ilia | A Day That Martha Jones Refuses to Acknowledge. [House Crossover]

Title: A Day That Martha Jones Refuses to Acknowledge. [House Crossover]
Author: Lady Yueh
Characters: Martha Jones, Gregory House, James Wilson.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Doctor Who 3x13
Disclaimer: Neither show contained within this piece of fiction are my property.
Date Chosen: April 12
Author's Notes: For the Martha Jones Ficathon

telling_a_story. Forgive the insanity. Please.
Summary: Martha will never speak of the events which happened on April 12. Ever.

"Your group, what are they like then?" Martha Jones asked Fred, the overwhelmed young man whose task it was to lead her to shelter.

"Insane," he blurted without thought. He reddened when he realized what he'd said.

Martha chuckled. "Lots of insane people in the world these days."

He shook his head. "Not like him. He scares the shit outta me. He was crazy before this mess. He could go head to head with the Master and win."

"Worse than the Master?" Martha questioned with amused disbelief.

He nodded solemnly as he led her to home base for this branch of The Resistance. Martha became a bit apprehensive when she realized how serious he was.

Maybe one of the Master's spies had infiltrated The Resistance.

"How could he possibly be worse?" She questioned.

"The Master kills and enslaves but it's expected of the take-over-the-world types. It's not like he's personally coming and screwing with you. It's more remote. But him-he kills you little by little. He destroys your soul," Fred recounted with fear in his voice.

"I'm blushing. I didn't know you felt that way, Freddi-kins," a mocking falsetto voice called out.

Fred paled to a white a shade darker than milk.

"Doctor House!"

Martha turned to see whom she assumed to be the object of their conversation. An older man, lean and rangy, with messy graying hair, a face full of stubble and the most gorgeous blue eyes. He was leaning heavily on a cane but despite that he was a prime example of that lucky group of men that only seemed to get better with age.

"Be a good minion and gather the masses in one of the lecture halls," House ordered Fred imperiously.

Fred dashed away, only too happy to leave the object of his terror.

Said evil tormentor was regarding her with intense concentration; most of which seemed to be centered on her chest, though she was sure her arse would soon be getting the same scrutiny.

"So you're the infamous Martha Jones," House drawled.

"And you are?" Martha questioned sharply.

"While you're here you may refer to me as your Lord and Master. God is also an appropriate title. But I refuse to answer to anything below the rank of Prince. Capiche?"

"House, do you have to antagonize the Savior of the World?" The voice was male and sounded as if the owner was long-suffering and resigned.

The man who'd spoken looked harried with disheveled brown hair and puppy-brown eyes which were so familiar she had to stifle a gasp.

"Savior of the World?" House snorted derisively. "Don't tell the world that. According to the world's standards she's the wrong gender and color. If you do succeed you'll probably be knocked off and martyred. Some incentive huh?"

"Please, don't listen to him. He was on his way to the Psych Ward long before this whole mess started. I'm Dr. James Wilson," he introduced himself with a kind charm that was eerily reminiscent of The Doctor. When he wasn't being rude. "The complete and utter ass you most likely want to maim, if not kill, and thank you from refraining, is Dr. House."

"Gregory House?" she blurts as it hits her why his name, his attitude and location (Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. What was left of it, anyway.) serve to add up to something.

"Ooh! Our PC Messiah knows me? Am I on your naughty list or something?" He sneered.

"That's Santa Clause," Wilson muttered.

"And Santa spells what children? S-A-T-A-N. Yes, I do believe the pedophilic, old man in the red suit breaking into houses and eating your food is one of Old Lucifer's disguises," House taunted with the ease born of a longstanding argument.

Martha cleared her throat. "Actually, Mr. Stoker advised us that, should we ever go into Diagnostics we should follow your career but never meet you, much less work with you. Said you were an arrogant bastard. Never believed him 'cause he was a bit mean but I suppose he was right."

Wilson didn't even attempt to hide his smirk.

"Stoker?" House muttered to himself, his blue eyes alive and keen. "Bradley Stoker? At Royal Hope Hospital? The man was an idiot," House scoffed.

"Can we get to the part when we talk about more important things? Like why Martha Jones is here?" Wilson interjected.

"I suppose. Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be, I don’t know, saving the world? Jesus did better. At least he could turn water into wine, feed the masses with suspiciously replicating food and walk on water. What can you do?" House criticized.

"I can tell a story."

House and Wilson exchanged glances.

"She's joking right?" House made no effort to lower his voice.

Wilson shrugged.

--------

"That's it?" House's voice cut through the silence which had fallen after she'd finished her account. "We're going to clap our hands, skip around and chant 'I do believe in fairies! I do!'"

Martha glared.

"And let me guess. The Master and The Doctor are life long enemies. But they were friends first until one betrayed the other," House stated with annoying certainty.

Martha nodded. "That's right."

"And they do this cute little thing where they try and one-up the other?" he questioned in a tone that declared her an idiot.

"The Master seems rather obsessed about making The Doctor's life a living hell," Martha answered coldly.

House nodded and looked self-satisfied.

"Either they were secret lovers until The Doctor cheated on The Master, or they have unresolved sexual tension which The Doctor refuses to acknowledge thus driving The Master to act out against the guy who's refusing him," House postulated.

Martha laughed.

No one else did.

"You're not serious?"

House smirked.

“House, stop baiting the Messiah,” Wilson intoned dully as if reading from a particularly boring script.

Martha decided that Princeton could hold up against The Master’s onslaught.

She also decided this would be one of those days which she would never speak of again. Ever.