FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS BEFORE THE WEDDING, SATURDAY EVENING - SUNDAY MORNING

The Doctor had been repairing the TARDIS console when she'd left that morning. He had moved to an entirely different part of the console by the time Martha returned, but he was still lying on his back in the same fashion, and still only visible from the neck down.

"Hi," she said, coming in through the TARDIS door. "You look remarkably the same as when I left."

He stood up straight, and she could see that his suit was covered in muck, and his eyes were looking ragged and bloodshot. He was sweaty from head to toe, and he was panting with frustration.

"Ooh," she added, stepping forward to take his crooked, oily glasses off his face. "I stand corrected. Doctor, it might be time to stop for the day."

"I can't," he told her. "Not until I've totally repaired the gravitational modulator."

"I thought it was the air shields. How did the gravitational modulator get broken?"

"When I was repairing the air shields, I was trying to have a sandwich. Knocked the gravity all out-of-kilter with my elbow because I wasn't paying attention. You think I'd learn by now that lunch and technology do not mix very well."

"Ah. Well, can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Why do tomorrow what could be done today?"

"Because I'm back now, and I'd rather spend the evening with you than combing through Lord of the Rings special features again, while you're in here clanking about under the grate."

"You could help now, you know," he said. "And not just with holding things. I could even show you how to mentally re-calibrate the time rotor with your new mojo."

"True. But for tonight, let's toss in the wrench, shall we?"

He smiled slightly. "One hour."

She gave him a sly smile of her own. She lowered her voice and took his filthy hand and stroked it. "If you act now, I will personally peel those greasy clothes off you, wash all that dirty oil from your body, and then work out your kinks, in whatever manner you see fit."

He gulped, as she let go of his hand.

"And the offer expires in two minutes," she warned with a wink. She turned and walked toward an archway which led to the inner reaches of the TARDIS.

The Doctor sighed, knowing he was beaten. The wrench hit the console with a loud clang.

"All right, so the gravitational modulator can wait," he said, following her down the hall. "But if you lift up into the air in the middle of proceedings, I'm so taking credit for it."


Adjacent to their bedroom and master bath, there was a rarely-used marble room, where they sat now. The Doctor was neck-deep in warm water laced with lavender oil and mint bubbles. Martha was perched on the edge of the very large tub, legs hanging in the water, dressed in her short beige satin pyjamas. He was leaning back with his head resting on a towel between her knees. She was intermittently massaging his shoulders and pulling her fingers through his thick shock of dark, uncontrolled hair. He was slowly sinking into an oblivion of sensation, and she was enjoying watching. Next to her sat two cups of cooling pink fruit juice, which they drank from Hurricane glasses. Candles burned round the edges of the room, and harp music wafted in from somewhere. Martha reckoned the TARDIS was using its aesthetic interface to pump the music directly into their minds, ever so quietly.

Every now and then, they talked. They had briefly discussed Tish's dress, and how Martha was supposed to go with her in a couple of weeks for alterations. Then, after a long silence, the Doctor told Martha more details of the gravitational modulator problems and how if he couldn't fix it soon, he'd have to go to another planet for parts. After another long silence, she mustered up the wherewithal to tell him what had been on her mind at every moment, since lunch.

"I told my mum today," she said.

"Told her what?" he moaned absently.

"That the price of roasted ham has gone up at Quibley's Mini Market," she said.

His eyes popped open. "What?"

"I told her I'm pregnant," she said, smacking him very lightly on the head. "Daft man."

"Oh," he sighed. "How did she take it?"

"She didn't run out of the restaurant screaming, so that's something."

Her tone told him that the conversation hadn't gone well. "What did she say, Martha?"

"She said congratulations very grudgingly, like with this totally flat face, and then asked me…" Martha paused to put her aggravation into check. "If I know who the father is."

"What?" he asked, with a bit of a chuckle.

"It was insulting."

"Oh, Martha," he counselled. "She knew the answer, she was just hoping to be wrong."

"That doesn't actually help, Doctor, but thanks."

"I just mean… it's not like she really thinks you're out there… you know…"

"Mattress-hopping?"

"Yeah. She's just winding you up because you got the drop on her."

"I know," Martha sighed. And she did know, but it didn't make it any easier.

"And she knew it would be me. She just doesn't happen to like me very much, and… well, given the data she has to go on thus far, I can't say that I blame her."

Martha pulled her hands away from him and sat back on the marble deck, leaning on them. "Still. I'm already having mixed feelings about this state of affairs. I wish I could count on my mum, at least, to be happy for me."

He moved away from her briefly and turned around. He took both her feet in his hands and began climbing out of the tub, rotating her body sideways so that she'd be stretched out on the deck, parallel with the side of the tub.

He spoke gently. "Well, Martha, I'm happy. I'm happy for us. We're going to have a son. I know it's not the ideal situation, knowing what we know about him, but I'm still absolutely chuffed to look at you and know that you're carrying my baby, and I'm going to get to share this with you." He helped her lie back, and put the towel behind, then underneath, her head. She dangled her fingers in the lovely-smelling water at her side while he began to massage her feet. "I hope that's enough for now."

She smiled at the marble ceiling, and almost cried. "Of course it is," she said.

She let him work his magic for a few minutes, and then she looked down at him and said, "You don't have to do this. It was supposed to be about your kinks."

"I like doing this," he told her with a naughty tip of his eyebrow. "Besides, you've got all night to work out my kinks."

She tried to shake off the rush of pleasant heat, and just enjoy the simple pleasure of his hands on her.

Eventually, her mind returned to her mum. "It's just… how can she… she's going to be his grandmother," she pointed out.

"Mm-hm, and she knows it. She's probably already out looking at little footie pyjamas and fuzzy ducks and things. She can't not come round, Martha. She can hate me all she wants to, but she won't be able to help but love our son."

"Even if he's just like you? And you know he will be."

"She won't care. She'll see you in his eyes, and she'll fall in love."


The only thing Martha didn't like about sleeping with the Doctor in the TARDIS was the fact that the morning sun was never about to wake her. But that was true in any room in the TARDIS, so really, she had absolutely no reason to complain. Because in the absence of the sun, the Doctor was there. He woke her with a kiss, or a gentle stroke, or with some complete rubbish whispered in her ear, designed to make her laugh.

This morning, it was the third.

"Good morning, Martha Jones," he said, low in her ear. "This is the concierge with your wake-up call. If you would please stand and dress and vacate the room in the next five minutes, as the facility will be flushed out with toxic cleaning agents by the Housekeeping Pixies."

She turned over and opened her eyes, squinting at him with sleep still all over her face. "It just gets better every morning."

"That's the goal," he chirped, before kissing her on the forehead. "Good morning, love. Coffee? Tea? Airsick bag?"

She sat up and smiled weakly, moving gently through the nausea welling up below. She thought about it. Coffee sounded disgusting. Eggs would surely kill her. So she requested, "Tea and dry toast."

"Your wish is my command," he told her. "By the way, your mobile was making some weird noises a while ago."

As the Doctor left the room, Martha reached over gingerly to see who had called. It turned out to be an e-mail notification, and also a battery low signal.


When the Doctor re-entered the bedroom with tea and dry toast, it was ninety minutes later. He knew she'd need time to ramp up to her morning sickness, and get through it, before she could eat anything. By then, she was pulling her laptop case from the cupboard.

"Thanks," she said. "Hope you don't mind, I'm going to check my e-mail. I got a notification on my mobile, but it's out of juice."

She pulled up the Yahoo site, en route to her e-mail account, but a headline on Yahoo's daily newsfeed caught her eye, and stopped her from proceeding for a moment.

"Look at this," she said. "Bride Kidnapped, the Day Before Tying The Knot."

"Hm," the Doctor muttered, eating his own toast. "What happened?"

"Erm… it says… Amanda Finneran, aged twenty-four, disappeared Friday afternoon from her parents' home in central London. There was no sign of forced entry, no forensic evidence has been found yet and no-one who was in the house at the time heard anything unusual. Amanda was scheduled to be married on Saturday, yesterday. Her sister says they were in her bedroom rehearsing the bouquet-toss, whatever that means, and they were just messing about and being all giggly and silly… the sister went to the loo, and when she came back, Amanda had gone. They called the police twenty-four hours later."

The Doctor chewed slowly. "That's weird. Does it say anything else?"

"Just that her family and her fiancé are beside themselves with worry, and are going to do an appeal on television tonight for her safe return. Oh… and the power went out momentarily, just about the time when Amanda would have disappeared, but it came back on straight away. Again, forensic teams could find no evidence of tampering with the wiring in the house."

"Hm."

"Electrical issues related? Maybe her television ate her, or something."

He looked at her sideways. "Not as uncommon as you'd think."

She chuckled and shrugged, and signed into her e-mail. The only new message was from Tish, early that morning.

"Hi Martha," she'd written. "Just thought you might like to know that after you left last night, mum did say some positive things. I don't understand at all why she couldn't say anything positive to you directly instead of letting it sort of tumble out while talking to me, but that's how she is. I guess. Anyway, you left in such a funk, I thought it might cheer you up to know. She said she felt she could rest easy, at least, because the child would be well-loved and well cared-for by the two of you. She's relieved that she'll never have to worry about the little one being sick, because with two doctors around, what could go wrong? She said she wondered whether the Doctor has any experience caring for children, and whether he might like to spend some time with little Keshia. Corrective of her, yes, but she did wonder – she didn't just assume that the Doctor would have nothing to offer you, which I think is a step in the right direction. And she said that we can all bet a million pounds that it will be the cutest baby ever. Again, why she didn't express this to you, I'll never know… but there it is. Please try to keep mum's behaviour in perspective. And if you can't, then just know: Robert Oliver and I are here for you. Love, Tish. P.S. Thanks for coming yesterday."