Alternatives: New Beginnings (2/2)
Who_Daily Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/188038.html">Alternatives: New Beginnings (2/2) by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Human-Ten, Alt-Martha, Mickey, Rose, Tyler family | Rating: NC-17 | Spoilers: Seasons 2 - 4)
Title: Alternatives: New Beginnings (2/2)
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Human-Ten/Alt-Martha, Alt-Martha/Mickey, Jackie, Pete, Rose, Tony
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Seasons 2 - 4
Summary: Trying to find his feet in Pete's World, the Human Doctor learns something unexpected about himself and makes a new friend.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish I did own it!
Warning: Don't read this if you think Rose is the bees knees, because I don't. If you choose to ignore this warning and then flame me, don't expect me to be nice about it.
Author Notes: jadekirk wondered "What if Handy and Ten were wrong about Handy and found that he did have an extended lifespan and/or could regenerate (even if it's a small part of him, like his eye/hair colour/accent/freckle count/etc)? I know it's canon that he can't, but I would love to see Handy with a long life." And the plot bunnies seized on the idea and ran away with it in rather spectacular fashion.
The first part of this story is here.
Beta: The wonderful shadowturquoise
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Fic Banner: angelfireeast
John slept restlessly, dreaming of Martha (and Adeola) facing the Cybermen and Daleks, of battling them both with the Doctor and Donna, and of failing to save Martha (in this universe or his old one) from the steel men or Davros' creatures.
He woke abruptly at 5 am, shaking and sweating from his nightmares. After lying trembling and wishing for someone to hold and soothe him, he sat up, then swung his legs off the sofa. He thought for a moment, then decided he'd better not walk around almost naked in someone else's house, and pulled on his trousers and shoes before padding out to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He drank the water standing in the open doorway of Martha's kitchen, looking out over her back garden and listening to the dawn chorus, inhaling the scents of the new day. The garden consisted of a lawn and, at the far end, a sycamore tree with a bench at its foot. He wondered if Martha was uninterested in flowers, or simply didn't have the time for gardening; she'd made it clear the night before that she often worked long hours, so he assumed it was a lack of time that resulted in such a bare garden.
Closing the door again, he checked the time and saw that it was still only 5.30 am: far too early to do much without disturbing Martha; like the Doctor, he didn't need as much sleep as humans, although he certainly could not go for more one night without any sleep, unlike the Time Lord. He wandered back into the sitting room, deciding to satisfy his curiosity of the evening before by taking a good look at Martha's bookshelves. He noticed everything was arranged by genre, and he quickly discovered that she had an eclectic taste in music and viewing material: there were classical, jazz, rock and world music CDs in her collection, and he recognised many of the names from his own universe. The DVDs were divided up into comedies, science fiction and fantasy, drama and non-fiction documentaries, most of the latter being about space or the natural world. There were also boxed sets of TV shows, mostly costume dramas, although there were a handful of comedy series as well.
The books, John discovered, were mostly fiction, apart from some non-fiction books that appeared to accompany the non-fiction DVDs. He remembered that Martha had pointed out her study upstairs and concluded that the bulk of her non-fiction books were up there. He pulled down a volume of Shakespeare's Sonnets, remembering the Doctor's first trip with the other Martha, and found the Dark Lady section.
After an hour and a half spent reading, John was starting to feel hungry, so he returned Martha's books to their proper places on her shelves, then went into the kitchen. It would, he decided, be a nice gesture for him to make Martha some breakfast in bed. He remembered the Doctor making scrambled eggs on toast with sausages and baked beans as a weekend breakfast treat when he and the other Martha had been stuck in 1969, so he pulled out saucepans, plates and cutlery, then assembled the necessary food and set to work.
Fifteen minutes later, the smoke alarm in the kitchen was shrieking, and John was staring with a crestfallen expression at the burnt toast and incinerated sausages that he'd been attempting to grill, while Martha scrambled up onto a chair to shut off the alarm, a distinctly unimpressed expression on her face.
In the ringing silence that followed John twisted his hands together, looking like a scared child. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not daring to meet her eyes as she surveyed the ruins of breakfast.
She sighed. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose," she said wearily. He looked so abject that she couldn't bring herself to properly yell at him, which had been her first impulse when the alarm had so rudely awoken her.
"There's a coffee shop about three doors from the Market Tavern. Why don't you go and get us some coffee and croissants, or whatever you prefer, and I'll clear up."
"I can clear it up," he said quickly, then subsided again when she raised her eyebrows at him. "Coffee and croissants," he mumbled, going to put on his shirt and jacket.
Martha dumped the toast and sausages in the bin, then set aside the saucepan containing the eggs. She was grateful John hadn't got as far as attempting to scramble the eggs since she had a feeling he would probably have ruined her saucepan in the process.
She looked up as he sidled back into the kitchen, an obviously genuine look of remorse on his face.
"I take it you've never learnt to cook?" she asked, smirking a little.
He shook his head. "The Doctor's a reasonably good cook, but Donna didn't have any interest - I guess I take after her, not him, in this case."
He looked so forlorn as he said this, that Martha quickly crossed the room to pull him into a hug. "I didn't learn how to cook until after Addy died," she told him. "Like Donna, I had no interest, but Addy loved it, so she always cooked for us both. For the first year or so after she died, I ate either takeaways or microwave meals until I got bored with both, and decided it was time to learn. I still don't love it like Addy did, but I feel closer to her when I cook, so I persevere."
She reached up and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. "Coffee and croissants," she reminded him.
He nodded, then rubbed at his wet eyes, before accepting a plastic card from her.
"What's this?" he asked curiously, turning it over in his long fingers.
"Loyalty card," she told him. "Every time I use it at that coffee shop, they give me points towards free purchases, and they also donate a percentage of the cost I spend to a charity of my choice."
"Sounds like a good scheme," he commented, slipping the plastic rectangle into his wallet.
"If you tell whoever's serving that you want my usual, they'll put it up for you." She held out a £5 note, which he looked at, but didn't take.
"The least I can do after ruining my attempt at breakfast in bed is to buy you coffee and croissants," he told her.
"All right, I'll see you shortly then."
He nodded, then went out and Martha went back to clearing up the kitchen. She hadn't said so, but she thought it was quite sweet that he'd wanted to make breakfast in bed for her. But neither had she told him that if he had made it, she wouldn't have wanted to eat it, not at this early hour: she had long since discovered that she couldn't stomach cooked food before 11 am at the earliest. So it was just as well, really, that John hadn't managed to prepare the breakfast that he'd been planning for her.
Martha wondered, as she finished clearing up, just why she felt so drawn to John: an instant attraction to someone wasn't that unusual for her, but she rarely acted on it. The last time she had acted on such an attraction, it had actually been with someone else from the same universe as John, someone she'd met quite by accident.
* * * * * *
John rang Martha's doorbell with a quick stab of his little finger and felt grateful that she had a bell and not a knocker since one of his hands was clutching two paper bags containing their breakfast, while the other was holding a cardboard cupholder containing their two cups of coffee.
When Martha opened the door he felt his heart flutter: she'd put on a kimono over the t-shirt and sleep shorts she'd been wearing when the smoke alarm had gone off, and he couldn't help thinking that she looked even more gorgeous in the gold dragon patterned, deep red silk garment.
"Are you coming in or are you going to stand there staring all day?" she asked, half amused, half exasperated by his reaction.
He stepped inside, moving slightly awkwardly, and she suddenly wondered if he was aroused at the sight of her; she blushed at the thought, but she couldn't help feeling a little pleased too.
They went into the kitchen and settled down at the breakfast bar to eat: Martha had two Pain au chocolate, while John had got himself a Pain aux raisin and a banana, which she couldn't help giggling about when he opened his bag.
"I like bananas," he protested, irritated by her giggling.
She laughed properly. "There's nothing wrong with liking bananas, it's just the combination of the pastry and the fruit, it seems a little whimsical."
He glowered at her, and her laughter died when she saw the dark expression on his face: the amount of pent-up anger there startled her.
"John?" She spoke his name softly, as if he was a wild animal, and she reached out carefully to take his hand in hers.
"I hate being made fun of," he said savagely, pulling his hand back abruptly. "People always treating me like I'm some kind of idiot when I'm not. I'm pretty bloody intelligent, I'll have you know! My mother always thinking I was useless and I'd never amount to much!"
"I'm sorry, John," Martha said quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just teasing you, like friends do."
He glared at her, breathing hard and fast, and she waited, not moving or speaking, and wondering what he was going to do: he looked quite angry enough to smash everything within reach.
After a few moments she could see that he was visibly struggling to control his anger, and she reached out again, daring to touch him.
As Martha's fingers made contact with his hand, John felt his anger subside, like a wave washing back out to sea, and he struggled to appear calm again. Then she moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, and he found that he couldn't hold back the tears that were threatening to choke him.
"It's okay," he heard her whisper. "Let it out John, let it go."
She held him as he sobbed on her shoulder, his skinny frame wracked by the storm of emotion that swept through him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he gasped, once the worst was over. "That was Donna, not me."
"Shh, shh. It's okay," she soothed, rubbing one hand between his shoulder blades.
Eventually he straightened up again, and she gave him some tissues from the box on the corner of the breakfast bar, and he dried his eyes and face, wondering if he'd just ruined his chance of friendship with her.
But this was Martha Jones who, whatever universe she was in, was a doctor through and through, always wanting to heal and help others.
"Do you often get that angry?" she asked once they'd resumed their interrupted breakfast.
"The last time was a month ago," he answered, his eyes fixed squarely on his food.
"Have you tried talking to anyone about it? And about the episodes of spacing out?"
"I spoke to someone at Torchwood, but we didn't get on very well. He accused me of paranoia and didn't seem to believe half of what I told him." He smiled grimly. "This, despite the fact that he works for Torchwood."
"Would you be willing to try again if I put you in touch with my psychiatrist? She works for UNIT, although she doesn't work on the base, so she'd be less likely to dismiss your story as madness."
"Why do you care, Martha Jones?" John asked abruptly.
She began clearing away their rubbish. "Do you remember what I told you last night, that we have a mutual acquaintance in common?"
He nodded.
"I knew Mickey Smith," she told him, watching as he started, then stared at her in surprise.
"How?" he asked, once he'd found his voice.
"Come through to the other room and I'll tell you. It's a bit of a long story."
John followed her into the sitting room and saw immediately that she'd tidied away the bedding he'd used the night before. They settled onto the sofa, side by side, and Martha began her narrative.
Two years ago
Martha was on her way home from work after staying late to finish writing a report when she spotted someone lying half on the pavement and half in the road. She pulled up quickly, leaving the engine running so that the headlights illuminated the figure, and climbed out of the car to investigate.
"Bloody hell!" She couldn't help swearing when she saw the state of the young man she'd found: there were lengthy gashes across his chest, ribs and legs, and his dark skin was a livid red beneath his torn clothing. She knelt down beside him and put two fingers to his neck, heaving a sigh of relief when she found his pulse, even as she worried about how erratic it was.
As she was bending closer to look at the gashes he began to stir, uttering a long drawn out groan.
"Mack?"
"It's not Mack," she told him, one hand on his arm as he opened his eyes.
"You look like an angel, but this can't be heaven," he mumbled, "I hurt too much."
Martha frowned and held up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, wondering if he was concussed.
"Two," he answered after squinting at her fingers for a moment.
"And what's your name, can you remember?" She was gently checking for broken bones as she spoke.
"Mickey - Smith."
"All right, Mr Smith, I don't think you're concussed, or that you've got any broken bones, so let's get you into my car and I'll drive you to the hospital."
"Where's Phil?" he asked, "and Mack?"
Martha shook her head as she helped him to sit up. "No idea, sorry. When I found you, you were on your own."
"Are there - " He swallowed hard, his eyes huge in the light from her car. "Are there any bodies?"
She frowned, concerned by his question. "No, it's just us."
"Shit!" He looked stricken. "Sorry, it's just - " He broke off and put a hand up to his ear, then cursed again quietly. "Is there a phone headset around?"
Martha gave him a searching look, wondering about his priorities, then checked the ground near where he'd lain. "Here."
She lifted the broken headset from the gutter and Mickey accepted the pieces with a hollow expression, stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. He allowed Martha to help him to his feet and over to her car.
She could feel him trembling and hear every ragged breath he took as they moved even that short distance, and she hoped he wasn't going to go into shock before she could get him to the hospital.
"I don't know your name," he said suddenly, his voice hoarse, as she settled him onto the back seat of her car.
"Martha, Dr Martha Jones," she answered.
"A doctor huh? Lucky me, getting found by a doctor."
"Do you remember what you were doing to get into this state?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat and fastened her seat belt before pulling away.
"That's classified," he told her.
She gave him a sharp glance in the driver's mirror, her expression hardening. "You're Torchwood?" she asked. "I know you're not with UNIT, I'd have remembered you if you were."
She saw his eyes widen in surprise before she turned her attention back to the road.
"You're that Martha Jones," he said, his voice filled with respect.
"Which Martha Jones is that?" she asked blandly, wondering what Torchwood knew or said about her.
"You treated the people who'd been captured by Cybus Industries, the ones who hadn't been converted into Cybermen and were left behind at Battersea. Me and Jake heard about it before we left London."
Martha glanced in the driving mirror again and saw he was giving her a look of intense admiration which made her blush.
"I just did what anyone would have done," she said, her attention back on the road again.
"No they wouldn't," Mickey asserted. "Most of the people me and Jake met were far too terrified to do anything for themselves, let alone help others."
Martha grunted but didn't respond. She preferred not to think about the events that had led to her being recruited by UNIT: it was still too painful to remember that while she'd been able to save so many lives, she'd been too late to help the one person she'd wanted to save - her twin sister. In those days she had known nothing of UNIT or Torchwood, all she had known was that her sister had gone to Battersea: she'd had a sudden image of the Power Station and known, as twins often do, where Adeola was.
By the time Martha had arrived there, Adeola had already been converted and then killed, but she hadn't found that out immediately, and she'd spent hours searching for her twin, trying to help the other people she found as best she could with painkillers or morphine in the case of those who were simply too far gone. Then the UNIT personnel had arrived and she'd been swept into their operation by virtue of being on the site, and capable of answering questions in a calm and intelligent manner. By the middle of the following morning she had established that Adeola had already been converted the night before, and UNIT had offered her a job with them, with the proviso that if she took it, she would undergo psychiatric evaluation and, if necessary, psychotherapy. Colonel Chaudhry had been worried about Martha's mental and emotional health in the wake of what she'd seen and done that night, but she had also recognised that the young woman could be a very valuable asset to UNIT, and Martha, angry and wanting revenge for her sister's death, had promptly agreed.
"Hey, you said you were taking me to the hospital," Mickey said suddenly.
She nodded. "Unless you want me to take you to Torchwood Tower?"
He scowled. "They wouldn't thank you, if you did," he said. "Can you drop me somewhere please, and I'll ring them and get them to pick me up?"
"How come they left you behind in the first place?" asked Martha. "No UNIT team would dream of leaving a man behind like that."
She heard him shifting on the seat behind her and glanced in the mirror to see him looking uncomfortable.
"It's the new policy," he mumbled. "Get the tech at any cost."
Martha scowled. "Even for Torchwood, that's a sleazy policy," she said. "You seem like a decent guy, Mickey Smith, so why are you working for them?"
"It's a long story," he said, "and now's not really the best time to be telling it."
She shook her head. "Where do you want me to drop you?"
He peered out of the window at the street. "Anywhere around here should do," he said. "Thanks babe."
"I'm not a babe!" she snapped.
"Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "No offence intended."
Martha felt slightly ashamed of her anger. Normally she wouldn't mind being called a babe by someone as good looking as Mickey Smith, but their conversation had stirred up a lot of painful memories.
"It's okay," she said. "I'm sorry I snapped." She pulled into a lay-by in front of some shops. "Give them a ring and you can wait in my car until they arrive."
He opened his mouth to object, but she forestalled him. "It's starting to rain, and you're injured, so don't be an idiot, okay?"
He nodded. "Thanks."
She switched on the windscreen wipers and waited while he rang Torchwood. After a few minutes he grunted, then tried a different number, and then a third.
"That's odd," he muttered.
"What?"
"No one's answering."
She half turned and looked at him between the front seats of the car. "That normal for your lot?" she asked.
"No." He looked bewildered.
"So what do you want to do? I could take you to a regular hospital - although I'm not sure how you're going to explain your wounds, or I can take you back to the infirmary at UNIT. Either way, you really should get those wounds treated soon."
"UNIT, I guess. Sorry about this," he mumbled.
"Doesn't matter," she told him. She pulled out of the lay-by and executed a neat 3-point turn to take him back to the UNIT HQ. She couldn't help wondering, as she drove, just what his story was. She had never had a very high regard for Torchwood once she learned of their existence: their policies regarding aliens and alien technology were far more hardline than UNIT's. And just lately there had been some disturbing rumours about something called a 'dimension cannon'.
"Here we are then," Martha said, shaking off her reverie and trying for cheerfulness as she pulled up outside the Infirmary building.
"Thanks." Mickey sounded less chipper than he had and she looked round at him quickly. His dark skin had taken on a sickly hue and she swore softly as she scrambled out of the car and opened the back door.
"Come on, Mr Smith, let's get you inside," she said. She helped him out of the car, but he staggered and then sank down onto the wet ground.
Martha swore again, then pulled out her mobile and rang the night duty desk to ask the sergeant to fetch a stretcher from the Infirmary.
A few minutes later they got Mickey inside and Martha was pulling off her coat ready to swap it for her surgeon's gown.
"Anything else I can do for you, Dr Jones?" asked the Sergeant.
"No thanks, Benton, I'll be fine now. Thanks for your help."
He nodded, then saluted before going back to his post.
Martha quickly washed her hands, then turned her attention to her patient who was now mumbling almost incomprehensibly: the only words she could pick out were 'Don't' and 'Jackie'. He was running a high temperature now and she cursed herself for not just bringing him straight back here in the first place. If he died now, it would be entirely her fault and she would not forgive herself in a hurry.
She undressed him quickly, then wheeled him through to the operating theatre. She would have preferred to have a nurse to assist her, but she didn't dare waste time waiting for Nicky or Lizzie to drive back to work. Mickey didn't look as if he had half an hour to spare, judging by the way he was sweating and muttering as he thrashed about on the bed. It occurred to Martha, rather belatedly, that she hadn't asked him who or what had attacked him, and for all she knew, his wounds had been infected by something poisonous.
She restrained him, needing him to lie still before she could give him an anaesthetic, then slipped the needle into his vein.
Martha quickly pulled on some gloves and a face mask, then took some tissue samples, wanting to analyse them later. Then she washed out his wounds with the all-purpose anti-venom solution she had developed herself a year ago and which had proved to be a useful cleansing agent. She carefully sewed up the gashes across his upper chest, legs and ribs, then dressed the wounds before setting up an IV with a painkiller and antibiotic solution. Then she wheeled his bed back into the ward, before stripping off her gown, gloves and facemask, and carrying the samples through to her lab.
Now
"What was he attacked by?" John asked, as Martha paused in her narrative.
"I never did find out, exactly," she said. "All he'd tell me, once he was conscious again, was that it was over seven feet tall and had very sharp claws. I gathered it was sentient, but not humanoid."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"Oh yes, we dated for a couple of months after that, but I couldn't persuade him to leave Torchwood and join UNIT, and in the end we drifted apart."
John felt a strong flare of jealousy when Martha said she'd dated Mickey; he knew it was a foolish reaction, but he felt an almost proprietary interest in Martha Jones. He kept his mouth shut, however, because Donna was yelling at him in his head, telling him it was no business of his, and that this Martha didn't owe him anything, not that the other one had either.
"He's a brave man, Mickey Smith," John said, breaking the silence before it became really uncomfortable. "I expect he had a good reason for staying with Torchwood."
Martha pulled a face. "He stayed because of Rose, because of the work she was doing building the dimension cannon," she said. "He told me that he felt he had a responsibility to her mum, and that he ought to keep an eye on her." She shook her head. "I understood his decision, but I couldn't agree with it."
She stood up and stretched. "I need to get dressed," she said.
"I ought to be getting back," John said, hoping he didn't sound as reluctant as he felt.
"Give me your mobile number before you go, and I'll give you a ring to let you know about seeing my psychiatrist."
John dug his mobile out of his pocket and waited while Martha got hers, then they swapped numbers.
"I'll give you a ring on Monday," she said, "let you know what Anna says."
"Can I see you again tonight?" he asked tentatively.
"I'm going away," she said, "off to meet up with an old friend, and I won't be back until late tomorrow night."
Martha saw his face fall and guessed he'd been hoping to see her again because he knew that he could talk to her; she strongly suspected he was lonely, as much as anything else.
"I'll talk to you on Monday," she said, "and you can come over again one evening, okay?"
He nodded, his hands shoved into his pockets and an unhappy expression on his face. "Okay."
"I'm sorry, John, but this is a long-standing arrangement. Any other weekend, and I'd have said yes."
"I understand," he answered, moving towards the door.
Martha followed him out into the hall and helped him into his coat, then reached up and pulled his head down to hers. "You'll be okay, John," she told him. "You just have to give yourself time to adjust, like I did." She kissed him briefly on the mouth, leaving him looking stunned.
Then she opened her front door. "I'll see you again, mister," she told him, unknowingly echoing the other Martha's words to the Doctor.
"Thank you," he said, feeling such a mixture of emotions that he felt almost dizzy.
He set off to walk back to the Tyler mansion with a full heart. Donna's voice was loudest in his head: his delight that Martha liked him enough to kiss him was akin to Donna's delight at the prospect of marrying Lance. He winced slightly as he remembered how that had turned out for the redhead, and he made a fervent wish that there would be no aliens to interfere with him getting to know this Martha better.
The Doctor in him was also delighted that Martha cared about him, and that she was the same sort of woman: smart, compassionate, patient and curious. John wished passionately that he had a TARDIS at his disposal so that he could take her to see other planets and times and people. But he knew that it was pointless to wish for the impossible, which was something he didn't think Rose had learnt yet. He'd overheard her talking the other day, telling Jackie that 'the real Doctor' would figure out a way to come back for her.
"An' third time's the charm," Rose said.
"I really don't think he will, love," Jackie answered. "He wanted you and John to be happy together."
"How can I be happy with an imitation?" demanded Rose. "Especially someone who lied about being fully human?"
He heard Jackie sigh. "I don't think he lied; I don't think John or the Doctor knew that he'd be able to heal himself like that."
"Why do you always take their side?" asked Rose, beginning to cry. "No one takes my side ever, an' I'm your daughter."
John had slipped away quietly, not wanting to listen to Rose's tears and whining any more. As he walked now, he couldn't help comparing and contrasting Rose's refusal to accept her situation and move on from it, with Martha's acceptance of the tragedy that had struck her life and the way she had grown as a result. The Doctor had always considered the other Martha to be a very strong young woman, and it seemed that this universe's Martha was no different; it made him happy to know they weren't so different from each other, because he felt he knew where she was coming from. Rose, on the other hand, frequently left him wrong-footed because she had become unpredictable in the years she'd spent in this universe.
He thought back to two weeks ago, when he'd finally managed to get into the locked lab after receiving assistance from an unexpected source.
Two weeks ago
"Quietly now," Pete said softly, as they reached Rose's locked lab.
John shot him a look, but didn't answer as he set to work on the electronic lock. Pete had provided him with some tools and equipment, and details of how the locks worked, and he'd spent 24 hours building a device to allow him to get in since Rose had the only key, and neither man could figure out a way of getting it from her, short of drugging her.
John had been surprised, and even slightly suspicious, when Pete had approached him one evening when Rose was out with some mates and offered his assistance in getting into the locked lab.
"Why are you offering to help me break in there?" asked John.
"Because I suspect she's trying to get the dimension cannon to work again, and I know, just as well as you do, that we can't let her use it. We might not be so lucky the third time we breach the walls between the universes, and quite frankly, I'm not about to die at the hands of an irresponsible girl."
Pete folded his arms across his chest and John sensed the same sort of steeliness in the man that the Doctor had noticed that day of the Battle of Canary Wharf, when Pete had taken the Time Lord back to the alternate world and insisted that the Doctor help them.
"You don't like her much, do you?" John asked.
The other man shook his head. "No. She's not my daughter, if she was, I'd have given her a few hidings and taught her to be a bit less thoughtless and selfish. I don't blame Jacks, she must have had it tough, bringing Rose up by herself after losing her husband, but it seems to me that Rose lacks self-control. In which case, it's up to us to make sure she can't do what she wants."
John nodded. "Okay, I accept your help. Thank you."
Pete smiled grimly. "Just give me a list of what tools and equipment you need, and we'll go from there."
Both men heard the quiet snick of the lock as John's device tripped it, and they straightened up and slipped inside the door, which Pete locked again.
John stared in dismay at the device in the centre of the room: it really did look like a cannon, albeit an electronic one, then he hurried over and began peering at the controls. After ten minutes he was removing panels and re-wiring circuits while Pete remained standing by the door, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps.
After half an hour of work John was satisfied that the cannon could never be used again; he then moved over to look at the computer and soon managed to find the way in to the plans for the device. He deleted the files, then set the computer to defragment the hard drive so that the deleted files would be over-written and scrambled up. He had checked the 'recently used files' list on the design programme and found that the files had only ever been saved to this particular computer terminal: no one had ever saved the file to the network, or a memory stick, or some other portable storage device, which gave him confidence that Rose didn't have copies of the plans elsewhere.
"I'm done," John said softly, and joined Pete at the door.
They slipped out, allowing the door to lock behind them, then made their way down to the basement and the generator room where John tinkered with the controls and caused it to overload, shorting out several floors on the same side of the building as Rose's secret lab. Pete had assured him that everything on the Torchwood network was backed up at regular intervals so there wouldn't be any data loss to inconvenience anyone except Rose, and because of his sabotage on the generator, she wouldn't be able to conclusively prove that he'd been responsible.
"Let's get out of here," Pete said softly and John nodded. They slipped away from the building quickly and quietly, keeping to the shadows, and didn't stop moving until they were clear across the other side of London. Both men had peeled off and discarded their gloves, dumping them in bin outside one of the local fish and chip shops.
"Let's go and get a pint," Pete suggested. "Might as well make our alibi a bit more solid, just in case someone other than Rose starts asking questions about where we were tonight."
"Okay." John followed the other man into a pub, absent mindedly noting the name: The Market Tavern, which he only later remembered was the name of the pub where the Doctor had picked up the other Martha on the night of her brother's 21st birthday party.
* * * * * *
Now
John remembered the furore that had erupted on the Monday morning when Rose had discovered what had happened to the computer in the locked lab on Friday night, and while she hadn't made any accusations during working hours, she'd really lost her temper with him at home that evening. However he and Pete had done their work so well that there was no way she could prove that John had been behind the power surge and the loss of her data.
The relief of knowing that there was no way Rose could attempt to return to her own universe again had been worth the tears and shouting that had filled the evening, and she'd been cold-shouldering him for the most part ever since.
John wondered now, whether it would be a good idea to find somewhere else to live; much as he cared about Jackie and Tony, and much as he liked Pete, it was becoming very stressful living in the same house as Rose. He forced himself not to consider whether he and Martha would get together: it was too soon for that and despite the fact that she seemed to like him, he didn't want to presume too much. He knew he'd scared her this morning when he'd reacted so badly to her teasing about his choice of breakfast food, and that rant about his intelligence and his mother had been Donna, not him. If he was entirely honest with himself, his rages and his episodes of 'spacing out', when he got so lost in his/Donna's/the Doctor's memories that he became unaware of anything or anyone else, were worrying him too. He hoped that Martha's psychiatrist would be able to help, because he didn't know who else to turn and he was beginning to wonder if he was going mad.
* * * * * *
The weekend seemed to drag for John and it was a relief to go back to work on Monday, even if he did have to endure stares from people when they spotted his newly-green eyes. His mobile rang at 10 am, and Martha told him that she'd arranged an appointment for him with Anna, her psychiatrist, on Wednesday afternoon.
"It's at four," Martha said, "and it'll be about an hour, so why don't I pick you up afterwards and you can come and have dinner with me, and we'll talk?"
"Thank you, I'd like that," John answered, wondering if he sounded as relieved as he felt. He made a note of her directions to Anna's office and then hung up. He sat grinning madly for a few minutes at the prospect of seeing Martha again, then he remembered he'd need to tell his supervisor he was finishing early on Wednesday to see a doctor.
* * * * * *
Martha was waiting for John when he got out of Anna's office and she saw at once that his demeanour had changed: he looked like a man who'd previously had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and had now had that burden taken away.
"Hello," she said, hugging him.
"Hello!" He hugged her back, then ducked his head to kiss her quick and hard on the mouth. He felt her stiffen in surprise and pulled back, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I'm really sorry," he babbled, letting go of her and backing away several paces.
"John, it's okay," she said soothingly. She stepped up to him and took his hand. "Stop panicking, and come and get in the car." She led him across the road to the car park and they climbed into the car in silence. He was blushing furiously and she could see that he was on the verge of tears.
"I'm not mad at you for kissing me," she told him. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all. I wasn't sure yet if you felt as attracted to me as I do to you."
His head shot up and he looked at her, eyes wide with astonishment. "You - You're attracted to me?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.
"Very," she answered. "Is that so surprising?"
"Well, yes," he said, "Blokes - I mean women - I - oh bloody hell!" He covered his face with his hands.
Martha reached over and pulled his hands down, holding them in hers. "It's okay, John, it's okay." She leant over and brushed a kiss across his mouth. "What did Anna say?"
"She thinks that I'm suffering from the equivalent of Dissociative Identity Disorder, except that in my case, there really are three people in my head: me, Donna and the Doctor. She thinks that with time and help, I can combine the three, or that the Donna and Doctor parts of me will become sublimated so that they don't take over my head." He frowned. "Basically, I'm going to need a lot therapy."
"Are you going to work with her, then?"
He nodded. "She seems like a smart and caring woman." He looked away. "She reminded me of you, actually."
Martha laughed softly. "You'll find she's a lot more patient than I am," she told him.
He looked around at her. "I find it hard to believe you're not patient," he said sincerely.
"Well, maybe when you know me better, you'll find out. Anyway, that's for the future." She started her car and drove them back across the city.
They were both silent on the drive back to Martha's house. John was mostly thinking about what he and Anna had discussed, but his mind kept bouncing back to the thought that Martha found him attractive. In this matter, at least, he realised he was more like Donna than the Doctor (who never seemed to have any trouble attracting people to him); the redhead had had very little confidence in her ability to attract men, largely thanks to her mother's constant belittlement of her.
Martha was thinking about John's diagnosis from Anna and wondering how she could help him; she was wondering whether to suggest that he work at UNIT as she wasn't convinced remaining at Torchwood would be good for him. She was trying not to think about John kissing her, because that would be far too distracting when she was driving; his kiss had surprised her, but she was pleased that he reciprocated her feelings.
"Here we are," she said, breaking the silence as she turned into her drive.
A few minutes later they were inside. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.
"Coffee, please," John answered, following her. He sat down at the breakfast bar with his back to it so he could watch while Martha got out the mugs and filled the kettle with water. Once everything was prepared she crossed over to stand in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. After a moment he put his hands to her waist and gently pulled her to stand between his knees.
"You really fancy me?" he asked, as if he still couldn't quite believe it.
She nodded, smirking a little. "From the moment I bumped into you the other night in the pub and saw your green eyes," she told him.
"You like men with green eyes then?" he asked.
"I like your green eyes," she answered, moving closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead, then kissing the tip of his nose, before she softly kissed his mouth.
"God Martha," he murmured. "I - "
"Shh. Less talk," she told him, "more kissing." She moved her hands up to cup his face and his mind flashed back to the Doctor kissing Martha in the hospital on the Moon. He felt suddenly dizzy and pulled back.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"What is it?" she asked, resting her forehead against his and rubbing her right index finger down his sideburn.
"There's something I still haven't told you," he said, as the kettle began to boil.
She pulled back to look at his anxious face. "Okay, I'm probably rushing you, which is completely unfair, so I'll make the coffee, and we'll sit in the other room and talk."
He nodded, wondering how much he should tell her about Martha in the other universe. He didn't know whether she'd be repulsed by the idea that he was attracted to her because of the Doctor's and Donna's friendship with the other Martha, but he knew he had to tell her about her doppelganger sooner rather than later, because if he let something slip later, she might never forgive him for keeping quiet about it.
Martha made the coffee and they moved into the sitting room. John made a point of sitting down in an armchair in case Martha felt the need to keep her distance; she quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly surprised by his seating choice, but she didn't comment. Instead she sat down on the end of the sofa, tucking her feet up underneath her, and gave him an expectant look.
He took a quick sip of his coffee, even though it was really too hot to drink just yet, then he fixed his eyes on his feet and began to tell her the story of the other Martha Jones. He talked of how the Doctor had met Martha in the Royal Hope Hospital, of the Judoon and the Plasmavore, how they had saved each other's lives that day, and how she had impressed the Doctor with her quick thinking, her compassion, and the calm manner with which she dealt with the whole situation. John gave Martha a brief account of the other Martha's travels with the Doctor, and talked about the year she had spent walking the world in order to save it from the Master.
John explained about Martha's feelings for the Doctor, and that the Time Lord had been too hung up on what had happened to Rose to properly appreciate Martha for herself. Then he told her how devastated Martha's family had been by all that they had witnessed during the year that the Master had been in control, the year that Doctor had then rewound but hadn't been able to erase from their memories.
"She decided not to travel with the Doctor again after that: she wanted to look after her family and finish her studies," he said, "and she knew that I - that he - didn't feel the same way that she did, and she didn't want to feel that she was wasting her life pining over something she couldn't have. I think that year she spent walking the world and telling her story about the Doctor put everything into perspective for her - it gave her an emotional as well as a physical distance from him, and it helped her to realise that her priorities hadn't really changed. She wanted to go on saving people's lives, but not at his side, although she's working for UNIT in the other universe, so she's still involved with aliens, just not that particular alien."
By the time he'd finished, his voice was a little hoarse, and he wondered if this was how the other Martha had felt during her year of walking the world. This Martha hadn't said a word during his narrative and he hadn't dared to look at her, scared of what her reaction might be.
"That's quite a story," she said now, her voice soft, but her amazement obvious.
John lifted his head and looked over at her. "She's quite a woman," he said, noticing that she didn't look horrified or revolted by his story.
"She sounds it." She smiled. "So, are you going to sit over there, all by yourself, or are you going to come over here and sit with me?"
He got up and moved around the coffee table to sit beside her.
"You were scared to tell me about Martha," she observed.
He nodded. "I thought you might think I was only interested in you out of a sense of guilt on the Doctor's behalf for the way he behaved to her."
"Are you?"
He shook his head. "I admit I was predisposed to like you the minute I met you, but you're not her. I can imagine she might be more like you in another few years: you're older, more experienced, more confident and secure in who you are. And - " he paused, uncertain whether she'd appreciate what he'd been about to say.
"And what?"
"You're bolder than she is around men."
Martha quirked an eyebrow at him again. "Is that okay?"
He thought she sounded a little uncertain, which surprised him. "I like it," he answered.
"Good." She put an arm around his neck and pulled him forward to kiss him quickly. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Do you want to come and help me cook?"
"Is that a good idea, after the other morning?"
She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't burn anything," she assured him.
"Okay."
He followed Martha out to the kitchen and began getting out saucepans and things as she directed him, while she got out spaghetti, mince, and the ingredients for Bolognese sauce. John chopped and stirred, and mixed and strained, following Martha's instructions, until they were sitting down to eat spaghetti Bolognese together.
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked as she poured them both a glass of wine to go with their meal.
"No," he admitted.
"And it was quite enjoyable?"
He nodded. "Although I think I probably enjoyed it more because we were cooking together," he admitted.
She grinned at him as she twirled spaghetti on her fork. "Is that your way of asking me for cooking lessons?"
He looked startled and she realised that he genuinely hadn't thought of that possibility. "I don't know," he answered. "I mean, yeah, I'd like you to teach me to cook, if you want to, but Jackie's got a cook of her own, so it's not like I'll get much practise."
"Well you could always come and cook for me once a week or something," she suggested.
He looked up with his fork poised half way to his mouth. "Really? You mean you want to see me again?"
Martha laughed. "I thought we covered this in the car, earlier? I fancy you, and I hope to see a lot more of you in time." She winked at him, then smirked when he blushed and ducked his head. "Is that okay with you?"
He nodded. "Yes please." He ate a mouthful of food, then added. "You know you're going to have your work cut out, though, dating me."
She reached across and clasped his hand in hers. "I think it'll be worth it," she told him. "I'm intrigued to find out what sort of man you are."
John thought back to what the Doctor had said about him on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay: You were born in battle, full of blood and anger and revenge, and he wondered if he should tell Martha that, but then she already knew about his rage, and he wasn't sure about either the revenge or the blood, now that the Daleks were gone.
"John."
He looked up at the sound of his name.
"You okay?" Martha asked.
He nodded. "Sorry, just remembering something that I was told. I didn't space out, did I?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly," she said, "but you looked like you might."
"Sorry." He sighed. "Are you really sure about this, Martha, about us getting together?"
"I'm sure," she answered with conviction. "I want to help you, and I think you need some friends who are outside your situation." She squeezed his fingers. "Finish eating and we can talk about this afterwards."
They finished eating and Martha made some coffee again, and they took that and the wine into the sitting room where they settled down together on the sofa.
"Have you thought about quitting Torchwood?" she asked.
John looked surprised. "I did actually, but I wasn't sure what I'd do instead."
"Well what about UNIT? You could come and see Colonel Chaudhry, who recruited me, and see what she has to say."
"Okay."
"If you think we're moving too fast, say so," Martha said. "I don't want to rush or push you into anything, but I don't think you should stay at Torchwood, and I'm pretty sure we could use your skills and knowledge at UNIT."
He nodded. "I'd rather not go on working there, and if I could be useful at UNIT, well I'd rather work for them. The Doctor did, and Martha does, so I'd feel more at home there."
"I'll have a word with Colonel Chaudhry tomorrow and I'll let you know what she says."
She picked up her coffee mug and looked into it while she spoke. "And in the spirit of not rushing things or pushing anyone into anything, I think we should take things slowly, get to know each other properly, before we take things too far."
John swallowed. "How slowly?" he asked.
Martha looked up and gave a shrug. "I don't know. I'm not the Martha you know, and while you're not the Doctor, you've got his memories and thoughts in your head, so maybe you should get to know who John is, as well getting to know who I am, while I get to know you." She shifted to lean against him. "I'm not saying we shouldn't kiss and cuddle, but maybe we shouldn't jump into shagging straight away."
"I suppose I can understand that reasoning. Besides, you might not like John once you know him better."
She twisted around to look up at his face. "I think I will," she answered, "but time will tell." She kissed his cheek. "Do you want to watch a movie?"
He nodded, so she slipped off the sofa and went over to her bookshelves, and after a brief discussion they decided to watch "Erin Brockovich"; they sat side by side on the sofa, Martha with her feet tucked up and her head resting on John's shoulder while he wrapped an arm around her. He was reminded of the Doctor and the other Martha watching TV together in 1969, but he pushed the memory aside, wanting to savour this moment, not get lost in that one. While a part of him was disappointed that Martha had suggested taking things slowly between them, a much larger part of him considered it a sensible idea. He was terrified of hurting her, as the Doctor had hurt the other Martha, and she was right about him needing to get to know who he was, as well as needing to get to know this Martha.
Maybe life in this other universe wouldn't be too bad after all.
Title: Alternatives: New Beginnings (2/2)
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Human-Ten/Alt-Martha, Alt-Martha/Mickey, Jackie, Pete, Rose, Tony
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Seasons 2 - 4
Summary: Trying to find his feet in Pete's World, the Human Doctor learns something unexpected about himself and makes a new friend.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish I did own it!
Warning: Don't read this if you think Rose is the bees knees, because I don't. If you choose to ignore this warning and then flame me, don't expect me to be nice about it.
Author Notes: jadekirk wondered "What if Handy and Ten were wrong about Handy and found that he did have an extended lifespan and/or could regenerate (even if it's a small part of him, like his eye/hair colour/accent/freckle count/etc)? I know it's canon that he can't, but I would love to see Handy with a long life." And the plot bunnies seized on the idea and ran away with it in rather spectacular fashion.
The first part of this story is here.
Beta: The wonderful shadowturquoise
* * * * * *
Fic Banner: angelfireeast
John slept restlessly, dreaming of Martha (and Adeola) facing the Cybermen and Daleks, of battling them both with the Doctor and Donna, and of failing to save Martha (in this universe or his old one) from the steel men or Davros' creatures.
He woke abruptly at 5 am, shaking and sweating from his nightmares. After lying trembling and wishing for someone to hold and soothe him, he sat up, then swung his legs off the sofa. He thought for a moment, then decided he'd better not walk around almost naked in someone else's house, and pulled on his trousers and shoes before padding out to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He drank the water standing in the open doorway of Martha's kitchen, looking out over her back garden and listening to the dawn chorus, inhaling the scents of the new day. The garden consisted of a lawn and, at the far end, a sycamore tree with a bench at its foot. He wondered if Martha was uninterested in flowers, or simply didn't have the time for gardening; she'd made it clear the night before that she often worked long hours, so he assumed it was a lack of time that resulted in such a bare garden.
Closing the door again, he checked the time and saw that it was still only 5.30 am: far too early to do much without disturbing Martha; like the Doctor, he didn't need as much sleep as humans, although he certainly could not go for more one night without any sleep, unlike the Time Lord. He wandered back into the sitting room, deciding to satisfy his curiosity of the evening before by taking a good look at Martha's bookshelves. He noticed everything was arranged by genre, and he quickly discovered that she had an eclectic taste in music and viewing material: there were classical, jazz, rock and world music CDs in her collection, and he recognised many of the names from his own universe. The DVDs were divided up into comedies, science fiction and fantasy, drama and non-fiction documentaries, most of the latter being about space or the natural world. There were also boxed sets of TV shows, mostly costume dramas, although there were a handful of comedy series as well.
The books, John discovered, were mostly fiction, apart from some non-fiction books that appeared to accompany the non-fiction DVDs. He remembered that Martha had pointed out her study upstairs and concluded that the bulk of her non-fiction books were up there. He pulled down a volume of Shakespeare's Sonnets, remembering the Doctor's first trip with the other Martha, and found the Dark Lady section.
After an hour and a half spent reading, John was starting to feel hungry, so he returned Martha's books to their proper places on her shelves, then went into the kitchen. It would, he decided, be a nice gesture for him to make Martha some breakfast in bed. He remembered the Doctor making scrambled eggs on toast with sausages and baked beans as a weekend breakfast treat when he and the other Martha had been stuck in 1969, so he pulled out saucepans, plates and cutlery, then assembled the necessary food and set to work.
Fifteen minutes later, the smoke alarm in the kitchen was shrieking, and John was staring with a crestfallen expression at the burnt toast and incinerated sausages that he'd been attempting to grill, while Martha scrambled up onto a chair to shut off the alarm, a distinctly unimpressed expression on her face.
In the ringing silence that followed John twisted his hands together, looking like a scared child. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not daring to meet her eyes as she surveyed the ruins of breakfast.
She sighed. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose," she said wearily. He looked so abject that she couldn't bring herself to properly yell at him, which had been her first impulse when the alarm had so rudely awoken her.
"There's a coffee shop about three doors from the Market Tavern. Why don't you go and get us some coffee and croissants, or whatever you prefer, and I'll clear up."
"I can clear it up," he said quickly, then subsided again when she raised her eyebrows at him. "Coffee and croissants," he mumbled, going to put on his shirt and jacket.
Martha dumped the toast and sausages in the bin, then set aside the saucepan containing the eggs. She was grateful John hadn't got as far as attempting to scramble the eggs since she had a feeling he would probably have ruined her saucepan in the process.
She looked up as he sidled back into the kitchen, an obviously genuine look of remorse on his face.
"I take it you've never learnt to cook?" she asked, smirking a little.
He shook his head. "The Doctor's a reasonably good cook, but Donna didn't have any interest - I guess I take after her, not him, in this case."
He looked so forlorn as he said this, that Martha quickly crossed the room to pull him into a hug. "I didn't learn how to cook until after Addy died," she told him. "Like Donna, I had no interest, but Addy loved it, so she always cooked for us both. For the first year or so after she died, I ate either takeaways or microwave meals until I got bored with both, and decided it was time to learn. I still don't love it like Addy did, but I feel closer to her when I cook, so I persevere."
She reached up and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. "Coffee and croissants," she reminded him.
He nodded, then rubbed at his wet eyes, before accepting a plastic card from her.
"What's this?" he asked curiously, turning it over in his long fingers.
"Loyalty card," she told him. "Every time I use it at that coffee shop, they give me points towards free purchases, and they also donate a percentage of the cost I spend to a charity of my choice."
"Sounds like a good scheme," he commented, slipping the plastic rectangle into his wallet.
"If you tell whoever's serving that you want my usual, they'll put it up for you." She held out a £5 note, which he looked at, but didn't take.
"The least I can do after ruining my attempt at breakfast in bed is to buy you coffee and croissants," he told her.
"All right, I'll see you shortly then."
He nodded, then went out and Martha went back to clearing up the kitchen. She hadn't said so, but she thought it was quite sweet that he'd wanted to make breakfast in bed for her. But neither had she told him that if he had made it, she wouldn't have wanted to eat it, not at this early hour: she had long since discovered that she couldn't stomach cooked food before 11 am at the earliest. So it was just as well, really, that John hadn't managed to prepare the breakfast that he'd been planning for her.
Martha wondered, as she finished clearing up, just why she felt so drawn to John: an instant attraction to someone wasn't that unusual for her, but she rarely acted on it. The last time she had acted on such an attraction, it had actually been with someone else from the same universe as John, someone she'd met quite by accident.
* * * * * *
John rang Martha's doorbell with a quick stab of his little finger and felt grateful that she had a bell and not a knocker since one of his hands was clutching two paper bags containing their breakfast, while the other was holding a cardboard cupholder containing their two cups of coffee.
When Martha opened the door he felt his heart flutter: she'd put on a kimono over the t-shirt and sleep shorts she'd been wearing when the smoke alarm had gone off, and he couldn't help thinking that she looked even more gorgeous in the gold dragon patterned, deep red silk garment.
"Are you coming in or are you going to stand there staring all day?" she asked, half amused, half exasperated by his reaction.
He stepped inside, moving slightly awkwardly, and she suddenly wondered if he was aroused at the sight of her; she blushed at the thought, but she couldn't help feeling a little pleased too.
They went into the kitchen and settled down at the breakfast bar to eat: Martha had two Pain au chocolate, while John had got himself a Pain aux raisin and a banana, which she couldn't help giggling about when he opened his bag.
"I like bananas," he protested, irritated by her giggling.
She laughed properly. "There's nothing wrong with liking bananas, it's just the combination of the pastry and the fruit, it seems a little whimsical."
He glowered at her, and her laughter died when she saw the dark expression on his face: the amount of pent-up anger there startled her.
"John?" She spoke his name softly, as if he was a wild animal, and she reached out carefully to take his hand in hers.
"I hate being made fun of," he said savagely, pulling his hand back abruptly. "People always treating me like I'm some kind of idiot when I'm not. I'm pretty bloody intelligent, I'll have you know! My mother always thinking I was useless and I'd never amount to much!"
"I'm sorry, John," Martha said quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just teasing you, like friends do."
He glared at her, breathing hard and fast, and she waited, not moving or speaking, and wondering what he was going to do: he looked quite angry enough to smash everything within reach.
After a few moments she could see that he was visibly struggling to control his anger, and she reached out again, daring to touch him.
As Martha's fingers made contact with his hand, John felt his anger subside, like a wave washing back out to sea, and he struggled to appear calm again. Then she moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, and he found that he couldn't hold back the tears that were threatening to choke him.
"It's okay," he heard her whisper. "Let it out John, let it go."
She held him as he sobbed on her shoulder, his skinny frame wracked by the storm of emotion that swept through him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he gasped, once the worst was over. "That was Donna, not me."
"Shh, shh. It's okay," she soothed, rubbing one hand between his shoulder blades.
Eventually he straightened up again, and she gave him some tissues from the box on the corner of the breakfast bar, and he dried his eyes and face, wondering if he'd just ruined his chance of friendship with her.
But this was Martha Jones who, whatever universe she was in, was a doctor through and through, always wanting to heal and help others.
"Do you often get that angry?" she asked once they'd resumed their interrupted breakfast.
"The last time was a month ago," he answered, his eyes fixed squarely on his food.
"Have you tried talking to anyone about it? And about the episodes of spacing out?"
"I spoke to someone at Torchwood, but we didn't get on very well. He accused me of paranoia and didn't seem to believe half of what I told him." He smiled grimly. "This, despite the fact that he works for Torchwood."
"Would you be willing to try again if I put you in touch with my psychiatrist? She works for UNIT, although she doesn't work on the base, so she'd be less likely to dismiss your story as madness."
"Why do you care, Martha Jones?" John asked abruptly.
She began clearing away their rubbish. "Do you remember what I told you last night, that we have a mutual acquaintance in common?"
He nodded.
"I knew Mickey Smith," she told him, watching as he started, then stared at her in surprise.
"How?" he asked, once he'd found his voice.
"Come through to the other room and I'll tell you. It's a bit of a long story."
John followed her into the sitting room and saw immediately that she'd tidied away the bedding he'd used the night before. They settled onto the sofa, side by side, and Martha began her narrative.
Two years ago
Martha was on her way home from work after staying late to finish writing a report when she spotted someone lying half on the pavement and half in the road. She pulled up quickly, leaving the engine running so that the headlights illuminated the figure, and climbed out of the car to investigate.
"Bloody hell!" She couldn't help swearing when she saw the state of the young man she'd found: there were lengthy gashes across his chest, ribs and legs, and his dark skin was a livid red beneath his torn clothing. She knelt down beside him and put two fingers to his neck, heaving a sigh of relief when she found his pulse, even as she worried about how erratic it was.
As she was bending closer to look at the gashes he began to stir, uttering a long drawn out groan.
"Mack?"
"It's not Mack," she told him, one hand on his arm as he opened his eyes.
"You look like an angel, but this can't be heaven," he mumbled, "I hurt too much."
Martha frowned and held up a hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, wondering if he was concussed.
"Two," he answered after squinting at her fingers for a moment.
"And what's your name, can you remember?" She was gently checking for broken bones as she spoke.
"Mickey - Smith."
"All right, Mr Smith, I don't think you're concussed, or that you've got any broken bones, so let's get you into my car and I'll drive you to the hospital."
"Where's Phil?" he asked, "and Mack?"
Martha shook her head as she helped him to sit up. "No idea, sorry. When I found you, you were on your own."
"Are there - " He swallowed hard, his eyes huge in the light from her car. "Are there any bodies?"
She frowned, concerned by his question. "No, it's just us."
"Shit!" He looked stricken. "Sorry, it's just - " He broke off and put a hand up to his ear, then cursed again quietly. "Is there a phone headset around?"
Martha gave him a searching look, wondering about his priorities, then checked the ground near where he'd lain. "Here."
She lifted the broken headset from the gutter and Mickey accepted the pieces with a hollow expression, stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. He allowed Martha to help him to his feet and over to her car.
She could feel him trembling and hear every ragged breath he took as they moved even that short distance, and she hoped he wasn't going to go into shock before she could get him to the hospital.
"I don't know your name," he said suddenly, his voice hoarse, as she settled him onto the back seat of her car.
"Martha, Dr Martha Jones," she answered.
"A doctor huh? Lucky me, getting found by a doctor."
"Do you remember what you were doing to get into this state?" she asked as she got into the driver's seat and fastened her seat belt before pulling away.
"That's classified," he told her.
She gave him a sharp glance in the driver's mirror, her expression hardening. "You're Torchwood?" she asked. "I know you're not with UNIT, I'd have remembered you if you were."
She saw his eyes widen in surprise before she turned her attention back to the road.
"You're that Martha Jones," he said, his voice filled with respect.
"Which Martha Jones is that?" she asked blandly, wondering what Torchwood knew or said about her.
"You treated the people who'd been captured by Cybus Industries, the ones who hadn't been converted into Cybermen and were left behind at Battersea. Me and Jake heard about it before we left London."
Martha glanced in the driving mirror again and saw he was giving her a look of intense admiration which made her blush.
"I just did what anyone would have done," she said, her attention back on the road again.
"No they wouldn't," Mickey asserted. "Most of the people me and Jake met were far too terrified to do anything for themselves, let alone help others."
Martha grunted but didn't respond. She preferred not to think about the events that had led to her being recruited by UNIT: it was still too painful to remember that while she'd been able to save so many lives, she'd been too late to help the one person she'd wanted to save - her twin sister. In those days she had known nothing of UNIT or Torchwood, all she had known was that her sister had gone to Battersea: she'd had a sudden image of the Power Station and known, as twins often do, where Adeola was.
By the time Martha had arrived there, Adeola had already been converted and then killed, but she hadn't found that out immediately, and she'd spent hours searching for her twin, trying to help the other people she found as best she could with painkillers or morphine in the case of those who were simply too far gone. Then the UNIT personnel had arrived and she'd been swept into their operation by virtue of being on the site, and capable of answering questions in a calm and intelligent manner. By the middle of the following morning she had established that Adeola had already been converted the night before, and UNIT had offered her a job with them, with the proviso that if she took it, she would undergo psychiatric evaluation and, if necessary, psychotherapy. Colonel Chaudhry had been worried about Martha's mental and emotional health in the wake of what she'd seen and done that night, but she had also recognised that the young woman could be a very valuable asset to UNIT, and Martha, angry and wanting revenge for her sister's death, had promptly agreed.
"Hey, you said you were taking me to the hospital," Mickey said suddenly.
She nodded. "Unless you want me to take you to Torchwood Tower?"
He scowled. "They wouldn't thank you, if you did," he said. "Can you drop me somewhere please, and I'll ring them and get them to pick me up?"
"How come they left you behind in the first place?" asked Martha. "No UNIT team would dream of leaving a man behind like that."
She heard him shifting on the seat behind her and glanced in the mirror to see him looking uncomfortable.
"It's the new policy," he mumbled. "Get the tech at any cost."
Martha scowled. "Even for Torchwood, that's a sleazy policy," she said. "You seem like a decent guy, Mickey Smith, so why are you working for them?"
"It's a long story," he said, "and now's not really the best time to be telling it."
She shook her head. "Where do you want me to drop you?"
He peered out of the window at the street. "Anywhere around here should do," he said. "Thanks babe."
"I'm not a babe!" she snapped.
"Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "No offence intended."
Martha felt slightly ashamed of her anger. Normally she wouldn't mind being called a babe by someone as good looking as Mickey Smith, but their conversation had stirred up a lot of painful memories.
"It's okay," she said. "I'm sorry I snapped." She pulled into a lay-by in front of some shops. "Give them a ring and you can wait in my car until they arrive."
He opened his mouth to object, but she forestalled him. "It's starting to rain, and you're injured, so don't be an idiot, okay?"
He nodded. "Thanks."
She switched on the windscreen wipers and waited while he rang Torchwood. After a few minutes he grunted, then tried a different number, and then a third.
"That's odd," he muttered.
"What?"
"No one's answering."
She half turned and looked at him between the front seats of the car. "That normal for your lot?" she asked.
"No." He looked bewildered.
"So what do you want to do? I could take you to a regular hospital - although I'm not sure how you're going to explain your wounds, or I can take you back to the infirmary at UNIT. Either way, you really should get those wounds treated soon."
"UNIT, I guess. Sorry about this," he mumbled.
"Doesn't matter," she told him. She pulled out of the lay-by and executed a neat 3-point turn to take him back to the UNIT HQ. She couldn't help wondering, as she drove, just what his story was. She had never had a very high regard for Torchwood once she learned of their existence: their policies regarding aliens and alien technology were far more hardline than UNIT's. And just lately there had been some disturbing rumours about something called a 'dimension cannon'.
"Here we are then," Martha said, shaking off her reverie and trying for cheerfulness as she pulled up outside the Infirmary building.
"Thanks." Mickey sounded less chipper than he had and she looked round at him quickly. His dark skin had taken on a sickly hue and she swore softly as she scrambled out of the car and opened the back door.
"Come on, Mr Smith, let's get you inside," she said. She helped him out of the car, but he staggered and then sank down onto the wet ground.
Martha swore again, then pulled out her mobile and rang the night duty desk to ask the sergeant to fetch a stretcher from the Infirmary.
A few minutes later they got Mickey inside and Martha was pulling off her coat ready to swap it for her surgeon's gown.
"Anything else I can do for you, Dr Jones?" asked the Sergeant.
"No thanks, Benton, I'll be fine now. Thanks for your help."
He nodded, then saluted before going back to his post.
Martha quickly washed her hands, then turned her attention to her patient who was now mumbling almost incomprehensibly: the only words she could pick out were 'Don't' and 'Jackie'. He was running a high temperature now and she cursed herself for not just bringing him straight back here in the first place. If he died now, it would be entirely her fault and she would not forgive herself in a hurry.
She undressed him quickly, then wheeled him through to the operating theatre. She would have preferred to have a nurse to assist her, but she didn't dare waste time waiting for Nicky or Lizzie to drive back to work. Mickey didn't look as if he had half an hour to spare, judging by the way he was sweating and muttering as he thrashed about on the bed. It occurred to Martha, rather belatedly, that she hadn't asked him who or what had attacked him, and for all she knew, his wounds had been infected by something poisonous.
She restrained him, needing him to lie still before she could give him an anaesthetic, then slipped the needle into his vein.
Martha quickly pulled on some gloves and a face mask, then took some tissue samples, wanting to analyse them later. Then she washed out his wounds with the all-purpose anti-venom solution she had developed herself a year ago and which had proved to be a useful cleansing agent. She carefully sewed up the gashes across his upper chest, legs and ribs, then dressed the wounds before setting up an IV with a painkiller and antibiotic solution. Then she wheeled his bed back into the ward, before stripping off her gown, gloves and facemask, and carrying the samples through to her lab.
Now
"What was he attacked by?" John asked, as Martha paused in her narrative.
"I never did find out, exactly," she said. "All he'd tell me, once he was conscious again, was that it was over seven feet tall and had very sharp claws. I gathered it was sentient, but not humanoid."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"Oh yes, we dated for a couple of months after that, but I couldn't persuade him to leave Torchwood and join UNIT, and in the end we drifted apart."
John felt a strong flare of jealousy when Martha said she'd dated Mickey; he knew it was a foolish reaction, but he felt an almost proprietary interest in Martha Jones. He kept his mouth shut, however, because Donna was yelling at him in his head, telling him it was no business of his, and that this Martha didn't owe him anything, not that the other one had either.
"He's a brave man, Mickey Smith," John said, breaking the silence before it became really uncomfortable. "I expect he had a good reason for staying with Torchwood."
Martha pulled a face. "He stayed because of Rose, because of the work she was doing building the dimension cannon," she said. "He told me that he felt he had a responsibility to her mum, and that he ought to keep an eye on her." She shook her head. "I understood his decision, but I couldn't agree with it."
She stood up and stretched. "I need to get dressed," she said.
"I ought to be getting back," John said, hoping he didn't sound as reluctant as he felt.
"Give me your mobile number before you go, and I'll give you a ring to let you know about seeing my psychiatrist."
John dug his mobile out of his pocket and waited while Martha got hers, then they swapped numbers.
"I'll give you a ring on Monday," she said, "let you know what Anna says."
"Can I see you again tonight?" he asked tentatively.
"I'm going away," she said, "off to meet up with an old friend, and I won't be back until late tomorrow night."
Martha saw his face fall and guessed he'd been hoping to see her again because he knew that he could talk to her; she strongly suspected he was lonely, as much as anything else.
"I'll talk to you on Monday," she said, "and you can come over again one evening, okay?"
He nodded, his hands shoved into his pockets and an unhappy expression on his face. "Okay."
"I'm sorry, John, but this is a long-standing arrangement. Any other weekend, and I'd have said yes."
"I understand," he answered, moving towards the door.
Martha followed him out into the hall and helped him into his coat, then reached up and pulled his head down to hers. "You'll be okay, John," she told him. "You just have to give yourself time to adjust, like I did." She kissed him briefly on the mouth, leaving him looking stunned.
Then she opened her front door. "I'll see you again, mister," she told him, unknowingly echoing the other Martha's words to the Doctor.
"Thank you," he said, feeling such a mixture of emotions that he felt almost dizzy.
He set off to walk back to the Tyler mansion with a full heart. Donna's voice was loudest in his head: his delight that Martha liked him enough to kiss him was akin to Donna's delight at the prospect of marrying Lance. He winced slightly as he remembered how that had turned out for the redhead, and he made a fervent wish that there would be no aliens to interfere with him getting to know this Martha better.
The Doctor in him was also delighted that Martha cared about him, and that she was the same sort of woman: smart, compassionate, patient and curious. John wished passionately that he had a TARDIS at his disposal so that he could take her to see other planets and times and people. But he knew that it was pointless to wish for the impossible, which was something he didn't think Rose had learnt yet. He'd overheard her talking the other day, telling Jackie that 'the real Doctor' would figure out a way to come back for her.
"An' third time's the charm," Rose said.
"I really don't think he will, love," Jackie answered. "He wanted you and John to be happy together."
"How can I be happy with an imitation?" demanded Rose. "Especially someone who lied about being fully human?"
He heard Jackie sigh. "I don't think he lied; I don't think John or the Doctor knew that he'd be able to heal himself like that."
"Why do you always take their side?" asked Rose, beginning to cry. "No one takes my side ever, an' I'm your daughter."
John had slipped away quietly, not wanting to listen to Rose's tears and whining any more. As he walked now, he couldn't help comparing and contrasting Rose's refusal to accept her situation and move on from it, with Martha's acceptance of the tragedy that had struck her life and the way she had grown as a result. The Doctor had always considered the other Martha to be a very strong young woman, and it seemed that this universe's Martha was no different; it made him happy to know they weren't so different from each other, because he felt he knew where she was coming from. Rose, on the other hand, frequently left him wrong-footed because she had become unpredictable in the years she'd spent in this universe.
He thought back to two weeks ago, when he'd finally managed to get into the locked lab after receiving assistance from an unexpected source.
Two weeks ago
"Quietly now," Pete said softly, as they reached Rose's locked lab.
John shot him a look, but didn't answer as he set to work on the electronic lock. Pete had provided him with some tools and equipment, and details of how the locks worked, and he'd spent 24 hours building a device to allow him to get in since Rose had the only key, and neither man could figure out a way of getting it from her, short of drugging her.
John had been surprised, and even slightly suspicious, when Pete had approached him one evening when Rose was out with some mates and offered his assistance in getting into the locked lab.
"Why are you offering to help me break in there?" asked John.
"Because I suspect she's trying to get the dimension cannon to work again, and I know, just as well as you do, that we can't let her use it. We might not be so lucky the third time we breach the walls between the universes, and quite frankly, I'm not about to die at the hands of an irresponsible girl."
Pete folded his arms across his chest and John sensed the same sort of steeliness in the man that the Doctor had noticed that day of the Battle of Canary Wharf, when Pete had taken the Time Lord back to the alternate world and insisted that the Doctor help them.
"You don't like her much, do you?" John asked.
The other man shook his head. "No. She's not my daughter, if she was, I'd have given her a few hidings and taught her to be a bit less thoughtless and selfish. I don't blame Jacks, she must have had it tough, bringing Rose up by herself after losing her husband, but it seems to me that Rose lacks self-control. In which case, it's up to us to make sure she can't do what she wants."
John nodded. "Okay, I accept your help. Thank you."
Pete smiled grimly. "Just give me a list of what tools and equipment you need, and we'll go from there."
Both men heard the quiet snick of the lock as John's device tripped it, and they straightened up and slipped inside the door, which Pete locked again.
John stared in dismay at the device in the centre of the room: it really did look like a cannon, albeit an electronic one, then he hurried over and began peering at the controls. After ten minutes he was removing panels and re-wiring circuits while Pete remained standing by the door, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps.
After half an hour of work John was satisfied that the cannon could never be used again; he then moved over to look at the computer and soon managed to find the way in to the plans for the device. He deleted the files, then set the computer to defragment the hard drive so that the deleted files would be over-written and scrambled up. He had checked the 'recently used files' list on the design programme and found that the files had only ever been saved to this particular computer terminal: no one had ever saved the file to the network, or a memory stick, or some other portable storage device, which gave him confidence that Rose didn't have copies of the plans elsewhere.
"I'm done," John said softly, and joined Pete at the door.
They slipped out, allowing the door to lock behind them, then made their way down to the basement and the generator room where John tinkered with the controls and caused it to overload, shorting out several floors on the same side of the building as Rose's secret lab. Pete had assured him that everything on the Torchwood network was backed up at regular intervals so there wouldn't be any data loss to inconvenience anyone except Rose, and because of his sabotage on the generator, she wouldn't be able to conclusively prove that he'd been responsible.
"Let's get out of here," Pete said softly and John nodded. They slipped away from the building quickly and quietly, keeping to the shadows, and didn't stop moving until they were clear across the other side of London. Both men had peeled off and discarded their gloves, dumping them in bin outside one of the local fish and chip shops.
"Let's go and get a pint," Pete suggested. "Might as well make our alibi a bit more solid, just in case someone other than Rose starts asking questions about where we were tonight."
"Okay." John followed the other man into a pub, absent mindedly noting the name: The Market Tavern, which he only later remembered was the name of the pub where the Doctor had picked up the other Martha on the night of her brother's 21st birthday party.
* * * * * *
Now
John remembered the furore that had erupted on the Monday morning when Rose had discovered what had happened to the computer in the locked lab on Friday night, and while she hadn't made any accusations during working hours, she'd really lost her temper with him at home that evening. However he and Pete had done their work so well that there was no way she could prove that John had been behind the power surge and the loss of her data.
The relief of knowing that there was no way Rose could attempt to return to her own universe again had been worth the tears and shouting that had filled the evening, and she'd been cold-shouldering him for the most part ever since.
John wondered now, whether it would be a good idea to find somewhere else to live; much as he cared about Jackie and Tony, and much as he liked Pete, it was becoming very stressful living in the same house as Rose. He forced himself not to consider whether he and Martha would get together: it was too soon for that and despite the fact that she seemed to like him, he didn't want to presume too much. He knew he'd scared her this morning when he'd reacted so badly to her teasing about his choice of breakfast food, and that rant about his intelligence and his mother had been Donna, not him. If he was entirely honest with himself, his rages and his episodes of 'spacing out', when he got so lost in his/Donna's/the Doctor's memories that he became unaware of anything or anyone else, were worrying him too. He hoped that Martha's psychiatrist would be able to help, because he didn't know who else to turn and he was beginning to wonder if he was going mad.
* * * * * *
The weekend seemed to drag for John and it was a relief to go back to work on Monday, even if he did have to endure stares from people when they spotted his newly-green eyes. His mobile rang at 10 am, and Martha told him that she'd arranged an appointment for him with Anna, her psychiatrist, on Wednesday afternoon.
"It's at four," Martha said, "and it'll be about an hour, so why don't I pick you up afterwards and you can come and have dinner with me, and we'll talk?"
"Thank you, I'd like that," John answered, wondering if he sounded as relieved as he felt. He made a note of her directions to Anna's office and then hung up. He sat grinning madly for a few minutes at the prospect of seeing Martha again, then he remembered he'd need to tell his supervisor he was finishing early on Wednesday to see a doctor.
* * * * * *
Martha was waiting for John when he got out of Anna's office and she saw at once that his demeanour had changed: he looked like a man who'd previously had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and had now had that burden taken away.
"Hello," she said, hugging him.
"Hello!" He hugged her back, then ducked his head to kiss her quick and hard on the mouth. He felt her stiffen in surprise and pulled back, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I'm really sorry," he babbled, letting go of her and backing away several paces.
"John, it's okay," she said soothingly. She stepped up to him and took his hand. "Stop panicking, and come and get in the car." She led him across the road to the car park and they climbed into the car in silence. He was blushing furiously and she could see that he was on the verge of tears.
"I'm not mad at you for kissing me," she told him. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all. I wasn't sure yet if you felt as attracted to me as I do to you."
His head shot up and he looked at her, eyes wide with astonishment. "You - You're attracted to me?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.
"Very," she answered. "Is that so surprising?"
"Well, yes," he said, "Blokes - I mean women - I - oh bloody hell!" He covered his face with his hands.
Martha reached over and pulled his hands down, holding them in hers. "It's okay, John, it's okay." She leant over and brushed a kiss across his mouth. "What did Anna say?"
"She thinks that I'm suffering from the equivalent of Dissociative Identity Disorder, except that in my case, there really are three people in my head: me, Donna and the Doctor. She thinks that with time and help, I can combine the three, or that the Donna and Doctor parts of me will become sublimated so that they don't take over my head." He frowned. "Basically, I'm going to need a lot therapy."
"Are you going to work with her, then?"
He nodded. "She seems like a smart and caring woman." He looked away. "She reminded me of you, actually."
Martha laughed softly. "You'll find she's a lot more patient than I am," she told him.
He looked around at her. "I find it hard to believe you're not patient," he said sincerely.
"Well, maybe when you know me better, you'll find out. Anyway, that's for the future." She started her car and drove them back across the city.
They were both silent on the drive back to Martha's house. John was mostly thinking about what he and Anna had discussed, but his mind kept bouncing back to the thought that Martha found him attractive. In this matter, at least, he realised he was more like Donna than the Doctor (who never seemed to have any trouble attracting people to him); the redhead had had very little confidence in her ability to attract men, largely thanks to her mother's constant belittlement of her.
Martha was thinking about John's diagnosis from Anna and wondering how she could help him; she was wondering whether to suggest that he work at UNIT as she wasn't convinced remaining at Torchwood would be good for him. She was trying not to think about John kissing her, because that would be far too distracting when she was driving; his kiss had surprised her, but she was pleased that he reciprocated her feelings.
"Here we are," she said, breaking the silence as she turned into her drive.
A few minutes later they were inside. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.
"Coffee, please," John answered, following her. He sat down at the breakfast bar with his back to it so he could watch while Martha got out the mugs and filled the kettle with water. Once everything was prepared she crossed over to stand in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. After a moment he put his hands to her waist and gently pulled her to stand between his knees.
"You really fancy me?" he asked, as if he still couldn't quite believe it.
She nodded, smirking a little. "From the moment I bumped into you the other night in the pub and saw your green eyes," she told him.
"You like men with green eyes then?" he asked.
"I like your green eyes," she answered, moving closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead, then kissing the tip of his nose, before she softly kissed his mouth.
"God Martha," he murmured. "I - "
"Shh. Less talk," she told him, "more kissing." She moved her hands up to cup his face and his mind flashed back to the Doctor kissing Martha in the hospital on the Moon. He felt suddenly dizzy and pulled back.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"What is it?" she asked, resting her forehead against his and rubbing her right index finger down his sideburn.
"There's something I still haven't told you," he said, as the kettle began to boil.
She pulled back to look at his anxious face. "Okay, I'm probably rushing you, which is completely unfair, so I'll make the coffee, and we'll sit in the other room and talk."
He nodded, wondering how much he should tell her about Martha in the other universe. He didn't know whether she'd be repulsed by the idea that he was attracted to her because of the Doctor's and Donna's friendship with the other Martha, but he knew he had to tell her about her doppelganger sooner rather than later, because if he let something slip later, she might never forgive him for keeping quiet about it.
Martha made the coffee and they moved into the sitting room. John made a point of sitting down in an armchair in case Martha felt the need to keep her distance; she quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly surprised by his seating choice, but she didn't comment. Instead she sat down on the end of the sofa, tucking her feet up underneath her, and gave him an expectant look.
He took a quick sip of his coffee, even though it was really too hot to drink just yet, then he fixed his eyes on his feet and began to tell her the story of the other Martha Jones. He talked of how the Doctor had met Martha in the Royal Hope Hospital, of the Judoon and the Plasmavore, how they had saved each other's lives that day, and how she had impressed the Doctor with her quick thinking, her compassion, and the calm manner with which she dealt with the whole situation. John gave Martha a brief account of the other Martha's travels with the Doctor, and talked about the year she had spent walking the world in order to save it from the Master.
John explained about Martha's feelings for the Doctor, and that the Time Lord had been too hung up on what had happened to Rose to properly appreciate Martha for herself. Then he told her how devastated Martha's family had been by all that they had witnessed during the year that the Master had been in control, the year that Doctor had then rewound but hadn't been able to erase from their memories.
"She decided not to travel with the Doctor again after that: she wanted to look after her family and finish her studies," he said, "and she knew that I - that he - didn't feel the same way that she did, and she didn't want to feel that she was wasting her life pining over something she couldn't have. I think that year she spent walking the world and telling her story about the Doctor put everything into perspective for her - it gave her an emotional as well as a physical distance from him, and it helped her to realise that her priorities hadn't really changed. She wanted to go on saving people's lives, but not at his side, although she's working for UNIT in the other universe, so she's still involved with aliens, just not that particular alien."
By the time he'd finished, his voice was a little hoarse, and he wondered if this was how the other Martha had felt during her year of walking the world. This Martha hadn't said a word during his narrative and he hadn't dared to look at her, scared of what her reaction might be.
"That's quite a story," she said now, her voice soft, but her amazement obvious.
John lifted his head and looked over at her. "She's quite a woman," he said, noticing that she didn't look horrified or revolted by his story.
"She sounds it." She smiled. "So, are you going to sit over there, all by yourself, or are you going to come over here and sit with me?"
He got up and moved around the coffee table to sit beside her.
"You were scared to tell me about Martha," she observed.
He nodded. "I thought you might think I was only interested in you out of a sense of guilt on the Doctor's behalf for the way he behaved to her."
"Are you?"
He shook his head. "I admit I was predisposed to like you the minute I met you, but you're not her. I can imagine she might be more like you in another few years: you're older, more experienced, more confident and secure in who you are. And - " he paused, uncertain whether she'd appreciate what he'd been about to say.
"And what?"
"You're bolder than she is around men."
Martha quirked an eyebrow at him again. "Is that okay?"
He thought she sounded a little uncertain, which surprised him. "I like it," he answered.
"Good." She put an arm around his neck and pulled him forward to kiss him quickly. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Do you want to come and help me cook?"
"Is that a good idea, after the other morning?"
She grinned. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't burn anything," she assured him.
"Okay."
He followed Martha out to the kitchen and began getting out saucepans and things as she directed him, while she got out spaghetti, mince, and the ingredients for Bolognese sauce. John chopped and stirred, and mixed and strained, following Martha's instructions, until they were sitting down to eat spaghetti Bolognese together.
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked as she poured them both a glass of wine to go with their meal.
"No," he admitted.
"And it was quite enjoyable?"
He nodded. "Although I think I probably enjoyed it more because we were cooking together," he admitted.
She grinned at him as she twirled spaghetti on her fork. "Is that your way of asking me for cooking lessons?"
He looked startled and she realised that he genuinely hadn't thought of that possibility. "I don't know," he answered. "I mean, yeah, I'd like you to teach me to cook, if you want to, but Jackie's got a cook of her own, so it's not like I'll get much practise."
"Well you could always come and cook for me once a week or something," she suggested.
He looked up with his fork poised half way to his mouth. "Really? You mean you want to see me again?"
Martha laughed. "I thought we covered this in the car, earlier? I fancy you, and I hope to see a lot more of you in time." She winked at him, then smirked when he blushed and ducked his head. "Is that okay with you?"
He nodded. "Yes please." He ate a mouthful of food, then added. "You know you're going to have your work cut out, though, dating me."
She reached across and clasped his hand in hers. "I think it'll be worth it," she told him. "I'm intrigued to find out what sort of man you are."
John thought back to what the Doctor had said about him on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay: You were born in battle, full of blood and anger and revenge, and he wondered if he should tell Martha that, but then she already knew about his rage, and he wasn't sure about either the revenge or the blood, now that the Daleks were gone.
"John."
He looked up at the sound of his name.
"You okay?" Martha asked.
He nodded. "Sorry, just remembering something that I was told. I didn't space out, did I?"
She shook her head. "Not exactly," she said, "but you looked like you might."
"Sorry." He sighed. "Are you really sure about this, Martha, about us getting together?"
"I'm sure," she answered with conviction. "I want to help you, and I think you need some friends who are outside your situation." She squeezed his fingers. "Finish eating and we can talk about this afterwards."
They finished eating and Martha made some coffee again, and they took that and the wine into the sitting room where they settled down together on the sofa.
"Have you thought about quitting Torchwood?" she asked.
John looked surprised. "I did actually, but I wasn't sure what I'd do instead."
"Well what about UNIT? You could come and see Colonel Chaudhry, who recruited me, and see what she has to say."
"Okay."
"If you think we're moving too fast, say so," Martha said. "I don't want to rush or push you into anything, but I don't think you should stay at Torchwood, and I'm pretty sure we could use your skills and knowledge at UNIT."
He nodded. "I'd rather not go on working there, and if I could be useful at UNIT, well I'd rather work for them. The Doctor did, and Martha does, so I'd feel more at home there."
"I'll have a word with Colonel Chaudhry tomorrow and I'll let you know what she says."
She picked up her coffee mug and looked into it while she spoke. "And in the spirit of not rushing things or pushing anyone into anything, I think we should take things slowly, get to know each other properly, before we take things too far."
John swallowed. "How slowly?" he asked.
Martha looked up and gave a shrug. "I don't know. I'm not the Martha you know, and while you're not the Doctor, you've got his memories and thoughts in your head, so maybe you should get to know who John is, as well getting to know who I am, while I get to know you." She shifted to lean against him. "I'm not saying we shouldn't kiss and cuddle, but maybe we shouldn't jump into shagging straight away."
"I suppose I can understand that reasoning. Besides, you might not like John once you know him better."
She twisted around to look up at his face. "I think I will," she answered, "but time will tell." She kissed his cheek. "Do you want to watch a movie?"
He nodded, so she slipped off the sofa and went over to her bookshelves, and after a brief discussion they decided to watch "Erin Brockovich"; they sat side by side on the sofa, Martha with her feet tucked up and her head resting on John's shoulder while he wrapped an arm around her. He was reminded of the Doctor and the other Martha watching TV together in 1969, but he pushed the memory aside, wanting to savour this moment, not get lost in that one. While a part of him was disappointed that Martha had suggested taking things slowly between them, a much larger part of him considered it a sensible idea. He was terrified of hurting her, as the Doctor had hurt the other Martha, and she was right about him needing to get to know who he was, as well as needing to get to know this Martha.
Maybe life in this other universe wouldn't be too bad after all.