Author's note: Okay I'm not going to claim that I'm incapable of abiding smut for the sake of it, I just happen to think it's much better when there's a plot surrounding it. So here it is. Almost all of the plot elements exist to justify what happens inside the battlepod... I mean, we can't have the Doctor just randomly groping inside a spacecraft when there's a planet to be saved!

Remember: reviews are love.

It wasn't the moment which the Doctor loved most, but it was close to it.

The bad guy was dispatched, but not killed, and hope had been rekindled. He had been able to show the citizens of the Vilovo Space Station that their lives did not have to be driven and controlled by a despotic, dragon-like invader. Moments like these made his job worthwhile, but not totally complete.

Because there was still the small matter of undoing the damage that said invader had caused. The Doctor turned from the wormhole he had created in a small patch of conjopogen-rich air (which was ideal for making wormholes... little-known fact), and faced the citizens.

"Y-you sent Nogard the Terrible through that wormhole," the President said, stunned. Like his charges, he was short, stout, with a child-like face capped off with an almost milky-white dome head. The Vilovians were an intelligent race, but a bit overly emotional, and therefore rubbish in a crisis.

"Oh, yeah," the Doctor said exaggeratedly shrugging. "Really he's Nogard the Dimwitted. I mean, can you believe he fell for the old The-Greatest-Prize-Is-In-The-Wormhole trick? Oldest one in the book!"

"Doctor!" he heard, to his left. It was Martha calling to him from the veritable forest of metal beams that supported the structure of the spacecraft hangar in which they now stood. He ran to her. She was kneeling on the floor, cradling a terribly wounded Vilovian. He seemed young, and was bleeding from the head, unconscious. The Doctor remembered seeing him bravely throw himself at Nogard just before the Doctor had had the idea to open the wormhole. He'd had no idea anyone had been seriously wounded, though. Leave it to Martha, he thought.

"Doctor, he's got serious cranial trauma," she said, desperately. "Do they have an infirmary or something? We've got to get him some help!"

"No, Martha, they don't," he said, kneeling down next to him. "These outer-ring space stations are designed with a kind of survival-of-the-fittest attitude... they don't provide for the wounded or sick, they just assume they're not fit to be here."

"What?" she gasped. "That's barbaric!"

"What's going on over there?" called the President. "Is he all right? Tell me he's all right!"

Martha hesitated. She said nothing to the President, but to the Doctor, voice trembling, she said, "He's going to die in the next twenty minutes if we don't find something to stop the bleeding."

"I know," he whispered back.

Lately he'd noticed that when Martha was at her most distressed was when she was at her most beautiful. Her desire to help, to fix things, to bring comfort, to be a doctor, meant that suffering was what distressed her the most. And when she took charge of the sick and in-need, worried over them and felt their pain, he found that he loved her. It was what she did best, and what he treasured most in her.

This moment was stirring something inside him, something visceral as well as physical. He knew it was wrong, wrong, wrong... but it kind of turned him on. Not that he'd allow that to get in the way of saving this young Vilovian, or saving this space station and all of its occupants. Fortunately, he was a man with a mastery over his baser instincts.

He made a quick mental note: This can't go on. When we get out of here, Martha and I are going to have to have a serious talk.

And then, he jumped, as usual, into action.

"Mister President, he is not going to be okay," he said boldly. "He's already lost enough blood to cause mental damage, and without an infirmary there's very little we can do. Tell that to your scientists who designed this blasted boat."

The President gasped and began to whine. "He's my nephew, the only one to carry on our family's line..." Now tears. "What shall I do? What shall I do?"

"Well you can start by stopping your blubbering and giving me your robe," Martha demanded, irritated.

Oh, Martha, please don't do that again, thought the Doctor, with a little private groan. This really couldn't go on – she was driving him to distraction.

The President of Vilovo obeyed Martha Jones without question. He shed his robe and handed it to her. She took it without a word and ripped it. She took the smaller portion and wrapped it tightly around the head of the wounded, applying pressure enough to slow the bleeding. Still, she looked up at the Doctor with anxiety in her eyes.

Just then, an alarm sounded. A sterile female voice came over the tannoy. "Ten minutes to ignition. Counting down."

The Doctor buried both hands in his hair and pulled. "Blimey, I'd forgotten all about that!" He ran to the center of the hangar. Two white structures, both egg-shaped like their creators, about ten feet tall, perhaps six feet wide, stood on opposite sides of the room. Each had a clock toward the top, displaying the countdown in synch. He had never seen this device before, and he didn't really have the time to work out all of the mysteries. So he just asked.

"What's Nogard done?" the Doctor asked the citizens of Vilovo.

"He's used some type of sonic device to seal the doors shut, and he's rigged our spacecraft to catapult into space and send out a distress call to our home planet," answered the President. "Once that happens, our militias will pull us into a magnetic field and reel it in. It's a safety feature, in case of emergency."

"So these two pods are spacecrafts?" the Doctor confirmed.

"Yes," answered the President. "They are sentient battlepods. They have no manual controls inside, they simply respond to the thoughts and emotions of the pilot."

"Why would Nogard want your spacecraft to be pulled in by your planet?"

"He's been trying to locate our planet for decades," answered the President. "We have a coveted supply of natural resources that many societies would kill for, and have killed for. We've been able to keep its whereabouts a secret, until Nogard realised that he could program our battlepods to go home, and that he could simply follow them."

Suddenly, Martha was in the mix. She had placed her bleeding patient in the hands of a female Vilovian and had come to the Doctor's side. "So what's the problem, then? Why can't we just let them go? Nogard is gone – no danger there."

"Because in the last twenty-four hours, we have detected battle cruisers from seven different planets on our radar, planets that we know are interested in pirating our resources," the President told her. "That means they've been alerted to Nogard's plan somehow, and they're likely watching us, hoping to follow our pods back home. Especially if they know that Nogard has been desposed of. Easier pickings for them."

"So what will that mean for your people?" asked Martha.

"It means that we'll probably be enslaved by whomever arrives there first," he told her. "Our technology is up-to-snuff, but as you have seen, our fighting skills are not. We will be easily defeated and forced to obey orders. Then our planet will be stripped of all food, water, minerals, gases, precious metals and fuels and we will be left to languish."

"Right then," the Doctor said. It was his own battle cry. "Let's try to keep these battlepods on the ground, shall we?"

The Doctor dashed over to one of the pods. "Did you say he'd used a sonic device to seal the doors?"

"Yes," the President answered, as all citizens watched.

"Molto bene," he said. "Got just the cure for that."

The sonic screwdriver proved, as usual, handy. Within seconds the door was open.

"Nine minutes to ignition," the female voice said.

"Is there a main power grid for the space station?" asked the Doctor of no one in particular.

"Yes there is," a middle-aged Vilovian answered. "I head the electrical team."

"You and your team need to go see if there's a way you can cut off the power at the source," the Doctor suggested. "Maybe if we cut off the power to these things, they won't be able to take off."

The electrical team ran up the stairs and disappeared through a door.

"What about radar? Is there a team for that?" the Doctor asked the group.

"Yes sir, that's us," a female said.

"You go back to the com room, keep an eye on those seven cruisers," the Doctor commanded. "Let us know if and when there's any change in status."

The radar team disappeared through a different door.

"Martha, what does the wounded chap need?" he asked her.

"He needs his head elevated, pressure on the wound," she answered. "He needs to be hydrated, he needs his breathing monitored, he needs maybe some alcohol for cleaning the wound, and if you can find a source of fire, then maybe you could seal the wound."

The Doctor turned to another female Vilovian and asked her to gather a team to carry out Martha's orders and care for the young wounded one.

All that was left in the room was the President and his aides.

"You lot, you try to get in touch with your home planet, alert them of the danger. Ask them to send help, if they can do so without revealing their position," he told them. "But don't go far, we may need your help."

The President and his aides dispersed about the room, each taking a station at a communications console.

"Eight minutes to ignition," the woman announced.

The Doctor stared at the inside of the pod, then stepped in. Martha hung back and watched. "Blimey," she muttered. "It's like a sensory deprivation chamber."

There was one screen that showed the outside of the pod, two handles on either side for bracing oneself, and nothing else. There was no place to sit, no control console, no communications devices. It was nearly empty. The Doctor held the sonic screwdriver aloft, attempting to home in on some device, some clue that would tell him where to start undoing the ignition pattern, but the same old buzzing resonated from the device, nothing more.

"Doctor!" he heard a call from above. The Time Lord stuck his head out of the pod. It was the electrical team leader calling from the stairs. "I don't think I can isolate the power source. If I turned off the pods, I'd turn off the life support system for the whole station."

"Are you serious?" the Doctor yelled. "Who the hell designed this thing?"

"Sorry Doctor," the electrician said. "We'll keep trying, but I just wanted you to know the situation." Then he disappeared again.

"Miss Jones!" The call was coming from the wounded Vilovian's direction. The female she had left in charge was in need of help. Martha went to attend to them.

Meanwhile, the Doctor attempted to find any panel in the pod, a floorboard that could be lifted, a battery pack to be accessed, but he found nothing. The pod was quite literally seamless, like an organic being. His usual methods were going to be useless here.

An organic being. Oh, why didn't I think of that?

He stuck his head out of the pod once more. "Mister President, did you say this thing is sentient?" he asked. "It responds to the thoughts and feelings of its occupant?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Does it only work if a Vilovian is piloting?"

"No, it should work for any sentient being."

"Fabulous," the Doctor said, stepping inside.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He attempted to "pilot" the pod by thinking calm thoughts. He tried to reassure this ship in the way that he often reassured his own vessel. However, this battlepod was not built for calm – it was built for battle. He could feel it resisting him, railing against his Time Lord's serenity.

"Damn," he rasped, lightly thumping the wall in frustration.

Martha returned. "He's gone into shock, Doctor. We have to hurry."

"Seven minutes," the voice warned.

Martha's words and her tone sent a frisson down his spine. A frisson of what, he wasn't sure. If only he could put aside whatever it was long enough to solve this problem...

But, on impluse, he pulled Martha into the pod with him and shut the door.

Later he would look back upon that act with bemusement. He must have had some subconscious knowledge of what was to come, and was simply giving in to his baser urges, those of which he had previously thought himself master. Any man could tell you why he pulled her in there.

But his official reason? Two sentient beings are stronger than one.

"Concentrate," he told her. He closed his eyes and tried again. "Tell it to stand down."

She understood immediately. She grabbed his hand, as though this would strengthen their mental bond, and did ask he asked. Again, the battlepod resisted. Both felt a surge of resistance inside their minds. It made Martha a little dizzy, as she was unused that sort of communication. She swooned a bit, and the Doctor caught her.

"All right?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Just feel a bit... exhausted is all."

Exhausted, he thought. He zoomed in on that word. Exhausted.

"Martha, you're brilliant," he told her. "We can exhaust the pod!"

"We can?"

"Yes! If we can overload it, then it'll short out and detach itself from the parent power source!"

"It will?"

"Oh yes!" he exclaimed, smiling grandly.

"But it only responds to our feelings," she said. "What do we do? Have a fist fight in here? Start telling nasty jokes about each others' mothers?"

In response, he grabbed her face and kissed her hard. Her initial shock pushed her against the wall of the clean pod, but it passed. When the pleasure set in, she let out a short sound, half moan, half squeak, and then parted her lips. His tongue found hers, and they danced round each other languidly, but insistently. Martha curled her arms around his back and pulled him in tighter. The kiss was white-hot and perfect, and Martha felt as though a thousand years of secrets were finally being laid bare. At the same time, a different kind of tension was creeping into her body and pooling in her lower abdomen.

"Six minutes," they heard booming outside the pod.

He pulled away from her reluctantly. He looked around the pod, and worriedly, said "It's not working!"

With a different kind of breathless desperation than she showed when her patients were in peril, she insisted, "Oh, yes it is!" and she pulled him back in for another probing kiss. The tension was mounting within her, and she pushed against him in an attempt to free herself from it. In that moment, they both knew what would, and needed to, happen next.

Without taking his mouth away from hers, he tugged at her tee-shirt. He pulled it up a few inches, just enough to give him access to the button and zipper of her jeans. She moaned softly but intensely as he undid them. He pressed his hand against the bare flesh of her stomach. It was flat, soft and the color of caramel. The feel of it inflamed him, and he pushed his hand downward.

But then he stopped, and looked at her. He found that he was out of breath and sweating, but still he warned, "Martha, there are other ways out of this predicament. Are you sure about this?"

Also breathless, eyes half-shut, she replied, "No there aren't. And yes I am."

He looked in her eyes as his hand continued its journey downward. His fingers slipped behind her tiny knickers, and found the swollen folds beyond. She was slick and warm, and ready. She took in a sharp breath as she felt the Doctor's touch in her body's most sensitive area. She braced herself against the wall, and he pressed as close to her as possible. She moaned once more as his fingers began to move.

Her eyes closed and her mouth dropped open a bit, and he watched her face, listened to her breathe as he stroked her. Her breathing was quickening, and her eyelids were squeezing harder and harder down. Every stroke gave her more and more pleasure, and brought her closer and closer to overload. Her body was tightening and he could tell she was on the brink.

In spite of the tension inevitably building within him as well, he found that he did not want this to end. She was on the edge of exploding, but he was stalling... Just another minute or so, he thought as he leisurely worked two of his fingers inside her. This pushed another moan out through her mouth.

"Five minutes," the voice outside announced.

Martha's eyes flew open. "Doctor," she panted. "It's time."

He hooked his fingers upward, as though to say "come here," and pressed hard. She gasped. Blue curls of lightning-like energy began to spread over the inside of the pod, beginning at the top and spreading downward. Martha's body trembled violently, and she bit her lip in an effort not to scream. Noises of zapping, of rampant electricity filled the air, filled her ears as she grasped at the Doctor for support. The whole pod trembled, and Martha's orgasm arrived like a vicious pop. She allowed herself one short scream, and as she did, she and the Doctor heard a small explosion above their heads, while outside the pod, the President and his aides could see a bouquet of blue sparks flying out of the top of the pod with a loud burst. Martha's knees gave out just as the pod's power blinked out. The screen went off, the lights failed. They were left in the dark.

He supported her as she recovered, and in the blackness, her lips sought his once more. He leaned against her and kissed her, and for the first time, she was aware of his own desire. His hardness was pressed against her stomach. She was limp and exhausted and breathless. She broke the kiss, and took a few moments to gather herself, to rest. She felt satisfied, yet she wanted more... so much conflict in her mind, so much calm in her body... and in spite of herself, she began to laugh.

"What is it?"

"Dunno! My body's in overdrive..." she giggled. "Different kind of tension relief, I s'pose."

He smiled, though she couldn't see it in the dark, and he kissed her again. Their mouths clung to each other hungrily, and again, they were both reminded of the Doctor's need. She put her hand against it, and now it was his turn to gasp.

"Shall we overload the other pod now?" she asked, coyly.

"Yes," was all he said, emphatically, simply.

Outside the pod, they heard the President's voice. "Doctor! Are you two all right in there? We saw the explosion and then there was nothing for a while. Are you injured?"

"No no, we're fine," the Doctor called out. "Just needed a moment to recover."

"Four minutes to ignition," the female voice informed them.

Martha whispered, "We're going to have to make a break for it."

"Count of three," he said. "One, two..."

And then he threw open the pod door, and dashed across the hangar to the other pod, dragging her behind him like a ragdoll.

"Doctor, did it work?" the President asked, trying to run after them.

"Yes, it worked," he said, without explanation. He sonicked open the other pod door as fast as he could, and then pulled Martha in. "Might want to back away, Mister President, there's going to be another explosion," he warned, just before closing the door.

The President absentmindedly stepped backward, and watched the pod for a few moments. Eventually, he turned back to the communications console and resumed his correspondance with the militia on the home planet. He decided to update them, tell them that the danger might well have passed, but to stand by.

No sooner had he ended the call when he began to see blue tendrils surrounding the second pod. The same humming occurred, the same intensifying of the electrical current in the air... and then bam! The same spray out of the top of the pod, followed by silence.

In a few minutes, the Doctor and Martha emerged from the pod, looking haggard. Whatever they had done in there to overload the battlepods had overloaded them as well. He asked them to show him what they had done, just in case any other pods needed disengaging. They declined to give him any information, but assured him that when the time came, he'd be able to perform.

After that, the President joined the Doctor and Martha on their disapparating space craft, and they took his wounded nephew back to their home planet. He watched them re-enter the blue box together, hand-in-hand, and there was an unmistakable twinkle in the eye of the Doctor as they did so.

The President hoped that someday, he could save his world as they had.