This is just the prologue, and it's real short.
I know, I know, I should finish my other stuff soon, but at the moment I'm out of town (in Ireland in fact) and don't have access to my files, so I'm writing something new. This one, though, is finished, and I'll try to update at least once a day.
I totally own Doctor Who, my name is Russel T. Davies, and I wrote Last of the Time Lords. I don't think so.
Oh yeah, and, just so you know, this is NOT a reunion fic. It's primarily Ten/Martha.
"So then, well, we had to call in the heavy artillery to deal with all the giant bugs-"
"Of course," Martha teased.
"Well, yeah. But that one's not that interesting. It ends with my pretty young assistant- I called them assistants back then, can you imagine? jilting me for some younger, handsomer, more stylish bloke-"
"You seem pretty young and handsome and stylish to me," Martha interrupted, giggling even harder.
"Well, you should have seen what I wore back then-" He stopped, staring at her as her words finally sank in. "Martha Jones, I like you!" She grinned, her heart thumping painfully. He continued, oblivious, "-but I really should tell you about the time the Master," his voice hardly caught at all, and Martha silently applauded, "came up with this plot to take over the world using, guess what, inflatable plastic deckchairs."
"You're not serious," MArtha said, disbelievingly.
"Deadly. So were the chairs. Deadly, I mean. They ate people. But that's nothing compared to the time I blew up killer shop dummies, or when I got unexpectedly snogged by an attractive eighteenth-century French aristocrat, or went up against face-eating televisions, or the Chelonians, they're a joke all by themselves. 'Course, Captain Jack could tell you much better stories. He told me an' Rose a couple you just wouldn't believe- they mostly involved him and a couple of other guys getting chased by vicious alien beasts in some remote location while stark naked. Seriously. We-"
There was a loud ringing noise and all the lights went out.
"-are in trouble," the Doctor finished. He jumped up and banged the console. Green lights flickered weakly, illuminating the Doctor's pale face.
"Aren't we always in trouble?" Martha asked. "Isn't trouble, like, our base state of existence?"
"Those were the Cloister bells," the Doctor said absentmindedly, "and the TARDIS won't respond to me. This is bad trouble, Martha."
"Is there any other sort?" she asked dryly, rolling her eyes.
Just then the central column started flashing and going up and down. "We're taking off?" she asked in alarm, looking for something to hold onto.
"I don't know, it doesn't seem like normal dematerialization," the Doctor murmured, looking up at the column with something like pleading in his eyes.
The column slowed, then stopped.
"Well," said Martha, letting go of the chairs, "that was the smoothest drive this machine's ever had. No turbulence whatsoever. I could do with more of that."
"It's not natural," the Doctor said flatly, not taking his eyes off what Martha thought of as the 'dashboard' but probably had some fancy alien name.
"Well," she said, pulling on her red jacket, "let's go see what's out there, yeah?"
The lights went off again.
"That's just fab. Now I can't see anything."
"Here, setting eleven on the ol' screwdriver."
There was a small blue light, and Martha could see the Doctor's wide eyes. She thought about making a crack about how she could stare at his face all day but she needed to see the door, but she decided against it. She wasn't sure how he'd react- her teasing hadn't gone that far yet.
"Come on," she said, reaching for the door handle. She felt it, and pushed it open just as the Doctor shouted. Bright sunlight streamed in. She stepped outside.
She was standing on what looked like an ordinary English street, lined with houses and trees. "Well, that was a disappointment," she said. A cold breeze was blowing, and she shivered.
The Doctor stepped out next to her, wearing a curious expression on his face.
"What is it?" Martha asked.
"We're on a parallel world," he said. "I can feel it."
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