Fics: Faith and Confrontation
She was down there among the Macra, a species not even the citizens of New New York had known. They were hungry beasts, and Martha and her captors had fallen down there like food flakes in a goldfish bowl. He wasn’t keen on using another regeneration after a thousand-foot drop, so when the third person appeared in the car, especially a person who appeared to recognize him, he was excited and a little relieved.
“Novice Hame!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. Then the memories of what had happened the last time he’d seen her surfaced and he pushed her away. “No! Hold on, get off! Last time we met, you were breeding humans for experimentation!”
“I’ve sought forgiveness, Doctor, for so many years, under his guidance. And if you come with me, I might finally be able to redeem myself.”
He was truly glad she had seen the error of her ways and was trying to make things right, but that didn’t mean anything to him right then. He needed to get to Martha, needed to get her away from the Macra below. Every moment she was down there was another opportunity for her to be eaten, and he couldn’t let that happen.
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but this situation is even worse than you can imagine!” Novice Hame exclaimed right before transporting him away.
Martha was very glad that had worked. If only she had paid attention to the rest of the film from where she had gotten the idea. With the engines off, the air in the car became heavy and thick with heat, moisture, and more carbon dioxide than oxygen. Sweat trickled down her back, making her clothes stick to her skin, and her heart beat hard against her chest as she tried ignoring each rumble and hiss from outside. She had eight minutes to come up with another bright idea, or the Doctor had eight minutes to do the same, otherwise they would be bait again, and she wasn’t interested in being some alien beasts’ food.
Oh, the consequences of an impulsive move. She had made the decision to travel with the Doctor on her own, though. She had gone off, enticed by the adventure he had offered, wanting to do something for herself instead of her crazy family. Now there was a definite possibility she could die here and they would never know what happened to her. If she did, she hoped the Doctor would contact her family in some way.
Bliss had brought despair upon the people of New New York. Martha had been right not to trust the patches. The one consolation was none of the patches being sold in the Undercity had done what this one had, or else there would’ve been no survivors. Yet even with this knowledge, the story Novice Hame was telling him didn’t make him feel any better about the situation of the motorway. Those people were there on an endless loop, one that wouldn’t be able to last another seventy-six years. The Face of Boe had given his life on the hope, the knowledge, he’d come again. They’d had a choice, and they’d made a hard one. He could empathize with that. The least he could do was prevent that choice from being in vain.
“So, um, who is he, then? This Doctor?” Milo asked.
“I don’t know,” Martha admitted, “well, not really. There’s so much he never says . . .”
“But, that means that,” Cheen began, her voice trembling as the gravity of the situation finally sank in, “the only hope right now is . . . a complete stranger.” She looked at Milo and Martha, and her face crumpled. “Well that’s no use!”
Martha couldn’t let that thought take root, or they would never get out of this. Though she barely knew him, she had seen a lot of what he could do. He’d gotten her off the moon and had stopped her timeline from vanishing. If he could do that, he could get them out of this, too. Besides, Milo and Cheen had trusted her before by turning off the car so whatever was out there couldn’t find them, and she was just as much a stranger to them as he was to her.
“Just trust me,” Martha said, needing them to stay with her again. “Both of you. You’ve got your faith, you’ve got your songs and your hymns . . . and I’ve got the Doctor.”
Martha felt shaky for admitting that aloud, almost silly, but it didn’t make it any less true. She’d seen his brilliance in action, and she had seen him risk his life to save others he didn’t know, like the people in the hospital and the people in the Globe. If the Doctor could do that, he could save three strangers in a tiny car in the Fast Lane, too.
Milo powered up the car again, and then grasped Cheen’s hand.
“Good luck,” he murmured to Martha.
“And you,” she replied.
“Car 4-6-5-♦-6-it still registers! That’s Martha! I knew she was good-Novice Hame! Hold that, please . . .”
He was pumped now, firm in the knowledge he hadn’t lost her, and now that he knew what he needed to do to clear the motorway, he wouldn’t lose her. He was in his element, and between his genius mind and his Sonic Screwdriver, he’d see Martha again very soon. But there was something wrong, and as he tried to fix it, he vaguely heard Boe telling him he was giving him his last . . .
The computers and instruments whirred and beeped to life, and he knew it wasn’t his doing. His hearts stopped for a brief second.
“Hame, look after him! Don’t you go dying on me, you big ol’ face! You gotta see this-the open road!”
“Oy! Car 4-6-5-♦-6, Martha! Drive up!”
She had never been so happy to hear his voice and see his face on the screen, and if Macra claws hadn’t been knocking them around just then, she probably would’ve done a jig in relief. Milo couldn’t believe the Doctor was telling them to drive up, but Martha was adamant he follow instructions. The Doctor hadn’t let them down, and she hadn’t let them down in convincing them to put their faith in a complete stranger. The Doctor’s voice egged them upwards, and when they saw the sky and the sun, it felt like it had been a millennium since she’d seen either.
She gave into her happy dance as Milo and Cheen kissed each other. They would be able to go to Brooklyn now, take care of themselves properly for their baby to arrive. She would be able to go home. She would see her family again.
“And Car 4-6-5-♦-6, I’ve sent you a flight path, come to the Senate,” the Doctor said.
“I’m on my way,” Martha replied, her smile wide and happy.
“Quite a while since I saw you, Martha Jones,” he told her.
Martha ducked her head, ignoring the knowing look Cheen and Milo sent her way. She was glad she was dark enough that they couldn’t see her blush.
His hubris didn’t last nearly as long as he would’ve preferred. Normally, he liked to have a spot of time to congratulate himself on a mission well done, especially when that mission saved his Companion’s life. Hearing Martha Jones’s voice over the speaker had been magnificent, but Novice Hame’s scream of horror pulled him away from the window to where the case enclosing the Face of Boe began cracking. He helped Hame settle Boe gently to the ground. Everyone knew Boe’s time was drawing near, and the Doctor remembered what he’d said the last time they’d seen each other. This was their last meeting. Even then, he couldn’t brush their encounter or the story of the legend aside. Novice Hame had said Boe would speak to one like himself, a wanderer, the lonely god. He’d known that message was meant for him, but part of him had been relieved he hadn’t had to hear it then. And at best, if they did see each other again, he had always assumed Rose would be with him. But she wasn’t, Boe was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was no setting on the Sonic that could fix this.
“Doctor?”
“Over here”
She sounded so excited and practically bounded to where they were, but immediately her manner changed to a mixture of somberness and unease. He spoke to her gently, coaxing her over to them. He’d never had a chance to properly introduce Rose to the Face of Boe; there had never been an opportunity-always saving the world or each other to have time for it. Rose had been wary, too; her very first trip with him, and to the future of all times; her first encounter with “proper” aliens. He couldn’t blame her then, either, but Rose and Martha were alike in this trait; they could adapt and accept more quickly than many of their species could.
He felt Martha’s eyes on him, but he kept his attention on Boe. His hearts quickened as if he’d been thrown in another life-threatening situation instead of taking part in a moment whose time had come. He didn’t want to hear what Boe had to say. He didn’t want this prophecy to be for him, but that didn’t stop it from being so. Though Boe wasn’t a Time Lord, he was still the last of his kind. It was an exclusive club, and the Doctor didn’t want to be its exclusive member, either. There had been solace in the knowledge there was someone else in the universe who was “the last one”, and now that was being taken away.
Boe’s presence suddenly left his brain, and the Doctor's eyes widened as the Face of Boe’s mouth began to move. “You are not alone.”
Boe’s words echoed in his mind amid Novice Hame’s sobs. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Martha stand and walk back, as if giving them the space to grieve. Of all of them, she had known Boe the least and she respected her place as such. He sat there not knowing what to do, at that moment feeling more alone than he ever had in such a long time. He curled his hands in his lap to prevent himself from framing the Face and shaking it awake, even knowing how pathetic and fruitless a move would be. Boe, the latest in a long line of people he’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the last.
Martha. He hadn’t lost her, thanks to Boe. Boe had given his life so she and the thousands in the Undercity could continue theirs. He stood and went to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. Her arms encircled his waist and she squeezed, as if reassuring him he wasn’t alone. The embrace had done more to comfort him than any words she could’ve said, and he was very grateful for it. Though he didn’t think Boe was talking about her with his final words, Martha’s presence did ease his solitude a little.
He was not alone, all right. He had a feisty companion who had the audacity to expect answers from him. She wasn’t even afraid of his veiled threat to leave her-dared him, even-merely sitting down, crossing her arms and legs and demanding him to speak to her properly.
The city’s voices drifted along the air like mist, cooling down the argument that was about to erupt between them. Martha’s face relaxed and a tender smile appeared. He had guessed the singing in the motorway had touched her, and she was no less touched now. It was as if it had calmed the fight in her, and she just looked at him full of compassion and questions, willing to listen, to just be there. She might not be whom the Face of Boe had meant, but that didn’t mean he had a right to lie to her . . . or to himself.
Rose had done the same, demanding answers about who he was, and he’d not been inclined to tell her then, either. But when she had almost gotten incinerated by the sun, he had realized the least he could do was be truthful.
And here he was again: New incarnation, new companion, same confrontation.
“I lied to you, ’cause I liked it. I could pretend . . . just for a bit, I could imagine they were still alive underneath the burnt orange sky. I’m not just a Time Lord, I’m the last of the Time Lords. Face of Boe was wrong, there’s no one else.”
For some reason he’d convinced himself this new body was a way of starting fresh, as if the events of the past only pertained to his previous incarnations. Yet here, in this alley with Martha Jones and with Boe’s words running on loop in his mind, that façade disintegrated from around him.
The empathy returned to Martha’s eyes, the same empathy that had had him running to New Earth in the first place. “What happened?” she asked quietly.
He stared at her, for a brief second entertaining running again, but running wouldn’t make it go away. He’d been running all this time and he was still the last. And she was sitting there waiting, wanting to help in any way she could.
Being a friend. If there was ever a time he needed one, it was now.
He walked towards another overturned chair and picked it up, then carried it to where she sat waiting expectantly. He sat down and leaned toward her, gathering his thoughts before beginning his story.
She let him talk, and he was surprised by how easy the words came out of him, how much lighter he felt as he described his home and shared some of his memories. When he was finished, Martha reached across and held his hand. He studied it, taking in the dark cinnamon hue of it, the veins that thrummed with her pulse courtesy of one heart instead of two. So Time Lord like, and yet human.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said quietly after a few silent minutes.
He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, and then squeezed it. “I think it’s only fair that since we’ve seen New New York, you might fancy the genuine article?”
Martha smiled at him widely, and he returned it, standing as he did so. He didn’t drop her hand as they walked back to the TARDIS. He liked not feeling so alone.
“Novice Hame!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. Then the memories of what had happened the last time he’d seen her surfaced and he pushed her away. “No! Hold on, get off! Last time we met, you were breeding humans for experimentation!”
“I’ve sought forgiveness, Doctor, for so many years, under his guidance. And if you come with me, I might finally be able to redeem myself.”
He was truly glad she had seen the error of her ways and was trying to make things right, but that didn’t mean anything to him right then. He needed to get to Martha, needed to get her away from the Macra below. Every moment she was down there was another opportunity for her to be eaten, and he couldn’t let that happen.
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but this situation is even worse than you can imagine!” Novice Hame exclaimed right before transporting him away.
Martha was very glad that had worked. If only she had paid attention to the rest of the film from where she had gotten the idea. With the engines off, the air in the car became heavy and thick with heat, moisture, and more carbon dioxide than oxygen. Sweat trickled down her back, making her clothes stick to her skin, and her heart beat hard against her chest as she tried ignoring each rumble and hiss from outside. She had eight minutes to come up with another bright idea, or the Doctor had eight minutes to do the same, otherwise they would be bait again, and she wasn’t interested in being some alien beasts’ food.
Oh, the consequences of an impulsive move. She had made the decision to travel with the Doctor on her own, though. She had gone off, enticed by the adventure he had offered, wanting to do something for herself instead of her crazy family. Now there was a definite possibility she could die here and they would never know what happened to her. If she did, she hoped the Doctor would contact her family in some way.
Bliss had brought despair upon the people of New New York. Martha had been right not to trust the patches. The one consolation was none of the patches being sold in the Undercity had done what this one had, or else there would’ve been no survivors. Yet even with this knowledge, the story Novice Hame was telling him didn’t make him feel any better about the situation of the motorway. Those people were there on an endless loop, one that wouldn’t be able to last another seventy-six years. The Face of Boe had given his life on the hope, the knowledge, he’d come again. They’d had a choice, and they’d made a hard one. He could empathize with that. The least he could do was prevent that choice from being in vain.
“So, um, who is he, then? This Doctor?” Milo asked.
“I don’t know,” Martha admitted, “well, not really. There’s so much he never says . . .”
“But, that means that,” Cheen began, her voice trembling as the gravity of the situation finally sank in, “the only hope right now is . . . a complete stranger.” She looked at Milo and Martha, and her face crumpled. “Well that’s no use!”
Martha couldn’t let that thought take root, or they would never get out of this. Though she barely knew him, she had seen a lot of what he could do. He’d gotten her off the moon and had stopped her timeline from vanishing. If he could do that, he could get them out of this, too. Besides, Milo and Cheen had trusted her before by turning off the car so whatever was out there couldn’t find them, and she was just as much a stranger to them as he was to her.
“Just trust me,” Martha said, needing them to stay with her again. “Both of you. You’ve got your faith, you’ve got your songs and your hymns . . . and I’ve got the Doctor.”
Martha felt shaky for admitting that aloud, almost silly, but it didn’t make it any less true. She’d seen his brilliance in action, and she had seen him risk his life to save others he didn’t know, like the people in the hospital and the people in the Globe. If the Doctor could do that, he could save three strangers in a tiny car in the Fast Lane, too.
Milo powered up the car again, and then grasped Cheen’s hand.
“Good luck,” he murmured to Martha.
“And you,” she replied.
“Car 4-6-5-♦-6-it still registers! That’s Martha! I knew she was good-Novice Hame! Hold that, please . . .”
He was pumped now, firm in the knowledge he hadn’t lost her, and now that he knew what he needed to do to clear the motorway, he wouldn’t lose her. He was in his element, and between his genius mind and his Sonic Screwdriver, he’d see Martha again very soon. But there was something wrong, and as he tried to fix it, he vaguely heard Boe telling him he was giving him his last . . .
The computers and instruments whirred and beeped to life, and he knew it wasn’t his doing. His hearts stopped for a brief second.
“Hame, look after him! Don’t you go dying on me, you big ol’ face! You gotta see this-the open road!”
“Oy! Car 4-6-5-♦-6, Martha! Drive up!”
She had never been so happy to hear his voice and see his face on the screen, and if Macra claws hadn’t been knocking them around just then, she probably would’ve done a jig in relief. Milo couldn’t believe the Doctor was telling them to drive up, but Martha was adamant he follow instructions. The Doctor hadn’t let them down, and she hadn’t let them down in convincing them to put their faith in a complete stranger. The Doctor’s voice egged them upwards, and when they saw the sky and the sun, it felt like it had been a millennium since she’d seen either.
She gave into her happy dance as Milo and Cheen kissed each other. They would be able to go to Brooklyn now, take care of themselves properly for their baby to arrive. She would be able to go home. She would see her family again.
“And Car 4-6-5-♦-6, I’ve sent you a flight path, come to the Senate,” the Doctor said.
“I’m on my way,” Martha replied, her smile wide and happy.
“Quite a while since I saw you, Martha Jones,” he told her.
Martha ducked her head, ignoring the knowing look Cheen and Milo sent her way. She was glad she was dark enough that they couldn’t see her blush.
His hubris didn’t last nearly as long as he would’ve preferred. Normally, he liked to have a spot of time to congratulate himself on a mission well done, especially when that mission saved his Companion’s life. Hearing Martha Jones’s voice over the speaker had been magnificent, but Novice Hame’s scream of horror pulled him away from the window to where the case enclosing the Face of Boe began cracking. He helped Hame settle Boe gently to the ground. Everyone knew Boe’s time was drawing near, and the Doctor remembered what he’d said the last time they’d seen each other. This was their last meeting. Even then, he couldn’t brush their encounter or the story of the legend aside. Novice Hame had said Boe would speak to one like himself, a wanderer, the lonely god. He’d known that message was meant for him, but part of him had been relieved he hadn’t had to hear it then. And at best, if they did see each other again, he had always assumed Rose would be with him. But she wasn’t, Boe was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was no setting on the Sonic that could fix this.
“Doctor?”
“Over here”
She sounded so excited and practically bounded to where they were, but immediately her manner changed to a mixture of somberness and unease. He spoke to her gently, coaxing her over to them. He’d never had a chance to properly introduce Rose to the Face of Boe; there had never been an opportunity-always saving the world or each other to have time for it. Rose had been wary, too; her very first trip with him, and to the future of all times; her first encounter with “proper” aliens. He couldn’t blame her then, either, but Rose and Martha were alike in this trait; they could adapt and accept more quickly than many of their species could.
He felt Martha’s eyes on him, but he kept his attention on Boe. His hearts quickened as if he’d been thrown in another life-threatening situation instead of taking part in a moment whose time had come. He didn’t want to hear what Boe had to say. He didn’t want this prophecy to be for him, but that didn’t stop it from being so. Though Boe wasn’t a Time Lord, he was still the last of his kind. It was an exclusive club, and the Doctor didn’t want to be its exclusive member, either. There had been solace in the knowledge there was someone else in the universe who was “the last one”, and now that was being taken away.
Boe’s presence suddenly left his brain, and the Doctor's eyes widened as the Face of Boe’s mouth began to move. “You are not alone.”
Boe’s words echoed in his mind amid Novice Hame’s sobs. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Martha stand and walk back, as if giving them the space to grieve. Of all of them, she had known Boe the least and she respected her place as such. He sat there not knowing what to do, at that moment feeling more alone than he ever had in such a long time. He curled his hands in his lap to prevent himself from framing the Face and shaking it awake, even knowing how pathetic and fruitless a move would be. Boe, the latest in a long line of people he’d lost, and he wouldn’t be the last.
Martha. He hadn’t lost her, thanks to Boe. Boe had given his life so she and the thousands in the Undercity could continue theirs. He stood and went to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. Her arms encircled his waist and she squeezed, as if reassuring him he wasn’t alone. The embrace had done more to comfort him than any words she could’ve said, and he was very grateful for it. Though he didn’t think Boe was talking about her with his final words, Martha’s presence did ease his solitude a little.
He was not alone, all right. He had a feisty companion who had the audacity to expect answers from him. She wasn’t even afraid of his veiled threat to leave her-dared him, even-merely sitting down, crossing her arms and legs and demanding him to speak to her properly.
The city’s voices drifted along the air like mist, cooling down the argument that was about to erupt between them. Martha’s face relaxed and a tender smile appeared. He had guessed the singing in the motorway had touched her, and she was no less touched now. It was as if it had calmed the fight in her, and she just looked at him full of compassion and questions, willing to listen, to just be there. She might not be whom the Face of Boe had meant, but that didn’t mean he had a right to lie to her . . . or to himself.
Rose had done the same, demanding answers about who he was, and he’d not been inclined to tell her then, either. But when she had almost gotten incinerated by the sun, he had realized the least he could do was be truthful.
And here he was again: New incarnation, new companion, same confrontation.
“I lied to you, ’cause I liked it. I could pretend . . . just for a bit, I could imagine they were still alive underneath the burnt orange sky. I’m not just a Time Lord, I’m the last of the Time Lords. Face of Boe was wrong, there’s no one else.”
For some reason he’d convinced himself this new body was a way of starting fresh, as if the events of the past only pertained to his previous incarnations. Yet here, in this alley with Martha Jones and with Boe’s words running on loop in his mind, that façade disintegrated from around him.
The empathy returned to Martha’s eyes, the same empathy that had had him running to New Earth in the first place. “What happened?” she asked quietly.
He stared at her, for a brief second entertaining running again, but running wouldn’t make it go away. He’d been running all this time and he was still the last. And she was sitting there waiting, wanting to help in any way she could.
Being a friend. If there was ever a time he needed one, it was now.
He walked towards another overturned chair and picked it up, then carried it to where she sat waiting expectantly. He sat down and leaned toward her, gathering his thoughts before beginning his story.
She let him talk, and he was surprised by how easy the words came out of him, how much lighter he felt as he described his home and shared some of his memories. When he was finished, Martha reached across and held his hand. He studied it, taking in the dark cinnamon hue of it, the veins that thrummed with her pulse courtesy of one heart instead of two. So Time Lord like, and yet human.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said quietly after a few silent minutes.
He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, and then squeezed it. “I think it’s only fair that since we’ve seen New New York, you might fancy the genuine article?”
Martha smiled at him widely, and he returned it, standing as he did so. He didn’t drop her hand as they walked back to the TARDIS. He liked not feeling so alone.