“This is ridiculous!” said the Doctor, dragging a hand through his hair to express his frustration. “I can speak every language in this booklet and the instructions don't make sense in any of them!” He held up a piece of wood. “There is no Tab D!”
“Do you want me to do it?” asked Donna, trying not to sound too patronising.
“You're busy gestating, that's enough for anyone to be getting on with.”
“Yeah, you do realise that pregnancy isn't actually a disability?”
The Doctor sighed. “I don't mean that. I mean that I have to do this myself.”
“You have to prove your manliness,” agreed Donna.
“I have to prove that a Time Lord cannot be defeated by primitive Earth technology. The honour of Gallifrey rests with me.”
“We could just buy a crib that's already assembled. It'd be safer. For everyone.”
“I will not be beaten by something that only involves three spatial dimensions.” He sniffed. “I managed to build that bookcase in the bedroom.”
“No,” said Donna, “you took it back to the shop and then got the TARDIS to make you a replica.”
The Doctor frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Maybe you made yourself forget because you were too ashamed of your failure.” She tried to be supportive. “Can't you just... sonic it?”
The Doctor cleared his throat. “It doesn't actually do screw-driving. I just call it that because it sounds better than 'Sonic Wand.'”
Donna took the instructions from his hand and examined the drawings. “You've build that bit upside down. That's why you can't get the other bits to fit.”
The Doctor was unconvinced. “Which of us has a degree in multidimensional hyperspatial engineering?”
“You don't need one of those for a bit of DIY.”
The Doctor took off his glasses rather sadly. “I'm not cut out for the domestic life. We should call it all off.”
“Don't be daft, it's only woodwork.”
“It's doomed to failure,” he said, glumly.
Donna punched his arm lightly. “Don't start.”
“This is symbolic,” he insisted.
Donna sighed dramatically. “I'll build it. You can bring me cups of tea and then look impressed when I'm done.”
The Doctor nodded. “Do you want a divorce?”
“Not at the moment.”
“You're sure this isn't a metaphor for me being rubbish at relationships?”
“Fairly sure,” said Donna.
The Doctor bit his lip. “I bet the other me is really good at this stuff. He's got human assembling-woodwork genes. I bet Rose is living in a wooden mansion by now.”
“Do they have IKEA in the other universe?”
The Doctor nodded with certainty. “If they've got Torchwood they're sure to have IKEA. They're very similar in some ways.” He looked at Donna hopefully. “Do you want a robot dog? I could build you one of those no problem.”
“Is that the same robot dog that you give to your ex-girlfriends? Because that's a bit weird, to be honest. Like it's a consolation prize.”
“There's nothing second-best about K-9!” said the Doctor, defending his dog.
“All the same I don't really think we need one.”
“Right, off you go and put the kettle on,” said Donna, giving him an affectionate slap on the arse.
It all worked out in the end. Sort of.