Summary: The Doctor's egg-frying invention is seen by Martha as a chance to finally spread the workload.

Disclaimer: don't own.

The Multifunctional Timey-Wimey Detector

"Martha!" the Doctor called out as soon as she opened the front door. "You shouldn't have worried about buying that fryer thingy –"

"Frying pan, Doctor," she corrected primly.

"– because look!" He stepped out directly into her path, almost knocking her over in the process but nonetheless dragged her into the kitchen.

"My timey-wimey detector!" he introduced to Martha like a proud, first-time parent. "Can detect temporal disturbances in the big ball of wobbly-wobbly space-time and," here he beamed even more, if that were possible, "it just so happens that the particular resonance pattern associated with my timey-wimey detector of big, wibbly-wobbly stuff corresponds to the natural frequency of a chicken's egg, such that the dipoles of the little egg molecules align themselves, thereby generating heat in the process and tada! An egg-fryer!" He bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerly awaiting some sort of praise from Martha.

"That's…really great. Really wonderful," she managed to say.

He beamed, missing the sarcasm. "It is, isn't it? Come to think of it, actually," he continued, suddenly reflective, "I may have re-invented the super-microwave oven half a century early – look out for the year 2019 – massive upgrade round about then! Like this one here, or a variation of it anyway. Well, it's almost the same basic principle except more sonic. Sort of… Hmm, where was I?"

"Um…" Martha blinked slowly.

"Oh right!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers and gesturing at the frying pan Martha still held. "So clearly, my egg-fryer outclasses your egg-fryer. Hence the irrelevance of it, don't you think? Oh and by the way, how much did that cost you?"

"Five quid, but –"

"Ha! See? Five quid out of your money, which I might add is rather a lot. Now, me in comparison, my timey-wimey detector and egg-fryer cost me absolutely nothing. Zip, nada, nein, zilch –"

"That's the point though," Martha managed to interject. "How do you know it's actually going to work like you say it does?"

"Well of course it will work!" he said, shrugging as if it were obvious. "Well, theoretically it should…"

She shot him a sceptical look.

"Oh all right then," he relented. "Come on, I'll prove it to you."

He cracked an egg rather messily on the edge of an old, iron pot sitting rather innocently on the wooden table, and with a careless flick he threw the remains over his shoulder, narrowly missing Martha. Then he lifted his 'timey-wimey detector/egg-fryer' up to the pot like it was made of gold, and turned it on.

Martha really didn't expect it to work, what with it being made of a telephone, a radio, a clock, a motor stolen from something else and several wires, amongst other things. It really, really was quite impossible for it to work. But…it did.

"Well…" she managed, somewhat stunned. But this was the Doctor though, and he defied the impossible on a regular basis. She glanced up to see him grinning at her in a clever, I-told-you-so sort of way.

A little miffed, she leaned closer to examine the egg which was cooking considerably faster than normal. "It's burning around the edges," she pointed out in an attempt to say that there was something wrong with it.

"Ah, well it won't happen with more practice," he returned. "So go on then Martha Jones, say it! You're impressed, I can tell."

She folded her arms in the most dignified manner possible. "I'm impressed," she said stiffly, "considering your inability to deal with domestics."

He beamed. "Multitalented, that's what I am."

"Of course," Martha agreed, the slightest of grins suddenly appearing on her face.

"Of course," he echoed happily. "No contest. Wait, did you just agree with me?"

"Yes," she smiled. "So from now on, Mr Domestic, you can do the cooking."

She was out the door by the time he realised he'd been had.

"Wait, Martha!" he protested, tearing out the door after her.

"Yes?" she answered, already busying herself with tidying the room so she wouldn't crack up in his face.

"Um…you do know that since I'm going to be using my timey-wimey detector slash egg-fryer, all we'll be eating for the next couple of weeks will be eggs, right? So maybe I shouldn't…" he trailed off lamely when Martha looked at him with a smirk.

"Doctor, I recall you mentioning that your egg-fryer worked on the same basic principle as a microwave."

"Yes, but –"

"And I know that other things you'll try to cook will take longer, but perhaps with that extra time you'll realise that you're burning it instead and so you'll turn it off before that happens." She raised her eyebrows, waiting but for once, the Doctor was silent. Martha almost took pity on him. Almost.

"Go on then," she said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Make dinner while I tidy up. Gosh, you make such a mess! And in case you need it, frying pan's over there," she gestured.

He shuffled off to the kitchen, a dejected expression on his face. Martha nearly lost it then and there.

"Martha," he called out after a few minutes of silence. "You know the table which I put the pot on?"

"What about it?"

He poked his head around the doorframe to look at her, a hopeful, surprisingly childlike expression on his face. "Well, when I was cooking that egg, the pot heated up and burnt the table."

"Doctor, you're still cooking," she said firmly.

"But the burn's really big! It's dark and…circular. And black. And it's really quite noticeable, and if I cook it'll be even more noticeable."

"Use the stove then. That's what they're for."

"But…I'll probably end up burning that too."

"Unlikely," she deadpanned. "And besides, it won't happen with more practice. That's what you said anyway."

He looked cornered for a moment before saying slowly, "I don't think I'll get better with practice."

"I think you will," she replied evenly.

Silence, then, "Martha, do I have to cook?"

"Doctor!" She turned around to face him fully – a bad idea since he was now attempting the puppy-dog eyes trick. She immediately looked away and said, exasperated, "Stop trying to wheedle your way out of cooking!"

"Sorry." The forlorn look returned to his face. "I'll just go do it then…"

He trudged away and Martha calmly carried on tidying up like nothing in the world had happened.

Not a moment later his voice drifted out from the kitchen again. "The food's going to be burnt, you know," he said in an attempt at reverse psychology.

"I don't mind," she replied, smiling gently.

When the food arrived some minutes later, Martha refrained from teasing him about the little burnt edges since she could tell he'd really tried. She was nice to him for the rest of the night too because coercing him into doing the cooking was more than enough for one day – definitely the best feat she'd ever managed.

Hope you liked! There'll probably be a continuation, but it's going to be black humour. I think that's what it's called. Anyway, you shall see. Maybe. Eventually. Well, I'm a very sporadic writer, so the next chapter may appear any time within tomorrow or the next few years. :D

In the meantime, please review!