giggled and waved, and then continued on her way to the station.

It wasn't until she reached for her keys, as she stood at the door of her flat, that she found it. In her pocket was a small card, larger than a business card but not quite the size of an index card. On one side these words were written in a frenetic scribble:

Donna,

Thank you for everything.

Have a fantastic life.

Don't forget: You are brilliant!

Be daring! Geronimo!

With much affection,

John Smythe ||*||

Turning the card over, Donna gasped. On the other side was the most beautiful design, consisting of circles, squiggles, swooshes and dots, in a line and overlapping. She had no idea what it was, but she knew instinctively that it was something very important to the young man she had met that night, and that it struck a chord deep inside her. Oddly, she realized that she had no desire to try to understand its meaning. She just knew that she would keep this card close to her forever.

The Doctor watched her until she disappeared down the stairs to the Underground. He sighed, thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, and slowly walked away. Making his way back to the TARDIS, his steps were halting, his hearts aching. He slowly unlocked the door and walked into the control room.

His ship sang a soft tune and he put his hand on the console. "Yes, I'm back. And no, I don't feel any better, thanks for asking," he snapped. She trilled out another string of notes. He whirled around, his arms fluttering. "Oh, that's just charming. My own ship telling me , 'I told you so.' Rather childish, don't you think?" He stomped around the console and angrily manipulated the controls, and they began to drift silently in the Vortex.

Suddenly very tired, the Doctor slowly walked down the hall and entered his bedroom, a place in which he spent precious little time. He tossed his tweed jacket carelessly over the desk chair, loosened his tie, and eased the braces off of his shoulders. Lying down on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, watching as the Gallifreyan night sky shifted and churned. Gradually it settled, and he smiled as he recognized the stars that shone above Chiswick. He sighed deeply. "She'll be okay," he said out loud, a catch in his voice. "She has to be okay."

The TARDIS crooned softly. He smiled. "I know she is. Brilliant and brave. The most important woman in the whole, wide universe. We'll take care of her, the two of us. We'll take care of our Donna."

The ship sang a low mournful tone. His eyes misted and he blinked to clear them. "I had to. I really did. I never got the chance before. No one else had ever been important enough. I needed her to know my name." The tone was repeated, a little more forcefully. "Oh, don't worry. It's not a problem, anyway," he cried. "She's forgotten how to read it, along with everything else!" The melody grew louder, more strident. "Yes, yes, you're right. I know! It was foolish and dangerous." He sat up suddenly. "But you know what? That's who I am. Foolish. And. Dangerous!" he shouted.

The room was filled with a strong, almost accusatory, melody, with just a hint of Cloister Bell thrown in for good measure. The Doctor lay back down, chastised. "Sorry, old girl. I promise. Never again. But I know you miss her too. We can at least watch out for her, can't we? Make sure she really is happy?" His ship trilled in response, and he smiled sadly.

He remained there for a while in silence, watching the stars and thinking. Finally, in a voice so quiet the ship had trouble making out the words, he prayed, "Please. Please don't let me forget her. Ever."

He closed his eyes, and his mind was filled with images, scents, and sounds of Donna Noble, and the TARDIS promised that they would stay forever linked to the best friend and dearest love they both had ever had.