Sneezes
Summary: A rainstorm has more after-effects than you'd think...
Disclaimer: Do I have to keep writing these? I think we all know who owns Doctor Who by now.
Prompt: 069 Thunder
A/N This started out as a fic about Martha and the Doctor getting caught out in a storm. After much tweaking (and a Nightwish video influence, virtual cookies to anyone who spots it!), I got this, which is slightly different, but there we go.
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Thunder crashed in the distance, rain pouring down in sheets as two people ran, bent over, towards the TARDIS. After a few moments fumbling for the slippery key with sodden hands, the man opened the door and allowed the woman to stumble inside ahead of him. The man grinned as he shut the doors behind himself, stepping up to the central console.
"That was fun! Wasn't that fun, Martha?" He enthused, turning towards the woman who glared at him as she threw her soaked jacket onto the hat stand.
"'Course, if you reckon finding a dying angel, getting chased by a mob of angry villagers, being abandoned by said dying angel and getting soaked to boot is fun."
"Oh yeah. At least the angel's safe." Martha shrugged.
"You reckon."
"She teleported! Didn't you see it was a teleport- all that light flashing around her? And then there's the fact that she flew up first, I mean, who wants to land somewhere else covered in soot, courtesy of a mob of uncivil, ignorant..."
"Atchoo!" He looked up from the console approvingly.
"Very good, Martha! Remembering your lessons in Atchapasse?" She shook her head.
"No, that was an- atchoo!- sneeze! Sheesh, how to tell if somebody knows too much. Tip one: they talk science more than English."
"I-"
"Tip two: they spot all the signs of a teleport while being chased by a mob."
"That-"
"Tip three: they mistake an average sneeze for a word of some obscure language which nobody else bothers to learn!" She finished, with a final sneeze adding an unwanted emphasis to the last sentence. The Doctor looked suitably chastened as she turned towards the interior door. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to have a shower."
"Atchoo!"
"And don't think about pretending to sneeze too!"
"But I-" Martha left before the Doctor could finish. He frowned, a puppy-dog look forming on his face. "I wasn't pretending!"
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Martha sat on her bed, wrapped in a towel and attempting to tame her hair. She scowled as the frizzy strands defiantly sprang out around her hands. Eventually, a sneeze loosened her grip so much that the whole lot puffed up once more. Her scowl deepened as she threw her brush down in frustration, blowing a puff of hair from under her top lip. As the strands of hair over her forehead blew up, she decided she'd ask the Doctor. Even if he didn't have a clue about hair (which was possible, even given his extensive knowledge of the rest of life, the universe and everything), it was worth a try. Picking up the brush, comb and hairbands, she set off.
Her arrival in the console room was heralded by a sneeze. After reflexively putting a hand to her nose, she realised it wasn't hers. She poked her head around the door. The Doctor was standing at the console, dressed in the same sodden clothes as before. As she stepped into the room, he sneezed again.
"Bless you." Martha told him, moving to his side. He shook his head.
"Wasn't a sneeze."
"Oh yes it was."
"Wasn't." Martha rolled her eyes.
"Whatever you say. You, alien boy, need to get changed." He moved round the console, muttering something.
"Sorry, didn't catch that." More muttering. Martha frowned, then heard a small voice in her ear. "Oh, is that what he said?"
"What?" The Doctor looked up, slightly confused.
"Oh, nothing. The TARDIS just told me what you said." He scowled up at the central column.
"Always the girls ganging up on me. I dunno, you nick a machine, repair it countless times, spend the best part of your life in it-" The TARDIS lurched and Martha gave a yelp of mingled surprise and pain as she hit the floor. The console hummed, sounding part apologetic, part annoyed. "Alright! In and out of it... Still, it's no excuse!" The TARDIS lurched again.
"Tell it to stop doing that!" Martha groaned, rubbing her head from where she'd hit it on the seat.
"See? Now you're hurting Martha. There was no call for that!" The Doctor ranted, offering Martha his hand. She took it and hauled herself to her feet as the TARDIS hummed again. "Good." He looked at Martha. "You alright?"
"Think so." She said, running her hands over her bruised arms.
"Good. The TARDIS says sorry." Another hum. "Why should I- oh, alright. The TARDIS says sorry I'm such a..."
"A what?" He mumbled something again. "That wasn't an answer."
"A prat." He said, voice barely audible. Martha grinned.
"You know what, I reckon people would pay to hear that. The great Doctor calls himself a prat!"
"And gets ganged up on by his ship and his companion." He muttered rebelliously. Martha smirked.
"So, you going to listen this time? Get changed."
"Yes, mother." He teased. Martha scowled as he strolled towards the door. Insufferable...
"You understand, this means war?" She said out loud. The hum this time was one of agreement.
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A/N Yes, there will be a follow-up to this. It's odd though- started out with just one line, and now that line's gone and I've got this instead...