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Donna had never been the biggest fan of coffee. Actually, that isn’t true. When Donna first encountered coffee - a stolen sip from her mother’s mug one evening as a teenager - she’d been almost immediately hooked. She’d loved it for years, thanking anyone who offered her any with a smile, even if she didn’t like or know them. But then she almost got married, and for some reason, she hasn’t been able to stomach it ever since. So, she started to lie. No, she doesn’t want any. She’s never been a fan. Even more inexplicably, her mother and grandad go along with it. For the life of her, Donna couldn’t figure out why. So when the kindly smiling - and somewhat familiar yet unplaceable - young woman behind the counter offers her a cup, she declines as politely as she can.
“That’s alright,” the woman says. What’s her name? Donna wonders. She seems not to be wearing a name tag, although Donna could swear that her coworker was wearing one. She leans over the counter conspiratorially, a faint yet cheeky smile on her lips. “I’m told we serve excellent lemonade.”
Over the years, the diner with the excellent lemonade becomes a frequent stop on Donna’s way home from work. She’s always served by the same woman, who she learns is called Clara, and she’s almost always the only customer. Although there are occasionally others inside, they never sit at the counter, which Donna feels slightly strange. Even stranger, she never sees these customers faces. Despite the oddness, the place has comforting, familiar energy, much like the proprietor herself, and Donna returns again and again. After a while, she’s pretty sure she and Clara are friends. Friendly enough that she gets an invite to Donna’s wedding, anyway, although it doesn’t mean all that much; her fiancé has so many close friends and family that Donna needs someone to fill her half of the seats.
So when she’s walking through town with the Doctor, it only makes sense to drop by the diner and introduce them. There’s a part of her that just knows they’ll get along, the same part that wonders if she gravitated towards Clara because she reminded her of him, even in spite of her memory loss.
“Now, spaceman,” she says, pushing through the entryway after him, “I know this is part of that American chain, but-” Her words trail off as she realises he’s stopped in his track. Rolling her eyes, she shoves him. “Come on, keep moving. The counter’s a good few metres forward.” He’s staring at Clara, who’s preoccupied with the cash register. Marking him as a lost, but confusing, cause, she walks with purpose in front of him, tugging him after her by the wrist.
Clara looks up at them as they approach, sparing less than half a glance to the Doctor before smiling at Donna in greeting. “Hey, Donna. The usual?”
Before Donna can do anything more than nod, the Doctor gains a sudden sense of, well, she’s not quite sure, but he lunges forward to grab Clara’s wrist. All she can do is gape at him as he, for some reason that she for the life of her cannot figure out, with such intensity in his eyes Donna is a little concerned for his sanity, seemingly takes Clara’s pulse. Several seconds pass, the Doctor completely focused on whatever he’s doing, to the point that he shushes Donna when she tries to apologise for his behaviour, and Clara just frozen there, not even making an effort to remove her wrist from his grip. The poor girl looks so confused. The Doctor seems to come to a conclusion, and lets go of Clara’s wrist.
Donna levels him with a glare. “What the flipping hell was that?!”
He ignores her entirely, softly - and wistfully? - smiling at Clara, who looks just as confused as Donna feels, although for some reason nowhere near as shocked as she should be. “Clara. I found you.”
Something clearly clicks for Clara, like a piece of knowledge she forgot she knew resurfaced. A little similar to remembering the metacrisis, Donna muses. She smiles at the Doctor. “Took you long enough.” Now something clicks for Donna. One of the Toymaker’s puppets was a little brunette called Clara, who now, according to the Doctor, travelled the universe in a TARDIS of her own. Everything made a little more sense now.
“Can we save the reminiscing for after I’ve got my lemonade?”