Rating: All Ages
Author's summary: Benton and Harry need a TARDIS. Rose and Martha have one.
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones/Harry Sullivan, Rose Tyler/John Benton
Word Count: 3,500 words
Recced because: This just might be my favourite fic in the history of ever. It was written for me in a ficathon where I’d requested these two pairings (my crack OTPs) as well as the idea that “genetic transfer through kissing” could have hilarious time-travelling, crime-solving possibilities for Rose and Martha. Doyle managed to turn this silliness into something that, while still very funny, is also extremely well written, has absolutely dead-on characterization, and is packed with small truths about time travel and choices. With the bonuses of neat AU turns off of canon, a cameo by another woman who’s been kissed by the Doctor, the Brigadier, swimsuits that take hours to do up, cracks on Torchwood, K-9 and UNIT dating problems, a Harry who’s still quite the navy man, and a last line for Benton that broke my heart into happy pieces – and especially, pairings that really truly totally work – this is, on the whole, a fantastic piece of work.
“Aren’t UNIT like Torchwood? Not your dad’s one. This universe’s Torchwood. Sort of against aliens, I mean.”
“John hasn’t said much about it. And Sarah’s never mentioned it. Jo used to work for them, didn’t she? John’s mentioned her.”
“She didn’t say anything about it.” Martha looked over at her. “Did Benton go to her wedding? You might have met him there. If you hadn’t been busy trying to get off with the best man, obviously.”
“I wasn’t the one who caught the bouquet.”
“So, no luck with Benton, then,” she said hastily, hoping Rose wouldn’t look over to her desk and realise she’d kept that bloody bouquet in a fit of sentiment and nostalgia. “It’s been three days. K9 might crack the coordinates tomorrow and they’ll be off. You’d think they’d show some interest.”
“It’s probably the time they’re from or something,” Rose said. “I mean, if you think about it, they’re old enough to be our granddads.”
They were silent for a minute, absorbing this quite horrible thought. Still, it wasn’t as if they were up to their eyes in nice, non-psychotic men who didn’t mind the time-travelling thing, and you had to make allowances.
“I’ve got this funny feeling,” Martha said, “that we might be taking a detour to that planet with the four moons and all the beaches. That all right?”