Crossover Fic: Doctor Who / Angel: Courage and Pluck
Title: Courage and Pluck
Fandom: Doctor Who / Angel
Rating / Genre: PG+13. This is most definitely a crack!fluff crossover. Yeep.
Words: 1103
Spoilers: Doctor Who: 3.13 Last of the Time Lords (with confirmed season four companion) / Angel: Season Five
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is property of BBC and Angel is the property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: This started life as a drabble for loafing_oaf who requested Martha meets someone from the Buffyverse (anyone - your choice)" for Martha's 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome!!!. Things got slightly out of control. It's also for fellow Buffy lover scarlettgirl who does so much for lifeonmartha.
Summary: Friends don't mock friends. Unless they really, really can't help it.
~~~
Martha wasn't surprised when she came home after a night shift to find the TARDIS in her flat, door casually ajar as ever. It had, after all, become the Doctor's routine; any time Donna popped home to see her family, the Doctor popped round to see his.
What was surprising was the Doctor-shaped hole on the sofa and complete absence of biscuity-crumbed cushions that normally accompanied his arrival.
"I'm making tea, do you want one?" Martha asked as she hung up her jacket and headed to the kettle.
"Um, no thanks. Not sure how I'd, yikes-oh-" There was a yelp, a soft thump and a grunt from inside the ship. "Bugger."
"Doctor?" asked Martha, hearing the Doctor mutter and grumble. "You alright?"
"... Not exactly."
Switching the kettle on, Martha headed over to the TARDIS and peered into the console room. It was conspicuously empty.
"What happened? Where are you?"
"I'm here."
"You sound… different," said Martha, heading round towards the console in the direction of the Doctor's voice.
"Martha, don't! Just- stay put. Listen to me."
"Okay," Martha replied, stopping dead in her tracks. "I'm listening. Just tell me what's going on. Are you hurt, is Donna okay?"
"Donna?!" the Doctor grunted, "Oh, yes, Donna's fine. Happy as Larry, never been better."
"Then what's happened?"
The Doctor sighed. "It's embarrassing."
"Doctor, I'm on a gastro-intestinal rotation at the moment. You wouldn't believe where my hands have been all day."
There was a subtle pause.
"So..." Martha prompted gently. "Why don't you tell me about it? Where were you? A galaxy far, far, far away, or somewhere closer to home?"
"We were in the neighbourhood. Earth. Nowhere special; Los Angeles, early eighties and it was fine, really, lovely time, terrible outfits, worse television, I mean truly, truly awful; can't believe it took so long for the writers to strike-"
"- Doctor, while I'm young."
"-Right, sorry. Anyway, Donna decided she wanted to go on a studio tour and so we did, saw lots of actors with big hair and shoulder pads, all lovely and then it turns out the whole of CBS's Studio City is crackling with pentonic radiation."
"Which is?"
"Nasty. Very bad stuff, simply swarming all over the Happy Days set, so she heads off to watch it being taped, and I followed the source backstage, and there it is, a room with the words "Don't" written across the top of the doorway."
Suddenly, Martha had a sense where this might be leading. "Ah."
"Quite," the Doctor agreed. "And a room labelled, "Don't," well you know me, red rag to a bull, that is-"
"Naturally."
"I mean, they might as well have invaded earth at Christmas!"
"It's like they don't even know you."
The Doctor sighed heavily again. "And then inside the room this enormous egg shaped beacon explodes and the next thing you know, I'm made of felt and my nose comes off."
"What?" said Martha, trying to get a grasp of the problem and promptly giving up.
"I might have accidentally got myself turned into a puppet."
The Doctor emerged from behind the console, holding his nose in his hand. "See?"
Martha looked at the little puppet figure skulking behind the console before her, complete with miniaturised Converse and tussled hair. It was frighteningly adorable.
"Oh. My god."
The Doctor reattached his nose. "Don't laugh."
Martha bit her lips. "But you're, so..."
"What?"
"Fluffy!"
"Don't! This is isn't funny! I'm stuck!" The Doctor said, looking longingly at his comfy pilot chair that was currently far out of reach. "Another twelve hours at least, anyway."
"Well, that's not so bad."
"Donna had to drive the TARDIS! I can't reach the console!"
"Where is she?"
"At her mum's. She kept picking me up so, I-" The Doctor stopped and looked down, sheepishly.
Martha looked at him sternly, "So you what?"
The Doctor mumbled something into his jacket.
Martha's hands slid to her hips. "Doctor, what did you do?"
"I bit her."
"You bit her?! You bit Donna?!"
"She got me back, she threw me on the gantry. I fell off."
"Serves you right!" Martha said, indignant on Donna's behalf. "She was only trying to be nice. I know it's Donna, but still-
"I'm 900 years old!" the Doctor burst out in puppet exasperation. "I've seen civilisations rise and fall, I've been to the outer edges of the universe, I've crossed the void between worlds. I've driven a Skoda through Bradford at rush hour! Now, look at me! I'm two feet tall, my fingers have fused together and my sonic screwdriver is an elaborate piece of French knitting! It's hideous!"
Martha smiled as the Doctor flopped down on the floor, frowning with enormous eyebrows at his finger-fused hands.
"Well, I think you're sweet."
"You thought Tribbles were sweet. Remember how well that ended?"
"Point taken." Martha looked at the forlorn little figure before her and sighed. "So. I suppose you'll be wanting to lie low for a while?"
The Doctor mumbled something affirmative.
"Stop here if you like. You know you're always welcome and I'm off until Thursday."
"Yes, please."
"Okay then. And it's Mum's birthday tomorrow, so we're having a family dinner in the evening. You can come if you like; it's been a while and everyone would be happy to see you."
"Okay," The Doctor's voice grew smaller, like a tired toddler. "But only if-"
"- Of course."
The Doctor humpfed, but only slightly. Martha crouched down and lightly punched the Doctor's shoulder, fervently resisting the urge to pat the Time Lord on the head.
"And maybe, maybe you could show Leo the TARDIS? It's still hard for him sometimes, not knowing about…. Well, you know. He's been wondering."
"If he promises not to touch anything. Or break it. Or get lost in any way- no wandering off. Rule One, that is."
"Quite right too."
Surrendering to his own inherent adorkability, The Doctor flopped his shoulder on to Martha's knee in puppet defeat.
Surprised and endeared, Martha gently patted the Doctor on the back. "Wouldn't dream of it. Promise."
"Good."
"So," Martha said finally, getting to her feet and looking down at her diminutive friend. "What do you say? The Patriot's on later. Want to watch it with me and bemoan the historical inaccuracies?"
The Doctor looked up, his felt brows raised in a smile. "Can I throw cushions at the screen?"
"If you can lift them," Martha teased, offering the Doctor a helping hand.
"Martha Jones!" The Doctor said gratefully, reaching out to grasp Martha's hand as tightly as he could manage without an opposable thumb. "That sounds perfect."
Fandom: Doctor Who / Angel
Rating / Genre: PG+13. This is most definitely a crack!fluff crossover. Yeep.
Words: 1103
Spoilers: Doctor Who: 3.13 Last of the Time Lords (with confirmed season four companion) / Angel: Season Five
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is property of BBC and Angel is the property of Fox.
Schmoopy Dedication: This started life as a drabble for loafing_oaf who requested Martha meets someone from the Buffyverse (anyone - your choice)" for Martha's 1,000 Drabbles of Awesome!!!. Things got slightly out of control. It's also for fellow Buffy lover scarlettgirl who does so much for lifeonmartha.
Summary: Friends don't mock friends. Unless they really, really can't help it.
~~~
Martha wasn't surprised when she came home after a night shift to find the TARDIS in her flat, door casually ajar as ever. It had, after all, become the Doctor's routine; any time Donna popped home to see her family, the Doctor popped round to see his.
What was surprising was the Doctor-shaped hole on the sofa and complete absence of biscuity-crumbed cushions that normally accompanied his arrival.
"I'm making tea, do you want one?" Martha asked as she hung up her jacket and headed to the kettle.
"Um, no thanks. Not sure how I'd, yikes-oh-" There was a yelp, a soft thump and a grunt from inside the ship. "Bugger."
"Doctor?" asked Martha, hearing the Doctor mutter and grumble. "You alright?"
"... Not exactly."
Switching the kettle on, Martha headed over to the TARDIS and peered into the console room. It was conspicuously empty.
"What happened? Where are you?"
"I'm here."
"You sound… different," said Martha, heading round towards the console in the direction of the Doctor's voice.
"Martha, don't! Just- stay put. Listen to me."
"Okay," Martha replied, stopping dead in her tracks. "I'm listening. Just tell me what's going on. Are you hurt, is Donna okay?"
"Donna?!" the Doctor grunted, "Oh, yes, Donna's fine. Happy as Larry, never been better."
"Then what's happened?"
The Doctor sighed. "It's embarrassing."
"Doctor, I'm on a gastro-intestinal rotation at the moment. You wouldn't believe where my hands have been all day."
There was a subtle pause.
"So..." Martha prompted gently. "Why don't you tell me about it? Where were you? A galaxy far, far, far away, or somewhere closer to home?"
"We were in the neighbourhood. Earth. Nowhere special; Los Angeles, early eighties and it was fine, really, lovely time, terrible outfits, worse television, I mean truly, truly awful; can't believe it took so long for the writers to strike-"
"- Doctor, while I'm young."
"-Right, sorry. Anyway, Donna decided she wanted to go on a studio tour and so we did, saw lots of actors with big hair and shoulder pads, all lovely and then it turns out the whole of CBS's Studio City is crackling with pentonic radiation."
"Which is?"
"Nasty. Very bad stuff, simply swarming all over the Happy Days set, so she heads off to watch it being taped, and I followed the source backstage, and there it is, a room with the words "Don't" written across the top of the doorway."
Suddenly, Martha had a sense where this might be leading. "Ah."
"Quite," the Doctor agreed. "And a room labelled, "Don't," well you know me, red rag to a bull, that is-"
"Naturally."
"I mean, they might as well have invaded earth at Christmas!"
"It's like they don't even know you."
The Doctor sighed heavily again. "And then inside the room this enormous egg shaped beacon explodes and the next thing you know, I'm made of felt and my nose comes off."
"What?" said Martha, trying to get a grasp of the problem and promptly giving up.
"I might have accidentally got myself turned into a puppet."
The Doctor emerged from behind the console, holding his nose in his hand. "See?"
Martha looked at the little puppet figure skulking behind the console before her, complete with miniaturised Converse and tussled hair. It was frighteningly adorable.
"Oh. My god."
The Doctor reattached his nose. "Don't laugh."
Martha bit her lips. "But you're, so..."
"What?"
"Fluffy!"
"Don't! This is isn't funny! I'm stuck!" The Doctor said, looking longingly at his comfy pilot chair that was currently far out of reach. "Another twelve hours at least, anyway."
"Well, that's not so bad."
"Donna had to drive the TARDIS! I can't reach the console!"
"Where is she?"
"At her mum's. She kept picking me up so, I-" The Doctor stopped and looked down, sheepishly.
Martha looked at him sternly, "So you what?"
The Doctor mumbled something into his jacket.
Martha's hands slid to her hips. "Doctor, what did you do?"
"I bit her."
"You bit her?! You bit Donna?!"
"She got me back, she threw me on the gantry. I fell off."
"Serves you right!" Martha said, indignant on Donna's behalf. "She was only trying to be nice. I know it's Donna, but still-
"I'm 900 years old!" the Doctor burst out in puppet exasperation. "I've seen civilisations rise and fall, I've been to the outer edges of the universe, I've crossed the void between worlds. I've driven a Skoda through Bradford at rush hour! Now, look at me! I'm two feet tall, my fingers have fused together and my sonic screwdriver is an elaborate piece of French knitting! It's hideous!"
Martha smiled as the Doctor flopped down on the floor, frowning with enormous eyebrows at his finger-fused hands.
"Well, I think you're sweet."
"You thought Tribbles were sweet. Remember how well that ended?"
"Point taken." Martha looked at the forlorn little figure before her and sighed. "So. I suppose you'll be wanting to lie low for a while?"
The Doctor mumbled something affirmative.
"Stop here if you like. You know you're always welcome and I'm off until Thursday."
"Yes, please."
"Okay then. And it's Mum's birthday tomorrow, so we're having a family dinner in the evening. You can come if you like; it's been a while and everyone would be happy to see you."
"Okay," The Doctor's voice grew smaller, like a tired toddler. "But only if-"
"- Of course."
The Doctor humpfed, but only slightly. Martha crouched down and lightly punched the Doctor's shoulder, fervently resisting the urge to pat the Time Lord on the head.
"And maybe, maybe you could show Leo the TARDIS? It's still hard for him sometimes, not knowing about…. Well, you know. He's been wondering."
"If he promises not to touch anything. Or break it. Or get lost in any way- no wandering off. Rule One, that is."
"Quite right too."
Surrendering to his own inherent adorkability, The Doctor flopped his shoulder on to Martha's knee in puppet defeat.
Surprised and endeared, Martha gently patted the Doctor on the back. "Wouldn't dream of it. Promise."
"Good."
"So," Martha said finally, getting to her feet and looking down at her diminutive friend. "What do you say? The Patriot's on later. Want to watch it with me and bemoan the historical inaccuracies?"
The Doctor looked up, his felt brows raised in a smile. "Can I throw cushions at the screen?"
"If you can lift them," Martha teased, offering the Doctor a helping hand.
"Martha Jones!" The Doctor said gratefully, reaching out to grasp Martha's hand as tightly as he could manage without an opposable thumb. "That sounds perfect."