Word Count: 1553
Author's Summary: Why isn't there more Fic of Fatal Death? Why didn't the Doctor simply retire? Why do so many Companions wear high heels when exploring other planets? This fic doesn't necessarily answer any of these questions. We'll explain later.
Characters/Pairings: Emma, The Doctor (Atkinson)
Recced because: It's a Fatal Death fic written in the same style, with the Atkinson Doctor and Emma poking fun at the usual companion responses and the usual sort of things the Doctor says.
“Hiding behind the sofa won’t be any use this time.” The Doctor’s tone was severe, but his eyes held a gentle twinkle.
Emma’s head popped up from behind of the Sofa of Unreasonable Comfort. “I’m not hiding!” she retorted. “I’m just trying to find the rest of my clothes! Why’d you have to fling them around like that?”
“When the situation calls for total abandon, it’s important to abandon totally.” He stretched out on the sofa, looking undeniably and trans-dimensionally smug. “Forget the clothes. If you’re cold, we’ll bump up the temperature in here a bit. The TARDIS can calibrate the internal temperature of any section to within three microkelvins. Now come back here.”
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