THREE
They stood outside the TARDIS doors in the driving rain, looking around.
"Hang on a tick," he said confidently, opening the large golfing umbrella quickly. She just hugged her arms to herself, tutting.
"Does it always rain like this, or are we just lucky?" she asked.
"No no, it always rains like this," he said. "Sometimes it rains for several days without stopping," he added, looking down at her as she cowered under the umbrella.
"Sounds like England," she grumped.
"Not when the days are thirty-three hours long," he said cheerfully. She looked up at him. "Come on then, this way," he said happily, striding off. She hurried after him to keep under the umbrella.
"So what are we doing here?" she asked. They walked along a long alleyway, coming out into a busy market street. She stopped and stared, not caring as he wandered on without her, taking the umbrella.
The street was possibly wide enough for three lanes of traffic, had it had any. Right now it was over-run with stalls and traders, colourfully printed banners and bright, happy trimmings and effects jammed into every inch. It was a perfect way to make the rain seem happy and not grey after all. She grinned, then realised she was getting rained on. She ran to catch up with the Doctor, who had paused to look at something small and metallic on a stall.
"Why here?" she asked, ducking under the canvas awning of the stall. He had collapsed the umbrella and it was dripping with all its might on the grass under their feet. He handed her the umbrella and bent down to peer at something.
"You wanted to come here," he said, pre-occupied, picking something up. "Excuse me, is this a Mark II or a Mark III?" he asked the vendor.
Martha gasped as the large, round red blob she had taken for a pillar of the stall turned around. It had a tiny face with four beady eyes, and it looked back in the direction of the Doctor. Some kind of noise came out of it, and Martha just blinked.
"Don't be daft, the Mark IIIs had filters on the end," the Doctor scoffed, and put the tool down again. The noise went on again, and he paused. "Oh I see," he said, pleased, and turned back to it, studying it. "So when did they add that, then?" Again, the odd buzzing noise came from the alien stallholder and Martha just closed her mouth, trying not to be rude. "I thought the factory burnt down. When the Gellerites demanded Off-Worlders had to leave," he sniffed, straightening and looking back at the stallholder. Again, that low-key buzz, and the Doctor laughed suddenly, surprising Martha admirably. "Nooo! Did they?" he gushed, staring at the alien. "Oh," he drawled, shaking his head. "I wish I'd seen that! – When was that, by the way?" he asked carefully, pulling at his ear gently. The alien buzzed and he nodded. "Right," he said quietly, "I see. Well, not so long ago then, eh?"
"Doctor?" she asked, noticing people were starting to stop and stare. She looked back at them, failing to find one human face.
"Hmm?" he asked, looking down at her. "Weird eh? Gellerites are always such docile little things," he shrugged. "Well, come on then," he said, grinning and waving at the stallholder, before putting his hand to the umbrella. It overlapped hers, but under the circumstances, she felt better for it. Even though it was oddly cooler than her own. He took it from her and opened it as they ducked back out from under the canvas and into the lane of walking aliens.
"Doctor, why are they staring?" she asked gingerly, trying to keep her voice down.
"They don't see a lot of humans – well, people they think are humans," he said cheerfully, looking directly at a staring passer-by and nodding. "Hello!" he called with gusto, and the alien face backed away quickly. "See? Don't worry, they're harmless," he said happily. "Pwrians are just vendors. That's all they care about, selling things," he said. "You heard the man back there – he just wanted to make sure I bought that knackered old breaker-adjuster, even if he had to tell a story to do it. Which, let's face it, is not exactly a hard-"
"I didn't hear what he was saying," she interrupted. The Doctor looked down at her as they walked through the rain.
"Sorry?" he asked.
"I said, I couldn't tell what he was saying," she said. "I don't speak Pwrian, or whatever it was he was talking."
"Neither do I," the Doctor scoffed. "Blimey! If you think I'd go round learning every single language in the universe just so I could go shopping, you're madder than I think you are, Martha Jones," he scoffed. She raised her eyebrows.
"Ok," she said loudly, pulling on his arm to make him stop. Beings of all shapes and sizes pushed round them, going about their business, as he grinned down at her. "One: I am not mad, and two: how do you understand them then?"
"Martha, Martha, Martha," he breathed, shaking his head. "One: you are mad, or you never would have got into the TARDIS in the first place, and two: the TARDIS translates everything for us. So you must have heard what he was saying."
"No, I didn't. Trust me. He sounded like… that buzzing power noise you get when someone turns on a guitar amp," she said. He frowned.
"Not a word? Not a single, solitary little –"
"No!" she interrupted. He looked at her for a long moment, and she realised he was thinking.
"Oh dear," he breathed, frowning. She saw the way his eyebrows arched in abject disappointment and felt her heart drop through her stomach.
"What?" she asked. "I can tell I've done something wrong. What is it?" she asked bravely.
"It must have been that crack about the 'old crate'," he said, nodding slightly. "She's gone off you. You've upset her. She's stopped helping you out, language-wise," he sniffed, raising his chin and watching her. "I suggest," he said slowly, leaning down and pinning her with a decidedly headmaster-ish stare, "that you make it up to her. Apologise. Otherwise you might find your key doesn't work when we get back. Or your bedroom door opens the opposite way. Or the entire room has been moved further on down the corridor," he said seriously.
"What?" she spluttered. "It's just a ship! I know we're supposed to call ships 'she', but you're talking like it's something alive! Like it's got this –"
"Martha Jones, how upset were you when you wanted your mother to like me, and instead she belted me round the face?" he demanded suddenly. She swallowed, caught out.
"You knew I wanted her to like you?"
"How did you feel?" he demanded angrily. She stepped back one, people pushing into her slightly to get round her in the rain-filled street.
"I was – I was hurt and disappointed and… and I just wanted her to like you," she said quietly. "I wanted her to think you were nice, and fun, and…" She let her voice trail off, unable to bring herself to say anything more.
"Well I wanted you to like the TARDIS," he shot back, still not coming off the boil. "I wanted you two to get along. You made me bring you along this time, you made me think that it's time I wanted someone else being friends with her again; everything I've done I've done for you, and you just accuse me of ignoring you!" he snapped angrily.
She let her mouth hang open, trying to get her head round it. He looked at her, breathing slightly hard, then straightened and looked over her head resolutely. She swallowed.
"Doctor, I'm sorry," she said boldly.
"Yeah," he muttered, still not looking at her.
"No really," she said indignantly. "Look at me when I'm apologising!" she tutted, slapping his chest soundly. He winced and looked down at her. "I'm sorry! I had no idea you wanted me to be friends with… your ship," she said gingerly. "I didn't know I'd upset… her," she managed. "And… I didn't know you did anything for me. Not really," she added, more quietly.
"I brought you here because you wanted to come here," he said clearly.
"When did I say 'take me to Pwr'?" she asked, a small smile stealing over her face. He sighed, then looked around.
"You mentioned you wanted to go shopping. Somewhere that wasn't some boring London high street. Well," he said grandly, looking round. "I think you'll agree, this is not some boring London high street."
She smiled and he realised she hadn't commented. He looked down to find her grinning at him.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"You actually do hear what I say, don't you?" she mused. He shrugged and she smiled. "Ok then, take me shopping," she said. He huffed suddenly.
"Friends?" he offered, unsure. She reached out and took the umbrella from him, putting her other hand through his arm and turning him round.
"Friends," she confirmed. "I'll get her a Magic Tree. She'll like that," she smiled.
"Not the cinnamon one," he said abruptly. "She doesn't like spice."
"Right," she giggled, pulling him on through the rain.