Divergence to Infinity [Chapter 2]
Divergence to Infinity
Summary: Who would we be if certain people never crossed our paths? What would happen if there was just something that would forever elude us, right out of our grip, but we could sense it? This would happen. This side of Paradise, this side of Nothing.// A Martha/Master AU fic. The Master wakes up, and the only doctor around is Martha. There will be confusion, there will be impossibilities, and there will be no Doctor to save them all.\\
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: All characters, ideas, places, and further intellectual property belong to their rightful owners, in this particular case, BBC. I own nothing. This story and associated content is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made.
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Jessica Wolfe
When Martha Jones woke up that morning, she hadn’t expected anything unusual to happen that day.
She brushed her teeth, got dressed, put some eyeliner on. Made her coffee, grabbed her keys and an apple. As she bit the apple, yellow and red, she started her car.
When she arrived at Royal Hope Hospital, she made her rounds, nothing unusual. Pewter, Sam. Rondel, Carol. Diaz, Timothy. Warring, Enid. Dole, Matthew. Kingsley, Jordan . . . maybe five more give or take.
She had taken on a few of Dr. Yardley's patients. Congestive heart failure, pneumonia, diabetes complications, complications from a hysterectomy (really should not be in her department), and a coma patient.
Everyone was complicated. Except her. Their conditions, the unexpected problems that arose, the drama this created for their families. For some, their hospitalization might have been the most dramatic and existential moment to happen to them. Facing life, death, illness, confronting the feelings you have about these things. One might expect that as a doctor, she too would be constantly questioning her life. But it became routine. Banal. She felt as if life was passing by. Yes, there was excitement, like when she met Dr. Tom Milligan, from pediatrics, at the hospital's annual Christmas-New Year's party two years ago. There was the looming feeling he would propose. But they had been dating for months and he hadn’t asked yet, so the novelty was wearing off. Family. Work. Tom. Chatting with colleagues on occasion. That was all. The stress of work. The responsibility of someone else's life in her hands. She was sure she was going to have grey hair by the time she was thirty.
But that was all. She felt as though there was a film between her and what was happening. Martha was here and reality was there. Martha gave herself a mental shake. Her patients ripped her from the film. When she was working in the A&E in particular. But even now. It made her feel alive. She would learn how to live this life; after all, wasn't being a doctor, helping others, saving the world, in a way, all she ever wanted? It was by no means horrible, it was just less than what she desired, less than what she had expected. She didn't exactly know what that was . . . but . . .
Martha exhaled deeply, and opened her eyes. Enough of this moping, she thought. There was no place for any of that right now. Her life was great and she knew it. It's just sometimes, just sometimes, this . . . feeling, this grasping need for something more filled her up and well . . .
It was time to return to her rounds, her coma patient was waiting. She smirked to herself, of course he was waiting, where was he going to go?
BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP!
"DOCTOR JONES, PLEASE REPORT TO ROOM 504 IMMEADIATELY. DOCTOR JONES, ROOM 504!"
The message bled over the intercom. Martha checked her beeper, 504ASYS.
"Shit," she muttered as she ran down the hallway and turned, bumping into a patient. "Excuse me . . . "
"Martha Jones . . . "
She stopped short, turning as the patient said her name. As if he knew her. As if there was some bewilderment in seeing her. Something that threatened to be relief, but never quite got there. She recognized the toffee-haired man as a patient in her most recent addition of rotations.
"And you . . . are supposed to be comatose. In bed. Sir, I need you to return to your room.”
The man, her patient, turned to look her in the eye, a dangerous grin on his face.
"'Sir'? My, my Miss Jones, we've come a long way haven't we?"
She didn’t understand what was wrong with this patient, and as she stood there, a team of nurses showed up at the door way.
"Dr. Jones!," one of them called out.
The patient's look turned predatory and he neared Martha, eying her up and down, like a piece of meat, circling her like a starving wolf.
"Doctor Jones?” the man said. “Grown up are you, little girl?"
"Sir, I'm going to ask you again to return to your room. I need to run some tests on you. You just came out of a coma."
She was confused at how he knew her, but that was irrelevant at this point. Martha had to make sure her patient was in good physical and mental health. He had just sprung up from a coma, it would seem, which was highly irregular. She had to check his vitals. The man must be in shock.
"Sir, please . . . "
"Dr. Jones?" two orderlies interrupted her.
"Sir, these men will escort you to your room if you do not return on your own."
She motioned toward him and put her hand on his right arm. He yanked himself back. There was a look of utter repulsion on his face.
"Don't you dare touch me."
Something about this man made Martha feel uncomfortable, there was something wrong about the way he looked at her. It unnerved her, as if he knew her. As if there was something she had done to him, something they shared, troubling, between them.
Martha raised her hands defensively. “Sir, I only need you to come with me.”
She turned to the orderlies and nodded. They approached.
Her patient gave her a snide look. “Getting others to do you biding, Dr. Jones? Manhandling at that . . . Well, never thought I'd see that from you.”
She was perplexed and knew it showed on her face.
“Oh, don't play coy with me Martha Jones. Have you forgotten all of the pain and misery? The desperation and destruction?”
“Sir, these gentlemen are going to escort you to your room. A team of nurses and I will run-”
She stopped speaking. The orderlies grabbed the man in a most brusque manner. His eyes pierced her as the orderlies led him away. Yes, he was doing a good job at making her skin crawl. Something was not right.
As the orderlies dragged the man around the corner, he gave Martha a crooked grin that knew too much.
{...}
They had to use restraints. He had resisted; thrashing, pushing. He had walked the line of violence with the orderlies. Martha felt guilty looking at the straps around his wrists and ankles. This was the first time she had ever needed to use them herself. She’d seen it happen once while she made rounds in A&E. It made her sick; something felt wrong about it. She turned her attention back to the machines and the charts the nurse had left for her.
“Don't you think the restraints were a little overkill?” the patient said. “I mean, I'm all for bondage, but in a hospital? Martha, I had no idea . . . ”
Martha gave the man a disgusted look, but he only returned it with a rakish grin.
“Let me guess, you like dirty talk too? You're a filthy-”
“All the tests seem to be fine,” Martha interrupted. “We'll keep you here under observation for a few days.” She flipped through some of the pages on the clip board. She paused. Her eyes shot to his. “What's your name?”
{…}
There had been a time when everyone knew his name. It was on the lips of every man, woman, and child that lived on the Earth. They had trembled with fear when they heard it. And it filled him with power, rolling deep in his chest.
He could taste it.
Their fear. His power.
The sweetest elixir was their despair.
Before then, it was Harry Saxon. Saxon was your man. You could trust him with your life, perhaps not much with your wife . . .
That was the image.
Accomplished, polished, well intentioned, intelligent, pleasing in many aspects. In the end, a true hypocrite and thus truly a politician of the day.
Plans fit for the highest bidder, and the highest bidder was himself.
In a matter of moments, the tables were turned and everything changed.
Everything always changed.
He had many names and many faces throughout space and time. But who was he here? The Master? Time Lord? Harold Saxon? Politician? The face was the same.
As he was dragged into his room, he caught a glance in the mirror by the sink in the entrance of his room. His hands felt the familiar topography of his face. The Master smirked, he always did find this young incarnation to be his best. Although he could not deny the charm of his dashing good looks, back when the Doctor had more hair and wore a funny scarf...come to think of it, he had more hair too...The Master stroked his chin, pondering if he should attempt to grow a beard again.
Again, stuck with the same face . . .
Yes, Harold Saxon would live again. But he would be better this time. Smarter. Quicker. He would be filled a quaking malice that would replace the emptiness that the drums and that second heart he no longer had.
{…}
“Your name, sir? I can't just keep calling you sir. Or Joe Bloggs.”
She looked at him expectantly, impatience looming on the horizon. But no, he made her too uneasy. Martha had the overwhelming feeling that her patient could see it, feel it.
“Master.”
“Master? Master what?”
“My name you dolt. It's Master. The Master.”
Martha knew he was reading her face. There was a grin threatening to breach the corners of her lips. A scoff was hiding in her chest and behind her eyes.
“The Master of what?”
He rolled his eyes. “Harold Saxon. My name is Harold Saxon.”
“Harold Saxon Master? With a hyphen?”
“Did I say Saxon-Master?”
“You said Master. Of what, I have no idea. Is it Saxon Master, or Master-Sax-”
“Yes, fine yes, leave it like that, and go. You're giving me a headache.”
He brought a hand to his forehead, feigning pain for annoyance. Martha felt him watching her under the shadow of his hand. She briefly jotted down the complaint. She checked the machines once more and then turned to him.
“Are you feeling pain anywhere else?”
“No. Now leave.” He glared at her. “Please.”
“This pain, is it in the back of your-”
“No, there is no pain. Only the nagging sound of your voice and your incessant and inane questions, all which lead me into a veritable hell. So please, I ask you once more, kindly, leave.”