[Fanfic Recs] Martha Jones (Doctor Who)

[anenko]

Doctor Who






Note: Doctor Who is a huge fandom, and there are lots of awesome Martha fics. I didn't even *try* to cover any of the Ten/Martha fandom, so most of the fics below are gen, with a dash of femslash and non-standard het pairings.




Fanfic

telling_a_story is a ficathon devoted to Martha during The Year That Never Was (the season three finale, in which the world is decimated by an alien force, the Doctor is held captive, and Martha Jones saves the world).

Seems Far From Home, Seems Farther From You, by fryadvocate

Martha started using floss again, and it was shockingly normal to spend an hour just cleaning her teeth. When she grinned in the mirror, there was blood in her smile.

She shopped for groceries and paid with cash instead of bartering away something for the food.

Even though they were out of season, she bought berries and oranges, and sat on the floor of her tiny kitchen, eating them straight out of the basket. For two months she had survived on a backpack full of rations that she'd found in a Russian military outpost.

Real fruit was almost holy, and she spent an hour on the basket of oranges, licking the juice off her fingers.

Courage and Pluck, by silverweave

"Then what's happened?"

The Doctor sighed. "It's embarrassing."

"Doctor, I'm on a gastro-intestinal rotation at the moment. You wouldn't believe where my hands have been all day."

There was a subtle pause.

Ten Things That Are Almost Absolutely True About Martha Jones, and One Thing That's True About the Doctor, by Branwyn

Martha develops a crush on all of her mentors eventually. Anybody with something to teach her is exciting to her in his or her own way. Once she surpasses them, however, her feelings cool a little, which is partly why the Doctor was so attractive to her---she didn't think she would ever run out of things to learn from him.

Dreaming in Metaphors, by Yahtzee

“A stationary TARDIS is no TARDIS at all. She needs to fly. To explore. But she needs her compass.” The Doctor’s eyes met hers. “We both do.”

“I don’t see a compass on the controls. Besides, what’s north and south when you’re out in space?”

“I was speaking metaphorically.”

“You mean - me? Oh.” Martha felt flattered, and felt slightly worried about feeling flattered. This was so like one of her fantasies - the Doctor returned, humbled and eager for her company, saying sweet things that revealed how important she really was to him. It would be easy to get swept up in him again. Easy to forget he was essentially bringing the TARDIS in for a tune-up.

The Yankee's Loot, by Yahtzee

The man sighed. “I hate kidnappings.”

Blood riled, Scarlett swung the whip at him and took a fierce kind of pleasure when he leapt back, hissing in pain. Quickly she ran toward her buggy, cursing the corset that dug into her ribs and kept her catching her breath. If she could only reach the carriage! Then she could goad the horses on, reach Tara within ten minutes, and -

His hand closed around her upper arm, jerking her backward and making her stumble in the dust.

“Got her!” the Englishman cried. “Martha, perhaps a bit of help here -“

“Let go of me this instant, you varmint!” Scarlett swung at him with the whip, but he wouldn’t let go. Then Martha was there too, and Scarlett felt something cool press against the nape of her neck. After that, there didn’t seem to be an up or down any longer, just brilliant sun and swaying and the deep, deep need for sleep.

Moving On, by Jay

Even the insults weren't intolerable at first.

Admittedly, she'd been offended when the chief of staff had looked her up and down in a way that clearly said that there was something wrong with her, but it wasn't as though Martha had never seen that look before and she figured she could put up with it; after all, it was only three months and she had her Doctor to think of (except that he wasn't the Doctor any more, not really, and he'd never been her Doctor, not in the way she'd always wanted).

The snide glances from passing students weren't unbearable; she contented herself with the knowledge that she was probably more intelligent than most of them put together, and when it got particularly bad she'd retreat into her mind and recite the origins and insertions of the muscles of the gleno-humeral joint over and over again until she was breathing evenly and her anger had dissipated.

The Art of Surviving, by nekare

The day she passes her last exam and finally has a title to match his, she comes home to find a little cake on her kitchen counter, strawberry with chocolate icing, her favourite. She doesn’t remember ever telling this to the Doctor. The note says:

Congratulations! Always knew you’d do it - literally knew you’d do it - you age fairly wonderfully, by the way - but still. Well done, Doctor Jones.

She smiles, and shakes her head, and eats the cake, slowly, savouring it.

Persephone, by calapine

Even before she opens her eyes, Martha knows something is wrong. Her heartbeat feels foreign; her mind is static and disconnected thought.

"Wakey-wakey." A footstep near her head and she knows that voice.

She opens her eyes, finds herself staring up at the ceiling of a TARDIS, cold and dark, harsh edges, so unlike the Doctor's. There's a flush of remembered fear as she sees a Chameleon Arch hanging in the shadows.

The Almost Last of the Time Lords Benevolent Society , by netgirl_y2k

The book Romana dropped on the kitchen table in front of Martha was the same height as all her first year medical texts piled up on top of one another. With fewer pictures and smaller print.

"The TARDIS manual," she announced.

"You want me to learn how to fly the TARDIS?"

"Yes."

"I can't fly the TARDIS."

"Of course not," Romana smiled reasonably, "you haven't read the manual yet."

(Alias) Smith and Jones, by Doyle

“You look really… nice,” Mickey said lamely, instantly hating himself for it, as he did for practically every word that struggled out of his mouth when it was just him and Martha. When Rose or Jake or some of the Cardiff branch lot was with them, there was no problem. When it was just them, the constant mental God, she’s gorgeous tended to drown out any chance of sounding halfway intelligent.

Sugar This Up, by voleuse

Martha's always spent the most time on the phone with Tish. Before the year that wasn't, however, their conversations were pragmatic. How to convince Leo of something, or how to mitigate another of their parents' arguments. What shoes Martha should buy, or what job Tish should go for.

Now, they spend minutes and hours in chatter, observing the weather or the street or the titles of the magazines at the shop on the corner.

Sung Above The Glass, by Derry

"I'd prefer somebody who just fell in love with me," Martha says, and she can feel Tosh watching her. She leans over to pour herself another glass of wine and, when she sits back, she's a little closer to Tosh.

Tosh shifts towards Martha, and she doesn't use an excuse. Martha smiles.

Saving Jade, by Azar

They both heard that something at the same moment--a musical, animal, alien cry that pierced her to the bone with its sheer beauty. The Doctor's smile trebled in size, his eyes darting about for the source of that haunting call. "There!" he cried finally in delight, pointing back up toward the cliff.

Martha's eyes followed and her breath caught. At first, the figure perched on the rock seemed like a golden statue. Then it spread delicate, gleaming wings and cried out again.

"Oh my God. Is that--?"

The Doctor grinned, drinking in her awe as though it were nourishment. "Is it what?"

"A..." Her mind having gone inexplicably blank, she struggled to find the word. "...a dragon?"

the frozen hours, by noldo

She's re-starting a little girl's heart on Galanthranos, and climbing mountains on one of Jupiter's moons, and watching the red sea (red not just in name: a deep vibrant scarlet like wine or blood) crashing against rocks on a planet whose name is almost completely impossible to transcribe. She's being shot at and threatened and sentenced to execution, and she's running and the stars are wheeling past her as though she's the only fixed point in a universe of moving infinities, and it's wonderful. It's so very wonderful. Wonderful and a little bit terrifying, and -- she's beginning to lose track of the number of days.

That tends to happen.

(January Second) Present Weather Conditions, by imsanehonest

There was nothing pleasant about traveling across the Russian tundra in the dead of winter, despite what the merrymaking Russian branch of the resistance had said. Not that Martha could completely blame them for their false optimism. After all, a body warmed with alcohol, still basking in the afterglow of the New Year, was far more likely to look kindly upon the harsh conditions.

But once in the clear, sober light of morning, once one had to hike across the dead countryside… Well. Then one’s view of ‘the vast and majestic landscape’ was changed a bit.

(October Third) Hero Worship, by imsanehonest

Martha Jones doesn’t think of herself as a hero.

Never in her past life did she imagine that she would have an opportunity to be one, all those months ago when she had still been ordinary. There would be the odd patient that took a liking to her, hopefully a few lives saved, perhaps a couple family disasters diverted.

But Martha hadn’t realized when she’d signed on with the Doctor that an entire world would, one day, depend on her.

Faith and Duty, by lookatmoiye7

At first, it’s hard to find anyone to help.

She is no-one, and everyone is panicking, too concerned about themselves and their own families to bother much with any one else.

(She tries not to think about her own family.)

all these intersecting lines, by azuredamsel

martha's a smart girl, see. but being smart puts her in a corner, reading a book.

she's fucking tired of being the smart girl who's going to have a brilliant career. being 'miss jones' instead of 'martha'.

the doctor kisses her (at first she's positive the genetic transfer thing's a sham) and she sees herself in a flash, running barefoot on the moon.

Hello, Doctor, by shaggydogstail

'Do you really have the Doctor's phone number?' asked Gwen, adding a generous refill to Martha's glass as she did so (presumably by way of a bribe, the shameless hussy).

'Yeah,' admitted Martha. 'Well, I gave him my phone.'

'It would be sort of... interesting,' said Tosh. 'I mean, actually getting to speak to the Doctor. He's the reason we're all here, after all.'

'I don't think it's a very good idea,' said Martha, but her tone lacked conviction. Every glass of wine washed away a little more of her resolve.

'He wouldn't need to know we got it from you,' said Gwen, grinning wickedly.

'Are you suggesting we prank call the Doctor?' asked Martha.

Ulysses, by rheanna27

"The Doctor is here," Joan says, and at first John thinks she's talking about that pleasant young man from the surgery who calls in every other day to take his blood pressure and give him more pills. But those visits have become a part of the normal routine of their lives since John became ill, so John can't understand why Joan appears so agitated. Oh, she's trying to hide it, but after forty years he can read the signs: it's in the way she's tugging at her wedding ring, twisting it round and round on her finger as if trying to reassure herself of its solidity. Something is wrong, and John feels sure he should know what it is, but he often finds it hard to concentrate, these days, and his brain stubbornly refuses to provide him with anything beyond a vague sense of apprehension.

But still he can't think why, so: "Best send him up, then."

Joan tugs at her wedding ring again. She glances down, notices what she's doing, and pushes both hands into the pockets of her house-apron. "Her. The Doctor's come to see you, John. She's downstairs."

An Anatomy of the Impossible, by plentyofpaper

Secretly, she has always been fond of the impossible.

She remembers being very very young and watching her hand move, wondering why it did and how it did and how it was that a flicker in her mind she barely noticed grew into this circular motion of flesh against carpet, and then she wondered about the carpet, the tingly roughness of it, her palm and the feeling - what was feeling? - of things, and the thoughts spun in her mind like a yo-yo going too fast and the string got all tangled up and all of the thoughts got mixed up in one another and she wanted to cry and laugh because the world was suddenly wide open with things to know and not know and it was terrifying and terribly wonderful and she didn’t know why.

A Moment's Grace, by Branwyn

"Hello," says the man standing on the other side. "I'm looking for Martha Jones."

They stand looking at each other for a second---Martha frozen, the man smiling---there's something in that quick, bright smile that reminds her---

Martha's hand lashes out, seizing the man by the collar of his rumpled black frock coat. "Good gracious," he exclaims, as she yanks him over the threshold and pins him to the wall, pressing the tazer to his throat. She hooks her ankle around the edge of the door and kicks it shut before she speaks.

"Who sent you?" she says, in a hard voice she barely recognizes.

Streams, by LizBee

"So do I. Drink?" The woman produced a bottle from an inner pocket of her voluminous scarlet coat. Red wine, Martha found, and a lot better than a student budget could afford. "My name's Romana, by the way," she added.

"Martha. Martha Jones."

"I know." Romana leaned back, looking up at the sky. "It's so empty," she said, her voice soft and hollow. "So quiet."

"So, you don't believe in little green men, then?" Martha said, trying for levity.

"Oh, certainly. Little blue men, too. Metal men. Metal creatures that aren't men at all. A whole universe of people." Romana wrapped her coat more tightly around her body. "Just ... not my people."

Martha drained her glass, refilled it and drank some more before she said, "So ... you're saying you're an alien."

"Have another drink," said Romana.

The Boy Who Killed Time by netgirl_y2k

There are ghosts in the TARDIS, they walk through walls and through people, silently carrying on long forgotten conversations. They don't bother Martha, sometimes she even talks to them. Then they begin to talk back.

In the kitchen sitting at the table is the teenager with legend 'Ace' printed across the back of her bomber jacket.

Martha ignores the ghost and sets about making a cup of tea, until the girl looks sharply up at her.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" she demands.

Sugar And Spice (And All Things Nice), by

“Doctor?”

“Martha! Martha, lovely to hear from you but-”

“Doctor, I think another of your lot-”

There was rather a lot of shrieking in the background.

“-has turned up. A woman. Small, blonde, now taller-”

“-now’s really not a good time, Martha!”

“and red-haired, she’s got red hair now. Do you know her? Good, bad, indifferent?”

“I’ll pick you up in a couple of days; just give me time to sort this out!”

There was a very loud bang and the line went dead.
Martha was left with the distinct impression that he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

progression (we write stories that aren't fairy tales), by azuredamsel

This is how it really starts.

Martha never really questions becoming a doctor. It was the right thing to do: when Leo fell down the stairs and broke his arm, she was the one to hold him close and apply just the right amount of pressure until they got him an ambulance.

She's good at saving lives, is Martha Jones, a cool head and steely determination.

Sometimes she goes out at night, with Tish or a friend from class, and there'll be blokes that grin or wink in her direction.

But it's not until that man (a Doctor, at that) kisses her that she wonders about Prince Charming.

They save the world before she can finish the thought.

The Ladies Auxiliary, by LizBee

It was a good day. Martha was prepared to go so far as to call it a good year, although there were still four months to go in her personal countdown. This was the day she'd arrived in Germany. Thinking of that -- the cold, the wet, the grief -- she stood up to get another drink.

Lost in memories, she was unaware of the woman behind her until an unfamiliar voice said, "I hear you left the Doctor."

Martha spun around, expecting -- what? Aliens? Soldiers? Lucy Saxon? Yet another person who remembered her face from the terrorist alert and thought she was going to blow up London?

A Place Called Home, by sheldrake

She writes notes in her head: Time travel -- side effects may include the following: dry skin, occasional pains in the neck, excessive biting of the tongue. You may develop stupid attachments to aliens who then go and deliberately induce temporary amnesia in themselves and leave you on your own in an weird version of England where you can't go into the post office without everyone staring at you like you've got two heads.

Yeah, so who's the alien now? Eh, Mr Smith? 'Cos I'm thinking it ain't you.

Meta

Martha Jones Is a Dork, by elliptic-eye

2. Martha is a dork.

Yes! Oh, yes, she is! Dorky-dork-dork! Dorkorific! Dweeb! Beautifully, not-so-subtly awkward DORK!

Just in case this point is not obvious, some support:

Martha has always come across to me as subtly out-of-touch with the social elements of the world around her and that fucking rule book that's always there that nobody ever explains but nevertheless assumes you know just like they do. Yes, I know, that's all of us at one point or another. Some of us have more trouble with it than others, though.

Pictures from Freema Agyeman.com and wikipedia