AN ~ ok, this is a crazy scene. I enjoyed writing it (though it was ages ago, but I held off posting it until I had a title, and then forgot about it for a while, and *insert Doctor rant here*), after so many angsty Doctor Who fics, and I hope it is a bit of slightly pathetic fun for you too. And when I say slightly...I mean crackfic. And I don't write a lot of those. But here we are.

Created in response to the TARDIS forum's Lucky Dip challenge: Donna and Martha in hotel reception with a leg of lamb.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who (sadness)

.o.o.o.

Martha Jones was pinned against the reception counter, waving the sonic screwdriver frantically in front of herself in an effort to ward off the (fortunately slow-moving) clockwork creatures that were slowly filling the hotel lobby.

She jumped up onto the desk as one of them made a swipe for her arm, and tried a different setting on the screwdriver. With her free hand, she hammered on the mesh screen between her and the staff area; the screen blocking her from moving any further.

"Are you ready yet?!" she yelled.

"What?" The dulcet tones of one Donna Noble replied to her from somewhere in the rooms and passageways beyond. Martha growled and kicked the closest creature so hard that it fell over backwards. It haltingly flailed its arms and legs in the air, knocking and delaying a few more of the creatures.

"Where's the Doctor?" Martha yelled through the screen, smacking the screwdriver on the desk in frustration.

"I thought he was with you. Why?"

"I'm havin' a bit of trouble -" Martha grunted as she grabbed the nearest mechanical wrist and twisted it away from its owner, "- and his bloody screwdriver's useless."

"What a surprise," Donna said, a smile and a roll of the eyes evident in her voice. "Hang on, lemme grab something and I'll be right there."

"Grab something?!" Martha's voice shot up an octave as she ducked the flailing arm stub and then jabbed its owner in the chest with the screwdriver, knocking him into a wall of the creatures. With considerable effort she twisted off one of the creature's heads and threw it across the room. Unfortunately, she had left her back open to attack, and one of the creatures had grabbed her ankle and was beginning to drag her off the counter.

"Donna! Hurry!"

.o.o.o.

Donna sprinted back into the kitchen. It was huge, and unfortunately very clean: there was no meat cleaver lying handy and she had no idea where she was supposed to look for anything of the sort. She could be here for hours going through all those cupboards and drawers. And the hotel was empty, except for her and Martha and those clockwork things.

Nothing for it. She sprinted to the nearest drawer and opened it. Inside she found...vegetables? Carrots, tomatoes, and a whole lot more fleshy, brightly coloured foods she had never seen were lined up and sorted just as well as plates and bowls would have been. Should have been. Donna raised an eyebrow, but suddenly she was inspired: if food was in the drawers, then maybe utensils were where food should be?

She sprinted to the fridge – well, the first of a supermarket-style wall of refrigerators – and tore it open. Unfortunately, whoever had decided to put vegetables in the drawer had not felt the need to fill their places in the fridge with utensils. In fact, currently sitting right under Donna's nose was an entire lamb roast, complete with pumpkin and potato, steaming hot.

Yes, in a refrigerator.

"What the..?" Donna slowly pulled the tray from the shelf. The pan it was sitting in was cold, even covered in condensation, but the meat was undeniably hot. It was steaming, even. Donna scowled at the roast, confused.

From the lobby, there was a crash and an earsplitting scream:

"DOCTOR!"

Martha! Donna sprinted through the hotel's restaurant and crashed through the double doors, suddenly realising that she was in a room full of freaky clockwork somethings and she only had a leg of lamb as a weapon.

Oh well. It would have to do.

Hollering like a mad woman, Donna ran into the fray, beating the monsters with the wad of meat. A good whack sent them sprawling and, like upturned turtles, most of the creatures couldn't get back up. Sometimes, a head snapped off or a shoulder dislocated at the wrath of the redheaded Londoner with her Sunday dinner. The distraction and panic she caused gave Martha a chance to get the sonic on the right setting and she immediately began disabling their systems.

Of course, just as they were about to take down the last of the clockwork creatures, every single one of them shut down. The struggling fallen stopped twitching like cockroaches and even the functional attackers shut down in the middle of their stop-motion rampage: they littered the room like abandoned toys.

Donna looked around, assessing the damage and the likelihood of any of them waking up, and then picked her way to Martha, who was panting with exertion but smiling. The two of them high-fived, admiring their handiwork.

"Maybe we should go freelance," Donna suggested. Martha, still getting her breath back, nodded enthusiastically.

"You should go what-now?"

Both women rolled their eyes. Now he shows up.

"Donna," the Doctor wondered. "Why have you got a leg of lamb?"