FIVE

Martha unzipped her jacket and walked up the ramp slowly.

"So he's basically a sixth-form student, and that key opens his locker?" she asked slowly, thinking.

"Kind of," the Doctor admitted, closing the doors to the TARDIS behind her. "If you count being thirty-three years old a sixth-form student."

"But you said these people live for like two hundred years," she pointed out. "So that still makes him about sixteen in Earth years."

"I suppose it does," he mused to himself, peeling off his long coat and throwing it carelessly at a support beam near the control console. She folded her arms, looking at him.

"So you've got your shoes and now we're just going to leave?" she asked bluntly.

"Pretty much, yeah," he said, non-plussed. "Why?"

"He said his dad would kill him if he found out about the stash in his locker," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he confirmed shortly with a nod, his hands slipping into his pockets effortlessly.

"And we're just going to leave him here?"

"Yeah," he nodded innocently.

"Doctor, he's going to get into trouble."

"He should have thought of that before he stashed illegal drugs in his locker," he said warningly, ignoring her eye-roll as he walked up to the centre console.

"Oh come on!" she sighed, shaking her head.

"What?" he asked, bending over the console to check settings.

"Did you never smoke a few suspect things when you were at Uni?" she demanded.

"Quite a few, as a matter of fact. But I was always careful not to be caught with it," he said, pre-occupied. Martha stopped short.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said quickly, hurrying up to the console and watching him from the opposite side. "You went to Uni?"

"Well of course I did," he scoffed, not looking at her. "How else could I be a doctor?"

"What's your doctorate in?" she said quickly.

"Thermo -. Why?" he said, overlapping himself hastily.

"Just wondered. You know, people call themselves 'doctor' all the time, doesn't mean they actually have a doctorate in something."

"Well I do," he said tetchily. She waited, folding her arms. He looked up. "Oh what now?" he heaved irritably.

"We're not leaving here till we know that Arkel – Arkel –"

"Arkel'bontannatin-ayan," he supplied helpfully.

"He is not going to get his arse tanned by his dad for carrying less than half the legal limit of some smokable drug," she said firmly. He looked up at her.

"Why do you care?" he asked suddenly, confused. She looked away.

"Because… because it's kind of our fault he got arrested for stealing your shoes," she said.

"Our fault?" he demanded. "It's his fault he put his locker key in the shoe that I happened to buy. It's his fault the key fits his school locker than contains the stash of wacky-baccy that he bought and hid in there," he continued. "It's his fault he was forced to steal my shoes to get the key back. I fail to see how any of this is our fault!"

"Just… Trust me," she said forcefully. He looked at her for a long moment, indecision written on his face. "Just this once," she added quietly. He looked around the TARDIS, his eyes rolling in consternation. His mouth worked for a moment without sound. Then he looked back at her.

"But I wanted to go to Persephone," he grumped.

"We can go there after you've – we've – helped him avoid a run-in with his dad," she said. "You know what dads are like, they're a bit over-zealous at times."

"Oh yes!" he confirmed suddenly, and with a great deal of conviction. "Especially when you come home and tell them that some dean at the academy has -." He stopped suddenly, looking away. "Alright." He paused, thinking, then looked over at her, pointing accusingly. "But don't think I'm doing this because I feel sorry for the little thief!" he said sternly.

"Of course not," she agreed, smiling.

"I'm only doing this as a favour to you," he snapped irritably.

"Fine," she said firmly.

"And that's only cos you found the shop with the best trainers in it," he added hotly.

"Absolutely," she nodded.

"And it was less than a quarter of an ounce."

"That's what I said," she said seriously. He looked over at her for a long moment.

"Martha Jones," he said accusingly, and she looked up. She met his demanding gaze and wondered, not for the first time, just what he was thinking. "Thank you," he said humbly, then turned quickly and reached for his coat, pushing his hand in the pocket and finding the keys. He pocketed them, flung the coat back over the beam, and turned to her. "Well? Come on then," he grumbled.

"Don't forget, I still have to get this lovely magic box a lovely Magic Tree!" she called after him, hurrying down the ramp.

"Well where do you get them?" he asked, opening the door for her.

"I don't know – where's the nearest Shell petrol station?" she chuckled.

He laughed and followed her out of the TARDIS.

THE END