AN/ This fic is just a bit of silly fun, really. Takes place during 'The Runaway Bride.' TARDIS POV and part of my TARDIS 100 series. The BBC owns every little bolt and script page. I just wish I did. Thanks to LilCosette for reading it through for me and having a giggle. (And forcing me to post this.)
My Doctor, I love you…
… but sometimes you really tick me off.
I am a Type 40 TARDIS - an old Type 40 TARDIS at that. Even though I'm glad to transport you and your companions across time and space, I'm not a car. I'm not a truck or a lorry. I'm not a van. I'm not a cab or bus. I'm not even disguised to look like one.
So I don't know what possessed you to think that I'd do well on a motorway.
You know that I didn't want to do this. I had do desire whatsoever to chase after Donna. Let the robot Santa take her! I didn't care. She was too loud for my liking. I like to be the nosiest female in your life, thank you very much!
I was missing Rose too, as I know you were… and my heart was just not in going off to save another woman. Not so soon after losing her.
I didn't like being all tied up and hit with that mallet, either. I sparked venomously at you, and you just growled at me to "behave." How'd you like it if I tied you up, hit you with a hammer, and told you to behave?
…Then again, don't answer that.
But I know would wouldn't like it if I made you run down a motorway at the same time! Dodging cars and other traffic… keeping the same pace with a speeding black cab. That wasn't fun at all, Doctor. Bouncing off of cars and the road itself… and you think you had a rough ride. Ha!
My point is, you know I'll respond well to a gentle touch. When you insisted on using ropes and cords so you could hang out of my door and try to convince Donna to jump… well, let's just say you should be grateful I responded at all, Doctor. Do you even know how hard it is to maintain control while flying with my door open? Really, that's no way to treat me. I thought I deserved better respect than that, surely!
Yes, I caught on fire. Yes, I needed a few hours alone afterwards to repair myself. What did you expect? Happy singing and a warm, fuzzy time rotor?
All I can say is, you're going to get it, Time Lord. You're going to get it good. You won't know when, and you won't know how, but I'll get you back for this. Mark my words…
Making an old thing like me run down a motorway… disgraceful!
The only way to get out of my punishment is to pay me back somehow. Perhaps some new circuits! Oooh, that would be nice…
I'm also expecting you never to make me do that again. Here, I'll make it easy for you. Just remember this simple little rhyme:
TARDISes run between the stars, not between the cars.
Got it? Good.