Why is it that the more you try to finish one story, others keep popping up? Is it just the mind's way of entertaining itself? Either way, I hope any Ten fans like reading this story. I've been interested in Doctor Who ever since I made the connection that David Tennant also played Barty Crouch, Jr., in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Mom still loves Tom Baker AKA The Fourth Doctor and my sister prefers Christopher Eccleston AKA the Ninth Doctor. Oh, well. More Ten for me!

Disclaimer: Don't own, but if I did, it would be fantastic!

Summery: The Tenth Doctor loses his glasses somewhere in the TARDIS. At least, so he thinks. Cute little oneshot.

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It was the sound of junk being thrown around that caught Martha's attention. She looked up from her book just in time to see something fly at her face.

"Whoa!"

The item went whizzing past her head as she ducked. Another item fell near her feet.

"So much for a quiet day in the TARDIS," she growled.

For once, the Doctor, Martha and, of course, the TARDIS, were sitting relatively still in space and time. Quite frankly, Martha was glad for the respite. It meant one day of not fighting to save the world or keep the space/time continuum from imploding.

Carefully, Martha wound her way through the piles of junk scattered everywhere on the floor of the TARDIS. Finally, she spotted the Doctor's backside sticking out of a closet.

"No, no, no, no," he kept muttering, throwing stuff behind him with every word.

"What on earth are you looking for?"

"My glasses! They've just up and vanished. Poof, not even a goodbye." His brown hair, as much as she could see, was sticking up in all directions, like he had stuck his finger in a light socket. His blue suit was rumpled even more than usual and his shoes, coat and tie were respectively thrown under and over a railing.

"Well, there's my chocolate stash. Wondered where it went to. Aw, it spoiled." He tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed neatly in a trashcan. Well, with the way he was throwing things, he was bound to hit the target sometime.

As Martha watched, the Doctor seemed to keep pushing himself into the pile of stuff in the closet. At one point, what looked like a metallic hand was flung into the air, and Martha caught it out of sheer instinct. Wrinkling her nose, she deposited it into the trashcan along with the bad chocolate.

His tongue sticking out, the Doctor backed out of the closet and stood up, still facing the pile of never-ending debris from centuries past.

"Do you know where a stepladder or something is?" he finally asked her, turning to face her. Martha stifled a laugh.

"How am I supposed to know? You've been here longer!"

"Oh, sure, poke fun at my age." A funny look came over his face. "Probably why I need glasses to read. Blegh. Next time, I hope I don't need glasses permanently."

Martha had no idea what that last part meant. She sighed in exasperation, the smile still on her face. I must not, I must not…

"Doctor, if they were in there, don't you think they'd be broken?" I won't, I won't, I won't…

"Well, if they were, I could fix them with the sonic screwdriver, but they shouldn't need fixing. I bought them off a chap who said they'd last through Armageddon. And they did!" he finished with a wide grin. "Well, close enough, anyway."

"Um, Doctor–" It was getting harder to ignore that tickling sensation.

"Do you know how rare it is to find a pair of glasses that'll not melt?"

"Doctor–" It was starting to bubble…

"I mean, for goodness sake, I went through three pairs before Rose found that one. Three!"

"Doctor–" It was forcing itself up her throat…

"Well, I can only hope that that little shop's still open. Shoulda listened, shoulda got two pairs–"

"DOCTOR!" Here it comes…

He finally stopped his rambling. "What?"

Martha finally lost it. She started laughing.

"And just what's so funny?" he demanded, hands on his hips, totally confused.

"Your – your glasses–"

"Yes, we've established that I'm looking for my glasses. What else?"

"They're – they're on–"

"Where?" asked the Doctor, his eyes matching his hair. "What planet? What time?"

"They're on – they're on your –" Martha choked out, "on– your–"

"Oh, come on, just spit it out sometime this time period, wouldja?"

"They're on your head!" With that, Martha bent over double, she was laughing so hard. She grasped the railing for support while the Doctor just stood there, dumbfounded.

Finally, he reached up to the top of his head. He felt hair, more hair, and finally, a hard, thick set of frames. He picked them off his head and stared at them. They seemed to stare back at him, laughing as hard as Martha, who had collapsed to the floor. He sighed.

"Oh, great, now my memory's going too. Lovely. Just fantastic."

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If this happens to be similar to any other story done, it is just coincidence. Trust me, I don't copy other peoples' stories. Oh, and this is my first Doctor Who story and I'm American, so I hope I captured his personality well. I didn't want to offset you in the beginning. So, review, pretty please? I would really appreciate it.