An Old Married Couple
Title: An Old Married Couple
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: U
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This was meant to be one of my Not-Drabbles written for ladymako71 for her 1001 Whovian Nights Drabble Fest. But Ten!Bunny loves the 1969 fic so much, he ran away with it…
~~~~~~
"Martha?"
The bathroom door opened and the Doctor came in, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that she was in the bath. True, she was covered in bubbles to her shoulders, but she was in the bath! She'd given up trying to persuade him not to barge in whilst she was having a bath, and he claimed he couldn't fix the lock, even with his Sonic, although she privately suspected he hadn't actually tried since he had no real concept of privacy or personal space.
She looked up from the book she was reading. "Bolognese?"
"OK." He didn't move, although she'd expected him to go bouncing out again.
"What?"
"You're reading in the bath."
"Yes?"
"Why are you reading in the bath?"
She raised one eyebrow, wondering if he was winding her up. "Because I fancied a long hot soak after several days of sale-induced madness, and I didn't want to fall asleep in here."
"Oh OK." He went out whistling cheerfully and after a few more minutes she decided she'd soaked long enough.
Dry and dressed again, Martha wandered into the kitchen and found the Doctor stirring spaghetti, and frying mince and onions. He was wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron over his shirt and she couldn't help smirking - every time he wore it she wondered what he'd do if she ever actually obeyed the instruction.
"Need a hand?" she asked.
"Please. Could you stir the spaghetti while I chop some tomatoes?"
She nodded and moved to take over from him; he paused to brush a loose strand of hair from her forehead before going to the table.
A few moments later he tipped the tomatoes into the frying pan and went back to stirring the mixture. "Oh! Did you want mushrooms?" he asked suddenly.
"If we've got some."
"We have," he assured her. "I went shopping today."
He fetched out the mushrooms and chopped them, whilst Martha gave the mince mixture a quick stir to ensure it wasn't sticking to the pan. He came back and tipped in the mushrooms, then put a lid over it and turned down the heat whilst she went back to stirring the spaghetti.
She didn't start when he stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist or when he put his cheek against hers. She had the first time, but now it was a habit that she'd grown used to, like the way he'd play with her hair when they were sitting on the sofa watching something on the TV.
"You smell nice," he said after a little while.
"Thanks."
"New perfume?"
She snorted. "How would I afford perfume on my wages? It's probably the new bubble bath I used."
"Ah." He pressed his nose against her neck and she carried on calmly stirring the spaghetti. She did twitch a tiny bit though when he licked her neck just below her ear.
"Mmm, coconut and banana," he said in her ear.
She rolled her eyes unseen; he could have just looked at the label on the bottle. "Are you going to make some salad?" she asked.
"OK." He brushed a kiss against the nape of her neck before letting her go.
Martha was strongly tempted to object to his behaviour on the grounds that it wasn't fair, but she never did because the truth was she enjoyed it. The three months she'd spent stuck in 1913 had been a complete nightmare, partly because he had treated her as little better than the servant she was pretending to be, but also because she'd missed his random hugs, or holding his hand when they ran for their lives. She wondered if he knew that she had missed those things, and this was his way of making up for it now they were stuck in 1969. Or if he simply liked playing husband and wife with her, knowing it wouldn't be forever.
After they'd eaten, they washed up and the Doctor slid his arms around her waist whilst she was doing the pans after he'd finished drying up the other things. She allowed herself to lean back against his body as she finished the last pan and put it aside to drain.
"Tired?" he asked, secretly enjoying the sensation of her leaning into him.
"Yes."
"At least you've got two days off now."
"Just as well, as I don't think I'd have been able to go in tomorrow."
"Do you want to watch some TV?" he asked after she'd finished.
"Yeah, but I may fall asleep," she warned.
"You're allowed." He handed her a towel to dry her hands and unfastened his apron. Then he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her startled squeak, and carried her into the lounge. He somehow managed to turn on the TV without dropping her, then sat down on the sofa with her in his arms.
Half an hour later she was fast asleep, curled into his body like a child. He thought he ought to put her to bed, but he was reluctant to move her: it wasn't as if she was heavy, and he felt comfortable holding her. He brushed a kiss over her forehead and she murmured something, but didn't wake.
If he was really honest, at least half of him didn't mind this, being stuck here on the slow path. Two years ago, he would have run mad at the prospect, but those three months in 1913, and that small glimpse of the life John Smith might have had with Joan Redfern had changed things. And Martha, well she was good for him, she made him feel safe somehow. Perhaps it was because he knew she wouldn't want to stay with him forever, she had a life and a career to go back home to eventually. For now, though, he was enjoying playing at being an old married couple with her.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: U
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This was meant to be one of my Not-Drabbles written for ladymako71 for her 1001 Whovian Nights Drabble Fest. But Ten!Bunny loves the 1969 fic so much, he ran away with it…
~~~~~~
"Martha?"
The bathroom door opened and the Doctor came in, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that she was in the bath. True, she was covered in bubbles to her shoulders, but she was in the bath! She'd given up trying to persuade him not to barge in whilst she was having a bath, and he claimed he couldn't fix the lock, even with his Sonic, although she privately suspected he hadn't actually tried since he had no real concept of privacy or personal space.
She looked up from the book she was reading. "Bolognese?"
"OK." He didn't move, although she'd expected him to go bouncing out again.
"What?"
"You're reading in the bath."
"Yes?"
"Why are you reading in the bath?"
She raised one eyebrow, wondering if he was winding her up. "Because I fancied a long hot soak after several days of sale-induced madness, and I didn't want to fall asleep in here."
"Oh OK." He went out whistling cheerfully and after a few more minutes she decided she'd soaked long enough.
Dry and dressed again, Martha wandered into the kitchen and found the Doctor stirring spaghetti, and frying mince and onions. He was wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron over his shirt and she couldn't help smirking - every time he wore it she wondered what he'd do if she ever actually obeyed the instruction.
"Need a hand?" she asked.
"Please. Could you stir the spaghetti while I chop some tomatoes?"
She nodded and moved to take over from him; he paused to brush a loose strand of hair from her forehead before going to the table.
A few moments later he tipped the tomatoes into the frying pan and went back to stirring the mixture. "Oh! Did you want mushrooms?" he asked suddenly.
"If we've got some."
"We have," he assured her. "I went shopping today."
He fetched out the mushrooms and chopped them, whilst Martha gave the mince mixture a quick stir to ensure it wasn't sticking to the pan. He came back and tipped in the mushrooms, then put a lid over it and turned down the heat whilst she went back to stirring the spaghetti.
She didn't start when he stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist or when he put his cheek against hers. She had the first time, but now it was a habit that she'd grown used to, like the way he'd play with her hair when they were sitting on the sofa watching something on the TV.
"You smell nice," he said after a little while.
"Thanks."
"New perfume?"
She snorted. "How would I afford perfume on my wages? It's probably the new bubble bath I used."
"Ah." He pressed his nose against her neck and she carried on calmly stirring the spaghetti. She did twitch a tiny bit though when he licked her neck just below her ear.
"Mmm, coconut and banana," he said in her ear.
She rolled her eyes unseen; he could have just looked at the label on the bottle. "Are you going to make some salad?" she asked.
"OK." He brushed a kiss against the nape of her neck before letting her go.
Martha was strongly tempted to object to his behaviour on the grounds that it wasn't fair, but she never did because the truth was she enjoyed it. The three months she'd spent stuck in 1913 had been a complete nightmare, partly because he had treated her as little better than the servant she was pretending to be, but also because she'd missed his random hugs, or holding his hand when they ran for their lives. She wondered if he knew that she had missed those things, and this was his way of making up for it now they were stuck in 1969. Or if he simply liked playing husband and wife with her, knowing it wouldn't be forever.
After they'd eaten, they washed up and the Doctor slid his arms around her waist whilst she was doing the pans after he'd finished drying up the other things. She allowed herself to lean back against his body as she finished the last pan and put it aside to drain.
"Tired?" he asked, secretly enjoying the sensation of her leaning into him.
"Yes."
"At least you've got two days off now."
"Just as well, as I don't think I'd have been able to go in tomorrow."
"Do you want to watch some TV?" he asked after she'd finished.
"Yeah, but I may fall asleep," she warned.
"You're allowed." He handed her a towel to dry her hands and unfastened his apron. Then he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her startled squeak, and carried her into the lounge. He somehow managed to turn on the TV without dropping her, then sat down on the sofa with her in his arms.
Half an hour later she was fast asleep, curled into his body like a child. He thought he ought to put her to bed, but he was reluctant to move her: it wasn't as if she was heavy, and he felt comfortable holding her. He brushed a kiss over her forehead and she murmured something, but didn't wake.
If he was really honest, at least half of him didn't mind this, being stuck here on the slow path. Two years ago, he would have run mad at the prospect, but those three months in 1913, and that small glimpse of the life John Smith might have had with Joan Redfern had changed things. And Martha, well she was good for him, she made him feel safe somehow. Perhaps it was because he knew she wouldn't want to stay with him forever, she had a life and a career to go back home to eventually. For now, though, he was enjoying playing at being an old married couple with her.