Jack's left and come back in since Martha last saw him. It's been a good twenty years or so for him since he's seen this place - and he doesn't seem to have aged a day.
He's in a World War I army uniform when he enters - British, to be precise, as he's been hanging around Cardiff anyway. That uniform happens to have a large and rather obvious fresh bloodstain on the front of it, and a bullet hole that's obviously the source of that blood.
"Well," he says, rubbing at his chest, not really realizing yet that he's in the Inn, "that wasn't fun."
Martha looks up from her drink at the sound and is on her feet, faster than she can process who it is that has stumbled into the Inn with a bullet wound.
She's at his side moments later, only then does it register that this is Jack. The Doctor's friend.
"Bloody hell. Sit down. We need to stop the bleeding. Now."
Jack looks up sharply at the sound of her voice, and realizes abruptly that he is not on a battlefield in France. Huh. Been a while since he's seen this place. He can't say he minds seeing it now, though.
He smiles at her, and though he looks a little pale... give him a minute or five, and he'll be good as new.
"No, really, I'll be fine. This is nothing new."
Well, this particular bullet wound is, obviously. He means more the getting shot and dying and coming back thing, which is what he just did prior to finding his way in here.
"Like hell you'll be. You've been shot in the chest. This is not 'going to be fine' material unless you sit your ass down right this minute and let me have a sodding look at it already! I'm a doctor and I bloody know what I'm doing." She brings out her wrath, because she cares really.
Martha has slipped her hands on his chest over the wound to try to curb the bleeding at least a little. She's two seconds away from pushing him on the floor, but she has a feeling that will merely bring further injury so she's hoping that he'll actually obey the wrath.
He can tell she's going to be stubborn about this - doctors always are - and so he sighs and sits down, starting to unbutton his coat so that she can take a look at it.
"Fine, fine, if you have to. Just... try not to get any blood on that shirt. It looks really good on you, and I'd feel really guilty."
He may be dying (temporarily), but he is not going to pass up the opportunity to flirt.
Martha rolls her eyes and mutters, "And I'd feel really guilty if you died, cause I was trying to save a trip to the dry cleaners."
She hisses to herself at the sight of the wound. Her heart is killing her chest it's beating so hard with worry and fear and she's not a bloody doctor yet. Only almost.
"Shit." Martha tries to apply more pressure as the blood spills out, but she has to think up an IV and a blood bag too. Not to mention bandages and the proper tools to get the bullet out of his chest. And if it'd hit his heart, well, she wasn't exactly a cardiovascular surgeon.
Poor thing, she's nervous. He does feel pretty bad for her, but he doesn't think he has the time to explain before he actually...
"Hey," he says, catching one of her hands lightly in his, fighting to get the words through sudden dizziness that indicates far too much blood loss in too short a period of time, "it's alright. Just... don't panic, okay? You're doing great."
Not that she needs to, but it's cute that she's trying.
Martha won't. Any amount of panic that she'll experience will be internalized, but damnit if she doesn't have a patient here, a friend of the Doctors, which bloody well, makes him her friend too. She won't succumb to emotions now.
Martha squeezes his hand back and manages a firm smile. "You're going to be fine."
And then she throws herself into full doctor mode, doing everything she's learned and been trained to do in situations like these.
He smiles at her assurances, though his head's spinning far too much to stay focused on her face now, and he closes his eyes, wondering if that will help. It doesn't, really.
"I know." He also knows he's going to die. Doesn't matter how good a doctor she is at this point. That was a damn good shot, or at least a lucky one, and even in an emergency room with a full staff of doctors and nurses at her back, she probably wouldn't be able to stop it.
His breathing's shallow, a little raspy, and within minutes his heartbeat slows.... and slows... and stops.
"No, no, no... No. Don't you die on me. Don't you do that... Don't. You..." Martha's chest tightens considerably, making it hard to breathe and her bloody hands slip away from his chest.
"Come back." Is the last words she manages to croak out, a choking plea, before overwhelming emotions force her into silence.
Her hands are shaking. Tears burn her eyelids and she tries to imagine telling the Doctor about this. About how she'd tried to save his friend, but just couldn't. Not enough.
And Jack is just lying there. Dead. On the Inn floor. There's blood all over her. She'd tried so hard.
It hurts. It's a struggle to breathe.
Martha pulls away from the body, knees pressed up against her chest, her hand pressed to her forehead as the tears fall despite her best efforts to keep them in.
He's still for a minute, maybe two. Very definitely dead.
And then, impossibly, he draws a deep, gasping breath, his eyes flying open. The wound on his chest starts to close of its own accord, and he pushes himself up a little, propping himself up on his elbows.
"That was a lot more interesting than I'd hoped. Usually it happens a little quicker..." He hates dying of blood loss. Getting shot in the head? Much faster and more painless, and he doesn't have to deal with the head spinning and everything... "Sorry about that."
"I tried to tell you..." he says slowly, with a bit of chagrin. "It's just really hard to think when you're bleeding to death."
Jack looks down at his chest - now completely healed - and sits up completely, flashing Martha a reassuring smile. Alright, there's also a lot of flirting there, but that's just Jack. The primary intent is to reassure her.
"I was dead. Temporarily. I'm fine now. You want to check my pulse?" He offers his arm to her, palm up, because maybe that will help with the reassurance.
Martha blinks and finally moves her knees away from her chest, wiping her cheeks off with her shaking fingers.
She reaches out, touching his arm softly, at first, tentative, afraid that she's having some kind of hysterical delusion. Not that she's prone to those, but come on... this is ridiculous. Her fingers slide around his wrist, feeling the steady, even heartbeat beneath her touch.
The moment she gets that steady pulse, Martha launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. There'll be time to smack him once she's done being utterly relieved.
Jack is startled by the tackling and clinging, but he's not going to protest. Instead, he wraps his arms around her just as tightly and hugs her back - he's remarkably strong for a man who was dead less than a minute before.
"Sorry I scared you," he chuckles. "I really need to remember to mention these things beforehand."
Except not, because you tell people you can't die and they think you're either delusional or... well, delusional and an egomaniac. No one really believes it until they see it, and Jack's not one to share even then, with most people.
Martha pulls away slowly, letting her own breathing and pulse rate return to normal. All the worries that had piled up in the seconds that he'd been dead for left her system. Her muscles relaxed.
"I probably wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me, but still..." She smacks him on the arm, not hard at all, because she's still hung up a bit on the dying thing. "Try harder next time. Please."
He's in a World War I army uniform when he enters - British, to be precise, as he's been hanging around Cardiff anyway. That uniform happens to have a large and rather obvious fresh bloodstain on the front of it, and a bullet hole that's obviously the source of that blood.
"Well," he says, rubbing at his chest, not really realizing yet that he's in the Inn, "that wasn't fun."
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She's at his side moments later, only then does it register that this is Jack. The Doctor's friend.
"Bloody hell. Sit down. We need to stop the bleeding. Now."
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He smiles at her, and though he looks a little pale... give him a minute or five, and he'll be good as new.
"No, really, I'll be fine. This is nothing new."
Well, this particular bullet wound is, obviously. He means more the getting shot and dying and coming back thing, which is what he just did prior to finding his way in here.
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Martha has slipped her hands on his chest over the wound to try to curb the bleeding at least a little. She's two seconds away from pushing him on the floor, but she has a feeling that will merely bring further injury so she's hoping that he'll actually obey the wrath.
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"Fine, fine, if you have to. Just... try not to get any blood on that shirt. It looks really good on you, and I'd feel really guilty."
He may be dying (temporarily), but he is not going to pass up the opportunity to flirt.
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She hisses to herself at the sight of the wound. Her heart is killing her chest it's beating so hard with worry and fear and she's not a bloody doctor yet. Only almost.
"Shit." Martha tries to apply more pressure as the blood spills out, but she has to think up an IV and a blood bag too. Not to mention bandages and the proper tools to get the bullet out of his chest. And if it'd hit his heart, well, she wasn't exactly a cardiovascular surgeon.
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"Hey," he says, catching one of her hands lightly in his, fighting to get the words through sudden dizziness that indicates far too much blood loss in too short a period of time, "it's alright. Just... don't panic, okay? You're doing great."
Not that she needs to, but it's cute that she's trying.
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Martha won't. Any amount of panic that she'll experience will be internalized, but damnit if she doesn't have a patient here, a friend of the Doctors, which bloody well, makes him her friend too. She won't succumb to emotions now.
Martha squeezes his hand back and manages a firm smile. "You're going to be fine."
And then she throws herself into full doctor mode, doing everything she's learned and been trained to do in situations like these.
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"I know." He also knows he's going to die. Doesn't matter how good a doctor she is at this point. That was a damn good shot, or at least a lucky one, and even in an emergency room with a full staff of doctors and nurses at her back, she probably wouldn't be able to stop it.
His breathing's shallow, a little raspy, and within minutes his heartbeat slows.... and slows... and stops.
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"Come back." Is the last words she manages to croak out, a choking plea, before overwhelming emotions force her into silence.
Her hands are shaking. Tears burn her eyelids and she tries to imagine telling the Doctor about this. About how she'd tried to save his friend, but just couldn't. Not enough.
And Jack is just lying there. Dead. On the Inn floor. There's blood all over her. She'd tried so hard.
It hurts. It's a struggle to breathe.
Martha pulls away from the body, knees pressed up against her chest, her hand pressed to her forehead as the tears fall despite her best efforts to keep them in.
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And then, impossibly, he draws a deep, gasping breath, his eyes flying open. The wound on his chest starts to close of its own accord, and he pushes himself up a little, propping himself up on his elbows.
"That was a lot more interesting than I'd hoped. Usually it happens a little quicker..." He hates dying of blood loss. Getting shot in the head? Much faster and more painless, and he doesn't have to deal with the head spinning and everything... "Sorry about that."
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"What the bleeding hell? You're dead!"
And she's not at all happy about that fact, but unless he's the Doctor or a zombie... she's not exactly used to people just coming right back to life.
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Jack looks down at his chest - now completely healed - and sits up completely, flashing Martha a reassuring smile. Alright, there's also a lot of flirting there, but that's just Jack. The primary intent is to reassure her.
"I was dead. Temporarily. I'm fine now. You want to check my pulse?" He offers his arm to her, palm up, because maybe that will help with the reassurance.
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She reaches out, touching his arm softly, at first, tentative, afraid that she's having some kind of hysterical delusion. Not that she's prone to those, but come on... this is ridiculous. Her fingers slide around his wrist, feeling the steady, even heartbeat beneath her touch.
The moment she gets that steady pulse, Martha launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. There'll be time to smack him once she's done being utterly relieved.
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"Sorry I scared you," he chuckles. "I really need to remember to mention these things beforehand."
Except not, because you tell people you can't die and they think you're either delusional or... well, delusional and an egomaniac. No one really believes it until they see it, and Jack's not one to share even then, with most people.
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"I probably wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me, but still..." She smacks him on the arm, not hard at all, because she's still hung up a bit on the dying thing. "Try harder next time. Please."
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