The plunnies have been tormenting me again. This practically wrote itself. I own nothing.

With Martha and two things and a lizard and running away like always and don't stop to catch your breath because if you do you'll fall-

and now-

it looks like his TARDIS, it sounds like his TARDIS, it feels like his TARDIS, but it's not his TARDIS. A mystery, but not the kind he usually prefers, and there's a glittery sharp edge to this mystery, because there can't be two TARDISes in one universe, not any more-

and you're just standing there with your mouth open like an idiot, but Martha's got out her key and she's opening the door and the key fits.

if the shoe fits... and you walk inside.

It's white and pink and subdued lavender and altogether rather sensible, with two cups of tea and a tea kettle on a coffee table, and he shouldn't have stopped because now he's falling, because he recognizes this TARDIS he does, and Martha's picking up the scrap of paper under the kettle and he's grabbing it from her hands and staring.

"Dear Doctor, have to pop out for a quick bit of dying. Hope you find a good use for the TARDIS. Be back in time for tea, possibly with a new face. Love you, Fred."

-and you're laughing and you don't think you'll ever, ever stop and it feels like falling and then flapping your wings and flying and it's wonderful, and Martha's got that look on her face and-

"Doctor, what the hell is going on?"


Reviews would be greatly appreciated, as I think this is one of the better things I've ever written. (Certainly one of the shortest.)