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He grunted, kicking the aluminium appliance and muttering curse words in his own language - which she heard. Course she would, she’s a time machine and it's her bloody language, too

He crouched down and studied the dials, took a few more hard looks at the drum and its contents, opened the door a bit, closed it, pushed the weird little door that appeared to have absolutely no function at the bottom right, opened the drawer for the detergent, closed the draw and nothing. 

He grunted, again, kicked the aluminium appliance, again, and leaned back against the wall with his arms folded and his scowl evident.

“Say sorry to that washing machine.”

He didn’t look at her; he could quite frankly do without her smug humanness right now.

Rose chuckled and wandered over to the washing machine, opened the detergent draw and sighed. She reached up to the cupboard and pulled out a container that he thought he’d already put in, but come to think of it he didn’t recognise. What had he been putting in the washing machine? 

"What’s up with you, then?”

He pushed himself away for the wall in a huff. “She’s pissed off with me.”

“What have you done now?”

“I don’t bloody know!”

Rose’s eyes widened and she tilted her head sternly, holding the container of detergent loosely.

“Wanna try that again?”

He loosened his tie and grumbled, “I don't know why she’s annoyed. Can you help me, please?”

“Of course, Doctor,” she smirked, and if she weren’t being so generous towards him in this moment, he’d have scowled at her, too. Bloody women. 

He noticed she hadn’t moved and he raised his eyebrow.

“C’mon,” she said.


“Well, the rate you piss the TARDIS off, you’re gonna need to be able to know how to do this for yourself.”

He rolled his eyes as a marked protest but slumped to her side in reluctant defeat. She grinned, and it became that little bit harder to maintain his grumpy facade. 

She bent down and tapped the door. “First off, you’re supposed to separate your colours-“

“What happens if I see thousands more colours than you? Do I have to wash each red sock separately because to me they’re different shades of red?”

“Well, I don’t know - do you want them to be smelly?”

“Course not.”

“Then stop being a smart arse and listen.”

He’d had enough of her. She might be good at washing, and she was an excellent teacher, and she was to be fair to her a good laugh, and she did have this marvellous ability to make even washing fun and he did want to spend as much of his day in her company, but she was a right scoundrel and he wasn’t having it. 

“Do I have to learn, though?” he countered hopefully, and she scoffed. “Be honest, I’ve been doing alright for nine hundred years.”

“Yes, and now you quite clearly are not doing alright. Lucky for you, you have me now.”

“Lucky indeed,” he grumbled. 

Rose smirked and closed the drum door. “Right. Colours, check. Now, detergent here depends on how much you’re washing, so you -“ the washing machine clicked and began to hum, and they both looked at it questioningly “- what’s it doing?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. You’re the washing machine Queen.”

She crouched down to look inside the drum and waited. It took a few seconds, but eventually, the clothes began to jolt as the machine started its spin.

“It’s working alright, then?” she mused, her head turning in her analysis.

“Appears so.”

But soon, the drum began to fill - at an alarmingly fast pace - with white dense foam. Rose shrieked and went to pull on the draw, but it had locked itself shut. She turned to him, wide-eyed and panicked.

“What did you do?”


“Doctor, make it stop!”

“I can’t!”

“Well, make it!”

“I can’t!”

“Do something! It’s your ship!”

“She’s pissed off with me!”

“Well make it so that she’s un-pissed off with you!”

“I don’t know how!”


“I don’t know what I’m apologising for!”

Rose screamed when she saw the bubbles begin to seep from the washing machine, the drum first and then the draw at the top, but not the weird little completely useless cat flap at the bottom - what is that thing? 

“Did you put any detergent in it before I came in?”

He swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What did you put into this washing machine to make it foam like a nightclub in Zante?”

“Well I don’t know-“

“Show me, now!”

He yelped and flung the cabinet door open, contemplating which of the various ‘detergents’ he’d tried might look the most sufficient, might yet save some of his dignity-

“You used them all, didn’t you!”

“I didn’t know, alright!”

Rose had begun frantically scooping up the bubbles in her hands as if it was going to make a difference. The floor now had a light blanketing of white foam, his socks doing a terrible job of absorbing the liquid and instead making his feet warm and damp - 

wet. Now very wet. 

“There’s washing up liquid in here!” Rose groaned, yanking out the bottle of Fairy Liquid. “You put bloody washing up liquid in this bloody washing machine, didn’t you?”

He was only partly listening, because he was more concerned with the inconsistencies in his understanding of physics with the, quite frankly, terrifyingly quick rate in which the bubbles were forming - or foaming, he chuckled to himself - 


He cackled, and her eyes widened when she saw him dart towards her and shrieked loudly when he grabbed her, slipping in the process and bringing her down to the soapy floor with him as he fell. Their groans were in unison but so were their giggles, shortly accompanied by their chokes and huffs as the bubbles slowly infiltrated their mouths and noses.

“I’m going” - she laughed breathlessly as she slipped and slid her way nowhere - “to bloody murder you!” 

His giddy laughter only inspired hers - or maybe it was the other way round - but he was having a delightfully amusing time gently tugging her back down whenever she tried to get up. The bubbles only seemed to proliferate, it appeared every time they moved and popped a bubble several more expanded into existence in its place.

“How much bloody soap did you put in the damn thing?”

“Like I said, she’s pissed off with me!”

“What did I do to deserve this!”

“Tried to help me!”

But she only laughed harder and eventually had to sit upright to clutch at her sides, hills of foam slowly evolving into mountains around her. He placed his hands on the ground and attempted to stand to his feet and Rose’s face soon disappeared from his view. 

He felt her whack around in search of him and he held his hand out for her, pulling her up to him and making a bubble-valley in the process. He cupped some of the foam and placed it on her chin.

“Nice beard you have there.”

“I was just about to say the same“ - she fixed her own handful of foam to his nose - “about your moustache.”

They giggled, the puffs of air from their mouths blowing their props apart. She was bloody adorable, all soaked in foam with pink cheeks and her hair in a messy - now wet - ponytail. 

She saw the soft look he was giving her and raised her finger, “you won’t be looking at me like that when I’m using you as a mop later. Good head of hair you’ve got. Very… absorbent.”

He ducked out of her sight below the surface of bubbles. He heard her scream his name, and shortly afterwards the wafting of bubbles as she frantically chased the sounds of his cackles.

Neither of them heard the washing machine click as the TARDIS finally called it a day and put a stop to it.