no one laughs at god in a hospital, no one laughs at god in a war [rp for rude_not_ginger]

[marthajonesmd]

Martha was used to sticking plasters on scraped-up elbows after a mission - no matter whether they succeeded or not, people would insist on getting themselves hurt in the field. (To be honest, it was a bit, well, annoying to be pulled away from her work researching viral mutations to perform basic medical techniques anybody without a medical degree

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[rude_not_ginger]

He was livid. First, his favorite pair of trainers were stained pink. That was really enough to make him this livid, but now he'd been pulled from the field because the task that they not-so-politely asked him to perform when he was found wandering in the forest, was not performed!

He didn't have to listen to them anymore. They just didn't listen to him.

"I'm not even a member of UNIT anymore!" the Doctor called, holding a hand to his bleeding forehead.

Wait. That voice. He spun and grinned. "Doctor Jones."

[marthajonesmd]

Martha beamed back at him, but refrained from hugging him, as her clothing was all quite thoroughly covered in goo. (Actually, she thought the pink added a nice splash of colour to her labcoat.) "Really, Doctor, we've got to stop meeting like this." She took a fresh pair of surgical gloves from a nearby box and pulled them on, snapping the latex for emphasis. "What'd you do this time?"

She stood on tiptoe for a moment to peer at his head, then decided that was going to be rather inconvenient. Martha tugged at his sleeve, indicating that he should sit on a nearby cot. "C'mon, you're too tall."

[rude_not_ginger]

"I've got too much to do," the Doctor complained. "Sorting out the mess these idiots started."

Still, he couldn't properly see with his head bleeding this badly. He groaned and sat down on the cot obediently. Martha was looking well. Looking young. He wondered if it had been nearly so long for her as it had been for him. He doubted it.

"Stinger grazed my head," he said. "I don't think it's too deep."

[marthajonesmd]

Martha snorted at that. "Trust me, you're preaching to the choir. What do you think I do?" She pushed back hair that was damp with blood to get a better look at the wound. "Nope, sorry, it'll have to come off," she teased, taking out an alcoholic wipe and cleaning the cut (she figured that by now, he was probably well aware of the qualities of isopropyl alcohol).

She eyeballed the clean cut a moment longer before making her decision. "Right, looks like you're going to end up with some stitches. Perhaps a dashing scar you can show off to all the young ladies." Martha expertly squeezed a glob of topical anaesthetic cream onto her finger, then began rubbing it on the Doctor's head.