8Pairings: 10/Martha. Hints at Martha/Tom (yikes!).
Drabble: Martha is getting married… or is she?
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any of its increments, nor do I own The Graduate and the resulting TV advertisement by Audi. Also, I'm not Simon & Garfunkel, therefore I don't own the song "Mrs Robinson", unless you count my rendition/cover of the lyrics.
Author's note: This is highly AU even from my own AU, but it involves the same original characters as my series "Children of Time and Space", most prominently, "The Professor" and Rakatiel. This song, this scene/plot bunny has been haunting my mind ever since I found out that RTD got lazy and paired the spares, namely Martha Jones and Mickey Smith, and I always thought it funny if this would happen to Martha on her wedding day. (Donna is not attending because she is the one in the co-pilot's seat of the Doctor's TARDIS.)
Gallifreyan in this story: Janayi=Mum, Janayi-rane=Head-Mother of Clan, Issharranue=Lord-Mistress of Clan
And here's to you, Thomas Milligan,
Jesus loves you more than you will know,
woh-woh-woh,
God bless you please, Thomas Milligan,
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey!
"Are you really sure you want to do this?"
"Stop it is, Tish. I'm happy, I'm about to get married, damn it! Why are you and Jack so insistent on this matter? He's in the past. I've got Tom. Tom loves me, he sees me!" The sisters were standing in a side room of their church, getting ready to see Martha becoming Mrs Milligan. "He doesn't even bother to come to my wedding!"
"Neither does the Professor, and she's making a statement with it," Jack interrupted, having snuck in. "For the record, I think you look gorgeous, but do you really think you are marrying the right man?"
"Jack!"
"Believe me, Martha. I know a thing or two about commitments," the immortal stated seriously, pulling out his old wedding photograph from the fin de siècle era and his Antarian engagement licence. He held them up for emphasis. "I know you love Tom, but I don't think you love him enough to marry him. Not with that endless trust and passion needed for such a commitment. Why do you think the Professor isn't here yet? If there's one person who knows about these things, it's her."
"Really? You're exaggerating. Anyway, if he really is as in love with me as you all insist, he would have said something," she scoffed.
"Would he?" another voice interrupted. As Martha turned around, the Doctor's oldest cousin, Eliyon aka The Archivist stood in the door, dressed as the Valeyard she was. The jacket was dark grey though, more subdued than the hyper-bleached ceremonial uniform she had seen on the Professor when the Earth had been stolen by Davros. "With the harrowing time you had had at his side, don't you think he would believe he's lost the right to do that? That man has more complexes than it was said Rassilon had too. But, oh well. Talking to you is as much a waste of time as trying to talk some sense into him. And then you wonder why janayirane isn't here."
"Archivist… All of you, stop it. I'm fine."
"I have said my case." The Time Lady looked up, picking something up in time, and shook her head. Hurry up, Theta. "Besides, that's not why am here. They are ready for you."
"Finally!" This whole thing was getting on her nerves by now. (Maybe she should have been more worried about the fact that she wasn't nervous at all.)
As Eliyon stepped outside, Clive and Francine Jones awaited her already. "And?" the mother of the bride asked.
The Archivist straightened her Prydonian sash and sighed, shaking her head. "She wasn't listening to a word they said, neither did she listen to me. I did my best. All we can hope is that Theta Sigma gets his stuff together and shows up."
Francine sighed. When she had first met the Doctor – and his mother later on – all she had seen was the trouble they had brought. But during that year and onwards, she had gained a lot of respect for this ragtag group of Time Lords, proud survivors of that ancient race, and quite a deep understanding of the Doctor himself. "Stubborn and stubborn. You were right. I just hope she won't regret this."
"Personally, I have the same hope as the Archivist," Clive stated. "Let's do this."
Just as the service had begun, right in the middle of the hymn, one of the side doors opened, and the Professor strolled in, taking a seat in the last bench, right beside Jack and the rest of Torchwood, a dark, self-satisfied smirk downright contorting her face. It would not been half as conspicuous if the woman hadn't chosen to wear ceremonial dress uniform, complete with sash and tasselled cord. Jack shot his ESP teacher a look. Is he coming?
Just you wait. Even Theta has to be pompous once in a while you know.
This is so not helping.
Rakata's telepathic laughter rang through their heads, matching the smirk of the Time Lady. Oh, this will be brilliant…
Rakata!
The mental equivalent of a snort was the only comment the empathic Ianto gave to his two fiancés, agreeing with the Time Lady and the Antarian World Maker.
Come on, janar, it is pretty funny, Rakata argued.
Still…
4
Meanwhile, both the hymn and more than half the preface had passed, and still no sign of the Doctor, despite the presence of numerous relatives and old companions of the Lungbarrow heir. What did I say? He is not coming, Martha thought sourly. At least the Professor has come, even if it was way too late.
Oblivious to the various schemes and musings, Reverend Arleen MacDonald continued with the last paragraph of the preface. "Martha and Thomas are now to enter this way of life. They will each give their consent to the other and make solemn vows, and in token of this they will give and receive a ring."
The Professor suppressed a snort. I've seen what he calls a ring.
Quiet please, Jack shot back.
"We pray with them that the Holy Spirit will guide and strengthen them, that they may fulfil God's purposes for the whole of their earthly life together. Amen."
"Amen," most of the congregation echoed.
Nodding in satisfaction, Arleen looked up from her notes and faced the collective of wedding guests with the most serious expression she could muster without looking ready for a funeral. "It has been heard. But before we can proceed, I am required to ask this: If there is anyone who can state a lawful reason or objection why these two should not…" And then they heard it. A sound beyond this world, somewhere in between a whoosh, a vorp and a grind, the landing energy displacing the air. "What in God's name is that?" Shaking her head, the priestess continued as if nothing had happened. "I am required to ask this: If there is anyone who can state a lawful reason or objection point these two should not marry, they shalt speak now, or rest their peace forever…"
"MARTHA!" it suddenly yelled from above, from the balcony. "MARTHA!"
Everyone looked up, and suddenly, every attending companion and Time Lord rose to their feet. "We have. And so does he," the Professor declared.
"Doctor?" Martha breathed in shock. But there he was, in all his Gallifreyan glory, dressed in, as if to extra jinx the wedding, full black-tie, standing on the gallery, breathing hard as if he had been running for his life.
"MARTHA!" he repeated his plea.
Say it, taruelai.
"They cannot marry, for the bride does not love the groom as much as the man yelling on the balcony," Jack finished dryly.
"JAZE-TURRE SAL, MARTHA!" he yelled, not caring any longer what anyone thought of this. Not after all that had happened.
It can't be… Snapping out of it, Martha turned to face the slender Time Lord on the balcony. But the desperation and longing that plagued him was perceivable even on such a distance. The words he had spoken were undeniably Gallifreyan, but she knew them and knew them well. They were the words of love only spoken to one's bondmate or intended; the words Keenon spoke to the Marana/Tegan every once in a while. For him, whom his own mother had called an emotional idiot to blare them out like that, that was more than just a bold statement. It was… well, everything. Suddenly, time seemed to slow down for her as she stood at her own crossroads of destiny. A content, safe, boring life. A happy, dangerous but exciting life. The life of a human, short and fragile but free of worries, or the life… of a Time Lord, with all its powers and burdens. Closing her eyes, Martha smiled sadly. "I'm sorry Tom," she whispered, and then, tossing aside her engagement ring and flowers, she sprinted towards the doors, mirrored by the Doctor upstairs.
Instantly, the whirring of five sonic devices (pen, screwdriver, lipstick, paintbrush) could be heard as the church doors were unlocked at a distance.
As the doors flew open, Keenon of all people grinned the same nasty grin his Issharranue had sported earlier, pointed his sonic paintbrush at one of the speakers along the pillars of the church. "Here's to you, Doctors…" he whispered. Just as the sound of the TARDIS engines filled the air again, blowing Martha's discarded bridal bouquet around, the first notes of "Mrs Robinson", Tom Milligan edition fell from said speakers.
Jack turned to the Professor. "You didn't," he accused jokingly.
"What if I had asked Paul Simon and The Lemonheads to give me a special version of this special song?" the woman smirked. "Admit it. We are all here to crash the wedding, and it's a full success."
"I can't believe you," Gwen gasped. "Then again, it's you, Professor." Shaking her head, the former police constable gave up and joined the Lungbarrows and companions in applauding Martha. "And yeah. We are…"
"You are aware that there will be another wedding, are you not?" Rakata reminded her, pushing back her cobalt mane. "Just a Gallifreyan one this time."
Toshiko smiled. "Well, that will be certainly more interesting than this." Leaning back, Torchwood Three and the Children of Time listened to the song while the humiliated Milligan family filed out of the church, fuming and arguing with Martha's parents. (It should be noted that neither Francine nor Clive minded had the trouble the whole thing had caused.)
Here's to you, taruelai, the Professor thought smiling. "Good luck you two," she whispered.
And here's to you, Thomas Milligan,
Jesus loves you more than you will know,
woh-woh-woh!
God bless you please, Thomas Milligan,
heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey!
We'd like to know a little about you for our files,
we'd like to help you learn to help yourself;
look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes;
stroll around the grounds until you feel at home.
And here's to you, Thomas Milligan,
Jesus loves you more than you will know,
woh-woh-woh!
God bless you please, Thomas Milligan,
heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Denying it every time when anybody says
that she can't marry you because you ain't The Doctor;
it's a little secret, just the Milligan complex,
most of all, you've got to hide it from the kids!
And here's to you, Thomas Milligan,
Jesus loves you more than you will know,
woh-woh-woh!
God bless you please, Thomas Milligan,
heaven holds a place for those who pray,
hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey!
Standing in a church on a Sunday afternoon,
again trying to get her to marry you;
laugh about it, shout about it, when you've got to choose:
every way you look at it, you lose!
Where have you gone, Doctor Martha Jones,
a kingdom turns its lonely eyes to you,
who-who-who,
what's that you say, Thomas Milligan,
Jolting Jones has left and gone away,
hey, hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey!
AN: Well, that's it. Reviews please?