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Summary: John Smith and Martha hide from the Family of Blood at the Farringham School, where Martha meets a new friend from the 21st century.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Dr. Who/Torchwood > Buffy-Centered > Pairing: The DoctorMoragMacPhersonFR151516,0982211237,31821 Dec 0826 Jan 09Yes

Gotta Know Right Now

AN: Many thanks to Booster for his beta badassitude.

It only took Buffy and Martha a week to figure out that they were both from the twenty first century. They caught subtle clues. Buffy smelled modern shampoo in Martha’s hair. Martha heard Buffy call Baines a ‘little Nazi thug’ under her breath.

Finally while they were crouched over, waxing the banisters in relative privacy, Martha asked Buffy, “You know what I’d like right now?”

“To use this stuff on the Headmaster’s bald spot?” Buffy rubbed harder.

Martha smirked. “No. I want to get a couple of curries, sit down in front of the telly, and maybe watch a couple of Colin Firth movies.”

“Make it Orlando Bloom and we’re on.” Buffy winked, but her heart dropped a bit when Martha made a face.

“He’s way too pretty boy.”

The reply filled Buffy with overwhelming joy and she grinned at Martha. “So is that fluffy stick of nothing that you showed up with. Professor Smith. He from our time too?”

Martha’s smile stiffened. “No, he’s not. Don’t even really know what time he’s from.”

“Huh.” Buffy moved down to the next step. “So what’s your story? Stepped into the wrong sculpture garden? Or is this like Casablanca, except we’re all refugees from other times and dimensions?”

“Other dimensions?” Martha shook her head. “I’m pretty sure the TARDIS can’t move between dimensions. I mean, it is a ‘relative dimension,’ but we’ve never gone to a different dimension before.”

Buffy finished buffing her half, and set her hands on her hips, facing Martha. “Well, I guess that just makes me special. Lucky me. If you’re looking for a way back, though, I haven’t found one, and I’ve been here three months already.”

Martha looked around. “I’ve got a way home. We can give you a lift. Just sit tight.” Martha went back to work. Buffy picked her up by the waist and set her against the wall.

“How tight? How long?”

Martha’s eyes widened. “You’re awful strong.”

“Gotta love those pilates classes. When do we break out?”

Martha looked into the smaller girl’s green eyes. “Three more months. Not even. Eleven more weeks. Then we can go home. Or at least, we can get you back to the right time. We’ll have to ask the Doctor about getting you to the right dimension.” She and Buffy rushed to pick up their rags and get back to polishing as a troop of boys headed back to the dorms, muddy boots ruining the afternoon’s work.

After they’d passed and Buffy glared sufficient daggers in their general direction, she turned her attention back to Martha. “Who’s this doctor that’s going to figure this all out? That Smith guy again?”

Martha sighed. “Sort of.” She looked around one last time. “Listen, I know a place with central heat and indoor plumbing. Let’s finish this up, take a walk, and we can talk.”

“Deal.” Buffy went to grab the scrubbing bucket with a new lightness in her step.

Martha wondered aloud, “Maybe the TARDIS even has a copy of ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ lying around.”
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