Holiday Gift Fic: Anticipation
The Doctor frowned as the TARDIS completely ignored the coordinates he’d entered and landed in the center of London 2005. Again. He glared at the Time Rotor, more than annoyed at his ship’s mutiny.
“I didn’t want to come here!” the Doctor complained, his blue eyes fierce on his ship.
The TARDIS sent a zap to him, and he snatched his hand away. “Oy! Watch it! Brand new body, here!”
The TARDIS’s lights flashed angrily, and the Doctor stood up straighter and crossed his arms. “Well, there had better be a good reason for this,” the Doctor muttered, and he left his ship to find himself in an alleyway. He didn’t recognize anything, even if he was in London, and he rolled his eyes. It was a generic dead-end alleyway on a cool summer night, but he picked up on the sounds of music and people towards the opening. He started forward, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat, his blue eyes fierce and his expression flinty. He didn’t get very far when he heard faint clicking and saw the amber light of burning embers. Smoke swirled from the shadows, and ashes fluttered to the ground.
“Just try it,” entreated a masculine voice.
“I’d rather not, thanks.”
That voice was feminine and sounded not the least bit impressed. The Doctor inched closer, not having anything else to do but be entertained by these stupid apes.
Why did the TARDIS want him to come here, again?
There was a long drag and then another exhalation of smoke. “Come on, Jones. They’re cloves-much better than regular fags-and healthier, too-”
“There is no such thing as a ‘healthy fag’! Cloves or not-I’m a trainee doctor, remember? You should see the way a lung looks after smoking-all it takes is one puff!”
“You’re no fun.”
“I can be fun!”
“Then take a puff,” the man said, stepping out of the shadows even as he held out the fag to the woman. The Doctor could see he had dark hair and sharp, angular facial structure, but he still had no idea what the woman looked like-only that she had more sense than the male.
Or so he thought, until she took the fag and inhaled.
Hacking coughs permeated the otherwise still alleyway. The man laughed at his companion’s distress and took another lazy drag. “You went too fast! You need to savor the flavor. It’s sweet, not bitter like tobacco.”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into that!” she muttered after she finally caught her breath. The Doctor crossed his arms at his chest, his own thoughts echoing her sentiment.
“Because you’re tired of being a goody two-shoes,” the man said, stepping back into the shadows and approaching her. “Aren’t you, Martha Jones? Aren’t you tired of being the good girl? Don’t you want to do something crazy for once in your life?”
She sniffed and walked around him. “I did! I came out here with you!” She didn’t even turn to look back at the man, who just leaned haphazardly against a brick wall and continued to smoke, as she made the scathing announcement; and though the Doctor still couldn’t see her features, he noted with healthy appreciation that she had a right nice arse on her.
Behave!
The Doctor scowled and looked back at the seemingly innocuous police box. “You brought me here!”
“Hello?”
The Doctor huffed and rolled his eyes, but he walked forward and put on the fakest sincere smile ever. “Sorry, mate. It seems I’ve gotten a bit lost. Could you tell me were the pub is?”
The man gave him a weird look and pointed to the alley’s opening.
The Doctor’s smile widened and he nodded dopily. “Thank you ever so much!”
The man raised his eyebrows in bewildered confusion, but he was more interested in smoking anyway, so the Doctor gave a large wave and left him to it.
“Idiot,” the Doctor muttered under his breath, and went inside the pub. His scowl deepened at the loudness and haze in the crowded space. There wasn’t enough light for his taste. But to be fair, the TARDIS was almost as dim. Nevertheless, his ship wasn’t packed wall-to-wall with obnoxious humans, either.
“I’ve got to go . . .”
He stood up straighter as he heard the feminine voice from the alley. He spun and saw her bending so she could listen to the people still seated at the table. Her face was obscured by a head, just the bun of her chignon visible, and the Doctor pursed his lips. Why did he care so much about what she looked like, anyway? Why wouldn’t that other person move so he could see!
She hugged everyone and the Doctor walked out of the pub. He leaned against the wall outside. Part of him thought this was a daft idea, but the other part was intrigued, drawn to this trainee doctor who had one of the finest arses in the universe-
Not that he cared about that sort of thing . . .
Timing was everything, and since he was a Time Lord (last of his kind not withstanding), he was impeccable with it. This is why just as she crossed the threshold, he was turning back toward the door as if he were entering the pub.
“Blimey!” she exclaimed, ricocheting off his body and stumbling most awkwardly while he stuttered out an apology. She had on a jean jacket that tied at her waist, accentuating her petite frame.
“No, it’s all right,” Martha Jones, trainee doctor mumbled below her breath.
“Let me make it up to you,” the Doctor said. “Coffee?”
She looked up at him then, her face ready with a glower, but all her anger drained away and awe took its place. She gaped at him and her eyes widened. “Coffee?”
It was only because he had 890 years of practiced indifference that his expression didn’t match hers, but a glimpse of another time . . . another place . . . and she was there. The Doctor stepped back. Looking into her eyes was almost as mesmerizing as looking into the void, and the urge to run away now was just as strong as it had been when he was eight years old.
Stay.
The Doctor glanced toward the alley where his ship was and he frowned. Was this Martha Jones the reason why he was here?
Yes.
Her? Now?
Your future.
That made him uncomfortable. Immensely so, and he rotated his shoulders and looked back down at this slip of a girl. She was frowning now, and her lip was between her teeth.
“You ask this to all the girls you bump into?”
He smiled again, this time much more relaxed. “No, but I do feel bad. You don’t have to say yes.”
“I know I don’t,” she said, and frowned deeper.
“But you will,” the Doctor said assuredly, thinking about the man’s comment about her being a good girl. As daft as he was, he’d pegged Martha Jones fairly; she had a bit of a reckless streak in her. She would need to, anyway, if she had any future involvement with him.
He held out his hand to her. “Come. If we walk down the street I’m sure we can find a café.” She eyed his hand warily, and he wiggled his fingers. “I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said solemnly.
“I don’t feel threatened,” she said, and looked into his eyes as she placed her hand in his. Tiny. So tiny and soft. He almost drifted his thumb across her knuckles, but that would be too intimate, and she was bewildered enough.
“Fantastic!” he said instead, and bounced on the balls of his feet. He tugged her and she fell into step with him, mainly staring at the ground as her brain tried to catch up to her body’s autonomy. They walked in silence, and he felt her looking at him, but he kept his eyes straight ahead and followed the TARDIS’s directions to the café.
Sly old girl. She’d planned this from the beginning.
They entered the café, it basically empty considering the late hour, and the slid into a booth. When the server came around, the Doctor ordered coffee for himself and green tea for her. She said she didn’t like coffee.
“Do you want a pastry?” the Doctor asked, pushing the menu in her direction.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said absently, peering at him. “Who are you?”
He smiled again. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Doctor who?”
His lips quirked at that, but he knew he couldn’t really tell her who he was, at least not yet. “Doctor Smith.”
“Doctor Smith,” she said, tasting his name on her tongue. “And what are you a doctor of?”
The Doctor thought for a moment, and then he grinned. “A&E.”
Her eyes lit up a little at that. “Really?”
His grin widened. “Yes.”
“What hospital?”
“I . . . rotate around a bit. Offer my services to those who truly need it.”
She gave him a confused look, but then she nodded and accepted that answer. “Amazing.”
And so was the rest of their time together, so much so that the Time Lord himself had lost track of it until she began yawning and blinking much too slowly for him to ignore. He chuckled and rapped his knuckles on the table, especially since she was trying to hard to keep their conversation going. “Looks like it’s someone’s bedtime,” the Doctor said, though he didn’t want their talk to end, either. It had been so long, and Martha Jones was a bright girl. She gave him a bit of hope for this planet of apes, actually.
The smile she gave him was one of embarrassment and apology. “I’m glad I don’t have to go in tomorrow,” she murmured, and then she yawned. “I haven’t been out in ages . . .”
“Did you enjoy yourself then?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Martha said, and her smile settled softly upon her face. “Thank you. Much better than the pub.”
“Too crowded and noisy,” the Doctor said, scrunching up his face in distaste.
Martha giggled, and the Doctor smiled as he stood. He presented his hand to her, and she took it with little hesitation. “Shall I walk you to your door?”
“No, the nearest Underground station will suffice.”
He took her there, going well out of the way of his TARDIS, but he didn’t care. They stop near the top of the stairs to go underground, and she gives him a shy smile.
“Thank you for the coffee, Doctor Smith,” she said, then shrugged. “Well, tea for me.”
The Doctor cupped her cheek and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. “You’re brilliant, soon-to-be Doctor Martha Jones,” he murmured against her skin. “I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you.”
He knew she stood there watching him as he walked away, but he wouldn’t look back. If he did, he’d ask her to travel with him, but it wasn’t her time yet. Nevertheless, he had to thank Martha Jones. She had given him something to look forward to for the first time in a long time.
“I didn’t want to come here!” the Doctor complained, his blue eyes fierce on his ship.
The TARDIS sent a zap to him, and he snatched his hand away. “Oy! Watch it! Brand new body, here!”
The TARDIS’s lights flashed angrily, and the Doctor stood up straighter and crossed his arms. “Well, there had better be a good reason for this,” the Doctor muttered, and he left his ship to find himself in an alleyway. He didn’t recognize anything, even if he was in London, and he rolled his eyes. It was a generic dead-end alleyway on a cool summer night, but he picked up on the sounds of music and people towards the opening. He started forward, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat, his blue eyes fierce and his expression flinty. He didn’t get very far when he heard faint clicking and saw the amber light of burning embers. Smoke swirled from the shadows, and ashes fluttered to the ground.
“Just try it,” entreated a masculine voice.
“I’d rather not, thanks.”
That voice was feminine and sounded not the least bit impressed. The Doctor inched closer, not having anything else to do but be entertained by these stupid apes.
Why did the TARDIS want him to come here, again?
There was a long drag and then another exhalation of smoke. “Come on, Jones. They’re cloves-much better than regular fags-and healthier, too-”
“There is no such thing as a ‘healthy fag’! Cloves or not-I’m a trainee doctor, remember? You should see the way a lung looks after smoking-all it takes is one puff!”
“You’re no fun.”
“I can be fun!”
“Then take a puff,” the man said, stepping out of the shadows even as he held out the fag to the woman. The Doctor could see he had dark hair and sharp, angular facial structure, but he still had no idea what the woman looked like-only that she had more sense than the male.
Or so he thought, until she took the fag and inhaled.
Hacking coughs permeated the otherwise still alleyway. The man laughed at his companion’s distress and took another lazy drag. “You went too fast! You need to savor the flavor. It’s sweet, not bitter like tobacco.”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into that!” she muttered after she finally caught her breath. The Doctor crossed his arms at his chest, his own thoughts echoing her sentiment.
“Because you’re tired of being a goody two-shoes,” the man said, stepping back into the shadows and approaching her. “Aren’t you, Martha Jones? Aren’t you tired of being the good girl? Don’t you want to do something crazy for once in your life?”
She sniffed and walked around him. “I did! I came out here with you!” She didn’t even turn to look back at the man, who just leaned haphazardly against a brick wall and continued to smoke, as she made the scathing announcement; and though the Doctor still couldn’t see her features, he noted with healthy appreciation that she had a right nice arse on her.
Behave!
The Doctor scowled and looked back at the seemingly innocuous police box. “You brought me here!”
“Hello?”
The Doctor huffed and rolled his eyes, but he walked forward and put on the fakest sincere smile ever. “Sorry, mate. It seems I’ve gotten a bit lost. Could you tell me were the pub is?”
The man gave him a weird look and pointed to the alley’s opening.
The Doctor’s smile widened and he nodded dopily. “Thank you ever so much!”
The man raised his eyebrows in bewildered confusion, but he was more interested in smoking anyway, so the Doctor gave a large wave and left him to it.
“Idiot,” the Doctor muttered under his breath, and went inside the pub. His scowl deepened at the loudness and haze in the crowded space. There wasn’t enough light for his taste. But to be fair, the TARDIS was almost as dim. Nevertheless, his ship wasn’t packed wall-to-wall with obnoxious humans, either.
“I’ve got to go . . .”
He stood up straighter as he heard the feminine voice from the alley. He spun and saw her bending so she could listen to the people still seated at the table. Her face was obscured by a head, just the bun of her chignon visible, and the Doctor pursed his lips. Why did he care so much about what she looked like, anyway? Why wouldn’t that other person move so he could see!
She hugged everyone and the Doctor walked out of the pub. He leaned against the wall outside. Part of him thought this was a daft idea, but the other part was intrigued, drawn to this trainee doctor who had one of the finest arses in the universe-
Not that he cared about that sort of thing . . .
Timing was everything, and since he was a Time Lord (last of his kind not withstanding), he was impeccable with it. This is why just as she crossed the threshold, he was turning back toward the door as if he were entering the pub.
“Blimey!” she exclaimed, ricocheting off his body and stumbling most awkwardly while he stuttered out an apology. She had on a jean jacket that tied at her waist, accentuating her petite frame.
“No, it’s all right,” Martha Jones, trainee doctor mumbled below her breath.
“Let me make it up to you,” the Doctor said. “Coffee?”
She looked up at him then, her face ready with a glower, but all her anger drained away and awe took its place. She gaped at him and her eyes widened. “Coffee?”
It was only because he had 890 years of practiced indifference that his expression didn’t match hers, but a glimpse of another time . . . another place . . . and she was there. The Doctor stepped back. Looking into her eyes was almost as mesmerizing as looking into the void, and the urge to run away now was just as strong as it had been when he was eight years old.
Stay.
The Doctor glanced toward the alley where his ship was and he frowned. Was this Martha Jones the reason why he was here?
Yes.
Her? Now?
Your future.
That made him uncomfortable. Immensely so, and he rotated his shoulders and looked back down at this slip of a girl. She was frowning now, and her lip was between her teeth.
“You ask this to all the girls you bump into?”
He smiled again, this time much more relaxed. “No, but I do feel bad. You don’t have to say yes.”
“I know I don’t,” she said, and frowned deeper.
“But you will,” the Doctor said assuredly, thinking about the man’s comment about her being a good girl. As daft as he was, he’d pegged Martha Jones fairly; she had a bit of a reckless streak in her. She would need to, anyway, if she had any future involvement with him.
He held out his hand to her. “Come. If we walk down the street I’m sure we can find a café.” She eyed his hand warily, and he wiggled his fingers. “I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said solemnly.
“I don’t feel threatened,” she said, and looked into his eyes as she placed her hand in his. Tiny. So tiny and soft. He almost drifted his thumb across her knuckles, but that would be too intimate, and she was bewildered enough.
“Fantastic!” he said instead, and bounced on the balls of his feet. He tugged her and she fell into step with him, mainly staring at the ground as her brain tried to catch up to her body’s autonomy. They walked in silence, and he felt her looking at him, but he kept his eyes straight ahead and followed the TARDIS’s directions to the café.
Sly old girl. She’d planned this from the beginning.
They entered the café, it basically empty considering the late hour, and the slid into a booth. When the server came around, the Doctor ordered coffee for himself and green tea for her. She said she didn’t like coffee.
“Do you want a pastry?” the Doctor asked, pushing the menu in her direction.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said absently, peering at him. “Who are you?”
He smiled again. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Doctor who?”
His lips quirked at that, but he knew he couldn’t really tell her who he was, at least not yet. “Doctor Smith.”
“Doctor Smith,” she said, tasting his name on her tongue. “And what are you a doctor of?”
The Doctor thought for a moment, and then he grinned. “A&E.”
Her eyes lit up a little at that. “Really?”
His grin widened. “Yes.”
“What hospital?”
“I . . . rotate around a bit. Offer my services to those who truly need it.”
She gave him a confused look, but then she nodded and accepted that answer. “Amazing.”
And so was the rest of their time together, so much so that the Time Lord himself had lost track of it until she began yawning and blinking much too slowly for him to ignore. He chuckled and rapped his knuckles on the table, especially since she was trying to hard to keep their conversation going. “Looks like it’s someone’s bedtime,” the Doctor said, though he didn’t want their talk to end, either. It had been so long, and Martha Jones was a bright girl. She gave him a bit of hope for this planet of apes, actually.
The smile she gave him was one of embarrassment and apology. “I’m glad I don’t have to go in tomorrow,” she murmured, and then she yawned. “I haven’t been out in ages . . .”
“Did you enjoy yourself then?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Martha said, and her smile settled softly upon her face. “Thank you. Much better than the pub.”
“Too crowded and noisy,” the Doctor said, scrunching up his face in distaste.
Martha giggled, and the Doctor smiled as he stood. He presented his hand to her, and she took it with little hesitation. “Shall I walk you to your door?”
“No, the nearest Underground station will suffice.”
He took her there, going well out of the way of his TARDIS, but he didn’t care. They stop near the top of the stairs to go underground, and she gives him a shy smile.
“Thank you for the coffee, Doctor Smith,” she said, then shrugged. “Well, tea for me.”
The Doctor cupped her cheek and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. “You’re brilliant, soon-to-be Doctor Martha Jones,” he murmured against her skin. “I can’t wait to see what the future holds for you.”
He knew she stood there watching him as he walked away, but he wouldn’t look back. If he did, he’d ask her to travel with him, but it wasn’t her time yet. Nevertheless, he had to thank Martha Jones. She had given him something to look forward to for the first time in a long time.