BUBBLES

Chapter Five: Tempura Butterflies

Martha pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. "Right. Doctor, we have to fix this."

He pulled at one earlobe nervously. "I don't get it — that card's good on twenty-seven planets…"

"Doesn't look like this is one of them," she pointed out. "Doctor, the TARDIS has destroyed this woman's business. I'm wearing the remains of a designer gown. It might not be as exciting as saving a planet, but it's important. And I'd really like to be around for my wedding and not in front of a judge."

Sharon looked somewhat mollified by this little speech. "We accept Amex, Mastercard, and Visa," she piped up.

"But not the Andolarian Gold card," the Doctor said in a regretful tone. "You wouldn't consider a little trip as compensation?" he ventured, as though he couldn't quite believe he was offering.

Sharon brought her armful of dresses up as a shield. "In that thing?" she squeaked.

"I think that's a no," Tish murmured.

"What if…" Martha said slowly, "we replace all the stock?"

The little woman pulled herself as tall as possible. "Some of those dresses were couture originals," she snapped.

"Replace the stock?" Francine said in horror. "Martha, even if I teach for two years, we can't afford it…"

"That's not what she meant," the Doctor interrupted. "Was it?" he looked down at her.

"I think you've got the idea," Martha grinned. "Back in a mo."

The Andolarian Gold card was accepted without hesitation on the shopping planet of Megamall in the year 26,025. The Doctor and Martha piled the hundreds of fabulous, alien and intricate dresses before the feet of the flabbergasted Sharon, who repeated over and over, "but… the designer… the fabric… the designer…"

"All originals," Martha told her, depositing the last armload.

"But be careful about what you say about that particular fabric," the Doctor added. "It won't be invented on Earth for another four hundred years. Just tell 'em it's a blend or something, that should cover it."

"Bit blasé, Mister Timelines," Martha commented.

"It's been a long day," he retorted.

Francine and Tish glanced at Martha's tattered attire. "Your clothes are still in the cubicle," Tish pointed out.

"Oh, yeah! Hang on a minute," Martha practically scurried over to the cubicle, before hesitating and rounding on the Doctor. "And don't you think you can sneak off while I'm in there, mister."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and put on his most innocent expression. "Me? Wouldn't do a thing like that, would I?"

She gave him a very level stare, and he shuffled his feet a bit before pulling a face.

"Oh, all right, all right. I hope you appreciate that I just spent a great deal of money," he said with aspersion. Martha snorted.

"I saw the name on that card, Doctor. He's going to kill you."

"Who, Jack? Naaaah," the Doctor grinned. "He won't know until he's twenty-eight thousand years old."

Martha pulled on her clothes with relief, noting in passing that the brown-grey-green goop of Hatha Seventeen was even under her fingernails. Flipping open her phone, she bit her lip at the illuminated clock face. Quarter to six. That didn't leave much time to get home, have a shower and get to the local pub with Tom. Pulling her filthy hair back into a ponytail, she grabbed her discarded handbag and stepped out, past the dazed Sharon.

"It's like touching butterfly wings," the woman said dreamily, hugging one of the new dresses.

"I think it's been a bit much for her," muttered Francine.

"Butterflies covered in cornflour," Sharon continued happily, her eyes glassy.

"Mind you, I know how she feels," Francine added, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Tempura butterflies!" Sharon crooned.

Tish was going a very interesting shade trying to stop herself laughing. "Come on," she managed. "Home." She waved at Martha and winked before pulling Francine, protesting, from the shop.

"I should… I should really, ah… go," the Doctor backed towards the TARDIS, his expression apologetic and a little panicked. "Things to do, planets to save, kittens in trees, all that stuff."

Martha shook her head at him. "You never change, do you," she said in an amused tone.

"You'd be surprised," his lip quirked. "I'll be seeing you, Martha Jones."

"Soon," she qualified. "May 24th next year at 3pm would be brilliant."

"Right," he nodded, and his expression grew very slightly frightened. "Wedding."

Martha nodded. "Wedding," she confirmed. "Where you will dance, drink banana daiquiris and compare evil-thwarting detonation-of-doom stories with Jack, Ianto, Mickey and Gwen."

"Bunch of amateurs," he sniffed.

She glanced back down at her phone. "I better go, meeting Tom for dinner," she said ruefully.

"Still haven't met this Tom bloke," the Doctor said, folding his arms, a touch of the 'Oncoming Storm' in his expression. Martha shook a finger at him.

"Oh no you don't. No intimidating my fiancé. He's already been through all that with Leo and Dad." She tipped her head to one side. "But you could come for dinner? It's just Saturday night at the pub."

The Doctor rocked back as though he'd been pushed. "Ahhhh, no, no Martha, no, not really me…"

Martha raised her eyebrows at him. "It's just dinner and a drink. Honestly, you're acting as though I asked you to snog a Sontaran."

The Doctor hemmed and hawed a little, before closing his eyes and nodding sharply. "I may regret this," he muttered. Martha laughed at him.

"You know, earlier today someone asked me why I was frightened of trying on dresses, seeing as I'd saved the world and all. Well, I could ask the same of you, Doctor."

"I'm not frightened of trying on dresses," he objected. She smacked his arm.

"Funny man," she said severely, but she could feel the huge grin on her face. "Going to take me home, Mister Smith?"

"Tom?" Martha yelled as she opened her front door, the Doctor hard on her heels. "Tom, you home?"

"Upstairs!" his voice floated down. "Just getting ready — you're a bit late, where've you been?

Martha exchanged a look with the Doctor, who chuckled a little. "Ah, you wouldn't believe it," she said weakly.

"I live with Doctor Martha Jones, I believe in everything!" came his cheerful answer.

"Would you believe that we've got one more for dinner?" she said tentatively.

"You drag Tish along?"

"No," she said slowly. "An old friend... dropped in on me today."

"Critic," the Doctor whispered at her. She elbowed him in the ribs.

"So who are we being inflicted on tonight?" Tom called, his footsteps echoing on the wooden bedroom floor.

"The Doctor."

There was the sound of something being dropped, and a muffled curse. "Uh, I really won't believe it, will I?" Tom's tone was a little weaker.

"I don't bite, y'know," the Doctor called up, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking down the hall towards the kitchen. "So this is your house, Martha? It's nice, it's very… nice, yeah… it's very…cosy, ah…"

"It's small," said Martha, amused. "We can't afford anything bigger on our salaries as yet, and all the savings are going to the wedding. Okay, kettle's there, cups there, tea there. I'll have a quick shower and be ready in a tic. Oh, there you are!" This last was to Tom, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, his black hair wet from his own shower. She kissed his cheek and pulled him into the warm, cramped little room. "Tom, this is the Doctor, Doctor, Tom Milligan," she introduced them, and quickly turned away and hurried up the stairs before she could start laughing. The expressions on their faces…

Awkward silence reigned in the little kitchen.

The Doctor cleared his throat.

Tom scuffed his shoe against the doorjamb.

The Doctor offered the young man a self-conscious smile.

"Sooooooo," Tom said finally. "Cup of tea?"

"Oooh, please," the Doctor sat at the kitchen table and studied the photos stuck to the fridge. There was Martha and Mickey wearing party hats, Martha kissing Tom on some beach, Jack and Martha and another man whom the Doctor guessed was Ianto, and a picture of himself which he recognised as taken from CC footage somewhere. He grinned slightly. Tom noticed the Doctor's expression and nodded to the photo.

"She had her boss pull that from the CC footage they have of you," he remarked. "Said she wanted a picture to remember you by, and not… well…."

There was another, extremely uncomfortable pause.

"She seems fine," the Doctor offered hesitantly.

Tom looked at his shoes. "Oh she is, she's better than fine. She's Martha. But she still… She… dreams a lot."

The Doctor winced. "I never meant to hurt her."

Tom shrugged. "I know that. She knows that, too. These things happen." He dunked the teabags into the hot water gently, repetitively. "She was strong enough to take it."

"She became strong enough to leave it," the Doctor said softly.

"So, you coming to the wedding?" Tom asked, holding up the milk in query, and the Doctor nodded.

"Yes. I mean, yes to milk and the wedding. Next May, huh? Lovely time, next May. No rain for weeks, if I remember correctly. Watch out for a sentient fungus invasion. Or is that May 3009…"

Tom poured the milk, a secret little smile spreading across his face. "Yeah. Next May 24th."

The Doctor accepted his tea. "Where is it? Martha gave me date and time, but not place…"

Tom sat down opposite the Time Lord who was one of his fiancée's best friends, and nodded to the photos on the fridge. "A little beach in Wales. Martha took me there, last summer. Apparently I met her there, in a year that never happened."

The Doctor's jaw dropped slightly. "Really… so you know…"

"Everything," Tom confirmed, his smile becoming slightly predatory. "She told me everything."

"Turnabout," groaned the Doctor. "Always knew it'd catch up with me."

Tom gave him a puzzled look. The Doctor waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind. So, Tommy-boy, you're a doctor, eh? You're a doctor, Martha's a doctor, I'm the Doctor... All Doctors together, that's us! What field, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm in paediatrics," Tom took a sip. "Covered for my boss, today."

"Kids! Aw, kids are brilliant, love kids," the Doctor leaned forwards over the table. "They haven't set their minds in stone yet. Open to anything. Love that."

Tom leaned forward too, his voice growing more animated. "Exactly! That's why I'm in paediatrics and not a general practitioner. I love the things they come out with, they're absolutely classic. I had a four year old girl ask me today if I spoke virus language."

"Don't knock it, I know a few. Martha said you went to Africa?"

"Yeah, I did a tour with Médecins Sans Frontières," Tom grimaced a little. "It was pretty harrowing."

"I know," the Doctor said gently. "These things are."

"I guess you would, at that," Tom polished off his tea and held out his hand for the Doctor's cup, but the Doctor shook his head and brought his hands around the cup as though protecting it.

"Not yet! Good tea should take time," he insisted.

"Not too much, I hope," Martha said as she breezed into the kitchen, twisting her hair at the nape of her neck. "I need that drink, remember?"

"What happened today, anyway?" Tom rinsed out his cup and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You were a right mess, darling."

"Martha? Care to tell him everything?" the Doctor said meaningfully, and she darted a look at him — and blushed.

"Oh no, we are not going there," she declared hotly. "Pub. Now. We can tell the story once I've got a nice glass of Riesling."

"The lady has spoken," said Tom good-humouredly. "All right. Where are you parked?"

"Ahhh…" Martha picked up her handbag. "I left my car around the corner from the boutique… I'll get it in the morning."

"I'm out the front," the Doctor offered.

Tom's quick look was startled. "Ri-ight."

"We'll walk," Martha said firmly. "No offense to the TARDIS, but I am done for the night, Doctor."

As they filed out the door, Tom's eyebrows rose at the sight of the tall blue box standing on the footpath. The Doctor watched the dark-haired young man's reaction with amusement, and leaned down to Martha. "Sort of strong, eh?"

"Oh, shut up!" she laughed.

The Doctor closed the TARDIS door and leaned against it for a moment, pulling off his tie. His eyes were distant, but there was a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Not a bad day, as days go. He'd saved a civilisation, seen Martha Jones, met her fiancé, eaten quite a nice meal and drunk a little too much wine. It reminded him painfully of the last time he'd done the domestic thing — Christmas dinner with the Tylers — but watching the happy pair had taken the edge off, as had the public setting. They were so warm and comfortable, he realised with a slight pang. Martha's fiery stubbornness and Tom's quiet, gentle humour were like pieces of a puzzle slotting together.

Pushing himself off the TARDIS door, he strode slowly to the console, his footsteps echoing around the room. "Like you and me, hey, old girl?" he murmured, laying a hand fondly against the time rotor. The hum increased slightly and subsided. He grinned. "Don't worry — I won't tell anyone that you're the stubborn one."

A spark flew from the console to singe his fingers.

"Ow! Okay, okay!"

FIN