DISCLAIMER: "Doctor Who" and all associated characters and likenesses are the exclusive property of the BBC. Used here without permission. This is a fictional story made for purely entertainment purposes. Any relation to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Don't Bother None (Wilf)

For the shopkeepers and council workers and the regular morning commuters, Wilfred Mott and his little news stand are one of the most welcome sights of the work day. His red-checked thermos is always steaming with aromatic coffee, a paper cup of which he's always willing to offer anyone who comments or asks (because he believes that good things are meant to be shared); his array of newspapers and magazines are always impeccably lined across the wooden counter in order of interest (from the straight, conservative news, to the all-style, no-substance trash mags, and everything in between – because he says that every viewpoint is valid, no matter how grim or flippant he might find it personally); his warm smile and salutations are always waiting to greet and welcome, no matter how busy or bustling the crowd on the street (because he thinks everyone deserves the benefit of a kind word).

And it isn't just the coffee, or the papers, or the friendly salutations that make Wilfred Mott a well-relied-upon highlight of his customers' day. More than one of them takes benefit from Wilf's insight and experience: from the somewhat fidgety young man who buys two or three music magazines at a time (and to whom Wilf dismisses concerns of his loneliness with the reply of, "Who has time to get lonely in this mad world?"); to the pretty young woman who always picks up the monthly Literary Review and the daily crossword, and her tall companion who never fails to strike up conversation over the latest issue of 2000 AD (and to whom Wilf answers furrowed-brow queries regarding the lack of adventure in his routine with a jolly, "London has more than enough excitement in it; you just need to keep your eyes open."); to the rugged if weary-seeming chap who always stops to chat over a comparison of coffee and the day's headlines, before heading off to his clinic (and to whom Wilf offers a smile whenever the younger man asks if he ever gets bored by the regular folk, and says, "Nothing wrong with regular folk; we make the world go 'round.").

To the concerns of these daily travelers and more, Wilf simply chuckles, and shakes his head, and accepts the gentle kindnesses with a wave of one gnarled hand and an embarrassed croon, before he sends them on their ways.

Yes, to the odd and wonderful people who stop by his newsstand, Wilfred Mott is institution, confidant, font of wisdom, sometimes even friend.

But to Donna Temple-Noble, the young flame-haired woman who watches Wilf do his chosen work of serving, sharing, giving, and supporting, he is and always has been, simply:

"Gramps!"

Wilf looks up and smiles at the sound of her voice, and in his wrinkled and greying face Donna sees pride and love in equal measure...and a little bit of fear, too. But that's good. Women should strike a little bit of fear into men's hearts, she thinks to herself with a slightly crooked smile; it keeps them grounded.

"Oh, hello, m'love," Wilf says, raising one hand in a wave. "On your way to the new job?"

Donna's smile doesn't waver; if anything, it grows across her lips. "Manager's got lots to do!" she tells him with a touch of pride as she strides up to the stand. Well, perhaps more than just a touch; being in charge of both the books and publicity for a pub might be a different change of pace, but it's certainly better than waiting around for the next cubicle job. ("You don't need to work," her mother often reminds her, even now, nearly a month later, but Donna took the job anyway, not least for the power of her grandfather's suggestion.)

Wilf bobs his head. "I've been telling all my customers to come by," he informs her, and from the well-worn top of his stand he lifts and shakes a piece of paper emblazoned with a logo and name she's come to know well over the last several weeks. "Copper's Pub is going to be the talk of the town in no time."

Donna makes a little scoffing noise in her throat, but she's certain that he knows it's just for show; she can't quite smother the beaming smile still on her face. "With your support," she says, "I'm certain it will be." But then she drops the chagrined facade and reaches for his hand, squeezing at his crooked fingers.

"Oh, I can't thank you enough, Gramps," she murmurs, and then she offers him a quick nod, her red fringe flying briefly before her eyes. "I really think this could be a good thing for me. For Shaun, too," she says with a little laugh. "He's been practicing all week! Makes a cracking gin and tonic, now, he does."

Wilf smirks. "Your lad would do well to keep you in sight," he teases, and Donna laughs again.

"Charming the ladies early today, I see."

Donna is so preoccupied with speaking with her grandfather that at first she doesn't even notice the man who speaks near her shoulder. Then she turns her head and takes in the sight of him: a tall, dark, and handsome bloke, with close-cropped black hair and deep-set brown eyes, and a light shade of stubble that's so popular among the male set on the make.

"Oh, no!" Wilf laughs, pulling his hand free from Donna's and making a shooing gesture at the younger man. "This is my granddaughter."

"Granddaughter?" the dark stranger echoes, as though incredulous.

Donna turns to him fully, offering him a subtle tilt of her chin. "Donna Temple-Noble," she announces. Then she lifts her hand to him, knuckles up and subtly cocked, and smirks. "Charmed," she says.

"That's my line," the man replies. He lifts her hand loosely in his fingers and gives it a chivalrous bow of his head. Then he rises with a smile that's an odd mix of guarded and delighted. "I'm Tom," he tells her after a moment. "Tom Milligan."

"He's a doctor at the children's clinic," Wilf interjects helpfully.

"A doctor!" Donna whistles. She gives Tom a sideways look. "Where were you two years ago," she asks, "when I was searching for a handsome doctor to put a ring on my finger?"

Tom starts to chuckle, but then he seems to falter a bit. "Niger," he says at last.

"Oh," Donna croons with interest. "A doctor who loves to travel. Aren't you a catch!"

The smile on Tom's face wilts, ever so slightly, but then he fixes it again; somewhere deep in her awareness, Donna thinks that he's practiced that move a lot, more than he should have to. "Maybe," he mutters with another bow of his head. "Once upon a time."

Such a handsome young man shouldn't look so world-weary, and so now she relaxes her shoulders and stops her teasing. "Well," she says, turning her tone gentle in a safely conversational way. "If you feel like taking a chance on another fairy tale princess, why not stop by Copper's? Wednesday night is our social night," she tells him. "Sort of a...get to know your neighbor thing."

Tom pauses, as though cautious, but Donna can see the wink of interest in his eyes, too. "Pub crawls aren't really my thing," he says, but then he smiles. "But I wouldn't mind some pleasant conversation over a bitter."

"Pleasant conversation," Donna says, and she ticks her finger in the air as though checking a form. "I will make sure we're well stocked, just for you."

"All right," Tom agrees, and the new, wider smile that he offers now makes Donna grin in satisfaction. Then he passes two clinking pound coins toward Wilf, before taking a newspaper and raising his hand in a farewell gesture. "'Til Copper's then," he says, nodding one more time to Donna.

She echoes his action. "Seven o'clock," she tells him, and as he walks away, she lets her gaze linger a little on his form. A traveling doctor...!

"Oi," Wilf mutters, nudging her in the arm and making her turn round again. He fixes her with a disapproving look. "You're married."

Donna waves away the concern. "Oh, there's no harm in looking," she says, and in all honesty – while the dark-haired doctor is indeed an attractive specimen of the male of her species – it's not quite Tom Milligan himself who niggles at the base of her brain, but something about his walk, and the push of his shoulders, and the guardedness of his smile that makes her pause, as though she should know him from somewhere.

She occasionally feels such things about random people on the street or in the pub: subtle, invisible auras about them that seem so familiar, like pheromones broadcasting a strange spiritual mating call...

But then it's gone (and where did she get pheromones from? Some nature show on the television, perhaps; she and Shaun sometimes fall asleep with the telly still on), and she shakes her head.

"I should be going," she says of a sudden. Turning to her grandfather, she smiles again. "I just wanted to know if you'd like to join me for some lunch."

"Lunch?" Wilf echoes with a lively grin. "With the most beautiful girl in all the stars? How can I say no?"

Donna chuckles at his well-welcomed love, hugging his arm close as he comes around the stand to walk beside her. "All the stars," she repeats, somehow pleased with that idea. She gives a little sigh as she turns her head to him. "Wouldn't that be lovely?"

At her words, Wilf's smile seems to waver.

It does that not nearly so often as it used to do, back before she was married, when Mum was always so hovering and conscientious all of the time (that didn't last long). But Donna still notices when her grandfather looks at her in his strangely doleful way; it always makes her feel that he's lamenting her, in some way. The little girl she was, perhaps, the undisputed apple of his eye who used to sit beside him on his favorite stargazing hill, on the coarse blanket spread out upon the trodden grass.

"More lovely than anything," he agrees in a quiet voice, as he blinks his slightly reddened eyes.

She doesn't like seeing him turn melancholy – especially not over the freckle-faced little terror she used to be – and so she bumps him playfully with her shoulder. "More lovely than a hot pasty and a bitter, on the house?" she teases.

Her answer makes Wilf's smile spread anew. "That is a close second, I admit," he says, and the two of them laugh as they walk, arm-in-arm, up toward Copper's Pub.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry for the huge delay this has taken! I'm currently finishing up another massive story, and I got somewhat waylaid by the Sally/Larry series of stories, as well (please be mindful of the warnings on those, should you choose to read them).

I spent a lot of time writing this from Wilf's perspective...and then ended up scrapping most of that, because I didn't savor the idea of writing from seven (or more) different perspectives over the course of this story. And I wanted this to be about how Donna sees and interacts with and helps the people around her. Her perspective is still giving me trouble (I hope it's all right), but I'm trying my best.

I hope you enjoy!

NEXT: The Female of the Species