Doctor Who Ficlet: Under The Influence (PG) Martha, Ten
Title: Under the Influence
Author: jinxed_wood
Fandom: Doctor Who
Spoilers; Martha is there, so Season Three!
Characters: Martha, Ten
Rating: PG (For innuendo)
Wordcount: 1,030
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, all I have is my Microsoft word…
Author’s Note: For the ‘Old Clichés Made New' challenge at Smith_n_Jones - cliché no 34: Aphrodisiacs/Sex pollen - but annoyingly PG and crackfic!
Summary: The TARDIS gets a little frisky...
Under The Influence
“Martha!”
One leg over the arm, text book in her hands, Martha leaned back into her nice, comfy armchair as the Doctor burst into the Library and made a beeline for one of the bookcases.
“It has to be here somewhere,” the Doctor muttered, as he ran his finger along the titles. “Sermai, Siragan, Sir… ah! Here it is!” Triumphantly he pulled the book from the shelf, and let his glasses drop onto his nose, from his head. “Ah, I thought as much...bugger!”
The last word came out soft and low, and under his breath, and Martha began to worry. “What’s up,” she said, dropping the textbook onto the chair as she stood.
“Sirens,” he said briefly.
“What? Like Odysseus?” Martha asked, looking over his shoulder at the etching on the page. “Oh…not like Odysseus…”
Think Leviathan with tentacles and a pretty singing voice,” the Doctor agreed, slapping the book shut. “And there’s one directly in our path.”
“In the vortex?”
“Nature abhors a vacuum,” the Doctor absently, running his fingers through his hair. “Even in the vortex.”
“So? What? Do I get to tie you up?” Martha teased, half expecting him to laugh.
“Depends,” the Doctor said, shoving the book back into the gap.
“You’re kidding, right?” Martha asked, startled. “No, of course you’re not…”
“But it’s probably male.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?” Martha said. “I mean, if you’re a boy, and it’s a boy, we’re okay…oh god, it won’t affect me, will it?”
“The Doctor blinked,” You don’t fit it’s dietary requirements,” he said eventually. “It feeds on channelers, those who can sense and manipulate the vortex.”
“Like a Timelord,” Martha said, nodding.
“And a TARDIS,” the Doctor muttered.
Martha froze. “Wait a minute, didn’t you once tell me that…”
“She’s a she, yes,” the Doctor said. “Which is why, I think, we’re running headlong into a Siren.”
“Can’t we change course?”
“Tried that, she’s ignoring me,” he sighed, scratching his head. His hair was now sticking up and sideways, and Martha resisted the urge to calm it down with a quick swipe of her hand. No babying the Timelord’s hair, rule number one.
Speaking of which… “So, what do we do? I mean, there must be something we can do, right? This can’t be the first time it’s happened, you travel through the vortex all the time.”
“Ah,” he said, in that particular tone of voice.
“That’s not a good ‘ah’, is it?” Martha sighed.
“’Fraid not, the repellent mechanism was part of the TARDIS’s chameleon circuit, and that has been defunct for years.” the Doctor said, smiling apologetically. “Sorry.”
The TARDIS rocked, and Martha teetered for a moment. “This isn’t going to get any better, is it?” she asked.
“Depends on how you look at it,” the Doctor said enigmatically. “We need to get to the control room before it gets any worse.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards the door.
“The corridor was swaying gently under their feet, and Martha held onto him tight as they ran. “She’s acting as if she’s drunk,” she said.
“Drunk on hormones, or a near approximation of,” the Doctor agreed. “Which is why we need to do something now, before we’re not able to anymore.”
Martha frowned at him. “Okay, spit it out” she said, pulling him to a halt outside the control room doors. “What is it you’re not saying?”
“The TARDIS runs this ship, she translates our words, she meets our every need,” the Doctor blurted out reluctantly, a tinge of embarrassment showing in his voice. “She’s in our head. It’s only a matter of time before it begins to filter through.”
“Oh,” Martha said; then the words sank in. “Oooooh!”
“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “And we don’t want that to happen, do we?” Martha felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Which was silly, because she never blushed.
“What would be the first symptoms?” she asked.
The Doctor blinked. “Don’t think about it,” he advised, as he half pushed her through the doors. “I need you to pull that, when I tell you to, and hold it for five seconds,” he said, placing her hand on a small blue lever before darting around to the other end of the controls and pulling down a screen. “This needs to be timed perfectly…” His hands were already a blur as they moved between lever and button, and odd, round globular things. “We may not be able to stop her, but we may be able to nudge her off course and avoid its tentacles… just a little more, a little…NOW!”
Martha put her weight behind the lever and pulled it down, and the TARDIS shuddered as the lever tried to spring back up. Holding on, Martha counted under her breath. Four, one thousand, five one thousand… She let go, and the lever bounced back into its original position.
“Did it work?” she asked, as she slumped against the rails and slid down to the floor.
“We’re not going to become lunch, if that’s what you’re asking,” he sighed, as he flopped down beside her.”
“But?” Martha asked, as she fanned herself. Was it her, or was it getting it hot in here? She was feeling so warn, lethargic, and yet so…
“Hmm?” the Doctor said, and Martha felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. Shivering, she turned to catch his eye, and found him gazing back…
“You never told me the symptoms,” she said softly, as his hand came up to stroke her cheek.
“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” he said.
“Is that so?” Martha breathed. His lips were now only a fraction of a centimetre away, and Martha leaned forward…
“Rope!” he declared suddenly, jumping up like a scalded cat. “We need rope.”
“Right, rope,” Martha sighed as he sprang over the rails and ran out of the room. “That’ll fix everything.” She let her eyes droop as the warm, fuzzy feeling washed over her, but something at the back of her mind niggled… “Wait a minute,” she murmured, “There’s only two of us, how are we both going to be tied…oh.” And Martha smiled as she did the math. It was going to be an interesting few hours.
FINIS
Author’s Note: Yup, definitely crackfic…
Author: jinxed_wood
Fandom: Doctor Who
Spoilers; Martha is there, so Season Three!
Characters: Martha, Ten
Rating: PG (For innuendo)
Wordcount: 1,030
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, all I have is my Microsoft word…
Author’s Note: For the ‘Old Clichés Made New' challenge at Smith_n_Jones - cliché no 34: Aphrodisiacs/Sex pollen - but annoyingly PG and crackfic!
Summary: The TARDIS gets a little frisky...
Under The Influence
“Martha!”
One leg over the arm, text book in her hands, Martha leaned back into her nice, comfy armchair as the Doctor burst into the Library and made a beeline for one of the bookcases.
“It has to be here somewhere,” the Doctor muttered, as he ran his finger along the titles. “Sermai, Siragan, Sir… ah! Here it is!” Triumphantly he pulled the book from the shelf, and let his glasses drop onto his nose, from his head. “Ah, I thought as much...bugger!”
The last word came out soft and low, and under his breath, and Martha began to worry. “What’s up,” she said, dropping the textbook onto the chair as she stood.
“Sirens,” he said briefly.
“What? Like Odysseus?” Martha asked, looking over his shoulder at the etching on the page. “Oh…not like Odysseus…”
Think Leviathan with tentacles and a pretty singing voice,” the Doctor agreed, slapping the book shut. “And there’s one directly in our path.”
“In the vortex?”
“Nature abhors a vacuum,” the Doctor absently, running his fingers through his hair. “Even in the vortex.”
“So? What? Do I get to tie you up?” Martha teased, half expecting him to laugh.
“Depends,” the Doctor said, shoving the book back into the gap.
“You’re kidding, right?” Martha asked, startled. “No, of course you’re not…”
“But it’s probably male.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?” Martha said. “I mean, if you’re a boy, and it’s a boy, we’re okay…oh god, it won’t affect me, will it?”
“The Doctor blinked,” You don’t fit it’s dietary requirements,” he said eventually. “It feeds on channelers, those who can sense and manipulate the vortex.”
“Like a Timelord,” Martha said, nodding.
“And a TARDIS,” the Doctor muttered.
Martha froze. “Wait a minute, didn’t you once tell me that…”
“She’s a she, yes,” the Doctor said. “Which is why, I think, we’re running headlong into a Siren.”
“Can’t we change course?”
“Tried that, she’s ignoring me,” he sighed, scratching his head. His hair was now sticking up and sideways, and Martha resisted the urge to calm it down with a quick swipe of her hand. No babying the Timelord’s hair, rule number one.
Speaking of which… “So, what do we do? I mean, there must be something we can do, right? This can’t be the first time it’s happened, you travel through the vortex all the time.”
“Ah,” he said, in that particular tone of voice.
“That’s not a good ‘ah’, is it?” Martha sighed.
“’Fraid not, the repellent mechanism was part of the TARDIS’s chameleon circuit, and that has been defunct for years.” the Doctor said, smiling apologetically. “Sorry.”
The TARDIS rocked, and Martha teetered for a moment. “This isn’t going to get any better, is it?” she asked.
“Depends on how you look at it,” the Doctor said enigmatically. “We need to get to the control room before it gets any worse.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards the door.
“The corridor was swaying gently under their feet, and Martha held onto him tight as they ran. “She’s acting as if she’s drunk,” she said.
“Drunk on hormones, or a near approximation of,” the Doctor agreed. “Which is why we need to do something now, before we’re not able to anymore.”
Martha frowned at him. “Okay, spit it out” she said, pulling him to a halt outside the control room doors. “What is it you’re not saying?”
“The TARDIS runs this ship, she translates our words, she meets our every need,” the Doctor blurted out reluctantly, a tinge of embarrassment showing in his voice. “She’s in our head. It’s only a matter of time before it begins to filter through.”
“Oh,” Martha said; then the words sank in. “Oooooh!”
“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “And we don’t want that to happen, do we?” Martha felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Which was silly, because she never blushed.
“What would be the first symptoms?” she asked.
The Doctor blinked. “Don’t think about it,” he advised, as he half pushed her through the doors. “I need you to pull that, when I tell you to, and hold it for five seconds,” he said, placing her hand on a small blue lever before darting around to the other end of the controls and pulling down a screen. “This needs to be timed perfectly…” His hands were already a blur as they moved between lever and button, and odd, round globular things. “We may not be able to stop her, but we may be able to nudge her off course and avoid its tentacles… just a little more, a little…NOW!”
Martha put her weight behind the lever and pulled it down, and the TARDIS shuddered as the lever tried to spring back up. Holding on, Martha counted under her breath. Four, one thousand, five one thousand… She let go, and the lever bounced back into its original position.
“Did it work?” she asked, as she slumped against the rails and slid down to the floor.
“We’re not going to become lunch, if that’s what you’re asking,” he sighed, as he flopped down beside her.”
“But?” Martha asked, as she fanned herself. Was it her, or was it getting it hot in here? She was feeling so warn, lethargic, and yet so…
“Hmm?” the Doctor said, and Martha felt the warmth of his breath against her neck. Shivering, she turned to catch his eye, and found him gazing back…
“You never told me the symptoms,” she said softly, as his hand came up to stroke her cheek.
“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” he said.
“Is that so?” Martha breathed. His lips were now only a fraction of a centimetre away, and Martha leaned forward…
“Rope!” he declared suddenly, jumping up like a scalded cat. “We need rope.”
“Right, rope,” Martha sighed as he sprang over the rails and ran out of the room. “That’ll fix everything.” She let her eyes droop as the warm, fuzzy feeling washed over her, but something at the back of her mind niggled… “Wait a minute,” she murmured, “There’s only two of us, how are we both going to be tied…oh.” And Martha smiled as she did the math. It was going to be an interesting few hours.
FINIS
Author’s Note: Yup, definitely crackfic…