Fic: Indestructible (1/1) (DW)
Title: Indestructible
Author: hexicode
Fandom/pairing: Doctor Who, no pairing
Summary: Martha and the Doctor have a conversation after the events in 42.
Rating: all ages
Warnings: none
Disclaimers: The characters and settings aren't mine. No profit is being made, this is for entertainment only.
A/N: One shot for 2dozenowies - prompt 11: frostbite/hypothermia. Spoilers for the first half of the 2007 series.
oOo
Martha couldn’t sleep.
Her body was winding down from the adrenaline rush and her muscles were starting to feel sore, but her mind was keeping its own hours. The time on the ship had gone by in a blur, but the events were etched into her memory. Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the Doctor scream as the fire had burned him from the inside.
Martha got up, thirsty and worried, but determined to only get a glass of water from the TARDIS kitchen and not check up on the Doctor. He was old enough to take care of himself, Martha told herself.
When a ripple shook the corridor, she changed her mind, telling herself that she was just quickly dropping by the control room. The Doctor probably wasn't there anyways. Even he had to sleep some time.
Martha entered the console room, not really expecting to find anything when she nearly walked into the Doctor. He was slumped limply against the railing. In the ethereal green light of the darkened TARDIS, his skin looked almost colourless, but there was an unmistakable blue tinge around his lips.
Martha reached out with trepidation, afraid of what she might find. The Doctor's skin was ice cold even through his shirt, but she could feel his hearts beating under her fingers.
"Doctor?” Martha shook his shoulder. Although she wasn't sure it was a good idea to wake him up, given that her medical training was fairly useless when it came to the Doctor, she hoped he could tell her what to do.
But the Doctor only muttered something incoherent and weakly tried to shake off her arm. Eventually he opened his eyes and focussed on her. "Martha?"
"Yes, that's me. Are you..."
"I'm tired," the Doctor cut her off.
“You’re not just…” Martha protested, but the Doctor interrupted her again.
"I'm tired. I’m tired of surviving everything." He scrubbed a trembling hand over his face. “It’s not fair. Not when they are all dead.”
That didn’t sound good at all to Martha’s ears.
“Doctor?”
“It’s not fair,” the Doctor repeated, his head lolling back tiredly.
"No, you have to stay awake!” Martha shook him more vigorously. “We need to get you warmed up and then you need some sleep," Martha decided. "Where's your bedroom?"
"Console. There’s a…," the Doctor ground out. He tried to get up and if it hadn't been for Martha catching him, he'd have fallen straight on his face.
"All right, enough. Sit down. Blankets?"
The Doctor nodded towards a cabinet in the corner that Martha had never seen before. Still, inside she found a stack of blankets. She grabbed two of them and wrapped them around the Doctor's shoulders. He let her without protest.
When Martha returned with two cups of tea, the Doctor was still shaking, but he was looking a little less pale and the blue tinge around his lips had vanished. Not about to question his quick recovery, she handed him a mug.
“Thank you.” The Doctor wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. Martha settled down next to him. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes, I will,” the Doctor assured her. The smile on his face was weak, but it was a smile.
"Doctor, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What did you mean earlier?”
The Doctor looked at her blankly.
"On the ship, you said something, just before we froze you. You said there was some process, something that happens if you're about to die."
"It's complicated," the Doctor said, shaking his head.
"But you can die?" Martha couldn't help but be curious. She had seen the Doctor die. He'd dropped to the floor, dead, not breathing, his heart not beating. It didn't make sense. But part of her had started to think of the Doctor as fairly indestructible. After all, even when he had sort of died the first time they'd met, he had bounced back like nothing had ever happened. He'd been stabbed in the heart and been hit by lightning on the top of the Empire State building and seemed no worse for the experience.
"It's complicated," the Doctor repeated. "The Time Lords, we have this way off cheating death. Not forever, but I'm still good for a few lifetimes." He laughed mirthlessly. "But at the rate I'm going, it'll be a miracle if I last another decade."
“How old are you?” Martha asked, still trying to take in what the Doctor had just told her.
“900, give or take a few decades. I stopped counting. Not everyone has the same obsession with birthdays you humans have,” the Doctor added when Martha looked at him questioningly.
“So, you don’t age or how come you look…well not like 900 years old?” Martha had trouble wrapping her head around the concept of quasi-immortality. If someone had told her about this a month ago, she’d have thought they were crazy.
The Doctor didn’t reply, but the look he gave her spoke volumes.
“All right, I’m sorry. Won’t bring it up again.” She raised her hands in defence.
“I recorded a message, just in case it’s ever needed.” The Doctor finally said after finishing his tea.
He’d been trying to tell her. He must have thought he was going to die, Martha thought, but quickly pushed it aside. The Doctor had been hypothermic and after what he’d been through, he’d probably not been in his right mind.
“Good. You’re going to be all right now?” Martha asked again.
“I think so.” The Doctor jumped to his feet with almost his usual degree of enthusiasm. “What do you say where we go next? Somewhere warm and sunny, I'd say." He bounded over to the console as if nothing had ever happened.
Maybe not indestructible, but damn near close, Martha thought and smiled.
The End
Author: hexicode
Fandom/pairing: Doctor Who, no pairing
Summary: Martha and the Doctor have a conversation after the events in 42.
Rating: all ages
Warnings: none
Disclaimers: The characters and settings aren't mine. No profit is being made, this is for entertainment only.
A/N: One shot for 2dozenowies - prompt 11: frostbite/hypothermia. Spoilers for the first half of the 2007 series.
oOo
Martha couldn’t sleep.
Her body was winding down from the adrenaline rush and her muscles were starting to feel sore, but her mind was keeping its own hours. The time on the ship had gone by in a blur, but the events were etched into her memory. Every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the Doctor scream as the fire had burned him from the inside.
Martha got up, thirsty and worried, but determined to only get a glass of water from the TARDIS kitchen and not check up on the Doctor. He was old enough to take care of himself, Martha told herself.
When a ripple shook the corridor, she changed her mind, telling herself that she was just quickly dropping by the control room. The Doctor probably wasn't there anyways. Even he had to sleep some time.
Martha entered the console room, not really expecting to find anything when she nearly walked into the Doctor. He was slumped limply against the railing. In the ethereal green light of the darkened TARDIS, his skin looked almost colourless, but there was an unmistakable blue tinge around his lips.
Martha reached out with trepidation, afraid of what she might find. The Doctor's skin was ice cold even through his shirt, but she could feel his hearts beating under her fingers.
"Doctor?” Martha shook his shoulder. Although she wasn't sure it was a good idea to wake him up, given that her medical training was fairly useless when it came to the Doctor, she hoped he could tell her what to do.
But the Doctor only muttered something incoherent and weakly tried to shake off her arm. Eventually he opened his eyes and focussed on her. "Martha?"
"Yes, that's me. Are you..."
"I'm tired," the Doctor cut her off.
“You’re not just…” Martha protested, but the Doctor interrupted her again.
"I'm tired. I’m tired of surviving everything." He scrubbed a trembling hand over his face. “It’s not fair. Not when they are all dead.”
That didn’t sound good at all to Martha’s ears.
“Doctor?”
“It’s not fair,” the Doctor repeated, his head lolling back tiredly.
"No, you have to stay awake!” Martha shook him more vigorously. “We need to get you warmed up and then you need some sleep," Martha decided. "Where's your bedroom?"
"Console. There’s a…," the Doctor ground out. He tried to get up and if it hadn't been for Martha catching him, he'd have fallen straight on his face.
"All right, enough. Sit down. Blankets?"
The Doctor nodded towards a cabinet in the corner that Martha had never seen before. Still, inside she found a stack of blankets. She grabbed two of them and wrapped them around the Doctor's shoulders. He let her without protest.
When Martha returned with two cups of tea, the Doctor was still shaking, but he was looking a little less pale and the blue tinge around his lips had vanished. Not about to question his quick recovery, she handed him a mug.
“Thank you.” The Doctor wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. Martha settled down next to him. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes, I will,” the Doctor assured her. The smile on his face was weak, but it was a smile.
"Doctor, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What did you mean earlier?”
The Doctor looked at her blankly.
"On the ship, you said something, just before we froze you. You said there was some process, something that happens if you're about to die."
"It's complicated," the Doctor said, shaking his head.
"But you can die?" Martha couldn't help but be curious. She had seen the Doctor die. He'd dropped to the floor, dead, not breathing, his heart not beating. It didn't make sense. But part of her had started to think of the Doctor as fairly indestructible. After all, even when he had sort of died the first time they'd met, he had bounced back like nothing had ever happened. He'd been stabbed in the heart and been hit by lightning on the top of the Empire State building and seemed no worse for the experience.
"It's complicated," the Doctor repeated. "The Time Lords, we have this way off cheating death. Not forever, but I'm still good for a few lifetimes." He laughed mirthlessly. "But at the rate I'm going, it'll be a miracle if I last another decade."
“How old are you?” Martha asked, still trying to take in what the Doctor had just told her.
“900, give or take a few decades. I stopped counting. Not everyone has the same obsession with birthdays you humans have,” the Doctor added when Martha looked at him questioningly.
“So, you don’t age or how come you look…well not like 900 years old?” Martha had trouble wrapping her head around the concept of quasi-immortality. If someone had told her about this a month ago, she’d have thought they were crazy.
The Doctor didn’t reply, but the look he gave her spoke volumes.
“All right, I’m sorry. Won’t bring it up again.” She raised her hands in defence.
“I recorded a message, just in case it’s ever needed.” The Doctor finally said after finishing his tea.
He’d been trying to tell her. He must have thought he was going to die, Martha thought, but quickly pushed it aside. The Doctor had been hypothermic and after what he’d been through, he’d probably not been in his right mind.
“Good. You’re going to be all right now?” Martha asked again.
“I think so.” The Doctor jumped to his feet with almost his usual degree of enthusiasm. “What do you say where we go next? Somewhere warm and sunny, I'd say." He bounded over to the console as if nothing had ever happened.
Maybe not indestructible, but damn near close, Martha thought and smiled.
The End