Ficlet: Rescuer in Red
Title: Rescuer in Red
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 842
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones/Clara Oswald
Notes/Warnings: None, except for being slight & fluffy. Refs to Name of the Doctor and Blink.
Summary: 1969 isn’t the best of years, but it’s not without some attractions, Martha finds.
For persiflage_1 in the 500 Prompts Meme: #114 - Written all over his/her/my face - Clara Oswald. (I may have kind of leapt sideways from the prompt, but not in a way I think you’ll mind - or at least, I hope not!)
***
“Having a bad day?” said the girl as Martha passed her.
Martha turned with a smile and then gave a slight shrug. “More like a bad decade, but yeah. How did you know?”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m just psychic. It’s a bit of a nuisance. Handy if you want to chat up some passing pretty stranger, though.”
Martha shook her head, ignoring the flattery, or whatever it was supposed to be. “Yeah, okay, right. Pull the other one.”
“Oh, all right, then. It’s written all over your face,” said the girl. “Anyone could see it a mile off. But I could have been psychic, though, for all you know. I might still be. See, I’m guessing it’s boyfriend trouble and so you want to come have a drink with me; tell me all about it.”
Martha leant back against the wall, folding her arms. “Not exactly.”
“All right. So, your boss is a bastard?”
“He is, but that’s nothing new.”
“It’s raining?” she said, nothing if not persistent. “It’s Wednesday? People are being crappy?”
Martha smiled. “Yeah. A bit. You could say that.” The real problem was that her friend-slash-current unwise crush had stranded them both in 1969 and his many talents didn’t include keeping down a regular job. She frowned at the girl. “Look, what do you want?”
“Clare Oswald,” she said, holding out a hand and giving Martha a bright smile. “And I already said. You looked fed up. And I really could use a drink - how about you?”
Martha thought about it. She thought about the day she’d had, the year she was stuck in, the truly dire wallpaper in their flat, her awful boss, and then about the short, big-eyed brunette in a red mini-dress standing in front of her, still giving her a hopeful smile. “I think I need at least ten.”
“Hey, having to drag you home unconscious definitely isn’t part of my evil plan.”
Martha laughed, falling into step alongside her. “And your evil plan is . . . what, exactly?”
“Oh, you know,” said Clare. “The usual - go to a club, grumble about men, get you tipsy, and lure you back to my place with wicked intent. All that sort of thing.”
“Well, I’ll go along with the first half,” Martha said, shaking her head in amusement at the other’s nonsense. “The rest . . . we’ll see.” She had a feeling, though, that Clare was going to prove hard to resist if she kept this up. All the more so, because it wouldn’t hurt the Doctor to be kept waiting once in a while. Call it an experiment in counting how many hours it’d take before he’d notice she was late home tonight - or maybe even not home at all, if the evening went Clare’s way.
A few hours and several drinks later, they were both at Clare’s bedsit, lying amid a pile of large cushions that Clare seemed to own in lieu of any actual chairs. It was nice, Martha thought. All right, so you shouldn’t go home with strangers as a rule, but Clare was smaller than she was, very probably more drunk, and she didn’t seem to want to kill her anyway. All very good reasons to stay here in the warm, talking and laughing and kissing, as far as Martha was concerned.
“I’ve a confession,” said Clare, suddenly becoming serious. “You know the part where I said I was psychic and you thought it was a dumb chat up line?”
“You were the one who said it was a chat up line. Flirt.”
She bit her lip. “Thing is, okay - I might be. Psychic, I mean. While everything I’ve told you is true, when I saw you first, I had this sudden, overwhelming conviction. I don’t think I can explain.”
“Don’t tell me - love at first sight.”
“No,” said Clare. “Don’t be silly. As if I just knew completely and absolutely that something terrible would happen to you if I let you walk home alone tonight.”
Martha frowned. Travelling with the Doctor broadened the mind, but she wasn’t sure what she made of premonitions, or if this was another piece of Clare’s flippancy, even if it didn’t sound like it. “Okay, that is a bit creepy.”
“Don’t say that,” said Clare.
Martha inclined her head to one side and pulled a quizzical face. “Why?”
“Well, I decided right then and there that the best way to keep you safe was obviously to get you back here and stay with you all night. Can’t do that if you run away.”
“Oh, obviously,” said Martha, amused again. “You had no alternative. I see that now.”
Clare nodded and snuggled into Martha. “I could tell you were the understanding sort.”
“Far too understanding by half,” said Martha, and bit back a sigh.
Clare poked her. “Now you should kiss me again.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I told you. I just saved your life. So, this is the part where I get my reward, right?”
Martha grinned. “Oh, well, in that case . . .”
***
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there:
Author: lost_spook
Rating: PG
Word Count: 842
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones/Clara Oswald
Notes/Warnings: None, except for being slight & fluffy. Refs to Name of the Doctor and Blink.
Summary: 1969 isn’t the best of years, but it’s not without some attractions, Martha finds.
For persiflage_1 in the 500 Prompts Meme: #114 - Written all over his/her/my face - Clara Oswald. (I may have kind of leapt sideways from the prompt, but not in a way I think you’ll mind - or at least, I hope not!)
***
“Having a bad day?” said the girl as Martha passed her.
Martha turned with a smile and then gave a slight shrug. “More like a bad decade, but yeah. How did you know?”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m just psychic. It’s a bit of a nuisance. Handy if you want to chat up some passing pretty stranger, though.”
Martha shook her head, ignoring the flattery, or whatever it was supposed to be. “Yeah, okay, right. Pull the other one.”
“Oh, all right, then. It’s written all over your face,” said the girl. “Anyone could see it a mile off. But I could have been psychic, though, for all you know. I might still be. See, I’m guessing it’s boyfriend trouble and so you want to come have a drink with me; tell me all about it.”
Martha leant back against the wall, folding her arms. “Not exactly.”
“All right. So, your boss is a bastard?”
“He is, but that’s nothing new.”
“It’s raining?” she said, nothing if not persistent. “It’s Wednesday? People are being crappy?”
Martha smiled. “Yeah. A bit. You could say that.” The real problem was that her friend-slash-current unwise crush had stranded them both in 1969 and his many talents didn’t include keeping down a regular job. She frowned at the girl. “Look, what do you want?”
“Clare Oswald,” she said, holding out a hand and giving Martha a bright smile. “And I already said. You looked fed up. And I really could use a drink - how about you?”
Martha thought about it. She thought about the day she’d had, the year she was stuck in, the truly dire wallpaper in their flat, her awful boss, and then about the short, big-eyed brunette in a red mini-dress standing in front of her, still giving her a hopeful smile. “I think I need at least ten.”
“Hey, having to drag you home unconscious definitely isn’t part of my evil plan.”
Martha laughed, falling into step alongside her. “And your evil plan is . . . what, exactly?”
“Oh, you know,” said Clare. “The usual - go to a club, grumble about men, get you tipsy, and lure you back to my place with wicked intent. All that sort of thing.”
“Well, I’ll go along with the first half,” Martha said, shaking her head in amusement at the other’s nonsense. “The rest . . . we’ll see.” She had a feeling, though, that Clare was going to prove hard to resist if she kept this up. All the more so, because it wouldn’t hurt the Doctor to be kept waiting once in a while. Call it an experiment in counting how many hours it’d take before he’d notice she was late home tonight - or maybe even not home at all, if the evening went Clare’s way.
A few hours and several drinks later, they were both at Clare’s bedsit, lying amid a pile of large cushions that Clare seemed to own in lieu of any actual chairs. It was nice, Martha thought. All right, so you shouldn’t go home with strangers as a rule, but Clare was smaller than she was, very probably more drunk, and she didn’t seem to want to kill her anyway. All very good reasons to stay here in the warm, talking and laughing and kissing, as far as Martha was concerned.
“I’ve a confession,” said Clare, suddenly becoming serious. “You know the part where I said I was psychic and you thought it was a dumb chat up line?”
“You were the one who said it was a chat up line. Flirt.”
She bit her lip. “Thing is, okay - I might be. Psychic, I mean. While everything I’ve told you is true, when I saw you first, I had this sudden, overwhelming conviction. I don’t think I can explain.”
“Don’t tell me - love at first sight.”
“No,” said Clare. “Don’t be silly. As if I just knew completely and absolutely that something terrible would happen to you if I let you walk home alone tonight.”
Martha frowned. Travelling with the Doctor broadened the mind, but she wasn’t sure what she made of premonitions, or if this was another piece of Clare’s flippancy, even if it didn’t sound like it. “Okay, that is a bit creepy.”
“Don’t say that,” said Clare.
Martha inclined her head to one side and pulled a quizzical face. “Why?”
“Well, I decided right then and there that the best way to keep you safe was obviously to get you back here and stay with you all night. Can’t do that if you run away.”
“Oh, obviously,” said Martha, amused again. “You had no alternative. I see that now.”
Clare nodded and snuggled into Martha. “I could tell you were the understanding sort.”
“Far too understanding by half,” said Martha, and bit back a sigh.
Clare poked her. “Now you should kiss me again.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I told you. I just saved your life. So, this is the part where I get my reward, right?”
Martha grinned. “Oh, well, in that case . . .”
***
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there: