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Backwards in Time | Forwards in Time

Doctor Who (2007) -Birds and Bees: Birth

Title: Birds and Bees
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: # 029 - Birth
Word Count: 1’352
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Martha’s given a rather unexpected piece of information about the Time Lords and their … ahem … ’creation’. And the Doctor is extremely amused. 10Martha, one-shot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: 10Martha fluff. No spoilers! WooHoo! Don’t ask where this came from, ’cause I’ve absolutely no idea. I know - random, huh? Ratings for ... well, innuendo, I guess. (Grins)


“Where did all of this start?”

The Doctor blinked and looked up, eyes seeking out his companion as he peered around the central column, glasses perched precariously on his nose and a tiny frown niggling away at his lips.

“Where did all of what start?” he asked, stumped.

Martha shrugged, her feet dangling back and forth on the captain’s seat-come-sofa.

“With you. You and your time travel fetish and your hero complex. Actually …” She paused, thinking, then stared at him through widened eyes. Grinning, she asked playfully, “where did you start, period?”

The Doctor felt a blush rise up in his cheeks and he dropped the peculiar tool he’d been fiddling with moments before onto the console, clearing his throat a little and moving around to sit beside her.

Staring at her curiously, he paused, then asked, “Martha Jones … are you asking about … my creation?”

She grinned innocently up at him and nodded.

“Well … I was just curious.” She twiddled a stray lock of hair around her index finger and nibbled absently on her bottom lip, fixing him with a piercing stare. “I mean … well, you’re an alien. So … well, was it … y’know, the same? Like … humans?

She was blushing now, too.

The Doctor grinned manically, then shook his head a fraction.

“Nuh uh,” he said, tones equivalent to those of a two year old kid. Then he frowned. “Wait … are you talking just me or the Time Lords as a whole?”

Martha’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and she shrugged awkwardly.

“Um … well, you I s’pose … but does that mean you were … um, created differently to your people?”

In reply, the Doctor smiled cheekily and set about examining his nails, apparently faintly pleased with himself.

“I was unique,” he said, grinning.

Martha could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, and she stared at him for a moment, lost for words.

“Okay,” she said finally, slowly. “How were your people created?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, flicking at a speck of dust on his suit jacket and fighting back a laugh.

“Looming,” he said simply.

But he couldn’t resist looking up at her that time, eager to see her reaction and yet hiding his desire remarkably well behind an offhand mask .

And his grin broadened.

Martha’s eyes widened in disbelief, and after a few seconds of silent contemplation, she shook her head.

“Nah,” she said, laughing. “No way.”

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically.

“Way,” he sad brightly. “Time Lords - and Time Ladies, of course - were ‘loomed’. Straight into adulthood, see. Less mess and more action. There’d be none of this hanging around for sixteen years waiting for kids to mature. They’d be straight into society, fully trained and ready for life’s little mishaps and accomplishes.”

Martha restrained a snort of disgust with difficulty.

“But … looming? As in what old women do with their laundry? That’s just … that is just so not normal!”

The Doctor smirked.

“Ahh, but as you very well know – we’re ‘not normal people’.”

She shook her head in outright incredulity.

“But it just sounds so … so … so crude, though! Did your species have no concept of romance?”

The Doctor’s smile fell, and he shrugged sadly.

“Not really. The Time Lords were cursed long ago. Back when the Pythia ruled Gallifrey. When she was overthrown by the Time Lords, she condemned the population to sterility. ‘Looming’ kind of became the only way for our people to continue. Time Lords don’t interfere. As a rule, they kept themselves to themselves, only existing to watch over the Universe and keep the peace rather than alter it. ‘Watchers’, in a sense. ‘Watchers of Time and Space’.”

Martha nodded dumbly, then stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“So … what, you’re a renegade? ‘Cause there’s no way in Hell you could be considered a ‘Watcher’. You interfere even when you’re just ‘passing through’.”

The Doctor nodded, shrugging.

“I was exiled centuries ago, though I’ve never abandoned my roots. Many a time the Time Lords called for me when they wanted something doing – usually when they wanted to interfere with the ‘natural order’ but didn’t want to get their hands dirty. Then it became my job, and I’d be welcomed into society with open arms until my work was done, at which point they'd go back to disapproving of my actions in peace.”

Martha frowned.

“Why were you exiled?” she asked carefully.

The Doctor shrugged again.

“‘Cause I didn’t agree with them. In a sense, I probably exiled myself. I just … I didn’t like the thought of the Universe suffering because a few ‘pompous senators’ didn’t see the help to be had from intervening. So I took matters into my own hands; stole a TARDIS - but don’t tell anybody I said that, mind - and escaped. I regret now, I think, that I was less inclined to follow them, but I still think I did what was the right thing for me. I wasn’t really one of them. And they knew that too.”

He sighed heavily, the thoughts of his race bringing down a somewhat melancholy mood about his shoulders. But Martha’s curiosity was peaking again, and he wasn’t miserable for long, because with it came her quite adorable sense of discomposure.

“And er,” she went on, hesitating before ploughing on, “back to the … ‘looming’… where did you fit into it all if you were ‘unique’?”

The Doctor’s smile had returned with a vengeance, and the faint pinkish tinge to his cheeks had resurfaced too.

“Quite normally,” he said jumping to his feet again and retrieving the previously abandoned tool. “I had a Gallifreyan father and a human mother. I’m sure you can do the math,” he said, pausing in his tracks to shoot her a broad and distinctly guiltless grin.

“Oh,” Martha whispered, dropping her gaze and staring at the green column rather uncomfortably. “The birds and the bees, huh?”

“Yup!” the Doctor replied, popping the ‘p’ in perfect imitation of a young and excitable child, and clacking his teeth together.

Sensing her sudden discomfort, he glanced up and beamed at her.

“Hey, you asked,” he said, smirking and feeling again that he was owed applause for being brilliant. Not that Martha had the faintest of clues as to why he felt he’d been brilliant, but he didn’t care, really. He’d won.

He’d successfully stunned her enough to break the continuous flow of questions.

And that was good enough for him.

“So, next. Time for another adventure, I think,” he told her briskly, slapping his palms together and pulling up the handbrake, having entered coordinates randomly a moment before.

Martha, still trying to imagine how fully grown people could be created through such an ancient and disturbing piece of technology, was rather oblivious to the customary rocking and bumping that came with pretty much every journey they’d even undertaken inside this peculiar blue box.

And distracted as she was, she barely even noticed their arrival.

It wasn’t until the Doctor was snapping his fingers in front of her face that she finally jumped back into the present.

Or rather … the past.

Stepping outside, unprepared, she froze just outside the door as the Doctor joined her, locking the TARDIS up behind them and heading off through the bustling streets of Victorian London.

But Martha stood stock still, her eyes riveted to the ancient piece of machinery that was standing monumentally outside somebody’s front door.

And as she watched a merry widow woman gently looming her laundry, humming tunelessly to herself as the rollers twisted and turned, groaning in protest, Martha’s cheeks were burning.

The Doctor ambled over, spotting the distraction, and nudged her playfully in the ribs. She turned to him, wide-eyed, her cheeks red as tomatoes and a tiny smile of amazement dazzling her lips. And he winked at her in reply.

“Birds and bees, Miss Jones. Birds and bees,” he said jovially, chuckling.

And before she could utter a single word, he gripped her unresisting hand and tugged her on through the crowded streets.


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