Delicious Chips

I looked at pictures for the restaurant, but I don't know the actual specifics of the journey from Regent's Park to Lisson Grove, so don't hate the American.

Disclaimer: Don't own nothing

"The best fish and chips," said Martha, jogging along behind the Doctor's brisk stride, "in the universe are in Regent's Park?"

"Well, about five minutes that way, actually," the Doctor pointed in the direction they were walking. "Thought we'd pop in for a basket and then come back here." He slowed his pace and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Stroll about the park. And, if I timed it right," he looked at his bare wrist again, "there should be no crowd at all. Yep. Sea Shell of Lisson Grove doesn't become a major tourist attraction for about…twenty years. Shouldn't be any rush at all." He frowned and pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. Martha could see that it was vibrating slightly in his hand. "That's odd." He smacked it with the palm of his other hand and held it to his ear. "Huh," he said, seeming satisfied. "Must've been a leak in the TARDIS."

They crossed the street out of the park and towards the opposite street corner. A four-story brick building rose up in front of them, and on the sidewalk beneath it was a quaint little café covered by a red and white awning reading SEASHELL OF LISSON GROVE.

The Doctor grinned at Martha. "Allons-y."

Inside, there was a stand up bar at which to order, over which hung seven menu boards, and just beyond that was a rectangular room filled with black tables. Only three were occupied.

"See," said the Doctor, looking pleased with himself. "What'd I say? No crowd at all." He swaggered up to the counter and said brightly to the cashier, "Hello, there. Two fish and chips, please. Or would that be fishes and chips? Whatever it is, that's what we'll have."

The cashier, a bored-looking, pimply teenager, nodded and tapped the order into the register. He handed the Doctor a plastic tent. "Number 43. Wait over there."

"Thank you very much, sir," said the Doctor. He and Martha moved to stand near the wall. "You know," the Doctor said softly, "Lisson Grove was the reason for the first peaceful alien contact with Earth."

"Are you serious?" asked Martha, also keeping her voice low.

"Absolutely. There was, or rather there will be, an ambitious food critic from the…Candamoran Belt if I'm not mistaken, who wanted to test out exotic food. She'll come in a year or so, make the journey back, effusing to every planet on her way about this place's chips, and, after much careful planning, they'll send a group of ambassadors down. Thanks to a few level-headed agents at Torchwood and UNIT, an agreement will be struck and the British fast food business will go interplanetary."

Martha nodded, impressed. "I just hope these chips live up to your praises, Doctor."

The Doctor raised his eyebrow indignantly. "Oi, 'course they will."

"Order 43."

"See for yourself."

Martha and the Doctor walked out of the little restaurant with their plastic baskets full of oily breaded fish and chips. The Doctor speared a chip with a fork and examined it, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Potatoes. Toe of potay. Aha!" he laughed, and shook his head nostalgically. "The Potay, now they were a race for the ages."

"What are the Potay?" Martha asked, biting into a piece of fish.

"They were this race of regenerates. They lived on a planet not far from Gallifrey, I remember I used to visit them back in my early seventies. Mmm," he licked his lips. "They made excellent potato salad. I never realized that. A toe of a Potay is a Potay toe. Potato."

"Is that where the word came from?" asked Martha.

"I think so," said the Doctor, raising both eyebrows in realization. Then he frowned. "Come to think of it, potatoes are the toes of Potay."

Martha looked at the chip which she had just bitten off of. "What, you mean…?" she grimaced. "Am I eating toes?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, dead serious. "The Potay could regenerate every part of their body, except their toes. Their toes were their most prized possessions. And capital punishment for the Potay was having their toes cut off and sprinkled across the galaxy." He took another bite of a chip. "Some of them must've landed here."

Martha pushed her chips to the other side of the basket, looking nauseated.

"You know, for a doctor, you do have an irrational fear of body parts," said the Doctor, nudging Martha playfully.

"Only of eating them," Martha shot back. "I wouldn't eat anybody's toes."

"Aww, but they're so delicious," the Doctor waved a chip in Martha's face. She knocked it away, laughing.

They headed toward a bench back in the park and continued eating in silence. Martha stopped before sitting, dumping her chips in a trash bin. She turned away from the bin and toward the Doctor, noticing that he was frowning at his sonic screwdriver again. As she watched, he pointed it at his basket of chips.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting down.

"That can't be right…" he muttered.

"What can't be?"

The Doctor switched off his sonic screwdriver. "The chips are humming."

"Humming," Martha echoed. "As in, mmmmm?"

The Doctor held out the basket. "Can't you hear it?"

Martha leaned forward, and felt her jaw drop. Coming from the basket, she could hear just the faintest buzzing note. "Doctor, your french fries are singing."

"Not singing, humming." The Doctor set the basket on the bench next to him and stared at it, resting his chin in his hands. "Why are the chips humming?" he murmured to himself. "No, that wouldn't be it, unless…" He shook his head. "But those look like Gallifreyan chemical signatures. That can't be right."

"Ugh." Martha shuddered, drawing the Doctor's attention away from his screwdriver. "Thousands of people eating toes."

"What?"

She pointed to a sign pasted to lamp post, advertising the British Potato Council's bicentennial celebratory potato festival, to be held in Regent's Park in two days.

"Fascinating…"

"Hey, you guys here for the potato festival?" said an American accent from behind. The Doctor and Martha turned to see the familiar wide grin and WWII great coat of Captain Jack Harkness.

Thanks for reading! All reviews appersheated

-esking