Pain
Who_Daily Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/268483.html">Pain by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Martha/Nighy!Eleven | Rating: NC-17 | Spoilers: None - AU Post-S4)
Title: Pain
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Nighy!Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None (AU Post-S4)
Summary: Martha is injured and it’s up to the Doctor to look after her.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish that I did own it!
Author Notes: The latest of my Whoniverse fics for 20_est_relships. The prompt was 06. Pain. (Prompt table here and timeline here.)
Beta: the lovely fourzoas
~~~~~~
Fic banner by mischief89
Martha and the Doctor had only arrived on Threlfal half an hour ago, and already they’d been shot at before being chased at speed through the outskirts of the city.
“Was it something we said?” wondered Martha aloud. “Or merely the way we looked?”
“Save your breath for running,” advised the Doctor, his blue eyes narrowing as he glanced back over his shoulder at their pursuers. “They’re gaining on us.” He reached over and grabbed her hand to steer her into an alleyway on their left in the hope that they could lose their pursuers.
As he rounded the corner ahead of Martha he heard her cry out sharply as a rifle shot rang out. “Are you okay?” he called anxiously.
“Just keep running,” she answered, sounding more breathless now.
He nodded. He couldn’t see that she was clutching her left side where the bullet had hit her as she ran. She was hoping it had grazed her, rather than entering her body, but if she stopped to look they’d undoubtedly be caught, and she didn’t fancy their chances of getting away again. Martha was glad that she was wearing a dark red t-shirt today as that meant the bloodstain that she could feel beneath her fingers wasn’t too obvious, so it wouldn’t scare the natives they were racing past. At the moment the gunshot wound didn’t really hurt - not like when she’d been shot that time in the Wild West - but she knew that was down to the adrenaline in her system, and that once that dissipated, she’d be in agony.
“Do you know where we are in relation to the TARDIS?” she asked the Doctor, having to fight to keep breathing as she ran and talked.
He gave her a concerned look. “We should be there in a few minutes,” he answered.
Martha nodded, relieved. She knew that the Doctor was probably going to berate her soundly for not telling him immediately that she’d been injured, but she’d worry about that once they were safely inside the TARDIS. The most important thing right now was staying on her feet because that was becoming ever more difficult: she could no longer hear the sound of their pursuers over the noise of her increasingly laboured breathing, and she hoped that the Doctor would just assume she wasn’t quite as fit as they supposed. She felt it was important not to distract him before they reached the safety of the TARDIS.
“There she is,” the Doctor said, tugging slightly on Martha’s hand as he spotted the ship. Unfortunately his slight jerk caught Martha off-balance just as she was in mid-step, and she realised with horror that she was going to fall in the split-second before the ground began rushing up to meet her.
“Doctor!” she choked out.
He whirled around immediately and dropped down by her side. He didn’t waste time or breath in asking what was wrong, he just scooped her up into his arms and rushed the last few yards to the TARDIS, snapping his fingers to open the door.
As he hurried up the ramp he glanced down at Martha and saw that her eyes had closed, and he guessed that she’d passed out. He was amazed that she hadn’t told him that she’d been hurt, but he was also annoyed at himself for not realising when she’d cried out earlier.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked as he headed to the Medical Bay and laid her carefully on one of the beds. He quickly lifted up her t-shirt and saw that the bullet had ploughed a long furrow through her side without actually entering her body. He was deeply relieved, vividly remembering the time the Clade had shot Martha when they’d been in the Wild West and how desperate things had been then. So desperate, in fact, that he’d been willing to become a Clade himself in order to save her life.
Martha opened her eyes, which were full of pain. “What’s the damage?” she asked, her voice raspy.
“Seems to be surface damage only,” he answered quickly, with a half smile. “You were luckier this time, Dr Jones. The bullet has grazed a long furrow along your side, taking off the top layers of your epidermis, but because you presented a moving target, running around the corner, it didn’t penetrate.”
She managed a wan smile. “Stings like crazy.”
He nodded, knowing that was an understatement. “It will,” he answered. “And I’m afraid I’m going to make it sting even more as I clean it up for you.”
“I’ll live,” she assured him.
“Of course you will,” he said easily. He’d shed his jacket and was rolling up his shirt sleeves as they talked. “Let’s get your t-shirt off first, and then I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.”
Martha struggled to sit up and the Doctor helped her, then lifted the t-shirt up and off, noticing that she was gritting her teeth when she lifted her left arm. He kissed her forehead before helping her to lie back down again.
He washed his hands, then pulled on some surgical gloves before finding an antiseptic wash, sutures, gauze, tape and a bandage. He put it all onto a tray and carried it over to Martha’s bedside, setting it down on the instrument trolley that was at hand.
Martha opened her eyes again, and he saw pain and the beginnings of shock in them. “Local anaesthetic,” he muttered, realising what he’d forgotten.
“Please,” she mumbled.
He crossed to the cupboard where it was held and pulled out the bottle and a syringe, then carried both back to the bed. Martha watched as he carefully measured out a dose and injected it, and was grateful that he stood holding her right hand as they waited for the drug to take effect.
“You’re going to have to take things easy for at least a few days,” he told her, brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead with his free hand.
“No table-tennis tournaments, then,” she murmured.
“No. No basketball challenges either, and not even swimming,” he said.
“Okay.” She smiled wearily and he bent down to kiss her tenderly before straightening up and beginning to clean her wound.
The Doctor scowled when he saw just how deeply the bullet had ploughed its way through her flesh: it was worse than he’d first thought and he was concerned that it might have damaged the muscle as well.
He finished cleaning the wound, then leaned in closer, shoving his glasses back up his nose, so that he could clearly see what he was doing as he began applying a long line of sutures. He glanced up a couple of times as he worked, but Martha’s eyes were closed, so he quietly continued with his task, leaving her to rest.
Once he’d finished with the sutures, he carefully taped a gauze dressing over it, and just as he was deciding that putting a bandage over it would serve as a useful reminder to Martha not to overdo things, she opened her eyes again.
“I’d better sit up,” she observed when she spotted the roll of bandage in his hands.
The Doctor nodded and helped her upright, then wrapped the bandage around her, level with the bottom of her ribs.
“Be grateful you’re not as skinny as I used to be,” he said as he pinned the end of the bandage in place. “That bullet would have done you far more damage.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “I knew there were other good reasons for liking your curves.”
“Oi,” she protested without force.
He leaned in and kissed her deeply. “Seriously, though, I’m very glad it wasn’t worse.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s get you to bed for some rest, and then I’ll move the TARDIS.”
“Okay.” She let him help her down off the bed, waiting while he picked up her t-shirt and his jacket, then they made their way to their room, Martha leaning into the Doctor’s side as they walked.
She changed into her pyjamas with his help, feeling glad that she favoured the sort with a button-through top as it made putting it on less awkward or painful.
“Okay?” asked the Doctor.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, seeing anxiety lurking in his eyes. “Why don’t you pick up a couple of books from the library, and you can read to me? We haven’t done that for a while.”
He nodded, bent down to kiss her forehead, and then went out, leaving Martha to try to find a comfortable position in which to lie.
When he returned he carried three books on a tray, together with a large carafe of water, a glass, and a small bottle of pills.
“Painkillers,” he said when he saw she was trying to see what the bottle held. “You might need them once that local anaesthetic wears off.”
“Thanks.”
He put the tray on the bedside table, then settled on the bed on Martha’s right side, and she immediately shifted position so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
“Comfy?” asked the Doctor.
“As comfortable as can be expected,” she answered.
He nodded, then picked up the three books. “Now then, do you want poetry or prose?”
“Prose for now.”
“A novel or some short stories?”
“Um short stories,” she said. “In case I have trouble concentrating.”
“Okay.” He slipped his arm around her left shoulder, being careful not to touch her side, and began to read.
The Doctor had been reading for about two hours before Martha asked him for a painkiller, which he gave her, then he read for another thirty minutes until she fell asleep.
As he listened to her soft breathing he wondered what sort of patient Martha would make: it was often said that doctors made the worst patients.
* * * * * *
It took only forty eight hours for the Doctor to realise, rather ruefully, that Martha was a good patient, and that he was the one who longed for her to be up and about almost immediately. She didn’t seem to mind the enforced rest, lying in bed or on one of the sofas in the library either talking or being read to, or watching films in the TARDIS cinema.
He was surprised when she initiated sex some seventy two hours after being shot: he’d resigned himself to a period of abstinence while she was recovering from her injury, but she quickly disabused him of that idea and they enjoyed some slow, yet passionate, love-making. As Martha lay dozing in his arms afterwards, he found himself vividly recalling their rather more energetic love-making just before they’d gone to Threlfal.
Four days ago.
The Doctor backed Martha up against the outside wall of the TARDIS, kissing her hungrily, and she felt him reach up under her skirt, his fingers unerringly finding her clit. She broke their kiss for a few moments, gasping for breath as he slipped two fingers inside her while pressing his thumb to her sensitive flesh.
Once she caught her breath, after he’d brought her to a very satisfying climax, she unfastened his trousers, pulled out his erection and began to stroke him. He growled as he lifted her right leg, which she promptly hooked around his waist, and he lifted her up off the grass. Martha immediately wrapped her other leg around him, lifting herself up in his arms so that he could push inside her, and he felt her grasping his shoulders as he began to thrust.
In her mind Martha could hear the ship’s hum increase in response to what they were doing, and she closed her eyes and reached out to the ship, just as she’d been shown, so that the ancient ship could feel her pleasure when the Doctor brought them both to a climax.
Afterwards he carefully lowered her to grass, holding her steady when her shaky legs threatened to give way, and she realised abruptly that anyone could have seen them.
“No they couldn’t,” the Doctor assured her when she commented on it to him. “The TARDIS perception filter was protecting us. So, just as hardly anyone ever notices a strange blue box, so they wouldn’t have noticed us either.”
“That’s lucky,” she said. “Are we heading off now?”
He nodded as he finished refastening his trousers. “I thought we might visit Threlfal next.” He offered her his arm and they went inside the TARDIS.
Now
When Martha woke again the Doctor set about changing the dressing on her wound.
“At least it’s not infected,” he observed as he wrapped the bandage back around her body.
She smiled up at him from her seat on the bed in the Medical Bay. “I told you it would be okay.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Stop worrying unnecessarily.” Before he could respond, she kissed him.
“You’re just trying to distract me,” he said once she released him.
“And is it working?” she asked as he picked her up and carried her out of the Med Bay.
“Definitely,” he answered, grinning down at her.
“Good.” She grinned back up at him.
“Are we going to watch a film?” he asked.
“Sounds good to me. You know, I can walk.”
He shook his head in resignation, then set her down on her feet. “Let’s go and get some snacks before we go to the cinema,” he suggested.
“Okay.”
“Maybe we should watch Notting Hill,” the Doctor said as he put a bottle of Martha’s favourite juice on a tray, then added two glasses.
“Why that one?” she asked curiously.
”I think of it as our movie,” he answered. “Because that was the film we watched before we made love for the first time.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I never knew that you think of it as our film. So, what’s our song?”
It was the Doctor’s turn to laugh. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I hadn’t actually thought about it.”
“Tut, tut.” Martha shook her head, pretending to look stern as they walked towards the cinema.
He grinned at her as he pushed open the door with his elbow. “I’m going to have to land somewhere tomorrow so we can get some food. Fancy popping back to Earth?”
“Cardiff?” asked Martha.
“If you like.”
“Well, we did promise to visit Jack regularly.”
“Just so long as he’s gentle with you,” he teased as she settled on the sofa.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he knows not to hug me with his usual strength.” She watched as the Doctor set down the tray of snacks and drinks.
“Good.” He settled down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Comfortable?”
“Yes thanks.”
He smiled, then picked up the remote and pressed play as they prepared to lose themselves in the world of the film and forget about gunshot wounds, shopping and everything else.
~~~~~~
Author’s Note 2: The mention of Martha getting shot in the Wild West is a reference to James Swallow’s Peacemaker.
Title: Pain
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Nighy!Eleven
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None (AU Post-S4)
Summary: Martha is injured and it’s up to the Doctor to look after her.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish that I did own it!
Author Notes: The latest of my Whoniverse fics for 20_est_relships. The prompt was 06. Pain. (Prompt table here and timeline here.)
Beta: the lovely fourzoas
~~~~~~
Fic banner by mischief89
Martha and the Doctor had only arrived on Threlfal half an hour ago, and already they’d been shot at before being chased at speed through the outskirts of the city.
“Was it something we said?” wondered Martha aloud. “Or merely the way we looked?”
“Save your breath for running,” advised the Doctor, his blue eyes narrowing as he glanced back over his shoulder at their pursuers. “They’re gaining on us.” He reached over and grabbed her hand to steer her into an alleyway on their left in the hope that they could lose their pursuers.
As he rounded the corner ahead of Martha he heard her cry out sharply as a rifle shot rang out. “Are you okay?” he called anxiously.
“Just keep running,” she answered, sounding more breathless now.
He nodded. He couldn’t see that she was clutching her left side where the bullet had hit her as she ran. She was hoping it had grazed her, rather than entering her body, but if she stopped to look they’d undoubtedly be caught, and she didn’t fancy their chances of getting away again. Martha was glad that she was wearing a dark red t-shirt today as that meant the bloodstain that she could feel beneath her fingers wasn’t too obvious, so it wouldn’t scare the natives they were racing past. At the moment the gunshot wound didn’t really hurt - not like when she’d been shot that time in the Wild West - but she knew that was down to the adrenaline in her system, and that once that dissipated, she’d be in agony.
“Do you know where we are in relation to the TARDIS?” she asked the Doctor, having to fight to keep breathing as she ran and talked.
He gave her a concerned look. “We should be there in a few minutes,” he answered.
Martha nodded, relieved. She knew that the Doctor was probably going to berate her soundly for not telling him immediately that she’d been injured, but she’d worry about that once they were safely inside the TARDIS. The most important thing right now was staying on her feet because that was becoming ever more difficult: she could no longer hear the sound of their pursuers over the noise of her increasingly laboured breathing, and she hoped that the Doctor would just assume she wasn’t quite as fit as they supposed. She felt it was important not to distract him before they reached the safety of the TARDIS.
“There she is,” the Doctor said, tugging slightly on Martha’s hand as he spotted the ship. Unfortunately his slight jerk caught Martha off-balance just as she was in mid-step, and she realised with horror that she was going to fall in the split-second before the ground began rushing up to meet her.
“Doctor!” she choked out.
He whirled around immediately and dropped down by her side. He didn’t waste time or breath in asking what was wrong, he just scooped her up into his arms and rushed the last few yards to the TARDIS, snapping his fingers to open the door.
As he hurried up the ramp he glanced down at Martha and saw that her eyes had closed, and he guessed that she’d passed out. He was amazed that she hadn’t told him that she’d been hurt, but he was also annoyed at himself for not realising when she’d cried out earlier.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked as he headed to the Medical Bay and laid her carefully on one of the beds. He quickly lifted up her t-shirt and saw that the bullet had ploughed a long furrow through her side without actually entering her body. He was deeply relieved, vividly remembering the time the Clade had shot Martha when they’d been in the Wild West and how desperate things had been then. So desperate, in fact, that he’d been willing to become a Clade himself in order to save her life.
Martha opened her eyes, which were full of pain. “What’s the damage?” she asked, her voice raspy.
“Seems to be surface damage only,” he answered quickly, with a half smile. “You were luckier this time, Dr Jones. The bullet has grazed a long furrow along your side, taking off the top layers of your epidermis, but because you presented a moving target, running around the corner, it didn’t penetrate.”
She managed a wan smile. “Stings like crazy.”
He nodded, knowing that was an understatement. “It will,” he answered. “And I’m afraid I’m going to make it sting even more as I clean it up for you.”
“I’ll live,” she assured him.
“Of course you will,” he said easily. He’d shed his jacket and was rolling up his shirt sleeves as they talked. “Let’s get your t-shirt off first, and then I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.”
Martha struggled to sit up and the Doctor helped her, then lifted the t-shirt up and off, noticing that she was gritting her teeth when she lifted her left arm. He kissed her forehead before helping her to lie back down again.
He washed his hands, then pulled on some surgical gloves before finding an antiseptic wash, sutures, gauze, tape and a bandage. He put it all onto a tray and carried it over to Martha’s bedside, setting it down on the instrument trolley that was at hand.
Martha opened her eyes again, and he saw pain and the beginnings of shock in them. “Local anaesthetic,” he muttered, realising what he’d forgotten.
“Please,” she mumbled.
He crossed to the cupboard where it was held and pulled out the bottle and a syringe, then carried both back to the bed. Martha watched as he carefully measured out a dose and injected it, and was grateful that he stood holding her right hand as they waited for the drug to take effect.
“You’re going to have to take things easy for at least a few days,” he told her, brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead with his free hand.
“No table-tennis tournaments, then,” she murmured.
“No. No basketball challenges either, and not even swimming,” he said.
“Okay.” She smiled wearily and he bent down to kiss her tenderly before straightening up and beginning to clean her wound.
The Doctor scowled when he saw just how deeply the bullet had ploughed its way through her flesh: it was worse than he’d first thought and he was concerned that it might have damaged the muscle as well.
He finished cleaning the wound, then leaned in closer, shoving his glasses back up his nose, so that he could clearly see what he was doing as he began applying a long line of sutures. He glanced up a couple of times as he worked, but Martha’s eyes were closed, so he quietly continued with his task, leaving her to rest.
Once he’d finished with the sutures, he carefully taped a gauze dressing over it, and just as he was deciding that putting a bandage over it would serve as a useful reminder to Martha not to overdo things, she opened her eyes again.
“I’d better sit up,” she observed when she spotted the roll of bandage in his hands.
The Doctor nodded and helped her upright, then wrapped the bandage around her, level with the bottom of her ribs.
“Be grateful you’re not as skinny as I used to be,” he said as he pinned the end of the bandage in place. “That bullet would have done you far more damage.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “I knew there were other good reasons for liking your curves.”
“Oi,” she protested without force.
He leaned in and kissed her deeply. “Seriously, though, I’m very glad it wasn’t worse.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s get you to bed for some rest, and then I’ll move the TARDIS.”
“Okay.” She let him help her down off the bed, waiting while he picked up her t-shirt and his jacket, then they made their way to their room, Martha leaning into the Doctor’s side as they walked.
She changed into her pyjamas with his help, feeling glad that she favoured the sort with a button-through top as it made putting it on less awkward or painful.
“Okay?” asked the Doctor.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, seeing anxiety lurking in his eyes. “Why don’t you pick up a couple of books from the library, and you can read to me? We haven’t done that for a while.”
He nodded, bent down to kiss her forehead, and then went out, leaving Martha to try to find a comfortable position in which to lie.
When he returned he carried three books on a tray, together with a large carafe of water, a glass, and a small bottle of pills.
“Painkillers,” he said when he saw she was trying to see what the bottle held. “You might need them once that local anaesthetic wears off.”
“Thanks.”
He put the tray on the bedside table, then settled on the bed on Martha’s right side, and she immediately shifted position so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
“Comfy?” asked the Doctor.
“As comfortable as can be expected,” she answered.
He nodded, then picked up the three books. “Now then, do you want poetry or prose?”
“Prose for now.”
“A novel or some short stories?”
“Um short stories,” she said. “In case I have trouble concentrating.”
“Okay.” He slipped his arm around her left shoulder, being careful not to touch her side, and began to read.
The Doctor had been reading for about two hours before Martha asked him for a painkiller, which he gave her, then he read for another thirty minutes until she fell asleep.
As he listened to her soft breathing he wondered what sort of patient Martha would make: it was often said that doctors made the worst patients.
* * * * * *
It took only forty eight hours for the Doctor to realise, rather ruefully, that Martha was a good patient, and that he was the one who longed for her to be up and about almost immediately. She didn’t seem to mind the enforced rest, lying in bed or on one of the sofas in the library either talking or being read to, or watching films in the TARDIS cinema.
He was surprised when she initiated sex some seventy two hours after being shot: he’d resigned himself to a period of abstinence while she was recovering from her injury, but she quickly disabused him of that idea and they enjoyed some slow, yet passionate, love-making. As Martha lay dozing in his arms afterwards, he found himself vividly recalling their rather more energetic love-making just before they’d gone to Threlfal.
Four days ago.
The Doctor backed Martha up against the outside wall of the TARDIS, kissing her hungrily, and she felt him reach up under her skirt, his fingers unerringly finding her clit. She broke their kiss for a few moments, gasping for breath as he slipped two fingers inside her while pressing his thumb to her sensitive flesh.
Once she caught her breath, after he’d brought her to a very satisfying climax, she unfastened his trousers, pulled out his erection and began to stroke him. He growled as he lifted her right leg, which she promptly hooked around his waist, and he lifted her up off the grass. Martha immediately wrapped her other leg around him, lifting herself up in his arms so that he could push inside her, and he felt her grasping his shoulders as he began to thrust.
In her mind Martha could hear the ship’s hum increase in response to what they were doing, and she closed her eyes and reached out to the ship, just as she’d been shown, so that the ancient ship could feel her pleasure when the Doctor brought them both to a climax.
Afterwards he carefully lowered her to grass, holding her steady when her shaky legs threatened to give way, and she realised abruptly that anyone could have seen them.
“No they couldn’t,” the Doctor assured her when she commented on it to him. “The TARDIS perception filter was protecting us. So, just as hardly anyone ever notices a strange blue box, so they wouldn’t have noticed us either.”
“That’s lucky,” she said. “Are we heading off now?”
He nodded as he finished refastening his trousers. “I thought we might visit Threlfal next.” He offered her his arm and they went inside the TARDIS.
Now
When Martha woke again the Doctor set about changing the dressing on her wound.
“At least it’s not infected,” he observed as he wrapped the bandage back around her body.
She smiled up at him from her seat on the bed in the Medical Bay. “I told you it would be okay.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Stop worrying unnecessarily.” Before he could respond, she kissed him.
“You’re just trying to distract me,” he said once she released him.
“And is it working?” she asked as he picked her up and carried her out of the Med Bay.
“Definitely,” he answered, grinning down at her.
“Good.” She grinned back up at him.
“Are we going to watch a film?” he asked.
“Sounds good to me. You know, I can walk.”
He shook his head in resignation, then set her down on her feet. “Let’s go and get some snacks before we go to the cinema,” he suggested.
“Okay.”
“Maybe we should watch Notting Hill,” the Doctor said as he put a bottle of Martha’s favourite juice on a tray, then added two glasses.
“Why that one?” she asked curiously.
”I think of it as our movie,” he answered. “Because that was the film we watched before we made love for the first time.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I never knew that you think of it as our film. So, what’s our song?”
It was the Doctor’s turn to laugh. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I hadn’t actually thought about it.”
“Tut, tut.” Martha shook her head, pretending to look stern as they walked towards the cinema.
He grinned at her as he pushed open the door with his elbow. “I’m going to have to land somewhere tomorrow so we can get some food. Fancy popping back to Earth?”
“Cardiff?” asked Martha.
“If you like.”
“Well, we did promise to visit Jack regularly.”
“Just so long as he’s gentle with you,” he teased as she settled on the sofa.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he knows not to hug me with his usual strength.” She watched as the Doctor set down the tray of snacks and drinks.
“Good.” He settled down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Comfortable?”
“Yes thanks.”
He smiled, then picked up the remote and pressed play as they prepared to lose themselves in the world of the film and forget about gunshot wounds, shopping and everything else.
~~~~~~
Author’s Note 2: The mention of Martha getting shot in the Wild West is a reference to James Swallow’s Peacemaker.