(no subject)
"Where are we now?" Martha asked the Doctor, peering out the door at what could have been any park on Earth. Just past the edge of the grass, people gathered along the sidewalk, paying no mind to the heat that shimmered along the pavement's surface.
The Doctor tilted his head for a moment, appearing for all intents and purposes to be listening to something - and not liking what he heard. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "November 23rd, 1963. Dallas, Texas."
Apparently this was supposed to mean something to her - but Martha didn't know the first thing about American history. She did know that Texas in November was far hotter than London at the same time of year; she shed her coat, leaving it just inside the TARDIS, and glanced up at the Doctor. "And?"
"The assassination of John F. Kennedy," he said tersely.
Martha ran a hand through her hair; so far, their travels were not going well. They'd ended up on a planet on the brink of war, in the middle of the Crusades, a private zoo containing rare specimens - the last of their kind - held by a private collector, a constellation about to be consumed by one of its stars going supernova...she had her own private opinions on this, but chose not to share them with the Doctor. She could tell he already felt guilty enough for dragging her into more death and destruction.
"It follows you around," she said quietly.
"Hm?"
"Death." She imagined she could see it lurking there, just over his shoulder, a grim spectre - or maybe he, with his tall, raw-boned figure, clad in black, was Death personified.
"That's not it, Martha." His eyes were dark and sombre, an unfathomable, ages-old sorrow lurking in their depths. He took her hand, squeezing it, trying to draw comfort from the warmth of her body.
"You follow Death, then?" That made more sense. Though the other Doctor had taken her to happy places - or as happy as he could manage - it still lurked there. As a doctor, Martha knew that death was everywhere, from the smallest cell to the entire galaxy. Entropy, she thought. The death of the universe. She'd seen the universe cold and almost-dead - and the Doctor had been there, too, if only by accident.
The Doctor sighed, his shoulders slumping, and he pulled Martha towards the crowd. Their energy and enthusiasm seemed to banish some of his dark thoughts, though Martha could tell that he was still troubled.
He leaned down to speak in her ear; the only way he'd be heard above the cheering crowds. "See, Martha, Kennedy has charisma. It's what you've got to have to be a really successful leader in this time period. Humans are shallow; they love what they can see. Kennedy's wasting away from Addison's Disease. He's got more STDs than anybody ought to - but his parents can afford the best doctors to treat him, and they can afford to keep it hushed up.
"They called it Camelot," he continued as the convertible rounded the corner. "Nothing like the real one, of course, but both had their secrets. Kennedy was deeply involved with the mob, even down to his mistresses. His family - when they discovered that his sister was having typical teenage problems, their response was to have her lobotomised until she could no longer speak coherently, and then they pretended she was mentally disabled from birth and founded the Special Olympics in her honour." He shook his head. "He nearly threw the entire world into a nuclear war, and the only thing that saved them was one man's sheer dumb luck. He did get them mired in one of the most unpopular and bloodiest wars in American history. But he's one of the most beloved presidents of all time; his name is remembered for centuries. Killing people makes them into martyrs. I had a friend..." his voice trailed off for a moment, and he squeezed Martha's hand. "He was interested in things like that, assassinations and their effects on society."
Martha scowled darkly; she could hazard a guess as to just who that friend was, and she'd seen him assassinate an American president. "Yeah, I bet he was," she muttered, but the Doctor paid her no mind; her words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Instead, he turned to watch the motorcade. The President - a handsome man, smiling and waving at the crowd - and his wife, in a stylish pink suit, wearing one of the hats Martha associated with her, were in the back. She was pretty and dark-haired; Martha felt bad for her, knowing what was about to happen.
Three rapidfire shots rang out, cutting through the noise of the crowd like a hot knife through butter, and Martha flinched, turning her face away - but not before she saw Kennedy's head explode, showering his wife with blood and brains. The Doctor watched it without even blinking, his face expressionless as the crowd dissolved into chaos around them. As the spectators ran every which way, he tugged Martha back in the direction of the TARDIS, hidden just behind a rise in the grass.
"How many of these have you been to?" Martha asked him, leaning against the wood and closing her eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd seen death, of course, but it never stopped affecting her - she hoped, in a way, that it never would. If it did...well, it would be like losing a piece of her humanity.
"Assassinations?" The Doctor shrugged. "They're fairly common - though the British seem to have shied away from them in recent history. You lot have only had one Prime Minister murdered. Been to most of them here in America, save Lincoln's. A few in Europe, too."
She opened her eyes again and shook her head, trying to clear it. "Lovely. Tell you what, why don't we just drop by the Titanic next and call it a day?"
"Nice place for a party," the Doctor agreed.
"I was joking. Besides, I wouldn't exactly be welcome there looking like this." Martha, of course, was referring to her skin colour; she knew all too well what the upper class's attitudes towards race were like at the turn of the century. "They'd probably throw me in steerage."
He winked at her, the shadows leaving his face for a moment. "Oh, that's where the best parties were." The Doctor tugged her into the TARDIS, closing the door on Dealey Plaza. "C'mon, I'll take you somewhere nice for once - no war or death or anything. How's 1745 sound to you?"
"Great, if we actually manage to end up there," she retorted.
Author's Notes: Okay, so I'm a history geek and use the Doctor as a narrative vehicle. All inaccuracies are mine, of course. Nine's remark about never having seen Lincoln's assassination is a nod to the first DW fic I ever wrote, where the Master and the Doctor attend a certain play at Ford's Theatre.
Interestingly enough, Doctor Who is missing from the Wikipedia page on the JFK assassination in popular culture.
And hopefully, there will be a sequel to this, once I work the plot threads out in my head. This whole thing just popped into my head while driving home from work today.
The Doctor tilted his head for a moment, appearing for all intents and purposes to be listening to something - and not liking what he heard. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "November 23rd, 1963. Dallas, Texas."
Apparently this was supposed to mean something to her - but Martha didn't know the first thing about American history. She did know that Texas in November was far hotter than London at the same time of year; she shed her coat, leaving it just inside the TARDIS, and glanced up at the Doctor. "And?"
"The assassination of John F. Kennedy," he said tersely.
Martha ran a hand through her hair; so far, their travels were not going well. They'd ended up on a planet on the brink of war, in the middle of the Crusades, a private zoo containing rare specimens - the last of their kind - held by a private collector, a constellation about to be consumed by one of its stars going supernova...she had her own private opinions on this, but chose not to share them with the Doctor. She could tell he already felt guilty enough for dragging her into more death and destruction.
"It follows you around," she said quietly.
"Hm?"
"Death." She imagined she could see it lurking there, just over his shoulder, a grim spectre - or maybe he, with his tall, raw-boned figure, clad in black, was Death personified.
"That's not it, Martha." His eyes were dark and sombre, an unfathomable, ages-old sorrow lurking in their depths. He took her hand, squeezing it, trying to draw comfort from the warmth of her body.
"You follow Death, then?" That made more sense. Though the other Doctor had taken her to happy places - or as happy as he could manage - it still lurked there. As a doctor, Martha knew that death was everywhere, from the smallest cell to the entire galaxy. Entropy, she thought. The death of the universe. She'd seen the universe cold and almost-dead - and the Doctor had been there, too, if only by accident.
The Doctor sighed, his shoulders slumping, and he pulled Martha towards the crowd. Their energy and enthusiasm seemed to banish some of his dark thoughts, though Martha could tell that he was still troubled.
He leaned down to speak in her ear; the only way he'd be heard above the cheering crowds. "See, Martha, Kennedy has charisma. It's what you've got to have to be a really successful leader in this time period. Humans are shallow; they love what they can see. Kennedy's wasting away from Addison's Disease. He's got more STDs than anybody ought to - but his parents can afford the best doctors to treat him, and they can afford to keep it hushed up.
"They called it Camelot," he continued as the convertible rounded the corner. "Nothing like the real one, of course, but both had their secrets. Kennedy was deeply involved with the mob, even down to his mistresses. His family - when they discovered that his sister was having typical teenage problems, their response was to have her lobotomised until she could no longer speak coherently, and then they pretended she was mentally disabled from birth and founded the Special Olympics in her honour." He shook his head. "He nearly threw the entire world into a nuclear war, and the only thing that saved them was one man's sheer dumb luck. He did get them mired in one of the most unpopular and bloodiest wars in American history. But he's one of the most beloved presidents of all time; his name is remembered for centuries. Killing people makes them into martyrs. I had a friend..." his voice trailed off for a moment, and he squeezed Martha's hand. "He was interested in things like that, assassinations and their effects on society."
Martha scowled darkly; she could hazard a guess as to just who that friend was, and she'd seen him assassinate an American president. "Yeah, I bet he was," she muttered, but the Doctor paid her no mind; her words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Instead, he turned to watch the motorcade. The President - a handsome man, smiling and waving at the crowd - and his wife, in a stylish pink suit, wearing one of the hats Martha associated with her, were in the back. She was pretty and dark-haired; Martha felt bad for her, knowing what was about to happen.
Three rapidfire shots rang out, cutting through the noise of the crowd like a hot knife through butter, and Martha flinched, turning her face away - but not before she saw Kennedy's head explode, showering his wife with blood and brains. The Doctor watched it without even blinking, his face expressionless as the crowd dissolved into chaos around them. As the spectators ran every which way, he tugged Martha back in the direction of the TARDIS, hidden just behind a rise in the grass.
"How many of these have you been to?" Martha asked him, leaning against the wood and closing her eyes. It wasn't the first time she'd seen death, of course, but it never stopped affecting her - she hoped, in a way, that it never would. If it did...well, it would be like losing a piece of her humanity.
"Assassinations?" The Doctor shrugged. "They're fairly common - though the British seem to have shied away from them in recent history. You lot have only had one Prime Minister murdered. Been to most of them here in America, save Lincoln's. A few in Europe, too."
She opened her eyes again and shook her head, trying to clear it. "Lovely. Tell you what, why don't we just drop by the Titanic next and call it a day?"
"Nice place for a party," the Doctor agreed.
"I was joking. Besides, I wouldn't exactly be welcome there looking like this." Martha, of course, was referring to her skin colour; she knew all too well what the upper class's attitudes towards race were like at the turn of the century. "They'd probably throw me in steerage."
He winked at her, the shadows leaving his face for a moment. "Oh, that's where the best parties were." The Doctor tugged her into the TARDIS, closing the door on Dealey Plaza. "C'mon, I'll take you somewhere nice for once - no war or death or anything. How's 1745 sound to you?"
"Great, if we actually manage to end up there," she retorted.
Author's Notes: Okay, so I'm a history geek and use the Doctor as a narrative vehicle. All inaccuracies are mine, of course. Nine's remark about never having seen Lincoln's assassination is a nod to the first DW fic I ever wrote, where the Master and the Doctor attend a certain play at Ford's Theatre.
Interestingly enough, Doctor Who is missing from the Wikipedia page on the JFK assassination in popular culture.
And hopefully, there will be a sequel to this, once I work the plot threads out in my head. This whole thing just popped into my head while driving home from work today.