Disclaimer – I don't own the Doctor or Martha Jones. They belong to the BBC.
Notes – A silly, insane, little story that came into my head after reading Lungbarrow. Yes, you can just imagine now how insane this story is...my first Doctor Who fanfic. Another one is in the works, which is not as utterly bizarre.
Looming Questions
Martha Jones just didn't understand some of the things the Doctor did or said. This was to be expected really, as the man in question was an alien. But this behaviour truly baffled her.
Wherever they went, be it other planets, other time periods, other galaxies, as soon as one of the contraptions was in his line of sight he would frown deeply, look about him, and if there were no witnesses destroy the offending thing.
It didn't matter what it looked like, whether completely archaic, or so futuristic she barely knew what it was, it would soon be a wrecked piece of spare parts.
After a surprisingly uneventful trip to the 1920's on Earth, Martha found that her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her on this matter. She really needed to ask what it was all about.
The TARDIS welcomed her back in its own way, as she opened the door and stepped inside. She was amazed at how much she was beginning to feel at home in the ship. The Doctor pushed past her, rushing towards the console and begun his usual pushing of buttons and pulling of levers, making the machine dematerialise and head towards the stars, where it would stay suspended in space for a while.
The Doctor always did this when he thought that she was over exerting her frail human body, which needed more rest than his.
Curiosity won out before she could think things through, and before she knew it, the question was on her lips. "Doctor?"
He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in a very familiar arch that stated the question better not be a personal one, but he was interesting in knowing what it was regardless. The Doctor had gotten paranoid about her asking personal questions after having talked about his home planet back on New Earth.
Taking a deep breath, she asked in as non offending way as she possibly could think of. "What did a loom ever do to you?"
She knew immediately that she should have stayed quiet and just gone to bed.
"Believe me, Martha Jones, you do not want to know!"
He walked out into the twisting corridors of his ship, and she knew that the TARDIS would make it impossible for her to find him.
Now she was even more baffled.
What exactly had a loom ever done to him?
And, even more importantly...how?
She knew enough about the Doctor by now to know she would never get an answer to those questions.
