Wasteland (7/?)
Title: Wasteland (7/?)
Characters: Ten, Martha
Word Count: 4,029
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. *sniff*
Spoilers: Up to “The Last of the Time Lords.”
Summary: The Doctor receives the phone call that sends him running back to Martha Jones, but all is not well with his former companion. What begins as a reunion for the travelling partners becomes something far more sinister, and the two must mend bridges, confront old demons and face new ones as they struggle to save the Earth (yet again).
Author’s Notes: A huge thanks to persiflage_1 for looking over this beast and from saving us all from mistakes o' death! (That's right. Death. These are intense mistakes, let me tell you.) Any concrit or feedback is most appreciated and thanks for your time!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
The Doctor had always been a fan of tastefully trimmed greenery. Unfortunately, he was rarely offered opportunities to observe them properly and thus nurse this long-abused hobby. Thanks to the glow of the street lamps lining the street and intruding on the dark night, however, he could clearly see every carefully clipped leaf. Which, really, made this spying session quite special for the Doctor in terms of his gardening endeavors.
“Martha, look!” he said quietly as he pointed at a bush slightly to the left of the one they were currently hiding behind. “It’s a swan. A lovely one, if I do say so, too. I think it’s a Cygnus, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Doctor!” His partner in crime whispered fiercely in his ear, smacking him on the shoulder.
Why was it that, when cross, humans always seemed to channel their mothers at their most terrifying?
“What? It’s a nicely executed swan!”
“We’re not here to look at the shrubbery, Doctor.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t admire impressive gardening when we see it, does it?”
Martha laughed and then instantly slapped a hand over her mouth, an action quickly accompanied by another punch to his shoulder as she continued to muffle her snickers with her fingers.
And, even if it meant that he had an unpleasant stinging sensation on his arm because of it, the Doctor was thrilled to hear her laughing again. Not a bitter or resigned sort of laughter, but the kind of mirth that had drawn him to Martha in the first place, the sort that made her appreciate unplanned trips to the moon and space ships made out of wood. He had been worried, for a while there, that she had lost that humor, that unquenchable spirit that made her so spectacular, that had kept her standing while the entire world was falling to its knees around her.
He had never cherished that resolve in Martha the way he should have, not really. Not until he thought that it might have been lost forever.
The Doctor had a way of not realizing how precious the most steadfast aspects of his existence were until it was too late. Planets with archaic traditions and medical students with enough wonder to find hope in the most desolate of situations. He had underestimated them both, back when he hadn’t known any better.
It wasn’t to say that he didn’t think Martha had changed, because she had. Not much, mind. She was still brilliant. Clever and resourceful, independent, funny, stubborn, ready to fight and defend what she believed in. But she was harder too, less trusting, less innocent. And there was a new sadness about her, something dark that lingered just around the edges of her smile.
It was terrifying, this sadness, because what worried him the most about it was the thought that this hint of despair hovering around Martha had always been there and he simply hadn’t noticed.
But things were different now. He wasn’t going to ignore Martha, wasn’t going to take her for granted. No, he was going to value even the most mundane feature the universe had to offer him. He wasn’t going to miss or disregard a thing, either the spectacular qualities of Martha Jones or the smallest most remote detail he would come across.
And that included the crafty and talented snipping of bushes. No matter what snide thing Miss Jones had to say about them.
“They’re beautiful examples of gardening executed at its finest,” he insisted, looking at Martha accusingly.
She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she muttered at last. “They’re lovely. Now that I’ve shown my appreciation properly, can we get back to our purpose for being here?”
The Doctor gave a smug grin and then focused his attentions back on the subject of their sneakiness. From the dim glow of the lights illuminating the entrance to the auction center, the Doctor confirmed that their stalkee was an older gentleman with balding hair and a rigid set about his shoulders, a stern image completed by a severe mustache and cane.
“Simon Frankford, a diamond trader,” Martha explained from just behind him, her breath hitting the nape of his neck and causing shivers to make their way up his spine. It was not, the Doctor decided, an entirely unpleasant sensation.
And he wasn’t quite certain what to make of that.
“Said he bought the store of bloodroot to humanely kill the rats infesting his diamond cutting offices,” Martha continued.
It didn’t surprise him that she had memorized the information.
The Time Lord nodded, shaking himself (while ignoring certain shivers) and eyeing the man more closely. He was pacing back and forth in front of the building, cane hooked over his arm as he lit a cigarette. “Now we just have to see if he does anything suspicious.”
He could all but hear Martha’s raised eyebrow from behind him. “Anything suspicious? What does that entail, exactly?”
“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Worshiping alien gods. Odd fascination with teaspoons. Ritual sacrifices. Maybe he walks funny.”
“Alien gods? Sacrifices? Walking funny?” He felt hands tugging at the shoulders of his jacket and found himself turned around, facing Martha’s stern stare. “You still think an alien's doing this, don’t you?”
“No!” He denied quickly.
She frowned.
“Well, possibly.”
The frown morphed into a glare.
“I’m just not ruling them out.”
And the glare had become a full-blown scowl.
For some reason, his companions had the tendency to make that face at him quite a bit. Odd, considering how charming and brilliant he was.
“I thought that we agreed-”
“Yes, yes,” the Doctor waved a hand dismissively. “Humans. Most likely humans.” He turned back to stare at the man once more. “But if it’s not, we should be looking out for those sacrifices.”
Martha sighed in exasperation behind him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, you know.”
“Too much time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her once more, uncertain.
He knew that he was treading on thin ice with Martha. Although there was a renewed (and much welcomed) sense of friendliness between the doctor and the Time Lord, it was equally apparent that things still weren’t as they had been, and there wasn’t any wonder why.
Every companion the Doctor had traveled with had their breaking point, and due to circumstance and carelessness on his part, Martha had been pushed far beyond her boundaries. So there was a careful hesitancy that she had with him now, a restraint that made him cautious, uneasy. Unwilling to test those boundaries further by antagonizing her.
But nor was he willing to come to the wrong conclusion out of a need for politeness. The Doctor wouldn’t be pleased with a less-than-perfect explanation, and he knew that Martha had an equal passion for accuracy, for justice. She just needed a little reminding of it, a little help uncovering that zeal for truth that had been buried under justified bitterness and anger.
Besides, rudeness was a very persistent trait. If there was ever any opportunity to antagonize anyone he really couldn’t be stopped, in spite of his best judgment.
“There comes a point when you’re so focused on a problem that you lose the details.”
Martha opened her mouth to protest.
He swiftly interrupted. “You said that your patient was overdosed with medication over a period of eight months?”
She nodded, clearly impatient. “Yes.”
“How would a human administer it without getting caught?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You said it wasn’t anyone on your staff, so it must have been a stranger. Once, twice. All right. People can be overlooked. But for over half a year?”
Martha’s brow furrowed, and for the first time she tore her fierce gaze away from him, staring at the ground.
“And how would a human get into your house to poison your food without your noticing?” He knew that after training with Jack, getting past Martha’s defenses would be no small feat. “Why didn’t anyone help you when you were mugged?” Robbed twice on busy twenty-first century London streets without anyone stepping in to assist, especially when a woman has her hand broken during the attack, was more than a little odd. “Why dose everyone think that Leo’s friend at work died due to an accident?” At a busy construction site where accidents were common, everyone would be on the lookout.
The Doctor eyed Martha intently. “A human couldn’t manage all of that without drawing some attention to himself.”
Martha brought her stare back to him, arms crossed over her chest as she took in a large breath of air.
He looked at her kindly. “You know I’m right, Martha.”
“No, I don’t,” she corrected quickly as she let out an exasperated sigh. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t think you have a point.” There was the slightest incline of her head, an almost acknowledgement that seemed to make her deflate, Martha losing her rigid stance and determined glower, fixing her gaze back on him. “If you’re so certain that it’s not a human, then why are we here?”
“Just because it’s not a human doesn’t mean it doesn’t look like one.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Your case still stands, Martha.” He patted his jacket pocket, where the list resided. “It’s one of these people.”
“Right,” Martha said, shifting on her feet. She was clearly less than satisfied with the Doctor’s conclusions, but ready to compromise.
All things considered, the Doctor was willing to content himself with that.
He gave a firm nod and started to turn back to Mr. Frankford, only to be stopped short.
“You underestimate us, you know.”
He faced her again and raised an eyebrow. “Underestimate you? Humans?” He shook his head solemnly. “Never.” He went back to observing Frankford, crouching back behind the bushes as he continued to talk to Martha quietly. “I’ve traveled with a lot of people, you know. Not always humans, mind, but a fair amount.” He felt Martha inch closer behind him. “Time and time again this species surprises me, not something that most life forms can boast about.” He looked over his shoulder only to find Martha’s face incredibly close to his own, her brown eyes focused intently on his. “No,” he said, surprised by how quiet his voice had become as he maintained Martha’s gaze. “I don’t underestimate humans. If anything I overestimate you, thinking too well of you to imagine that one of your kind is capable of all this.”
A part of him wondered, staring up at the woman who had walked the earth and saved them all, whether it was humanity he overestimated, or her.
Martha’s eyes gentled slightly, and she gave him a small smile. “That’s dangerous, Doctor.”
“I know.” And he did. Caring too much for any one thing, to the point of overlooking its faults, was one of the Doctor’s deadliest flaws. The world had bled for that mistake not so long ago. “But I’m terribly fond of you lot, you know.”
And then Martha’s grin widened, and the Doctor considered, for an instant, just how universal that comment was.
He quickly pulled away, coughing as he looked to the diamond trader as he entered the building across the street. “Did you see that odd shuffle?”
Martha similarly focused herself. “Definitely a shuffle.” She shared a glance with the Doctor, eyebrow raised. “But a suspicious shuffle?”
“Is there any other kind of shuffle?”
She shrugged. “True.”
“Well come on then!” With that the Doctor pushed through the bushes, making his way for the entrance of the building.
“But what are we doing?” Martha called helplessly after him, walking around, rather than through, said shrubbery with a bit more dignity.
“Making things up as we go!”
“Sounds familiar.” He could hear the resigned smirk in her voice as she followed.
==
Martha eyed Susana Fillmore, a prominent member of the fur trade (who had bought the Bloodroot to kill the creature currently draped around her neck), with thinly veiled bafflement. “She looks like she’s eaten someone.”
“Martha Jones!” The Doctor sent her a wide-eyed look. “Aren’t you the rude one?”
It was a rare thing indeed when anyone could scandalize the Doctor, and Martha found herself pleasantly gratified to know that she was capable of it.
“Pot calling the kettle black, I’d say,” she muttered in return, straining on tiptoes to see the voluptuous woman’s progress as she made her way through the London streets. “And I meant the way she was walking, thank you very much.” She gestured toward the mountainous trader feebly. “Look at the way she’s hobbling.”
The Doctor squinted as he leaned calmly against a lamppost, easily seeing over the heads of the London crowd from his greater height.
She fought the compulsion to glare at the Time Lord for this genetic affront, mostly due to the fact that glaring up at him wouldn’t exactly add any gravity to her cause.
“Waddling, more like,” the Doctor remarked after a few moments of close study.
“She’s eaten too much,” Martha stated proudly.
He blinked. “So?”
“Isn’t that suspicious?” she demanded. She shifted her feet before letting out a sigh. “Couldn’t she have eaten someone?” she asked grudgingly.
The Doctor sent her an expression of elated surprise.
It wasn’t that Martha believed him, mind. She still didn’t think that extraterrestrials were responsible for havoc that had been wrought in the Doctor’s absence. It was all too quiet, too subtle and too slow for the alien plots she had seen come to fruition in the past. What’s more, everything that had been done, from the muggings to the murders, had been far too human in nature to have been orchestrated by any alien being.
But, just because she didn’t agree with the Time Lord’s theories did not mean that she couldn’t, that she shouldn’t, entertain them.
And so she returned his look of shock with an air of expectancy.
The Doctor grinned down at her before calmly glancing back over the crowd. “Don’t flatter yourself, she probably just had too many crab cakes.”
She resisted the urge to throw up her hands in frustration. When she decided to humor his theories she was instantly dismissed.
Well that was just typical, wasn’t it?
“Well what’s so ridiculous about my idea?”
He gave a casual shrug. “You humans don’t taste all that great.”
Martha’s frustration quickly dissipated in an overwhelming wave of horror. “You’ve eaten a human before?”
The Doctor, no doubt hearing the tone of revulsion in her voice, turned to look at her again. It took him a few moments to register the expression on her paralyzed face as one of fear. “No!” he reassured her quickly.
Martha stared at him pointedly. One did not just know how other species tasted, Time Lord or not.
“I haven’t!” he insisted. “I’ve heard things though.”
“Things? What sort of things?”
The Doctor stole a quick glance at her, saw her face, and then pushed off from the lamppost, striding through the sea of people to catch up with Fillmore.
Martha grinned, all but chasing him down the street. “What’ve you heard about the exotic treat of human, Doctor? What’s the matter with the fine dish?”
He mimicked her smile as they continued observing Susana Fillmore. “Stringy,” he said giving a definitive nod. “Stringy and not very filling.”
Martha wasn’t entirely certain whether she should be insulted or not.
--
Eight hours later, all of these hours being spent fruitlessly following Ms. Fillmore about London, Martha was lounging on the floor of her old room of her former flat. In front of her she had her laptop (finally out of the bag she had been lugging around since the shoot-out), and was looking up the whereabouts of their next, hopefully more interesting, target.
Except, of course, there was no real guarantee that Ms. Fillmore wasn’t the person they were after. Limited to doing nothing more than following their suspects about, it was highly unlikely that Martha and the Doctor would just happen upon these people in the middle of doing something ‘suspicious.’ But until they found more evidence, there was no way to be certain of anyone’s innocence.
Because, given Martha’s past experience, certainty was just too simple. Not challenging enough, even.
Or at least that was what the Doctor had said when she had brought the problem to his attention.
She fought the compulsion to bang her head against the screen of her computer.
Almost as if he had sensed her fond thoughts of him, the Doctor gave the bedroom door a knock and waited for at least a millisecond (incredibly restrained, for the Time Lord) before charging into the room, running a hand enthusiastically through his hair. “I’ve got it!”
Martha blearily pushed herself up from the floor and blinked at him. “Got what?”
It was just rude of him to be so alert when Martha could barely keep her eyes open.
“How we’re going to find out who the culprit is!” he responded eagerly, stopping mid pace to send her a wide, full-toothed, smile.
“You’ll shout so loudly that they’ll instantly know where we are and come find us themselves?” she asked with a smirk, leaning against a wall and raising an indulgent eyebrow.
The Doctor laughed. “Almost.”
She felt her brow furrow. “What?”
He began to pace again, thinking aloud in her general direction. “We already established that we don’t know much about these people other than a few meager, if incredibly significant, accounting facts.” He shot her a look. “And that even if these facts are important, they alone aren’t incriminating.”
Martha nodded, smiling a bit when a hand once again came to his hair, the Doctor frantically pulling at the locks. She thought it best to wait to ask him if Time Lords could go bald.
“We need more than numbers on paper, more than odd shuffles and wobbles.”
“Waddles,” she corrected with grin.
He waved a dismissive hand before he stopped moving, eyeing her intently. “We need proof that isn’t circumstantial, that is absolutely definite. And the only thing we do know for certain about this person is that they want the TARDIS, and therefore me.” He took a big breath, spreading out his arms theatrically. “So let’s give me to them.”
Martha felt, for a jolting instant, her heart stop beating. “You want to be bait?”
He nodded keenly, grinning with his arms still splayed.
“No!” In an instant she pushed herself off of the wall, striding up to him. Who was he, to go risking himself like that, as important as he was, with all the good he could do for the universe?
How could he put himself in harm’s way after all she had done to keep him safe?
The Doctor dropped his arms, staring at her seriously. “I wasn’t asking permission, Martha.”
She gave her head a vehement shake. “I don’t care. Absolutely not, I won’t allow it.” Now she was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, almost yelling. “You’d be in danger and we’d be giving them exactly what they want! How will that help anyone?”
“The only thing that should distinguish our villain from the rest is their knowledge of the TARDIS.”
“And you,” Martha snapped, throwing him a quick glare. Despite the Doctor’s conceptions of what their villain wanted, she wouldn’t let him downplay his own significance in this scenario.
“Or me,” he consented quickly. “The point is that none of the others would have any idea who I am! If they have a special interest when I take off the TARDIS key and stroll down the street, it means that they’re our guy.” He frowned. “Woman.” Another frown. “Person-alien thing,” he finally settled with, adding in an expressive twiddling of his fingers with a small smirk, inviting her to share in the joke.
But Martha wouldn’t be distracted that easily. “It’s too dangerous and you’re too important,” she said with a sigh, feeling her spirits drop.
But in spite of the danger, she knew he was right. At this rate, they’d be observing the tinniest shuffle for years in hopes of finding something significant. The Doctor had a point, a good one. But he couldn’t be handed to these people on a silver platter, couldn’t be displayed like that so they could simply snatch him out from under her nose, negating the significance, the meaning, to all of the harm protecting him had caused.
But, maybe he didn’t have to.
Martha’s head snapped up, and she looked to the Doctor with a grin. “I’ll do it.”
His expression was suddenly devoid of any discernable emotion. “What?”
“It’s perfect!” she said, gripping the arm of his jacket in excitement. “They would know who I am, and now that they’ve seen you and have the TARDIS, they would blatantly be searching for me. And I’m expendable.” She smiled, giving his jacket another tug. “It’s absolutely perfect!”
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, their coolness making goose bumps form across her skin, and before she could register that she had been moved at all she was in front of him, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re what?” he asked, tone as stern as his grip as he looked at her.
But it wasn’t the Doctor’s typical, disapproving glance, the one that could make gods and demons quake in its intensity, that could shame the most proud and that had the power to usher in the destruction of a world. This stare was different, a look that she had never before received from him, his eyes boring in to hers with a heartbreaking sadness that almost made her stagger with the power of it.
She wasn’t sure what to discern from that sorrow, but she knew that she had to make it better. Do anything to get some of that life back into those eyes, rediscover that enthusiastic spark that had been there mere minutes ago.
And so she tried to explain. “I’m not valuable in the way that you are, Doctor.” She smiled gently, treading softly, trying to make it better, easier. “I can’t control space and time. I can barely operate my mobile,” she said with a laugh. “If they catch me the universe won’t be at risk.”
A flash of something unidentifiable flashed over his features before he slowly released his hold on her shoulders. “I’m not letting you do this.”
She stared at him intently. “I’m not asking permission, Doctor.”
There was a tense silence for a moment, neither willing to budge, each gazing at the other with a barely contained something. A sense of unknown urgency was layered just beneath the surface of this encounter, and Martha got the feeling that they were talking about far more than a game of cat and mouse, that this wasn’t just a battle of wills, that it was something more.
But in the next instant, the Doctor had broken their gaze and he was throwing his arms up into the air and rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said with a longsuffering sigh, all good humor once more. “We’ll both do it. You happy?”
Martha shook herself, trying to adjust to the abrupt shift in mood, attempting to regain her footing. Life with the Doctor, it had always been a bit of a dance.
“No,” she said firmly once she had reestablished herself, grinning to fit the new demeanor. “We’ll take turns. That way if one of us gets captured the other can bail them out.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
Another sigh escaped his lips as he glanced at the offered hand. “Deal.” He shook the offered limb, quickly letting go and bobbing on his heels expectantly. “Who’s next on the list?”
Glad to have reached a compromise, one in which she was certain she would be able to watch him, Martha felt a tide of relief wash through her. “Gerald Gisbond,” she replied. “CEO of a soap company.”
He smiled. “You still good at running, Miss Jones?”
“You know me,” she remarked with a good-humored pitch. “I love running.”
Characters: Ten, Martha
Word Count: 4,029
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. *sniff*
Spoilers: Up to “The Last of the Time Lords.”
Summary: The Doctor receives the phone call that sends him running back to Martha Jones, but all is not well with his former companion. What begins as a reunion for the travelling partners becomes something far more sinister, and the two must mend bridges, confront old demons and face new ones as they struggle to save the Earth (yet again).
Author’s Notes: A huge thanks to persiflage_1 for looking over this beast and from saving us all from mistakes o' death! (That's right. Death. These are intense mistakes, let me tell you.) Any concrit or feedback is most appreciated and thanks for your time!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
The Doctor had always been a fan of tastefully trimmed greenery. Unfortunately, he was rarely offered opportunities to observe them properly and thus nurse this long-abused hobby. Thanks to the glow of the street lamps lining the street and intruding on the dark night, however, he could clearly see every carefully clipped leaf. Which, really, made this spying session quite special for the Doctor in terms of his gardening endeavors.
“Martha, look!” he said quietly as he pointed at a bush slightly to the left of the one they were currently hiding behind. “It’s a swan. A lovely one, if I do say so, too. I think it’s a Cygnus, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Doctor!” His partner in crime whispered fiercely in his ear, smacking him on the shoulder.
Why was it that, when cross, humans always seemed to channel their mothers at their most terrifying?
“What? It’s a nicely executed swan!”
“We’re not here to look at the shrubbery, Doctor.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t admire impressive gardening when we see it, does it?”
Martha laughed and then instantly slapped a hand over her mouth, an action quickly accompanied by another punch to his shoulder as she continued to muffle her snickers with her fingers.
And, even if it meant that he had an unpleasant stinging sensation on his arm because of it, the Doctor was thrilled to hear her laughing again. Not a bitter or resigned sort of laughter, but the kind of mirth that had drawn him to Martha in the first place, the sort that made her appreciate unplanned trips to the moon and space ships made out of wood. He had been worried, for a while there, that she had lost that humor, that unquenchable spirit that made her so spectacular, that had kept her standing while the entire world was falling to its knees around her.
He had never cherished that resolve in Martha the way he should have, not really. Not until he thought that it might have been lost forever.
The Doctor had a way of not realizing how precious the most steadfast aspects of his existence were until it was too late. Planets with archaic traditions and medical students with enough wonder to find hope in the most desolate of situations. He had underestimated them both, back when he hadn’t known any better.
It wasn’t to say that he didn’t think Martha had changed, because she had. Not much, mind. She was still brilliant. Clever and resourceful, independent, funny, stubborn, ready to fight and defend what she believed in. But she was harder too, less trusting, less innocent. And there was a new sadness about her, something dark that lingered just around the edges of her smile.
It was terrifying, this sadness, because what worried him the most about it was the thought that this hint of despair hovering around Martha had always been there and he simply hadn’t noticed.
But things were different now. He wasn’t going to ignore Martha, wasn’t going to take her for granted. No, he was going to value even the most mundane feature the universe had to offer him. He wasn’t going to miss or disregard a thing, either the spectacular qualities of Martha Jones or the smallest most remote detail he would come across.
And that included the crafty and talented snipping of bushes. No matter what snide thing Miss Jones had to say about them.
“They’re beautiful examples of gardening executed at its finest,” he insisted, looking at Martha accusingly.
She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she muttered at last. “They’re lovely. Now that I’ve shown my appreciation properly, can we get back to our purpose for being here?”
The Doctor gave a smug grin and then focused his attentions back on the subject of their sneakiness. From the dim glow of the lights illuminating the entrance to the auction center, the Doctor confirmed that their stalkee was an older gentleman with balding hair and a rigid set about his shoulders, a stern image completed by a severe mustache and cane.
“Simon Frankford, a diamond trader,” Martha explained from just behind him, her breath hitting the nape of his neck and causing shivers to make their way up his spine. It was not, the Doctor decided, an entirely unpleasant sensation.
And he wasn’t quite certain what to make of that.
“Said he bought the store of bloodroot to humanely kill the rats infesting his diamond cutting offices,” Martha continued.
It didn’t surprise him that she had memorized the information.
The Time Lord nodded, shaking himself (while ignoring certain shivers) and eyeing the man more closely. He was pacing back and forth in front of the building, cane hooked over his arm as he lit a cigarette. “Now we just have to see if he does anything suspicious.”
He could all but hear Martha’s raised eyebrow from behind him. “Anything suspicious? What does that entail, exactly?”
“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Worshiping alien gods. Odd fascination with teaspoons. Ritual sacrifices. Maybe he walks funny.”
“Alien gods? Sacrifices? Walking funny?” He felt hands tugging at the shoulders of his jacket and found himself turned around, facing Martha’s stern stare. “You still think an alien's doing this, don’t you?”
“No!” He denied quickly.
She frowned.
“Well, possibly.”
The frown morphed into a glare.
“I’m just not ruling them out.”
And the glare had become a full-blown scowl.
For some reason, his companions had the tendency to make that face at him quite a bit. Odd, considering how charming and brilliant he was.
“I thought that we agreed-”
“Yes, yes,” the Doctor waved a hand dismissively. “Humans. Most likely humans.” He turned back to stare at the man once more. “But if it’s not, we should be looking out for those sacrifices.”
Martha sighed in exasperation behind him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, you know.”
“Too much time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her once more, uncertain.
He knew that he was treading on thin ice with Martha. Although there was a renewed (and much welcomed) sense of friendliness between the doctor and the Time Lord, it was equally apparent that things still weren’t as they had been, and there wasn’t any wonder why.
Every companion the Doctor had traveled with had their breaking point, and due to circumstance and carelessness on his part, Martha had been pushed far beyond her boundaries. So there was a careful hesitancy that she had with him now, a restraint that made him cautious, uneasy. Unwilling to test those boundaries further by antagonizing her.
But nor was he willing to come to the wrong conclusion out of a need for politeness. The Doctor wouldn’t be pleased with a less-than-perfect explanation, and he knew that Martha had an equal passion for accuracy, for justice. She just needed a little reminding of it, a little help uncovering that zeal for truth that had been buried under justified bitterness and anger.
Besides, rudeness was a very persistent trait. If there was ever any opportunity to antagonize anyone he really couldn’t be stopped, in spite of his best judgment.
“There comes a point when you’re so focused on a problem that you lose the details.”
Martha opened her mouth to protest.
He swiftly interrupted. “You said that your patient was overdosed with medication over a period of eight months?”
She nodded, clearly impatient. “Yes.”
“How would a human administer it without getting caught?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You said it wasn’t anyone on your staff, so it must have been a stranger. Once, twice. All right. People can be overlooked. But for over half a year?”
Martha’s brow furrowed, and for the first time she tore her fierce gaze away from him, staring at the ground.
“And how would a human get into your house to poison your food without your noticing?” He knew that after training with Jack, getting past Martha’s defenses would be no small feat. “Why didn’t anyone help you when you were mugged?” Robbed twice on busy twenty-first century London streets without anyone stepping in to assist, especially when a woman has her hand broken during the attack, was more than a little odd. “Why dose everyone think that Leo’s friend at work died due to an accident?” At a busy construction site where accidents were common, everyone would be on the lookout.
The Doctor eyed Martha intently. “A human couldn’t manage all of that without drawing some attention to himself.”
Martha brought her stare back to him, arms crossed over her chest as she took in a large breath of air.
He looked at her kindly. “You know I’m right, Martha.”
“No, I don’t,” she corrected quickly as she let out an exasperated sigh. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t think you have a point.” There was the slightest incline of her head, an almost acknowledgement that seemed to make her deflate, Martha losing her rigid stance and determined glower, fixing her gaze back on him. “If you’re so certain that it’s not a human, then why are we here?”
“Just because it’s not a human doesn’t mean it doesn’t look like one.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Your case still stands, Martha.” He patted his jacket pocket, where the list resided. “It’s one of these people.”
“Right,” Martha said, shifting on her feet. She was clearly less than satisfied with the Doctor’s conclusions, but ready to compromise.
All things considered, the Doctor was willing to content himself with that.
He gave a firm nod and started to turn back to Mr. Frankford, only to be stopped short.
“You underestimate us, you know.”
He faced her again and raised an eyebrow. “Underestimate you? Humans?” He shook his head solemnly. “Never.” He went back to observing Frankford, crouching back behind the bushes as he continued to talk to Martha quietly. “I’ve traveled with a lot of people, you know. Not always humans, mind, but a fair amount.” He felt Martha inch closer behind him. “Time and time again this species surprises me, not something that most life forms can boast about.” He looked over his shoulder only to find Martha’s face incredibly close to his own, her brown eyes focused intently on his. “No,” he said, surprised by how quiet his voice had become as he maintained Martha’s gaze. “I don’t underestimate humans. If anything I overestimate you, thinking too well of you to imagine that one of your kind is capable of all this.”
A part of him wondered, staring up at the woman who had walked the earth and saved them all, whether it was humanity he overestimated, or her.
Martha’s eyes gentled slightly, and she gave him a small smile. “That’s dangerous, Doctor.”
“I know.” And he did. Caring too much for any one thing, to the point of overlooking its faults, was one of the Doctor’s deadliest flaws. The world had bled for that mistake not so long ago. “But I’m terribly fond of you lot, you know.”
And then Martha’s grin widened, and the Doctor considered, for an instant, just how universal that comment was.
He quickly pulled away, coughing as he looked to the diamond trader as he entered the building across the street. “Did you see that odd shuffle?”
Martha similarly focused herself. “Definitely a shuffle.” She shared a glance with the Doctor, eyebrow raised. “But a suspicious shuffle?”
“Is there any other kind of shuffle?”
She shrugged. “True.”
“Well come on then!” With that the Doctor pushed through the bushes, making his way for the entrance of the building.
“But what are we doing?” Martha called helplessly after him, walking around, rather than through, said shrubbery with a bit more dignity.
“Making things up as we go!”
“Sounds familiar.” He could hear the resigned smirk in her voice as she followed.
==
Martha eyed Susana Fillmore, a prominent member of the fur trade (who had bought the Bloodroot to kill the creature currently draped around her neck), with thinly veiled bafflement. “She looks like she’s eaten someone.”
“Martha Jones!” The Doctor sent her a wide-eyed look. “Aren’t you the rude one?”
It was a rare thing indeed when anyone could scandalize the Doctor, and Martha found herself pleasantly gratified to know that she was capable of it.
“Pot calling the kettle black, I’d say,” she muttered in return, straining on tiptoes to see the voluptuous woman’s progress as she made her way through the London streets. “And I meant the way she was walking, thank you very much.” She gestured toward the mountainous trader feebly. “Look at the way she’s hobbling.”
The Doctor squinted as he leaned calmly against a lamppost, easily seeing over the heads of the London crowd from his greater height.
She fought the compulsion to glare at the Time Lord for this genetic affront, mostly due to the fact that glaring up at him wouldn’t exactly add any gravity to her cause.
“Waddling, more like,” the Doctor remarked after a few moments of close study.
“She’s eaten too much,” Martha stated proudly.
He blinked. “So?”
“Isn’t that suspicious?” she demanded. She shifted her feet before letting out a sigh. “Couldn’t she have eaten someone?” she asked grudgingly.
The Doctor sent her an expression of elated surprise.
It wasn’t that Martha believed him, mind. She still didn’t think that extraterrestrials were responsible for havoc that had been wrought in the Doctor’s absence. It was all too quiet, too subtle and too slow for the alien plots she had seen come to fruition in the past. What’s more, everything that had been done, from the muggings to the murders, had been far too human in nature to have been orchestrated by any alien being.
But, just because she didn’t agree with the Time Lord’s theories did not mean that she couldn’t, that she shouldn’t, entertain them.
And so she returned his look of shock with an air of expectancy.
The Doctor grinned down at her before calmly glancing back over the crowd. “Don’t flatter yourself, she probably just had too many crab cakes.”
She resisted the urge to throw up her hands in frustration. When she decided to humor his theories she was instantly dismissed.
Well that was just typical, wasn’t it?
“Well what’s so ridiculous about my idea?”
He gave a casual shrug. “You humans don’t taste all that great.”
Martha’s frustration quickly dissipated in an overwhelming wave of horror. “You’ve eaten a human before?”
The Doctor, no doubt hearing the tone of revulsion in her voice, turned to look at her again. It took him a few moments to register the expression on her paralyzed face as one of fear. “No!” he reassured her quickly.
Martha stared at him pointedly. One did not just know how other species tasted, Time Lord or not.
“I haven’t!” he insisted. “I’ve heard things though.”
“Things? What sort of things?”
The Doctor stole a quick glance at her, saw her face, and then pushed off from the lamppost, striding through the sea of people to catch up with Fillmore.
Martha grinned, all but chasing him down the street. “What’ve you heard about the exotic treat of human, Doctor? What’s the matter with the fine dish?”
He mimicked her smile as they continued observing Susana Fillmore. “Stringy,” he said giving a definitive nod. “Stringy and not very filling.”
Martha wasn’t entirely certain whether she should be insulted or not.
--
Eight hours later, all of these hours being spent fruitlessly following Ms. Fillmore about London, Martha was lounging on the floor of her old room of her former flat. In front of her she had her laptop (finally out of the bag she had been lugging around since the shoot-out), and was looking up the whereabouts of their next, hopefully more interesting, target.
Except, of course, there was no real guarantee that Ms. Fillmore wasn’t the person they were after. Limited to doing nothing more than following their suspects about, it was highly unlikely that Martha and the Doctor would just happen upon these people in the middle of doing something ‘suspicious.’ But until they found more evidence, there was no way to be certain of anyone’s innocence.
Because, given Martha’s past experience, certainty was just too simple. Not challenging enough, even.
Or at least that was what the Doctor had said when she had brought the problem to his attention.
She fought the compulsion to bang her head against the screen of her computer.
Almost as if he had sensed her fond thoughts of him, the Doctor gave the bedroom door a knock and waited for at least a millisecond (incredibly restrained, for the Time Lord) before charging into the room, running a hand enthusiastically through his hair. “I’ve got it!”
Martha blearily pushed herself up from the floor and blinked at him. “Got what?”
It was just rude of him to be so alert when Martha could barely keep her eyes open.
“How we’re going to find out who the culprit is!” he responded eagerly, stopping mid pace to send her a wide, full-toothed, smile.
“You’ll shout so loudly that they’ll instantly know where we are and come find us themselves?” she asked with a smirk, leaning against a wall and raising an indulgent eyebrow.
The Doctor laughed. “Almost.”
She felt her brow furrow. “What?”
He began to pace again, thinking aloud in her general direction. “We already established that we don’t know much about these people other than a few meager, if incredibly significant, accounting facts.” He shot her a look. “And that even if these facts are important, they alone aren’t incriminating.”
Martha nodded, smiling a bit when a hand once again came to his hair, the Doctor frantically pulling at the locks. She thought it best to wait to ask him if Time Lords could go bald.
“We need more than numbers on paper, more than odd shuffles and wobbles.”
“Waddles,” she corrected with grin.
He waved a dismissive hand before he stopped moving, eyeing her intently. “We need proof that isn’t circumstantial, that is absolutely definite. And the only thing we do know for certain about this person is that they want the TARDIS, and therefore me.” He took a big breath, spreading out his arms theatrically. “So let’s give me to them.”
Martha felt, for a jolting instant, her heart stop beating. “You want to be bait?”
He nodded keenly, grinning with his arms still splayed.
“No!” In an instant she pushed herself off of the wall, striding up to him. Who was he, to go risking himself like that, as important as he was, with all the good he could do for the universe?
How could he put himself in harm’s way after all she had done to keep him safe?
The Doctor dropped his arms, staring at her seriously. “I wasn’t asking permission, Martha.”
She gave her head a vehement shake. “I don’t care. Absolutely not, I won’t allow it.” Now she was standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, almost yelling. “You’d be in danger and we’d be giving them exactly what they want! How will that help anyone?”
“The only thing that should distinguish our villain from the rest is their knowledge of the TARDIS.”
“And you,” Martha snapped, throwing him a quick glare. Despite the Doctor’s conceptions of what their villain wanted, she wouldn’t let him downplay his own significance in this scenario.
“Or me,” he consented quickly. “The point is that none of the others would have any idea who I am! If they have a special interest when I take off the TARDIS key and stroll down the street, it means that they’re our guy.” He frowned. “Woman.” Another frown. “Person-alien thing,” he finally settled with, adding in an expressive twiddling of his fingers with a small smirk, inviting her to share in the joke.
But Martha wouldn’t be distracted that easily. “It’s too dangerous and you’re too important,” she said with a sigh, feeling her spirits drop.
But in spite of the danger, she knew he was right. At this rate, they’d be observing the tinniest shuffle for years in hopes of finding something significant. The Doctor had a point, a good one. But he couldn’t be handed to these people on a silver platter, couldn’t be displayed like that so they could simply snatch him out from under her nose, negating the significance, the meaning, to all of the harm protecting him had caused.
But, maybe he didn’t have to.
Martha’s head snapped up, and she looked to the Doctor with a grin. “I’ll do it.”
His expression was suddenly devoid of any discernable emotion. “What?”
“It’s perfect!” she said, gripping the arm of his jacket in excitement. “They would know who I am, and now that they’ve seen you and have the TARDIS, they would blatantly be searching for me. And I’m expendable.” She smiled, giving his jacket another tug. “It’s absolutely perfect!”
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, their coolness making goose bumps form across her skin, and before she could register that she had been moved at all she was in front of him, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re what?” he asked, tone as stern as his grip as he looked at her.
But it wasn’t the Doctor’s typical, disapproving glance, the one that could make gods and demons quake in its intensity, that could shame the most proud and that had the power to usher in the destruction of a world. This stare was different, a look that she had never before received from him, his eyes boring in to hers with a heartbreaking sadness that almost made her stagger with the power of it.
She wasn’t sure what to discern from that sorrow, but she knew that she had to make it better. Do anything to get some of that life back into those eyes, rediscover that enthusiastic spark that had been there mere minutes ago.
And so she tried to explain. “I’m not valuable in the way that you are, Doctor.” She smiled gently, treading softly, trying to make it better, easier. “I can’t control space and time. I can barely operate my mobile,” she said with a laugh. “If they catch me the universe won’t be at risk.”
A flash of something unidentifiable flashed over his features before he slowly released his hold on her shoulders. “I’m not letting you do this.”
She stared at him intently. “I’m not asking permission, Doctor.”
There was a tense silence for a moment, neither willing to budge, each gazing at the other with a barely contained something. A sense of unknown urgency was layered just beneath the surface of this encounter, and Martha got the feeling that they were talking about far more than a game of cat and mouse, that this wasn’t just a battle of wills, that it was something more.
But in the next instant, the Doctor had broken their gaze and he was throwing his arms up into the air and rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he said with a longsuffering sigh, all good humor once more. “We’ll both do it. You happy?”
Martha shook herself, trying to adjust to the abrupt shift in mood, attempting to regain her footing. Life with the Doctor, it had always been a bit of a dance.
“No,” she said firmly once she had reestablished herself, grinning to fit the new demeanor. “We’ll take turns. That way if one of us gets captured the other can bail them out.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
Another sigh escaped his lips as he glanced at the offered hand. “Deal.” He shook the offered limb, quickly letting go and bobbing on his heels expectantly. “Who’s next on the list?”
Glad to have reached a compromise, one in which she was certain she would be able to watch him, Martha felt a tide of relief wash through her. “Gerald Gisbond,” she replied. “CEO of a soap company.”
He smiled. “You still good at running, Miss Jones?”
“You know me,” she remarked with a good-humored pitch. “I love running.”