These Are the Days of Our Lives (1/7)
Title: These Are the Days of Our Lives (1/7)
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: U
Spoilers: Season 3 up to Blink
Summary: Snapshots from Martha and the Doctor's life in 1969.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This story is for rebecca_bougan for the smith_n_jones 1969 ficathon. The prompts were Jazz club, eye contact and romance.
Officially I've written two fics for this Ficathon (this one and one other), but the Bunny!Muses, being utterly voracious, liked several of the other prompts that were put up by smith_n_jones members, so this is the first of a series of seven linked stories.
Beta: padawanpooh the faithful
~~~~~~
The Doctor might not be very good at being human, but he was excellent at being the Doctor, which meant that between his psychic paper and his 'act as if you own the place' attitude, he was quite capable of getting the two of them into clubs for free. This meant that they didn't have to sit at home with just the telly and each other for company every night, so every now and again the Doctor would take Martha out for the evening and they'd enjoy some live music and people-watching.
One Saturday night they were at a jazz club not too far from their little flat. The Doctor was at the bar getting them some drinks (nothing too extravagant since the drinks had to be paid for out of his Companion’s wages) whilst Martha was waiting at a table she'd found for them.
He was on his way back to their table when he saw Martha make eye contact with a good-looking young man two tables away. As he struggled through the crowd, trying not to spill their drinks, he watched in annoyance as the young man promptly moved over to join her.
Reaching the table, he put the drinks down carefully. "Here you are dear," he said loudly as he sat down, then casually draped an arm around her shoulders. He registered the young man's obvious disappointment that Martha was 'spoken for' with a sense of pleasure, although he managed not to smirk outright, and after a few minutes the young man returned to his own table.
Martha turned to the Doctor. "What did you do that for?" she demanded, shrugging off his arm.
"In case you've forgotten, we're married," he answered.
"Only technically," she retorted in an angry half whisper.
"Well unless you want to go flat hunting again, you'll have to maintain our technical marriage." He nodded to her left hand before taking a mouthful of his drink. "Why do you think I gave you that ring?"
She clasped her hands together and dropped them into her lap to stop herself from playing with the ring. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's just that it's not easy. It - " She broke off and shook her head, then picked up her own drink and took a mouthful.
"It what?" asked the Doctor curiously.
"In some ways, it was much easier pretending to be your maid than it is pretending to be your wife."
He didn't know how to answer that, so he resorted to swallowing another mouthful of his drink, remembering a darkened cottage and a desperate young woman telling his human persona 'He's everything to me' and 'I love him to bits'. They hadn't talked about Martha's remarks, beyond him choosing to believe that she'd have said anything to persuade John Smith to become the Doctor again. They'd both known Martha was lying when she'd told the Doctor that, and things had been strained between them for a little while afterwards, but if there was one thing the Doctor was very good at, it was pretending that things were as he wanted them to be, so they'd moved on.
But their relationship hadn't gone back to the level of easy familiarity they'd reached after he'd given her a key to the TARDIS.
He put his hand over hers as it rested on the table, squeezing her fingers gently. "I'm sorry Martha."
She looked up in surprise, taking in his look of remorse. "It's OK," she said. "It's just that I've got used to living on my own the last few years." She sighed. "At least you're you this time around, and not likely to go falling in love with a pretty woman."
He winced inwardly: Joan Redfern was the other reason for the present awkwardness between them, not that they'd discussed her either. The Doctor was reminded, yet again, that his policy of ignoring whatever was painful to him wasn't really fair on Martha. Maybe he should break the habit of a very long lifetime and actually talk to her properly about what had happened in Farringham. If he was honest, he desperately missed the friendship they'd developed before the Family had come along and turned so many lives upside down. They made a good team and Martha reminded him a lot of his Sarah Jane: both of them were fiercely intelligent and independent young women whom he was proud to know. Showing them both the wonders of the universe was a lot of fun, and whilst he was stuck just showing Martha 1960s London at the moment, they wouldn't be trapped here forever.
Trying to talk now would be useless - they'd come here to enjoy themselves for one thing - and a busy, noisy club was hardly the right setting for what had the potential to be a painful conversation. The Doctor continued to hold Martha's hand, though, and he noticed that not only did she not object, she actually shifted her hand in his so that they were holding hands properly.
He watched her covertly as she became absorbed in the music: a soaring saxophone piece that seemed to appeal to her judging by the rapt attention she was giving the man at the mike. She'd grumbled a bit about the smoky atmosphere in the club: she said she'd forgotten what it was like before the smoking ban was introduced, but he noticed that it didn't seem to be bothering her very much now that she had relaxed.
It was nearly midnight when he decided they had better get home: Martha was leaning against his shoulder and her eyelids looked heavy. He suspected that she was more tired than she would readily admit, so he slid an arm around her shoulders and spoke in her ear, "Come on Mrs Smith, we don't want you turning into a pumpkin, do we?"
"Oi!" she protested sleepily. "It's the carriage that turns into a pumpkin at midnight, not Cinderella." She allowed him to help her up from her seat and into her jacket, and didn't protest when he put his arm around her again to lead her out of the club.
They walked home since it wasn't far and the cold air seemed to revive Martha a bit as she started to chat about the music.
"You alright?" she asked as she let them into their flat. "You've been awfully quiet - for you anyway - all evening."
He nodded. "Been thinking, that's all," he answered as he pulled off his long brown coat and hung it on a peg by the door.
"Oh. Do you want some tea?"
"I'll have some if you're making it for yourself," he said.
She yawned suddenly. "Maybe not." She moved towards the door to her room. "Goodnight Doctor."
"Goodnight Martha." Before she disappeared, he moved on a sudden impulse and caught her in a hug, startling an 'oof' out of her as he held her tightly.
"What was that for?" she wondered when he let her go.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm glad we're in this together," he answered, feeling sheepish and looking at his feet.
"Oh, well thank you. I'm glad too." She stood on tiptoe, one hand on his shoulder, to give him a peck on the cheek, then went into her room.
The Doctor cradled his cheek in his hand, a soppy grin on his face, then he went into the sitting room and settled down to work on his timey-wimey device again.
The next morning Martha woke to the smell of food as the Doctor pushed open the door of her bedroom. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "I think I must be dreaming still," she said wonderingly.
"Cheeky," he answered as he crossed to the bed.
"Well breakfast in bed definitely has a dream-like quality," she said.
"Honestly Mrs Smith, I'm beginning to wonder why I married you." His attempt at sternness was belied by the twinkle in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter.
"Obviously you married me for my money," Martha retorted, then realised how that sounded, since it was she who had been forced to get a job - the Doctor was too busy making his device. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "
"Shh. It's OK," he told her. "Here." He offered her the tray and she settled it on her lap, finding a bowl of porridge, some toast and two mugs of tea.
"Are you having some of this toast?" she asked, looking at the stacked slices.
He nodded and she tried to move over in the bed so he could sit beside her, and nearly upset the tea.
"Hold on." He took the mugs of tea from the tray and put them on the bedside table, then lifted the tray up so she could shuffle over. She took the tray from him again and he sat on the bed beside her, waggling his toes.
Martha started on her porridge with a nod at the toast, signalling for him to help himself.
"What are you going to do today?" the Doctor asked when she'd finished her porridge.
"I need to do our laundry this morning," she told him.
He nodded. "I thought we might go for a walk this afternoon."
"Don't you want to work on your gadget?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It won't hurt me to take a break from it."
"OK then. A walk sounds good."
He nodded again and they finished their breakfast in a companionable silence.
"I'll let you get dressed then, and I'll wash up." He took the tray from her and went out.
Martha wasn't quite sure what to make of him this morning, but she shrugged off her puzzlement and went to have a bath before she dressed.
After Sunday lunch, which the Doctor cooked, they went out to the nearby park. Martha was surprised when he pulled her arm through his and she wondered why he was being so attentive today, was it because of her comment last night about pretending to be his wife? Maybe she would ask him later. For now, though, she was just going to enjoy having him on her arm. She wasn't going to expect romance and flowers, but if he wanted to bring her breakfast in bed and put his arm through hers, she wouldn't object.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Martha
Rating: U
Spoilers: Season 3 up to Blink
Summary: Snapshots from Martha and the Doctor's life in 1969.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and the Doctor owns me…
Author Notes: This story is for rebecca_bougan for the smith_n_jones 1969 ficathon. The prompts were Jazz club, eye contact and romance.
Officially I've written two fics for this Ficathon (this one and one other), but the Bunny!Muses, being utterly voracious, liked several of the other prompts that were put up by smith_n_jones members, so this is the first of a series of seven linked stories.
Beta: padawanpooh the faithful
~~~~~~
The Doctor might not be very good at being human, but he was excellent at being the Doctor, which meant that between his psychic paper and his 'act as if you own the place' attitude, he was quite capable of getting the two of them into clubs for free. This meant that they didn't have to sit at home with just the telly and each other for company every night, so every now and again the Doctor would take Martha out for the evening and they'd enjoy some live music and people-watching.
One Saturday night they were at a jazz club not too far from their little flat. The Doctor was at the bar getting them some drinks (nothing too extravagant since the drinks had to be paid for out of his Companion’s wages) whilst Martha was waiting at a table she'd found for them.
He was on his way back to their table when he saw Martha make eye contact with a good-looking young man two tables away. As he struggled through the crowd, trying not to spill their drinks, he watched in annoyance as the young man promptly moved over to join her.
Reaching the table, he put the drinks down carefully. "Here you are dear," he said loudly as he sat down, then casually draped an arm around her shoulders. He registered the young man's obvious disappointment that Martha was 'spoken for' with a sense of pleasure, although he managed not to smirk outright, and after a few minutes the young man returned to his own table.
Martha turned to the Doctor. "What did you do that for?" she demanded, shrugging off his arm.
"In case you've forgotten, we're married," he answered.
"Only technically," she retorted in an angry half whisper.
"Well unless you want to go flat hunting again, you'll have to maintain our technical marriage." He nodded to her left hand before taking a mouthful of his drink. "Why do you think I gave you that ring?"
She clasped her hands together and dropped them into her lap to stop herself from playing with the ring. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's just that it's not easy. It - " She broke off and shook her head, then picked up her own drink and took a mouthful.
"It what?" asked the Doctor curiously.
"In some ways, it was much easier pretending to be your maid than it is pretending to be your wife."
He didn't know how to answer that, so he resorted to swallowing another mouthful of his drink, remembering a darkened cottage and a desperate young woman telling his human persona 'He's everything to me' and 'I love him to bits'. They hadn't talked about Martha's remarks, beyond him choosing to believe that she'd have said anything to persuade John Smith to become the Doctor again. They'd both known Martha was lying when she'd told the Doctor that, and things had been strained between them for a little while afterwards, but if there was one thing the Doctor was very good at, it was pretending that things were as he wanted them to be, so they'd moved on.
But their relationship hadn't gone back to the level of easy familiarity they'd reached after he'd given her a key to the TARDIS.
He put his hand over hers as it rested on the table, squeezing her fingers gently. "I'm sorry Martha."
She looked up in surprise, taking in his look of remorse. "It's OK," she said. "It's just that I've got used to living on my own the last few years." She sighed. "At least you're you this time around, and not likely to go falling in love with a pretty woman."
He winced inwardly: Joan Redfern was the other reason for the present awkwardness between them, not that they'd discussed her either. The Doctor was reminded, yet again, that his policy of ignoring whatever was painful to him wasn't really fair on Martha. Maybe he should break the habit of a very long lifetime and actually talk to her properly about what had happened in Farringham. If he was honest, he desperately missed the friendship they'd developed before the Family had come along and turned so many lives upside down. They made a good team and Martha reminded him a lot of his Sarah Jane: both of them were fiercely intelligent and independent young women whom he was proud to know. Showing them both the wonders of the universe was a lot of fun, and whilst he was stuck just showing Martha 1960s London at the moment, they wouldn't be trapped here forever.
Trying to talk now would be useless - they'd come here to enjoy themselves for one thing - and a busy, noisy club was hardly the right setting for what had the potential to be a painful conversation. The Doctor continued to hold Martha's hand, though, and he noticed that not only did she not object, she actually shifted her hand in his so that they were holding hands properly.
He watched her covertly as she became absorbed in the music: a soaring saxophone piece that seemed to appeal to her judging by the rapt attention she was giving the man at the mike. She'd grumbled a bit about the smoky atmosphere in the club: she said she'd forgotten what it was like before the smoking ban was introduced, but he noticed that it didn't seem to be bothering her very much now that she had relaxed.
It was nearly midnight when he decided they had better get home: Martha was leaning against his shoulder and her eyelids looked heavy. He suspected that she was more tired than she would readily admit, so he slid an arm around her shoulders and spoke in her ear, "Come on Mrs Smith, we don't want you turning into a pumpkin, do we?"
"Oi!" she protested sleepily. "It's the carriage that turns into a pumpkin at midnight, not Cinderella." She allowed him to help her up from her seat and into her jacket, and didn't protest when he put his arm around her again to lead her out of the club.
They walked home since it wasn't far and the cold air seemed to revive Martha a bit as she started to chat about the music.
"You alright?" she asked as she let them into their flat. "You've been awfully quiet - for you anyway - all evening."
He nodded. "Been thinking, that's all," he answered as he pulled off his long brown coat and hung it on a peg by the door.
"Oh. Do you want some tea?"
"I'll have some if you're making it for yourself," he said.
She yawned suddenly. "Maybe not." She moved towards the door to her room. "Goodnight Doctor."
"Goodnight Martha." Before she disappeared, he moved on a sudden impulse and caught her in a hug, startling an 'oof' out of her as he held her tightly.
"What was that for?" she wondered when he let her go.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm glad we're in this together," he answered, feeling sheepish and looking at his feet.
"Oh, well thank you. I'm glad too." She stood on tiptoe, one hand on his shoulder, to give him a peck on the cheek, then went into her room.
The Doctor cradled his cheek in his hand, a soppy grin on his face, then he went into the sitting room and settled down to work on his timey-wimey device again.
The next morning Martha woke to the smell of food as the Doctor pushed open the door of her bedroom. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "I think I must be dreaming still," she said wonderingly.
"Cheeky," he answered as he crossed to the bed.
"Well breakfast in bed definitely has a dream-like quality," she said.
"Honestly Mrs Smith, I'm beginning to wonder why I married you." His attempt at sternness was belied by the twinkle in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter.
"Obviously you married me for my money," Martha retorted, then realised how that sounded, since it was she who had been forced to get a job - the Doctor was too busy making his device. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "
"Shh. It's OK," he told her. "Here." He offered her the tray and she settled it on her lap, finding a bowl of porridge, some toast and two mugs of tea.
"Are you having some of this toast?" she asked, looking at the stacked slices.
He nodded and she tried to move over in the bed so he could sit beside her, and nearly upset the tea.
"Hold on." He took the mugs of tea from the tray and put them on the bedside table, then lifted the tray up so she could shuffle over. She took the tray from him again and he sat on the bed beside her, waggling his toes.
Martha started on her porridge with a nod at the toast, signalling for him to help himself.
"What are you going to do today?" the Doctor asked when she'd finished her porridge.
"I need to do our laundry this morning," she told him.
He nodded. "I thought we might go for a walk this afternoon."
"Don't you want to work on your gadget?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It won't hurt me to take a break from it."
"OK then. A walk sounds good."
He nodded again and they finished their breakfast in a companionable silence.
"I'll let you get dressed then, and I'll wash up." He took the tray from her and went out.
Martha wasn't quite sure what to make of him this morning, but she shrugged off her puzzlement and went to have a bath before she dressed.
After Sunday lunch, which the Doctor cooked, they went out to the nearby park. Martha was surprised when he pulled her arm through his and she wondered why he was being so attentive today, was it because of her comment last night about pretending to be his wife? Maybe she would ask him later. For now, though, she was just going to enjoy having him on her arm. She wasn't going to expect romance and flowers, but if he wanted to bring her breakfast in bed and put his arm through hers, she wouldn't object.