Farringham 1913 - Chapter 3
Title: Farringham 1913 - Chapter 3
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: John Smith, OC/Martha, Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3 up to and including Human Nature/Family of Blood
Summary: Someone notices Martha Jones is beautiful.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and all that jazz…
Author Notes: The idea for this fic turned up ages ago, but Ten!Bunny waited until silly o'clock the other morning to bite me for it ! The idea I had was for a fic in which John Smith doesn't fall for Joan Redfern, but does notice that someone is paying attention to Martha. This fic covers John Smith's and the Tenth Doctor's (once he's got his Time Lord essence back) reactions to the events that ensue. The Family don't show up at any point so Martha just has to wait out the three months until they die, coping as best she can.
This is the first fic I've written that uses flashbacks extensively - hopefully they'll work; I wanted to show how Martha learned to cope in 1913 and this seemed to be the way to write the fic.
I'm posting it in "chapters" because it looks like being a fairly long fic (possibly as long as my S3 finale rewrite fic was!) and I didn't want to find myself intimidated by how much I had to type up (as I was with "She Walks In Beauty") - and I didn't want to leave people with nothing new to read!
There will be four chapters in this story - I think the last one will be the longest and it's going to be the most angsty, but I hope it will reward your patience as well !
Chapter One; Chapter Two
~~~~~~
Wednesday 5 November, 1913
The leaves underfoot squelched as Martha reached the clearing. She and Martin had been lucky so far - the recent rain had not prevented them from meeting, although the ground had been soggy a couple of times and she'd been glad of the groundsheet that Martin had brought for them to sit on. As she waited for him to arrive, Martha wondered, as she did every time they met, what he saw in her and why he continued to meet her. His superficial resemblance to the Doctor that she had noticed at their first meeting was exactly that; but he was a nice young man, if a little too young. Or maybe, Martha reflected, it was just that she felt so much older than her 23 years. Nearly a century separated their births, but it was less the changes in attitudes and the differences in lifestyles that made her feel so much older than him, than the experiences and insights she had gained whilst travelling with the Doctor. Visiting the past and the future, meeting so many new people, and new creatures, not to mention a quartet of Daleks and a living sun, had completely changed her outlook. And then there was the Doctor himself: a two-hearted alien who could see the turning of the Universe and stood at the centre of Time, who was ancient and forever, yet she loved him, and went on loving him in spite of the fact that he hardly seemed to notice her. At least John Smith noticed her and cared about her enough to defend her to others; she'd seen the way he looked at her once or twice, when he didn't know she was aware of him watching her, and she'd wondered whether he would have been interested in her if the Doctor hadn't made him a recent widower and if this era had known less prejudice.
Four weeks ago.
John Smith gave a little shuddering moan, then allowed himself to slump back onto his pillows whilst he waited for his heart rate to slow down and the rush of energy to subside. He tried to ignore the feelings of shame and self-disgust that washed over him almost as soon as he achieved his release. He felt that he was little better than a rapist, thinking of Martha in this way, and it distressed him so much that he wanted to beg her forgiveness, but he couldn't of course, he couldn't tell her what he did because she would be appalled and revolted. He'd sworn, after the first time, not to do it again, but his libido, dormant so long during the months of his wife's final illness and in the weeks that followed her death, had reawakened with a ferocity that unnerved him. And when he'd seen Martha earlier, looking so beautiful and vibrant, he'd felt a rush of desire; since he couldn't hold her, kiss her, make love to her, he'd resorted to imagining doing those things instead. His only scrap of comfort was that she was out for another couple of hours, enjoying her afternoon off, and he would bury the pictures his imagination had conjured up before he saw her again. He only dared to think of her like this whilst she was away from the school grounds, otherwise there was too great a risk of running into her whilst the images were fresh in his mind, and he couldn't risk giving himself away.
He balled up the cloth in his hand, then straightened his clothes; unlocking his door, he went to the Masters' bathroom and cleaned himself up. He would dispose of the cloth later, somewhere that there was no danger of Martha discovering it. Then he returned to his rooms; he had another hour before he had to take his final class of the day, so he settled down at his desk and pulled out his Journal. He read through his notes from his latest adventure dream, wondering if these dreams of himself and Martha were just adding fuel to the fire of his desire for her. He seemed to hug her a lot in his dreams, and whilst his dream self, this mysterious Doctor, had only kissed her once, he'd woken with a strong sense that the Doctor had wanted more.
His dreams about the blonde-haired girl had stopped altogether in the last week; now it was him as the Doctor and Martha visiting Shakespeare and 1930s New York, and other, far more improbable places. He sighed, wishing not for the first time, that he possessed some of the Doctor's charm and courage, then pulled out his pencils and began to sketch Martha as she had appeared in last night's dream: elegant and sophisticated in a knee-length evening dress, with a sparkling headband in her long dark hair.
Two hours later, and feeling the need for some fresh air, Mr Smith set out for a walk around the school grounds. It had been a pleasant day for early October, but there was a strong hint of autumn in the bite of the wind that ruffled the leaves which still hung on the trees. He looked up as he came within sight of the gates and the drive, and saw two figures with bicycles standing at some distance from the gates. One of them, he saw, was Martha, but he didn't recognise the second figure, so he began to stroll slowly forwards, watching them both. They were talking animatedly and Martha was smiling at something the other person said. As he got closer, Mr Smith suddenly realised that the second figure was a young man and he stopped dead in his tracks, staring in disbelief. Martha was courting someone? He felt as if someone had thumped him in the ribs and he had to fight for breath for a moment as a surge of jealousy swept through him. He wondered how long this had being going on - they hadn't been at Farringham all that long, after all. Had some young man followed her from Nottingham? He knew that he been fairly unaware of anything outside his wife's illness before, so she could have been courting someone without him knowing it. He watched, shaken, as the young man kissed Martha's hand in farewell before mounting his bicycle and riding away. Martha watched him go and Mr Smith did an abrupt about-turn, hurrying back to his rooms, hoping that Martha hadn't spotted him watching her.
He cared a great deal about Martha, quite apart from finding her attractive. She had been very good to him and his late wife, and he'd found her presence at Farringham a great comfort; going back to teaching full time, and at a boarding school, after months at home caring for his wife, seeing only her, the local doctor and Martha, had been a big step. He'd asked Martha to make the move with him so that there would be at least one person around with whom he could talk. He had known it wouldn't be an easy step for her to make - they had blurred a lot of the lines between servant and master during his wife's illness and become friends, and re-establishing those lines, at least in public, had been difficult for both of them, but moreso for Martha, yet she had never complained.
By the time Martha had put away her bicycle, resumed her full uniform and brought his afternoon tea, Mr Smith, outwardly at least, was calm and collected, sitting on the leather sofa doing the crossword in the newspaper as if he hadn't a care in the world. But he found himself watching Martha covertly and noticing that her manner was distinctly brighter than it had been that morning.
Martha heard a movement and looked up, expecting to see Martin coming through the trees and was surprised to see Mr Smith instead. She wondered what quirk of Fate had urged him to take a walk through these woods today; it didn't even occur to her that it wasn't chance but choice that had brought him here.
Sunday 2 November, 1913.
After several weeks of wondering about the identity of Martha's suitor and tormenting himself with imaging them together, Mr Smith had been driven by a combination of curiosity and jealousy to follow Martha as she left the school grounds on her afternoon off. He'd spent the weeks since he first saw Martha and her young man together in arguing with himself against taking this course of action. He told himself that he had no right to interfere, that Martha was of age and that her happiness was the most important thing to him, but in the end he followed her as she made her way west to an outbuilding on a farm near Cooper's Field. He watched her leave her bicycle outside and waited half an hour without seeing anyone else arrive. Hers was the only bicycle outside, there was no horse tethered nearby, nor a car parked up somewhere close. Mystified, he waited, rebuking himself over and over again for letting his jealousy get the better of him, but he couldn't leave. He watched as Martha left the outbuilding alone and cycled away; he followed her, although he was deeply curious about what was in the outbuilding that she had spent so long in there apparently alone. He didn't want to lose her trail, though, so he cycled after her, finding a spot in which to conceal himself and his bicycle once she reached the clearing in the woods. He waited and saw the young man arrive, but his self-loathing at spying on Martha finally over-rode his curiosity and he went back to the school, to sit and brood until she arrived with his tea. She didn't appear to notice anything amiss in his manner, but he noticed a certain lightness in her manner that he now knew had less to do with spending a few hours away from her duties at the school, and more to do with spending those hours with a young man. And it was then that he decided to confront Martha and find out just what was going on. He simply couldn't bear not knowing.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: John Smith, OC/Martha, Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3 up to and including Human Nature/Family of Blood
Summary: Someone notices Martha Jones is beautiful.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and all that jazz…
Author Notes: The idea for this fic turned up ages ago, but Ten!Bunny waited until silly o'clock the other morning to bite me for it ! The idea I had was for a fic in which John Smith doesn't fall for Joan Redfern, but does notice that someone is paying attention to Martha. This fic covers John Smith's and the Tenth Doctor's (once he's got his Time Lord essence back) reactions to the events that ensue. The Family don't show up at any point so Martha just has to wait out the three months until they die, coping as best she can.
This is the first fic I've written that uses flashbacks extensively - hopefully they'll work; I wanted to show how Martha learned to cope in 1913 and this seemed to be the way to write the fic.
I'm posting it in "chapters" because it looks like being a fairly long fic (possibly as long as my S3 finale rewrite fic was!) and I didn't want to find myself intimidated by how much I had to type up (as I was with "She Walks In Beauty") - and I didn't want to leave people with nothing new to read!
There will be four chapters in this story - I think the last one will be the longest and it's going to be the most angsty, but I hope it will reward your patience as well !
Chapter One; Chapter Two
~~~~~~
Wednesday 5 November, 1913
The leaves underfoot squelched as Martha reached the clearing. She and Martin had been lucky so far - the recent rain had not prevented them from meeting, although the ground had been soggy a couple of times and she'd been glad of the groundsheet that Martin had brought for them to sit on. As she waited for him to arrive, Martha wondered, as she did every time they met, what he saw in her and why he continued to meet her. His superficial resemblance to the Doctor that she had noticed at their first meeting was exactly that; but he was a nice young man, if a little too young. Or maybe, Martha reflected, it was just that she felt so much older than her 23 years. Nearly a century separated their births, but it was less the changes in attitudes and the differences in lifestyles that made her feel so much older than him, than the experiences and insights she had gained whilst travelling with the Doctor. Visiting the past and the future, meeting so many new people, and new creatures, not to mention a quartet of Daleks and a living sun, had completely changed her outlook. And then there was the Doctor himself: a two-hearted alien who could see the turning of the Universe and stood at the centre of Time, who was ancient and forever, yet she loved him, and went on loving him in spite of the fact that he hardly seemed to notice her. At least John Smith noticed her and cared about her enough to defend her to others; she'd seen the way he looked at her once or twice, when he didn't know she was aware of him watching her, and she'd wondered whether he would have been interested in her if the Doctor hadn't made him a recent widower and if this era had known less prejudice.
Four weeks ago.
John Smith gave a little shuddering moan, then allowed himself to slump back onto his pillows whilst he waited for his heart rate to slow down and the rush of energy to subside. He tried to ignore the feelings of shame and self-disgust that washed over him almost as soon as he achieved his release. He felt that he was little better than a rapist, thinking of Martha in this way, and it distressed him so much that he wanted to beg her forgiveness, but he couldn't of course, he couldn't tell her what he did because she would be appalled and revolted. He'd sworn, after the first time, not to do it again, but his libido, dormant so long during the months of his wife's final illness and in the weeks that followed her death, had reawakened with a ferocity that unnerved him. And when he'd seen Martha earlier, looking so beautiful and vibrant, he'd felt a rush of desire; since he couldn't hold her, kiss her, make love to her, he'd resorted to imagining doing those things instead. His only scrap of comfort was that she was out for another couple of hours, enjoying her afternoon off, and he would bury the pictures his imagination had conjured up before he saw her again. He only dared to think of her like this whilst she was away from the school grounds, otherwise there was too great a risk of running into her whilst the images were fresh in his mind, and he couldn't risk giving himself away.
He balled up the cloth in his hand, then straightened his clothes; unlocking his door, he went to the Masters' bathroom and cleaned himself up. He would dispose of the cloth later, somewhere that there was no danger of Martha discovering it. Then he returned to his rooms; he had another hour before he had to take his final class of the day, so he settled down at his desk and pulled out his Journal. He read through his notes from his latest adventure dream, wondering if these dreams of himself and Martha were just adding fuel to the fire of his desire for her. He seemed to hug her a lot in his dreams, and whilst his dream self, this mysterious Doctor, had only kissed her once, he'd woken with a strong sense that the Doctor had wanted more.
His dreams about the blonde-haired girl had stopped altogether in the last week; now it was him as the Doctor and Martha visiting Shakespeare and 1930s New York, and other, far more improbable places. He sighed, wishing not for the first time, that he possessed some of the Doctor's charm and courage, then pulled out his pencils and began to sketch Martha as she had appeared in last night's dream: elegant and sophisticated in a knee-length evening dress, with a sparkling headband in her long dark hair.
Two hours later, and feeling the need for some fresh air, Mr Smith set out for a walk around the school grounds. It had been a pleasant day for early October, but there was a strong hint of autumn in the bite of the wind that ruffled the leaves which still hung on the trees. He looked up as he came within sight of the gates and the drive, and saw two figures with bicycles standing at some distance from the gates. One of them, he saw, was Martha, but he didn't recognise the second figure, so he began to stroll slowly forwards, watching them both. They were talking animatedly and Martha was smiling at something the other person said. As he got closer, Mr Smith suddenly realised that the second figure was a young man and he stopped dead in his tracks, staring in disbelief. Martha was courting someone? He felt as if someone had thumped him in the ribs and he had to fight for breath for a moment as a surge of jealousy swept through him. He wondered how long this had being going on - they hadn't been at Farringham all that long, after all. Had some young man followed her from Nottingham? He knew that he been fairly unaware of anything outside his wife's illness before, so she could have been courting someone without him knowing it. He watched, shaken, as the young man kissed Martha's hand in farewell before mounting his bicycle and riding away. Martha watched him go and Mr Smith did an abrupt about-turn, hurrying back to his rooms, hoping that Martha hadn't spotted him watching her.
He cared a great deal about Martha, quite apart from finding her attractive. She had been very good to him and his late wife, and he'd found her presence at Farringham a great comfort; going back to teaching full time, and at a boarding school, after months at home caring for his wife, seeing only her, the local doctor and Martha, had been a big step. He'd asked Martha to make the move with him so that there would be at least one person around with whom he could talk. He had known it wouldn't be an easy step for her to make - they had blurred a lot of the lines between servant and master during his wife's illness and become friends, and re-establishing those lines, at least in public, had been difficult for both of them, but moreso for Martha, yet she had never complained.
By the time Martha had put away her bicycle, resumed her full uniform and brought his afternoon tea, Mr Smith, outwardly at least, was calm and collected, sitting on the leather sofa doing the crossword in the newspaper as if he hadn't a care in the world. But he found himself watching Martha covertly and noticing that her manner was distinctly brighter than it had been that morning.
Martha heard a movement and looked up, expecting to see Martin coming through the trees and was surprised to see Mr Smith instead. She wondered what quirk of Fate had urged him to take a walk through these woods today; it didn't even occur to her that it wasn't chance but choice that had brought him here.
Sunday 2 November, 1913.
After several weeks of wondering about the identity of Martha's suitor and tormenting himself with imaging them together, Mr Smith had been driven by a combination of curiosity and jealousy to follow Martha as she left the school grounds on her afternoon off. He'd spent the weeks since he first saw Martha and her young man together in arguing with himself against taking this course of action. He told himself that he had no right to interfere, that Martha was of age and that her happiness was the most important thing to him, but in the end he followed her as she made her way west to an outbuilding on a farm near Cooper's Field. He watched her leave her bicycle outside and waited half an hour without seeing anyone else arrive. Hers was the only bicycle outside, there was no horse tethered nearby, nor a car parked up somewhere close. Mystified, he waited, rebuking himself over and over again for letting his jealousy get the better of him, but he couldn't leave. He watched as Martha left the outbuilding alone and cycled away; he followed her, although he was deeply curious about what was in the outbuilding that she had spent so long in there apparently alone. He didn't want to lose her trail, though, so he cycled after her, finding a spot in which to conceal himself and his bicycle once she reached the clearing in the woods. He waited and saw the young man arrive, but his self-loathing at spying on Martha finally over-rode his curiosity and he went back to the school, to sit and brood until she arrived with his tea. She didn't appear to notice anything amiss in his manner, but he noticed a certain lightness in her manner that he now knew had less to do with spending a few hours away from her duties at the school, and more to do with spending those hours with a young man. And it was then that he decided to confront Martha and find out just what was going on. He simply couldn't bear not knowing.