Child of Time
Who_Daily Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/291893.html">Child of Time by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Martha, Ten, Francine, Other Characters | Rating: NC-17 | Spoilers: S3, S4)
Title: Child of Time
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Ten, Francine, Other Characters
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: S3 & S4
Summary: Eight years after the business with Davros, Martha calls on the Doctor's medical expertise.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish that I did own it!
Author Notes: Normally I run away from kid!fic in this fandom, but a very persistent plot bunny bit me a few days ago, and after trying to ignore it for a couple of days, I realised that it wasn't going to go away. Of course, being Ten and Martha, this isn't your normal, gooey kid!fic...
Betas: the incorrigible catholicphoton (who practically begged me to write this, shame on her!) and the generous abstruse_fangrl.
~~~~~~
"All right, Private, you can get dressed again." Martha stepped out from behind the curtains, leaving her patient to dress while she updated his notes.
"Come back in three days and I'll take those stitches out," she told him as the young man stepped around the curtains.
"Yes Dr Jones." He hobbled out just as Martha's phone rang.
"Dr Jones speaking."
"Martha - "
"Mum, what's wrong?" she asked, interrupting in her anxiety.
"I'm sorry to ring you at work, but it's Jamie, he seems to be in some sort of trance, and I can't get a word out of him. He's just sitting and staring at the wall, like a zombie or something." Francine sounded desperately anxious, and Martha felt her stomach knot and her chest tighten in response.
"How long's he been like this?" she asked, shrugging off her white coat as she talked.
"At least fifteen minutes," her mother answered. "But he's been on his own in his room for an hour, so it could have been longer."
"All right, I'm on my way. Keep talking to him so he knows you're there."
"I will." Francine hung up and Martha followed suit, then dialled Brigadier Mace's number. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to duck out for a bit, my son's been taken ill."
"Very well, Jones. Keep me informed of the situation."
"I will, sir."
"I hope it's nothing too serious."
"Thank you, sir, so do I." She put the handset back down, then quickly logged out of her laptop, before shoving it into its case, then grabbing her coat and handbag she hurried out to her car.
As Martha drove across town from UNIT HQ to her mother's house she reminded herself that she'd been very lucky where Jamie's health was concerned as he seemed to avoid all the usual childhood ailments; which only made this situation more worrying. She was trying not to panic, but she knew of only two reasons why an eight year old would be suffering from catalepsy: emotional shock or epilepsy, but she couldn't think of any reason why Jamie would be suffering an emotional shock.
She pulled up behind Francine's car, and grabbed her medical kit from the passenger seat, before hurrying along the drive to the front door. She let herself into the house with the spare key her mother had given her years ago.
"Mum?" she called anxiously.
Francine appeared at the top of the stairs. "Up here," she called quietly.
Martha had a sudden, brief flashback to another occasion on which she'd seen her mother in such a spot. She gave herself a mental shake, then hurried up the stairs; now was not the time to be remembering planetary emergencies.
"How is he?" she asked anxiously as she reached the landing.
"Exactly the same," Francine answered.
Martha heard the barely-concealed worry in her mother's voice and felt the knot in her stomach tighten further.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"In his room." Francine gestured at the guestroom that had become her grandson's second bedroom by default as he usually spent most of his school holidays staying with his grandmother.
Martha moved past her and into the bedroom that was decorated with a space theme, much like his room at home, although without the moonrise wallpaper above the head of the bed.
"Jamie," she said softly, kneeling beside the desk where he sat staring blankly at the wall in front of him. "It's mum." She swallowed hard, and put her left hand on his stiff shoulder, then looked into his face. He seemed to look straight through her, and she noted that he didn't blink even when she shone her pen torch into his eyes. Martha also noticed that his breathing was slower than usual; she turned his chair around and touched his arms and legs, but there was no response, even when she pinched his arm.
"He needs to go to hospital," Martha said, straightening up. She could feel tears prickling her eyes, but she refused to cry, although she could see Francine was on the verge of tears herself.
"I'm coming with you," her mother said firmly.
"Thank you." Martha picked up her medical bag and passed it to her mum, then gave her the keys for her car. "Can you go down and unlock the car, please, and I'll bring Jamie down."
Francine nodded and took both items from her daughter, then hurried downstairs, pausing long enough to pull on her coat, and grab her house keys, purse and mobile phone, before she hurried out to Martha's car.
Francine unlocked the car, and put Martha's bag onto the passenger seat, then opened the back door as Martha came through the front door of the house with Jamie in her arms.
"I'll go and shut the front door," Francine said, realising Martha couldn't do it herself. She hurried back up the drive and shut the door, then back to the car where Martha was settling her son onto the back seat.
"Can you sit beside him please?" she asked her mother as she fastened the seat belt across Jamie's body.
"Of course." Francine moved quickly around the car and got in next to Jamie, taking her grandson's unresponsive right hand in her hand.
"What do you think's caused this?" she asked as Martha climbed into the driver's seat.
"The most likely cause is epilepsy in a child his age," her daughter said as she backed out of the drive and onto the road. "Although emotional shock is another potential cause. He's too young for it to be drugs-related, and, I hope, too young for either Parkinson's Disease or schizophrenia."
"Oh god!" Francine closed her eyes, horrified. She opened them again and stared at the small boy beside her. His dark brown hair was ruffled and untidy, as it always seem to be no matter how many times it was combed, and his dark brown eyes, so like Martha's, were blank and empty; normally Jamie's eyes were full of intelligence and curiosity, or bright with merriment - her grandson had an appreciation for the absurd that was unusual in one so young. He had been in her life for eight years now, as Francine had, by her own choice, been very involved in his upbringing thanks to Martha's single status, and she had enjoyed every moment.
"We're here," Martha said, pulling up outside the Royal Hope. She and Francine got out of the car, then Martha lifted her son from the back seat.
"We'll take him to A&E," she said, "and I shall insist on a referral to NHNN."
"NHNN?" asked Francine, puzzled.
"The National Hospital for Neurology and Neuroscience," Martha answered, heading towards the doors with a feeling of relief that Jamie was quite small for his age, although his unresponsive body made him seem more awkward to carry than usual.
The doors opened automatically at their approach, and Martha headed unerringly to the A&E desk. To her relief she saw a very familiar face at the desk.
"Julia, thank goodness!" she gasped.
"Martha!" exclaimed Dr Julia Swales, astonished. "What's wrong?"
"It's Jamie, he's cataleptic. Been like it for at least forty minutes now, possibly longer."
"Come through," Julia said quickly. She led the way, and Martha and Francine followed her down a short corridor and into a cubicle.
"Sit down," Julia said, gesturing at the bed, and watching as Martha sank onto it, a relieved expression on her face.
"I'll get hold of Janette and Heather," Julia said. "Janette works in Paediatrics, and Heather in Neurology."
"Thanks Julia." Martha gave her a grateful look. She had not been too surprised when Julia had opted to leave UNIT and return to working for the NHS after the business with the Large Hadron Collider and Oliver Harrington several years ago. The weirdness of that experience had caused several UNIT members of staff to leave when they had decided they'd prefer dealing with more mundane things.
"Mrs Jones, there's a coffee machine just down the corridor, if you need it."
"Thank you, Julia." Francine gave her a shaky smile as the younger woman turned and went out to ring her colleagues. "Do you want a coffee?" she asked her daughter.
"No, thanks." Martha sat with Jamie cradled in her lap, his unresponsiveness made her feel as if someone was twisting a knife in her heart, and it was only by a supreme effort of will that she was staying calm.
"I think I will." She saw her daughter give a nod before she went in search of a drink. When she returned a few minutes later Julia was standing outside the cubicle.
"Janette's just examining Jamie now," the young woman told Francine, who nodded, clutching her plastic cup of coffee and hoping that her hands wouldn't start shaking.
Inside the cubicle, Janette was asking Martha questions while she examined Jamie. "Has he shown any symptoms like this before?"
"No," Martha answered. "We've been really lucky with his health up till now. He's suffered far fewer of the normal childhood illnesses than I or my siblings ever did. He rarely has a cold, even when the rest of his class has them. He seems to have a really robust immune system."
"And what was he doing before he became cataleptic?"
"I don't know. I was at work. My mum was looking after him. She came with me."
"All right, I'll speak to her in a few minutes. Is there any family history of epilepsy?" asked Janette.
"Not in my family," Martha answered.
"What about his father's family?"
"I don't know. Jamie's dad died before he was born, before I knew I was pregnant in fact. He had appendicitis while working with the Doctors Without Borders programme in Africa." She closed her eyes on the pang of grief and guilt that she always felt when mentioning Tom's death.
"Well, we'll need to check that out," Janette said.
The curtain around the cubicle was pushed aside and another woman entered the small space. The contrast between the two women was almost comical: where Janette was tall, slender, and blonde-haired, her colleague, Heather, was a small brunette with startling green eyes who looked too young to be a specialist in neurology.
"Heather, this is Dr Martha Jones, and her son Jamie," Janette said, as she straightened up from her examination of the small boy who lay still as death on the bed. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest betrayed that he was still alive.
"What area do you specialise in Dr Jones?" asked Heather.
"I don't. I work for a government organisation and I'm a generalist."
"Oh." Heather gave her a quick glance, then turned her attention back to Jamie, and began asking Martha similar questions to the ones Janette had already asked.
"We're going to have to run some tests," Heather said, straightening up, "and get hold of his father's medical records, or at least speak to the family doctor."
"What sort of tests?" asked Martha anxiously.
"We'll start with an EEG and a CT scan, and then do an MRI if necessary, but it probably won't be necessary." She smiled reassuringly at Martha.
"What about a referral to the NHNN?" she asked. "The organisation I work for will cover the cost of seeing a specialist."
"I know you're anxious, Martha, I would be too in your shoes since I've got two kids of my own, but let's get the basics out of the way first, before we worry about referring Jamie to a specialist."
She felt her face flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, I - Sorry."
Heather patted her shoulder. "It's okay," she said. "I understand that you just want what's best for Jamie. Janette will talk to Julia to see about getting him admitted, so we can run the tests, and I'll have a quick word with your mum, and then we'll get moving."
Martha nodded. "Can I stay with him for now?"
"Of course."
"Thank you." Martha moved to sit beside the bed while the two specialists moved past the cubicle curtain to ask Francine about Jamie's behaviour before he became cataleptic.
She took his left hand in hers, and ran her fingers lightly through his wild hair. "What happened to you, Jamie?" she asked softly, stroking his forehead. "I wish you'd wake up. We were going to go swimming this afternoon, remember? And then we were going to buy fish and chips on the way home, to save granny from having to cook tonight. I got you a surprise, too - I bought you 'Apollo 13' because you asked me about it last week, and I was going to let you watch it tonight. Thought we could make an evening of it, with popcorn and everything."
She sniffed, trying to fight back her tears, but not wanting to let go of her son. "I don't want to lose you, James Thomas Jones. Please, don't go."
She heard the curtain rattle behind her and turned to look over her shoulder at Julia; Francine stood at her shoulder.
"We're going to take him up to the paediatric ward now, Martha," Julia said softly. "You can stay on the ward with him until they're ready to the EEG and CT scan, and there's a waiting room up there, too, so you don't have to leave him here straight away."
"Thank you." Martha turned back to her son and kissed his cheek, and then his forehead, before moving away so that Jamie could be transferred into a wheelchair.
Francine pulled her daughter into her arms and held her tightly.
"I wish Tom was here," she said to her mother. "He'd know what to do."
"Maybe," Francine answered. She wasn't sure whether Tom would have known how to help Jamie or not, although she knew her late son-in-law had been a good Paediatrician. "He's in good hands, now, though."
Julia came out of the cubicle pushing a wheelchair into which Jamie had been strapped. "Are you coming?" she asked.
"Yes." Martha was grateful for her mother's arm around her shoulders.
They took the lift up several floors to the brightly decorated children's ward and Martha found herself desperately hoping that their stay would be a short one.
* * * * * *
48 hours later
Francine joined Martha at Jamie's bedside. "Here," she said, offering her daughter a plastic cup full of coffee.
"Thanks." She took it one-handed and sipped at it absentmindedly, her free hand still holding Jamie's as it lay on top of the bed covers.
"Have you thought about phoning the Doctor?" Francine asked.
Her daughter looked up, startled. "Phoning the Doctor?"
Francine gave a half shrug. "You told me that he's got all that advanced equipment on his ship. Maybe it could find out what's wrong with Jamie since the doctors here can't?"
Martha gave her mother a doubtful look. "I don't know," she said.
"It's got to be worth a try, surely?" argued Francine. "I know you prefer not to get too involved with him, but no one here's got a clue what's wrong with Jamie. It makes sense to ask the one man who may be able to solve this mystery."
"You're right, of course," Martha answered. "I'll go and ring him now, see what he's got to say." She leant forward and brushed a kiss over her son's forehead, then squeezed his fingers. "Mummy won't be long, sweetheart, and granny's here to sit with you until I come back."
She didn't normally refer to herself as 'mummy', but seeing Jamie in the hospital bed, looking so small and vulnerable made him seem younger somehow. Francine gave her an encouraging smile as she picked up her red leather jacket from the back of her chair and walked down the ward towards the lift. Martha went down to the small restaurant that catered for patients' families, and found a quiet corner to make her phone call.
It was answered very promptly. "Is that Martha Jones?" asked the Doctor, his familiar voice sounding pleased to get her call.
"Hello Doctor."
"What can I do for you today, Dr Jones? You don't need me to come and help you save the Earth again, do you?"
"Not this time," she answered, trying to laugh. "It's my son, he's sick, and I'm hoping you'll be able to help him with the equipment in the TARDIS."
"Your son?" asked the Doctor, sounding very surprised. "When did you have a son?"
"He's eight," Martha answered.
"Oh Martha, I am sorry."
"Thanks." She didn't really want to think too much about Tom's death. "Can you come, though?"
"Of course. Where are you?"
"He's in the Royal Hope, the children's ward on the seventh floor." She was silent a moment, pondering. "I'm not sure how we're going to get him to the TARDIS, though," she said.
"We'll worry about that after I get there," he said. "Don't worry, I'll think of something. Just hang in there, Martha Jones. I'll be with you soon."
"Thank you."
"See you soon."
Martha terminated the call, then went back upstairs, feeling a surge of hope for the first time in 2 days.
* * * * * *
Francine knew, as soon as Martha appeared, that the Doctor had agreed to come and help: her daughter's whole demeanour had brightened, and she no longer looked as haggard as she had earlier.
"He's coming?" she asked, sure the answer would be positive.
"Yes." She looked around the ward, which was fairly quiet. There were only three other children here at the moment, and none of the other parents had arrived yet. Just as she was wondering how the Doctor was going to get Jamie to the TARDIS her phone beeped, and she saw a text message had arrived:
In linen cupboard down corridor. Meet me please?
She sent back the word 'Yes', then got up again. "I'll be back soon," she told Francine. "I'm just going to meet the Doctor."
Her mother nodded and as Martha hurried down the ward, she turned back to her grandson. "You're going to get to meet the Doctor, Jamie," she said quietly. "He's a very special friend of Martha's and I'm sure you'll like him a lot."
* * * * * *
Martha glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then opened the door of the linen cupboard, and there was the Doctor, his tall, lanky frame clad in her favourite blue suit.
"Martha Jones," he said quietly, a small, pleased smile on his face. He held out his arms, and she stepped into them gladly, relieved by his mere presence.
"Thank you for coming," she said, her head resting on his chest. "The doctors here have no idea how to help Jamie."
"Jamie?" asked the Doctor, a note of emotion in his voice that she couldn't identify.
"James Thomas Jones, Jamie for short," she answered.
"I knew a Jamie, once," he mused. "A fine young man, very brave. So what's wrong with your Jamie?"
"Mum found him in a cataleptic state on Tuesday. She'd left him in his room, doing his half-term homework." She couldn't help a little smirk as she looked up at the Time Lord. "He's a bit of a swot, like me."
"Why doesn't that surprise me, Dr Jones?"
"Anyway, mum went up to ask him if he wanted some milk and biscuits, and found him just staring at the wall in front of him. He hasn't responded since, and the doctors' tests haven't found anything wrong with him." She gulped, and the Doctor tightened his arms around her.
"It's okay, Martha," he said quietly. "I'm going to help you sort this out."
"How are we going to get him into the TARDIS?" she asked.
"Wheelchair and scrubs," he answered promptly. "We'll go in and take him out as if we're legitimate doctors, taking him for more tests, and bring him straight back to the TARDIS. If we're wearing face masks and those skull caps as well, we'll be more or less unrecognisable."
"Okay."
"Is there a wheelchair on the ward?"
"Several," Martha confirmed, "including one right by Jamie's bed. It's easier for them to take him for tests in that than in a bed."
"Good. Let's equip ourselves and then we can sort out what's wrong with your son." He turned and crossed to a section of the shelves that was full of sets of scrubs and found a small pair for Martha, and a larger pair for himself. They pulled on the protective clothing, then donned skull caps, face masks and gloves.
"Even your own mother might struggle to recognise you in this get up," the Doctor observed, his voice muffled by his mask.
"We'll find out in a few minutes," she answered. "Mum's here, she's with Jamie right now."
His brown eyes widened comically above the mask and she heard him gulp. "Okay."
"Don't worry, she won't bite. In fact, it was mum's idea for me to ring you."
"Oh!" He sounded surprised, and she wondered if he was remembering that it was Francine who'd rung and asked him to visit Martha after she had lost Tom.
"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing at the door.
"Yes."
They crossed to the door and Martha opened it and stepped out as if she and the Doctor had every right to be there: she'd never forgotten his remark about walking about as if he owned the place, back when they'd been in Shakespeare's England.
"It's this way," she said, setting off along the corridor to the children's ward, and doing her best not to move furtively. She led the Doctor through the double swing doors and straight up to Jamie's bed, grabbing the wheelchair that was positioned nearby.
"Not more tests?" asked Francine, looking up from her seat next to her grandson; then her eyes widened as she recognised the two figures beside her.
"Don't give us away, mum," Martha said softly.
Mrs Jones nodded, eyes wide, then she smiled at the Doctor and mouthed 'Thank you' at him.
He gave a quick nod in response, then held the wheelchair steady while Martha lifted her son from the bed, having unfastened the NG tube first. Within moments they were back outside the linen cupboard, and the Doctor was holding the door open as Martha wheeled Jamie through the door. He moved past her and opened both the TARDIS' doors and waited inside as she pushed the wheelchair over the threshold and started up the ramp.
The Med Bay was right beside the Control Room as they exited the latter, and Martha guided the chair through the door. She lifted Jamie out of the wheelchair and onto the examination bed, then moved the chair back into the corridor out of their way. As she stepped back into the Med Bay, she brushed a hand against the wall, murmuring a greeting to the TARDIS, who hummed in response.
Martha watched as the Doctor hooked her son up to various bits of equipment around the bed, and then positioned a scanner over his head.
"You okay?" he asked, glancing across at her and seeing her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Yeah."
She stood watching as he checked the monitors, trying to wait patiently for his diagnosis, or some mile-a-minute technobabble commentary on what he was doing.
"Doctor?" she said quietly after several minutes, wondering why he was so still and silent as he stared at one particular screen.
Finally he pulled the mask down off his face and gave her a look in which she read hurt, disappointment, and even anger.
"What is it?" she demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"How else do you expect me to look," he asked, more anger in his expression now, "when you've been concealing my son from me?"
"You son?" Martha gasped, disbelief writ large across her face.
He reached over and grasped her elbow none-too-gently, and pulled her close so that she could see the display screen at which he was looking, and the DNA strand that was on it. She could quite clearly see that it wasn't purely human.
"Oh god!" she gasped, swaying with shock.
"You didn't know?" the Doctor asked roughly.
"I - No. I was sure he was mine and Tom's," Martha answered, tears beginning to slide down her face. "We were trying for a baby that last time he was home from Africa, that's how I fell pregnant. I'd stopped taking my pill, and I never started again after I found out he'd died."
The Time Lord grabbed a chair and pulled it close, then pushed her down onto it, although with less force than she expected.
"Didn't you have any idea?" he asked, his expression dark.
"Well, he did develop language acquisition skills rather early," she answered. "Earlier than average for most Western children, anyway." Tears continued to slide down her face, but she took no notice of them. "And his grasp of technology is very good for an eight year old. But his skills aren't off the charts." She looked up at the Doctor as he stood over her, and gave a helpless shrug. "I just thought I had a very gifted son."
"Well he's part Time Lord," the Doctor said. "He's our son, not yours and Tom's."
Martha looked away, horrified by the realisation and embarrassed by her recollection of their time together.
* * * * * *
Eight years ago
"Doctor!" Martha stared at the Time Lord as he lounged against her car in the UNIT car park, the light above her car making him clearly visible despite the lateness of the hour. "What are you doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It's nice to see you, too, Dr Jones," he said, a slightly sardonic curl to his lip.
She flushed slightly. "Sorry. It's just - well, I wasn't expecting to see you. Hello."
His expression became a genuine smile. "That's better. Hello, Martha Jones." He held out his arms to her, a question in his eyes.
She gave him a half smile and stepped into his embrace.
"I'm sorry about Tom," he said quietly, his chin resting on top of her head.
She stiffened and pulled her head back to look up at him. "How do you know about Tom?" she asked, her tone fierce.
"Your mum rang me," he answered gently. "Don't be angry at her, Martha. She was worried about you."
Martha pulled away from him and folded her arms across her chest. "She had no right."
The Doctor looked at her, head on one side, and one eyebrow raised. "You don't mean that," he said gently. "You know how much she cares about you, how she worries about you." He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Francine's worried that you're not grieving."
"I'm fine."
He gave a snort. "Martha, I know that lie of old, and you know that I do. Francine told me that you are working obsessively long hours, and here you are, just leaving work, and it's 9pm. What time did you get in this morning?"
"Seven thirty," she mumbled.
"And how many weeks have you been working long hours like that?"
"Three, since - since I heard Tom had died."
"Come on," he said, guiding her to the car. "Let's get you home and then I'm taking you on a trip to somewhere quiet for some R&R."
"But - " she began.
"No buts, Martha," he said. "Please, for once, let me help you."
She heaved a heavy sigh, then nodded. "Very well."
"Good." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then took her laptop bag and shoulder bag from her, putting them on the back seat of her car once she'd unlocked it.
She watched as he folded his long limbs into the small passenger seat, remembering for a moment the last time he'd been in her car, and that Jack had been in the back.
He reached over and clasped her left hand for a moment. "Let's go," he said gently.
She nodded, then started the engine, and pulled away. They drove across town without talking, and Martha was aware that the Doctor was giving her sidelong looks every now and again. She wondered what he saw in the passing streetlights: she mostly avoided mirrors these days, knowing that they betrayed how tired she looked, and that she'd lost some weight in the last three weeks because she hadn't been eating properly.
After they arrived at Martha's flat, she looked up and down the street.
"She's round the back," the Doctor said, guessing that Martha was looking for the TARDIS.
"Oh."
They got out of the car and the Doctor waited while Martha took her bags inside, and then they walked down the street and around the corner to the mews at the back where the TARDIS stood.
"Come on." He took her hand in his and led her up to the door, then into the Control Room. "First things first. You need food, a shower, and some sleep," he told her.
She frowned. "Are you telling me I smell?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I doubt you've changed your routine that much since you and I shared a place in 1969, or since you travelled with me, and I remember you always used to like a shower before bed."
Her expression lightened. "I've not changed my routine," she admitted.
He smirked. "Thought not. So, why don't you go and see what food is in the kitchen and I'll get us out of here, and then we can eat."
"Okay. Thank you."
She started towards the archway. "By the way, how long is it, for you, since you last saw me?"
"Three months," he answered, glancing over at her. "Same as for you."
"Oh."
The Doctor watched her out of sight, then turned his attention back to the console. He hadn't missed the fact that Martha hadn't really put up much of a fight about going with him, which fitted with what Francine had told him about her daughter's state of mind.
Shortly afterwards he entered the kitchen to find Martha nursing a mug of tea.
"What did you find to eat?" he asked, wondering if she had actually looked.
She looked up at him and he felt his chest tighten at the blank expression on her face, so unlike her usual curiosity and intelligence. "What?"
"What do you want to eat?" He guessed that she had just made herself a mug of tea and not actually looked to see what food was available.
She shrugged. "I don't mind."
"Okay." He opened the fridge door to see what was there, and began telling Martha about a trip he'd made to an anti-gravity restaurant. As he cooked and talked, he watched her from the corner of his eye, noticing that she hardly seemed to be listening; he continuing telling her about his recent trips in the hope of provoking some sort of response from her.
Finally, as he served up their meal, he mentioned visiting Kurhan, and her head lifted.
"You went back to Kurhan?" she asked.
He nodded and grinned. "Remember when we went ice-skating there?"
"And you spent the first twenty minutes falling over because you couldn't co-ordinate your legs. You said that your legs had been much shorter the last time you went ice-skating."
"And that's when I explained regeneration to you," the Doctor reminded her.
"I remember," Martha said. She began to eat, and he watched her from the corner of his eye, relaxing somewhat when he saw that she was tucking in heartily.
"Better?" he asked, when she pushed her empty plate aside.
"Yes, thank you."
"You're welcome." He gathered up their empty plates and wine glasses. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Better not, or I won't sleep."
"Hot chocolate then?" he suggested.
"Yes please." Martha stood up, then grabbed the chair for support. "Oh!" she gasped. "I think that wine went straight to my head."
"Sorry about that." The Doctor looked apologetic. "You'd better wait a bit before you have your shower," he suggested.
"Yeah. Might go and lie down, though." She took a couple of unsteady steps towards the door, and he stepped forward.
"Come here." He scooped her up easily and she began giggling as he carried her to her old bedroom.
"My knight in shining armour," she laughed as he carried her through the door and across to the bed.
He snorted with laughter. "A suit is hardly the same thing," he said, as he lowered her down onto the bed.
"True, but it's a very nice suit." She grabbed at his lapels, and her sudden tug overbalanced him so that he fell across the bed. Martha started laughing and the Doctor pouted at her.
"Dr Jones, are you mocking me?" he asked, secretly pleased that she was able to laugh, even if it was at him.
"Aw, would I, Mr Smith?" she asked, nudging his thigh with her foot.
"You might," he said, sitting up and grabbing her foot.
"Oh! No, don't!" she yelped, trying to pull her foot away.
"Not ticklish are you?" asked the Doctor with a devilish grin.
"No!" she asserted, still trying to pull her foot away.
"Don't believe you," he said in a sing-song voice and began tickling her foot.
Martha shrieked and moved away, and he laughed, then crawled across the bed after her. Within minutes they were engaged in a desperate battle to tickle each other while remaining untickled themselves.
"Pax! Pax!" she cried eventually, almost breathless, as she sprawled in the middle of her bed.
"Very well," he agreed, trying to push himself up. "Oh. I'll just stay here for a moment." He smirked at her. "I made you cry 'Pax!'," he said, reaching out to brush her hair off her face.
"Only so I could catch my breath before round 2," she retorted. She clasped his wrist and tugged his arm, so he shifted to lie beside her.
"Round 2, eh?" he asked.
"Mmm." She was staring at his face, he noticed.
"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing." She leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The Doctor was startled, but he didn't try to resist, even when she bit his bottom lip. Eventually Martha released his mouth, needing to breathe.
"Sorry," she said quietly.
"Why?" he asked.
"Why what?"
"Why are you sorry for kissing me?" He slid his arms around her, then shifted so they were lying on their sides, face to face.
"Because I'm not Rose," she answered.
The Doctor frowned. "I don't want you to be Rose," he said. "I want you to be Dr Martha Jones, and not just a shadow of Martha Jones, either. I want the feisty, smart, quick-witted, compassionate woman who travelled with me." He cupped her left cheek in his right hand. "I - "
The rest of his sentence petered out as she turned her head and kissed his hand, then the inside of his wrist, before she captured his mouth with hers again. He groaned when she teased his tongue with her own, then groaned again when her right hand reached down and began to stroke his semi-erect cock through his trousers.
He gasped and pulled away slightly when her hand slipped inside his trousers. "Martha, are you - "
"Shh," she said, kissing him hungrily.
Within moments his trousers were off, and she was wrestling herself out of the black combat trousers she wore. The Doctor was still trying to work out a way to suggest that this might not be a good idea without making her feel rejected, when she crawled up his body.
"Please," she said, her tone quietly intense.
He couldn't say no, not that he really wanted to at this point, even if he doubted the wisdom of what they were about to do.
He wrapped his arms around her body, then rolled them both over, before pushing inside her. Martha gasped 'yes', then wrapped her legs around his, pulling him deeper, then ran her fingers through his hair. He groaned in response, then began to move, leisurely at first, then faster and harder as he sensed her orgasm approaching. He drove her over the brink twice before giving in to his own orgasm and spending himself inside her.
"Okay?" he asked quietly once his hearts had slowed down.
"Yes." She lifted her head to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
This close, he could see that she was embarrassed now. "It was a pleasure," he said. "I'm not sure it was the wisest thing to do, but I don't regret it, and I hope you won't either." He kissed her tenderly on the mouth and felt her relaxing again.
"You're not angry with me for pushing you into having sex with me?" she asked.
"No. If I'd really wanted to, I could have stopped you." He pushed himself up and off her body, lying beside her in an ungainly sprawl.
"Do you still want some hot chocolate?" he asked.
"No, thank you. I think I'll sleep easily once I've had a shower."
The Doctor smirked. "Worn you out, have I?" he asked.
"Watch it, or you won't get that ego of yours through the door," she teased, with something of her old spirit.
"Cheeky."
"Will you stay with me while I sleep?" she asked, quietly.
"If you want me to, then yes."
"Yes please." She got up and crossed to the bathroom, and he lay on the bed, full of amazement at what they had just done.
* * * * * *
Now
"I know what's wrong with Jamie, anyway," the Doctor said, moving back to the bedside and unhooking the various bits of equipment.
"What?"
"He's developing telepathic skills, and he's been overwhelmed by the thoughts of everyone around him. There are signs of telepathic activity in his prefrontal cortex."
"How can he be telepathic?" Martha asked.
"I have some telepathic skills myself," he answered. "And you humans all have the potential, it's just rarely developed."
"Can you help him?" she asked.
"I can put him into a healing coma for several hours," the Doctor answered. "And after that I can teach him how to shield his mind." He looked over at her. "And while he's healing, we need to talk."
She nodded, feeling a bit dazed, and watched while he leant over Jamie, his long fingers at her son's temples. She saw Jamie's body relax out of its unnatural tension, and his chest beginning to rise and fall in a normal manner, and felt a wave of relief so powerful that she had to sit down again.
"Will you make us some tea while I move the TARDIS?" the Doctor asked as he pulled a sheet up over Jamie.
"Okay." She got up and moved to the bed to clasp Jamie's hand for a moment, then went out into the corridor.
The Time Lord stood for a few moments after she left, looking down at the boy on the bed, tracing Jamie's face with his eyes. "Sleep well, son," he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. He cupped the boy's cheek in his hand for a moment, then pushed himself away from the bed.
* * * * * *
Martha had a pot of tea sitting on the table, a yellow and black stripped tea cosy knitted into a bee keeping the pot hot, when the Doctor walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. She poured him some without being asked, then pushed the mug across the table as he sat down.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Why didn't you give serious consideration to the idea that Jamie might be my son, not Tom's?" he asked.
Martha shrugged one shoulder. "I wanted him to be Tom's," she said. "Losing him in that way, to appendicitis, of all things, really hurt." She didn't look at the Doctor as she spoke. "We were only a couple of months away from getting married, and we were trying for a baby, and then he was suddenly gone. When Jamie was born, I thought that at least I'd still got something of Tom." She turned her mug round and round in her hands. "Besides, I knew how you'd reacted when you had an unexpected daughter foisted on to you, and I didn't want to subject my son to that, so on those rare occasions when I did wonder, I buried the idea immediately."
"Jenny was completely different," the Doctor said, rising anger in his tone. "She was created when a tissue sample was taken from me without consent, whereas you and I consented to have sex together."
"And then I didn't see you again for a year," Martha said, her own anger rising. "So of course I assumed you wouldn't be interested."
"I would have come if you'd told me," he snapped.
"And if I had told you, what would you have done?" she asked. "Bought me a house and settled down to work with UNIT or Torchwood, and played happy families?"
"Probably not," he answered. "But I would have helped you. You wouldn't have had to bring Jamie up on your own."
"I didn't!" Martha snapped. "Mum helped me. She's been bloody brilliant with him. Even took early retirement from her own job so she could help me out. You and I may be friends, of a sort, but that's all we are."
"You often have sex with your friends, do you?" asked the Doctor angrily.
"No I bloody don't! You know full well I wasn't entirely in control that night. And the next morning we agreed that it was just a one-off and it would never happen again."
Martha pushed herself up from her chair, intending to storm out, but the Doctor caught hold of her. "This isn't helping," he said, his tone calmer. "It won't help Jamie, either, and he's going to need our help more and more as he gets older." He leant his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I ever gave you the idea that I wouldn't want to know any child of mine. I'm sorry I haven't been around to help bring him up. And don't think I'm decrying your mum's help. After all, she brought you up, and I'm very proud of you and all you've done."
After a moment she leant against him, and they embraced. "I'm sorry too," she said. "So, what are we going to do?"
"Sit down again?" he suggested.
Martha rolled her eyes, but returned to her seat, and the Doctor joined her at the table, this time shifting his chair so they were sitting closer together.
"I'd like to spend some time getting to know Jamie, and spend some time with the two of you. Maybe I could start teaching him about Time Lord culture." He looked down at the table. "Teach you both, perhaps?" he suggested.
She put her hand over his. "I'd like that," she said softly. "And I bet he would too." She gave a quiet laugh. "He's obsessed with space, you know."
The Doctor looked up, surprised. "He is?"
"Oh yeah. Wait until you see how mum and I decorated his bedroom. And he asked me if he could have a telescope for Christmas this year, and mum and dad agreed to buy him one between them."
The Time Lord grinned. "Think he'd like to go and meet Galileo?" he asked.
"Oi!" Martha said. "No TARDIS trips just yet, thank you." She squeezed his hand when she saw his disappointed expression. "Let's wait a few more years, please? Otherwise he'll want to go with you and not stay on Earth at all, and I'm not ready for that yet."
"I wasn't planning on leaving you behind," the Doctor said quickly. "If we go anywhere, we'll go as a family. But I can wait - although I'm not sure Jamie will want to, once he knows his dad's got a Time and Spaceship available."
She looked away, biting her bottom lip.
"What is it, Martha?"
She gave a shrug, trying to swallow down the urge to cry. "I don't want to lose him, that's all," she said.
"You won't lose him. Martha, look at me." He waited until she'd turned to face him again. "You won't lose him. I am not going to take our son away from you. I'm not promising to settle down with the two of you to play happy families - we both know that's not me. But I am going to spend significant amounts of time with you both." He gave her a crooked grin. "After all, I do live in a Time machine."
"True," she said, trying to smile at his pun.
"Now, why don't we go and sit somewhere more comfortable, and you can tell me what you and UNIT have been up to since I saw you last, and then when Jamie's awake again, we'll go back to the hospital, pick up your mum, and we'll spend some time together?"
"Okay." She let him pull her up from the chair and lead her towards the library, where there were large comfortable sofas to lounge on, and as they walked, she wondered just what changes were coming to her life, and Jamie's, now that she'd found out the Doctor was Jamie's father. And she couldn't help wondering how it would change her relationship with the Time Lord, too.
I wonder what mum will say when she finds out, she thought.
Title: Child of Time
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Ten, Francine, Other Characters
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: S3 & S4
Summary: Eight years after the business with Davros, Martha calls on the Doctor's medical expertise.
Disclaimer: I occasionally wish that I did own it!
Author Notes: Normally I run away from kid!fic in this fandom, but a very persistent plot bunny bit me a few days ago, and after trying to ignore it for a couple of days, I realised that it wasn't going to go away. Of course, being Ten and Martha, this isn't your normal, gooey kid!fic...
Betas: the incorrigible catholicphoton (who practically begged me to write this, shame on her!) and the generous abstruse_fangrl.
~~~~~~
"All right, Private, you can get dressed again." Martha stepped out from behind the curtains, leaving her patient to dress while she updated his notes.
"Come back in three days and I'll take those stitches out," she told him as the young man stepped around the curtains.
"Yes Dr Jones." He hobbled out just as Martha's phone rang.
"Dr Jones speaking."
"Martha - "
"Mum, what's wrong?" she asked, interrupting in her anxiety.
"I'm sorry to ring you at work, but it's Jamie, he seems to be in some sort of trance, and I can't get a word out of him. He's just sitting and staring at the wall, like a zombie or something." Francine sounded desperately anxious, and Martha felt her stomach knot and her chest tighten in response.
"How long's he been like this?" she asked, shrugging off her white coat as she talked.
"At least fifteen minutes," her mother answered. "But he's been on his own in his room for an hour, so it could have been longer."
"All right, I'm on my way. Keep talking to him so he knows you're there."
"I will." Francine hung up and Martha followed suit, then dialled Brigadier Mace's number. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to duck out for a bit, my son's been taken ill."
"Very well, Jones. Keep me informed of the situation."
"I will, sir."
"I hope it's nothing too serious."
"Thank you, sir, so do I." She put the handset back down, then quickly logged out of her laptop, before shoving it into its case, then grabbing her coat and handbag she hurried out to her car.
As Martha drove across town from UNIT HQ to her mother's house she reminded herself that she'd been very lucky where Jamie's health was concerned as he seemed to avoid all the usual childhood ailments; which only made this situation more worrying. She was trying not to panic, but she knew of only two reasons why an eight year old would be suffering from catalepsy: emotional shock or epilepsy, but she couldn't think of any reason why Jamie would be suffering an emotional shock.
She pulled up behind Francine's car, and grabbed her medical kit from the passenger seat, before hurrying along the drive to the front door. She let herself into the house with the spare key her mother had given her years ago.
"Mum?" she called anxiously.
Francine appeared at the top of the stairs. "Up here," she called quietly.
Martha had a sudden, brief flashback to another occasion on which she'd seen her mother in such a spot. She gave herself a mental shake, then hurried up the stairs; now was not the time to be remembering planetary emergencies.
"How is he?" she asked anxiously as she reached the landing.
"Exactly the same," Francine answered.
Martha heard the barely-concealed worry in her mother's voice and felt the knot in her stomach tighten further.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"In his room." Francine gestured at the guestroom that had become her grandson's second bedroom by default as he usually spent most of his school holidays staying with his grandmother.
Martha moved past her and into the bedroom that was decorated with a space theme, much like his room at home, although without the moonrise wallpaper above the head of the bed.
"Jamie," she said softly, kneeling beside the desk where he sat staring blankly at the wall in front of him. "It's mum." She swallowed hard, and put her left hand on his stiff shoulder, then looked into his face. He seemed to look straight through her, and she noted that he didn't blink even when she shone her pen torch into his eyes. Martha also noticed that his breathing was slower than usual; she turned his chair around and touched his arms and legs, but there was no response, even when she pinched his arm.
"He needs to go to hospital," Martha said, straightening up. She could feel tears prickling her eyes, but she refused to cry, although she could see Francine was on the verge of tears herself.
"I'm coming with you," her mother said firmly.
"Thank you." Martha picked up her medical bag and passed it to her mum, then gave her the keys for her car. "Can you go down and unlock the car, please, and I'll bring Jamie down."
Francine nodded and took both items from her daughter, then hurried downstairs, pausing long enough to pull on her coat, and grab her house keys, purse and mobile phone, before she hurried out to Martha's car.
Francine unlocked the car, and put Martha's bag onto the passenger seat, then opened the back door as Martha came through the front door of the house with Jamie in her arms.
"I'll go and shut the front door," Francine said, realising Martha couldn't do it herself. She hurried back up the drive and shut the door, then back to the car where Martha was settling her son onto the back seat.
"Can you sit beside him please?" she asked her mother as she fastened the seat belt across Jamie's body.
"Of course." Francine moved quickly around the car and got in next to Jamie, taking her grandson's unresponsive right hand in her hand.
"What do you think's caused this?" she asked as Martha climbed into the driver's seat.
"The most likely cause is epilepsy in a child his age," her daughter said as she backed out of the drive and onto the road. "Although emotional shock is another potential cause. He's too young for it to be drugs-related, and, I hope, too young for either Parkinson's Disease or schizophrenia."
"Oh god!" Francine closed her eyes, horrified. She opened them again and stared at the small boy beside her. His dark brown hair was ruffled and untidy, as it always seem to be no matter how many times it was combed, and his dark brown eyes, so like Martha's, were blank and empty; normally Jamie's eyes were full of intelligence and curiosity, or bright with merriment - her grandson had an appreciation for the absurd that was unusual in one so young. He had been in her life for eight years now, as Francine had, by her own choice, been very involved in his upbringing thanks to Martha's single status, and she had enjoyed every moment.
"We're here," Martha said, pulling up outside the Royal Hope. She and Francine got out of the car, then Martha lifted her son from the back seat.
"We'll take him to A&E," she said, "and I shall insist on a referral to NHNN."
"NHNN?" asked Francine, puzzled.
"The National Hospital for Neurology and Neuroscience," Martha answered, heading towards the doors with a feeling of relief that Jamie was quite small for his age, although his unresponsive body made him seem more awkward to carry than usual.
The doors opened automatically at their approach, and Martha headed unerringly to the A&E desk. To her relief she saw a very familiar face at the desk.
"Julia, thank goodness!" she gasped.
"Martha!" exclaimed Dr Julia Swales, astonished. "What's wrong?"
"It's Jamie, he's cataleptic. Been like it for at least forty minutes now, possibly longer."
"Come through," Julia said quickly. She led the way, and Martha and Francine followed her down a short corridor and into a cubicle.
"Sit down," Julia said, gesturing at the bed, and watching as Martha sank onto it, a relieved expression on her face.
"I'll get hold of Janette and Heather," Julia said. "Janette works in Paediatrics, and Heather in Neurology."
"Thanks Julia." Martha gave her a grateful look. She had not been too surprised when Julia had opted to leave UNIT and return to working for the NHS after the business with the Large Hadron Collider and Oliver Harrington several years ago. The weirdness of that experience had caused several UNIT members of staff to leave when they had decided they'd prefer dealing with more mundane things.
"Mrs Jones, there's a coffee machine just down the corridor, if you need it."
"Thank you, Julia." Francine gave her a shaky smile as the younger woman turned and went out to ring her colleagues. "Do you want a coffee?" she asked her daughter.
"No, thanks." Martha sat with Jamie cradled in her lap, his unresponsiveness made her feel as if someone was twisting a knife in her heart, and it was only by a supreme effort of will that she was staying calm.
"I think I will." She saw her daughter give a nod before she went in search of a drink. When she returned a few minutes later Julia was standing outside the cubicle.
"Janette's just examining Jamie now," the young woman told Francine, who nodded, clutching her plastic cup of coffee and hoping that her hands wouldn't start shaking.
Inside the cubicle, Janette was asking Martha questions while she examined Jamie. "Has he shown any symptoms like this before?"
"No," Martha answered. "We've been really lucky with his health up till now. He's suffered far fewer of the normal childhood illnesses than I or my siblings ever did. He rarely has a cold, even when the rest of his class has them. He seems to have a really robust immune system."
"And what was he doing before he became cataleptic?"
"I don't know. I was at work. My mum was looking after him. She came with me."
"All right, I'll speak to her in a few minutes. Is there any family history of epilepsy?" asked Janette.
"Not in my family," Martha answered.
"What about his father's family?"
"I don't know. Jamie's dad died before he was born, before I knew I was pregnant in fact. He had appendicitis while working with the Doctors Without Borders programme in Africa." She closed her eyes on the pang of grief and guilt that she always felt when mentioning Tom's death.
"Well, we'll need to check that out," Janette said.
The curtain around the cubicle was pushed aside and another woman entered the small space. The contrast between the two women was almost comical: where Janette was tall, slender, and blonde-haired, her colleague, Heather, was a small brunette with startling green eyes who looked too young to be a specialist in neurology.
"Heather, this is Dr Martha Jones, and her son Jamie," Janette said, as she straightened up from her examination of the small boy who lay still as death on the bed. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest betrayed that he was still alive.
"What area do you specialise in Dr Jones?" asked Heather.
"I don't. I work for a government organisation and I'm a generalist."
"Oh." Heather gave her a quick glance, then turned her attention back to Jamie, and began asking Martha similar questions to the ones Janette had already asked.
"We're going to have to run some tests," Heather said, straightening up, "and get hold of his father's medical records, or at least speak to the family doctor."
"What sort of tests?" asked Martha anxiously.
"We'll start with an EEG and a CT scan, and then do an MRI if necessary, but it probably won't be necessary." She smiled reassuringly at Martha.
"What about a referral to the NHNN?" she asked. "The organisation I work for will cover the cost of seeing a specialist."
"I know you're anxious, Martha, I would be too in your shoes since I've got two kids of my own, but let's get the basics out of the way first, before we worry about referring Jamie to a specialist."
She felt her face flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, I - Sorry."
Heather patted her shoulder. "It's okay," she said. "I understand that you just want what's best for Jamie. Janette will talk to Julia to see about getting him admitted, so we can run the tests, and I'll have a quick word with your mum, and then we'll get moving."
Martha nodded. "Can I stay with him for now?"
"Of course."
"Thank you." Martha moved to sit beside the bed while the two specialists moved past the cubicle curtain to ask Francine about Jamie's behaviour before he became cataleptic.
She took his left hand in hers, and ran her fingers lightly through his wild hair. "What happened to you, Jamie?" she asked softly, stroking his forehead. "I wish you'd wake up. We were going to go swimming this afternoon, remember? And then we were going to buy fish and chips on the way home, to save granny from having to cook tonight. I got you a surprise, too - I bought you 'Apollo 13' because you asked me about it last week, and I was going to let you watch it tonight. Thought we could make an evening of it, with popcorn and everything."
She sniffed, trying to fight back her tears, but not wanting to let go of her son. "I don't want to lose you, James Thomas Jones. Please, don't go."
She heard the curtain rattle behind her and turned to look over her shoulder at Julia; Francine stood at her shoulder.
"We're going to take him up to the paediatric ward now, Martha," Julia said softly. "You can stay on the ward with him until they're ready to the EEG and CT scan, and there's a waiting room up there, too, so you don't have to leave him here straight away."
"Thank you." Martha turned back to her son and kissed his cheek, and then his forehead, before moving away so that Jamie could be transferred into a wheelchair.
Francine pulled her daughter into her arms and held her tightly.
"I wish Tom was here," she said to her mother. "He'd know what to do."
"Maybe," Francine answered. She wasn't sure whether Tom would have known how to help Jamie or not, although she knew her late son-in-law had been a good Paediatrician. "He's in good hands, now, though."
Julia came out of the cubicle pushing a wheelchair into which Jamie had been strapped. "Are you coming?" she asked.
"Yes." Martha was grateful for her mother's arm around her shoulders.
They took the lift up several floors to the brightly decorated children's ward and Martha found herself desperately hoping that their stay would be a short one.
* * * * * *
48 hours later
Francine joined Martha at Jamie's bedside. "Here," she said, offering her daughter a plastic cup full of coffee.
"Thanks." She took it one-handed and sipped at it absentmindedly, her free hand still holding Jamie's as it lay on top of the bed covers.
"Have you thought about phoning the Doctor?" Francine asked.
Her daughter looked up, startled. "Phoning the Doctor?"
Francine gave a half shrug. "You told me that he's got all that advanced equipment on his ship. Maybe it could find out what's wrong with Jamie since the doctors here can't?"
Martha gave her mother a doubtful look. "I don't know," she said.
"It's got to be worth a try, surely?" argued Francine. "I know you prefer not to get too involved with him, but no one here's got a clue what's wrong with Jamie. It makes sense to ask the one man who may be able to solve this mystery."
"You're right, of course," Martha answered. "I'll go and ring him now, see what he's got to say." She leant forward and brushed a kiss over her son's forehead, then squeezed his fingers. "Mummy won't be long, sweetheart, and granny's here to sit with you until I come back."
She didn't normally refer to herself as 'mummy', but seeing Jamie in the hospital bed, looking so small and vulnerable made him seem younger somehow. Francine gave her an encouraging smile as she picked up her red leather jacket from the back of her chair and walked down the ward towards the lift. Martha went down to the small restaurant that catered for patients' families, and found a quiet corner to make her phone call.
It was answered very promptly. "Is that Martha Jones?" asked the Doctor, his familiar voice sounding pleased to get her call.
"Hello Doctor."
"What can I do for you today, Dr Jones? You don't need me to come and help you save the Earth again, do you?"
"Not this time," she answered, trying to laugh. "It's my son, he's sick, and I'm hoping you'll be able to help him with the equipment in the TARDIS."
"Your son?" asked the Doctor, sounding very surprised. "When did you have a son?"
"He's eight," Martha answered.
"Oh Martha, I am sorry."
"Thanks." She didn't really want to think too much about Tom's death. "Can you come, though?"
"Of course. Where are you?"
"He's in the Royal Hope, the children's ward on the seventh floor." She was silent a moment, pondering. "I'm not sure how we're going to get him to the TARDIS, though," she said.
"We'll worry about that after I get there," he said. "Don't worry, I'll think of something. Just hang in there, Martha Jones. I'll be with you soon."
"Thank you."
"See you soon."
Martha terminated the call, then went back upstairs, feeling a surge of hope for the first time in 2 days.
* * * * * *
Francine knew, as soon as Martha appeared, that the Doctor had agreed to come and help: her daughter's whole demeanour had brightened, and she no longer looked as haggard as she had earlier.
"He's coming?" she asked, sure the answer would be positive.
"Yes." She looked around the ward, which was fairly quiet. There were only three other children here at the moment, and none of the other parents had arrived yet. Just as she was wondering how the Doctor was going to get Jamie to the TARDIS her phone beeped, and she saw a text message had arrived:
In linen cupboard down corridor. Meet me please?
She sent back the word 'Yes', then got up again. "I'll be back soon," she told Francine. "I'm just going to meet the Doctor."
Her mother nodded and as Martha hurried down the ward, she turned back to her grandson. "You're going to get to meet the Doctor, Jamie," she said quietly. "He's a very special friend of Martha's and I'm sure you'll like him a lot."
* * * * * *
Martha glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then opened the door of the linen cupboard, and there was the Doctor, his tall, lanky frame clad in her favourite blue suit.
"Martha Jones," he said quietly, a small, pleased smile on his face. He held out his arms, and she stepped into them gladly, relieved by his mere presence.
"Thank you for coming," she said, her head resting on his chest. "The doctors here have no idea how to help Jamie."
"Jamie?" asked the Doctor, a note of emotion in his voice that she couldn't identify.
"James Thomas Jones, Jamie for short," she answered.
"I knew a Jamie, once," he mused. "A fine young man, very brave. So what's wrong with your Jamie?"
"Mum found him in a cataleptic state on Tuesday. She'd left him in his room, doing his half-term homework." She couldn't help a little smirk as she looked up at the Time Lord. "He's a bit of a swot, like me."
"Why doesn't that surprise me, Dr Jones?"
"Anyway, mum went up to ask him if he wanted some milk and biscuits, and found him just staring at the wall in front of him. He hasn't responded since, and the doctors' tests haven't found anything wrong with him." She gulped, and the Doctor tightened his arms around her.
"It's okay, Martha," he said quietly. "I'm going to help you sort this out."
"How are we going to get him into the TARDIS?" she asked.
"Wheelchair and scrubs," he answered promptly. "We'll go in and take him out as if we're legitimate doctors, taking him for more tests, and bring him straight back to the TARDIS. If we're wearing face masks and those skull caps as well, we'll be more or less unrecognisable."
"Okay."
"Is there a wheelchair on the ward?"
"Several," Martha confirmed, "including one right by Jamie's bed. It's easier for them to take him for tests in that than in a bed."
"Good. Let's equip ourselves and then we can sort out what's wrong with your son." He turned and crossed to a section of the shelves that was full of sets of scrubs and found a small pair for Martha, and a larger pair for himself. They pulled on the protective clothing, then donned skull caps, face masks and gloves.
"Even your own mother might struggle to recognise you in this get up," the Doctor observed, his voice muffled by his mask.
"We'll find out in a few minutes," she answered. "Mum's here, she's with Jamie right now."
His brown eyes widened comically above the mask and she heard him gulp. "Okay."
"Don't worry, she won't bite. In fact, it was mum's idea for me to ring you."
"Oh!" He sounded surprised, and she wondered if he was remembering that it was Francine who'd rung and asked him to visit Martha after she had lost Tom.
"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing at the door.
"Yes."
They crossed to the door and Martha opened it and stepped out as if she and the Doctor had every right to be there: she'd never forgotten his remark about walking about as if he owned the place, back when they'd been in Shakespeare's England.
"It's this way," she said, setting off along the corridor to the children's ward, and doing her best not to move furtively. She led the Doctor through the double swing doors and straight up to Jamie's bed, grabbing the wheelchair that was positioned nearby.
"Not more tests?" asked Francine, looking up from her seat next to her grandson; then her eyes widened as she recognised the two figures beside her.
"Don't give us away, mum," Martha said softly.
Mrs Jones nodded, eyes wide, then she smiled at the Doctor and mouthed 'Thank you' at him.
He gave a quick nod in response, then held the wheelchair steady while Martha lifted her son from the bed, having unfastened the NG tube first. Within moments they were back outside the linen cupboard, and the Doctor was holding the door open as Martha wheeled Jamie through the door. He moved past her and opened both the TARDIS' doors and waited inside as she pushed the wheelchair over the threshold and started up the ramp.
The Med Bay was right beside the Control Room as they exited the latter, and Martha guided the chair through the door. She lifted Jamie out of the wheelchair and onto the examination bed, then moved the chair back into the corridor out of their way. As she stepped back into the Med Bay, she brushed a hand against the wall, murmuring a greeting to the TARDIS, who hummed in response.
Martha watched as the Doctor hooked her son up to various bits of equipment around the bed, and then positioned a scanner over his head.
"You okay?" he asked, glancing across at her and seeing her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"Yeah."
She stood watching as he checked the monitors, trying to wait patiently for his diagnosis, or some mile-a-minute technobabble commentary on what he was doing.
"Doctor?" she said quietly after several minutes, wondering why he was so still and silent as he stared at one particular screen.
Finally he pulled the mask down off his face and gave her a look in which she read hurt, disappointment, and even anger.
"What is it?" she demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"How else do you expect me to look," he asked, more anger in his expression now, "when you've been concealing my son from me?"
"You son?" Martha gasped, disbelief writ large across her face.
He reached over and grasped her elbow none-too-gently, and pulled her close so that she could see the display screen at which he was looking, and the DNA strand that was on it. She could quite clearly see that it wasn't purely human.
"Oh god!" she gasped, swaying with shock.
"You didn't know?" the Doctor asked roughly.
"I - No. I was sure he was mine and Tom's," Martha answered, tears beginning to slide down her face. "We were trying for a baby that last time he was home from Africa, that's how I fell pregnant. I'd stopped taking my pill, and I never started again after I found out he'd died."
The Time Lord grabbed a chair and pulled it close, then pushed her down onto it, although with less force than she expected.
"Didn't you have any idea?" he asked, his expression dark.
"Well, he did develop language acquisition skills rather early," she answered. "Earlier than average for most Western children, anyway." Tears continued to slide down her face, but she took no notice of them. "And his grasp of technology is very good for an eight year old. But his skills aren't off the charts." She looked up at the Doctor as he stood over her, and gave a helpless shrug. "I just thought I had a very gifted son."
"Well he's part Time Lord," the Doctor said. "He's our son, not yours and Tom's."
Martha looked away, horrified by the realisation and embarrassed by her recollection of their time together.
* * * * * *
Eight years ago
"Doctor!" Martha stared at the Time Lord as he lounged against her car in the UNIT car park, the light above her car making him clearly visible despite the lateness of the hour. "What are you doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It's nice to see you, too, Dr Jones," he said, a slightly sardonic curl to his lip.
She flushed slightly. "Sorry. It's just - well, I wasn't expecting to see you. Hello."
His expression became a genuine smile. "That's better. Hello, Martha Jones." He held out his arms to her, a question in his eyes.
She gave him a half smile and stepped into his embrace.
"I'm sorry about Tom," he said quietly, his chin resting on top of her head.
She stiffened and pulled her head back to look up at him. "How do you know about Tom?" she asked, her tone fierce.
"Your mum rang me," he answered gently. "Don't be angry at her, Martha. She was worried about you."
Martha pulled away from him and folded her arms across her chest. "She had no right."
The Doctor looked at her, head on one side, and one eyebrow raised. "You don't mean that," he said gently. "You know how much she cares about you, how she worries about you." He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Francine's worried that you're not grieving."
"I'm fine."
He gave a snort. "Martha, I know that lie of old, and you know that I do. Francine told me that you are working obsessively long hours, and here you are, just leaving work, and it's 9pm. What time did you get in this morning?"
"Seven thirty," she mumbled.
"And how many weeks have you been working long hours like that?"
"Three, since - since I heard Tom had died."
"Come on," he said, guiding her to the car. "Let's get you home and then I'm taking you on a trip to somewhere quiet for some R&R."
"But - " she began.
"No buts, Martha," he said. "Please, for once, let me help you."
She heaved a heavy sigh, then nodded. "Very well."
"Good." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then took her laptop bag and shoulder bag from her, putting them on the back seat of her car once she'd unlocked it.
She watched as he folded his long limbs into the small passenger seat, remembering for a moment the last time he'd been in her car, and that Jack had been in the back.
He reached over and clasped her left hand for a moment. "Let's go," he said gently.
She nodded, then started the engine, and pulled away. They drove across town without talking, and Martha was aware that the Doctor was giving her sidelong looks every now and again. She wondered what he saw in the passing streetlights: she mostly avoided mirrors these days, knowing that they betrayed how tired she looked, and that she'd lost some weight in the last three weeks because she hadn't been eating properly.
After they arrived at Martha's flat, she looked up and down the street.
"She's round the back," the Doctor said, guessing that Martha was looking for the TARDIS.
"Oh."
They got out of the car and the Doctor waited while Martha took her bags inside, and then they walked down the street and around the corner to the mews at the back where the TARDIS stood.
"Come on." He took her hand in his and led her up to the door, then into the Control Room. "First things first. You need food, a shower, and some sleep," he told her.
She frowned. "Are you telling me I smell?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I doubt you've changed your routine that much since you and I shared a place in 1969, or since you travelled with me, and I remember you always used to like a shower before bed."
Her expression lightened. "I've not changed my routine," she admitted.
He smirked. "Thought not. So, why don't you go and see what food is in the kitchen and I'll get us out of here, and then we can eat."
"Okay. Thank you."
She started towards the archway. "By the way, how long is it, for you, since you last saw me?"
"Three months," he answered, glancing over at her. "Same as for you."
"Oh."
The Doctor watched her out of sight, then turned his attention back to the console. He hadn't missed the fact that Martha hadn't really put up much of a fight about going with him, which fitted with what Francine had told him about her daughter's state of mind.
Shortly afterwards he entered the kitchen to find Martha nursing a mug of tea.
"What did you find to eat?" he asked, wondering if she had actually looked.
She looked up at him and he felt his chest tighten at the blank expression on her face, so unlike her usual curiosity and intelligence. "What?"
"What do you want to eat?" He guessed that she had just made herself a mug of tea and not actually looked to see what food was available.
She shrugged. "I don't mind."
"Okay." He opened the fridge door to see what was there, and began telling Martha about a trip he'd made to an anti-gravity restaurant. As he cooked and talked, he watched her from the corner of his eye, noticing that she hardly seemed to be listening; he continuing telling her about his recent trips in the hope of provoking some sort of response from her.
Finally, as he served up their meal, he mentioned visiting Kurhan, and her head lifted.
"You went back to Kurhan?" she asked.
He nodded and grinned. "Remember when we went ice-skating there?"
"And you spent the first twenty minutes falling over because you couldn't co-ordinate your legs. You said that your legs had been much shorter the last time you went ice-skating."
"And that's when I explained regeneration to you," the Doctor reminded her.
"I remember," Martha said. She began to eat, and he watched her from the corner of his eye, relaxing somewhat when he saw that she was tucking in heartily.
"Better?" he asked, when she pushed her empty plate aside.
"Yes, thank you."
"You're welcome." He gathered up their empty plates and wine glasses. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Better not, or I won't sleep."
"Hot chocolate then?" he suggested.
"Yes please." Martha stood up, then grabbed the chair for support. "Oh!" she gasped. "I think that wine went straight to my head."
"Sorry about that." The Doctor looked apologetic. "You'd better wait a bit before you have your shower," he suggested.
"Yeah. Might go and lie down, though." She took a couple of unsteady steps towards the door, and he stepped forward.
"Come here." He scooped her up easily and she began giggling as he carried her to her old bedroom.
"My knight in shining armour," she laughed as he carried her through the door and across to the bed.
He snorted with laughter. "A suit is hardly the same thing," he said, as he lowered her down onto the bed.
"True, but it's a very nice suit." She grabbed at his lapels, and her sudden tug overbalanced him so that he fell across the bed. Martha started laughing and the Doctor pouted at her.
"Dr Jones, are you mocking me?" he asked, secretly pleased that she was able to laugh, even if it was at him.
"Aw, would I, Mr Smith?" she asked, nudging his thigh with her foot.
"You might," he said, sitting up and grabbing her foot.
"Oh! No, don't!" she yelped, trying to pull her foot away.
"Not ticklish are you?" asked the Doctor with a devilish grin.
"No!" she asserted, still trying to pull her foot away.
"Don't believe you," he said in a sing-song voice and began tickling her foot.
Martha shrieked and moved away, and he laughed, then crawled across the bed after her. Within minutes they were engaged in a desperate battle to tickle each other while remaining untickled themselves.
"Pax! Pax!" she cried eventually, almost breathless, as she sprawled in the middle of her bed.
"Very well," he agreed, trying to push himself up. "Oh. I'll just stay here for a moment." He smirked at her. "I made you cry 'Pax!'," he said, reaching out to brush her hair off her face.
"Only so I could catch my breath before round 2," she retorted. She clasped his wrist and tugged his arm, so he shifted to lie beside her.
"Round 2, eh?" he asked.
"Mmm." She was staring at his face, he noticed.
"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing." She leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
The Doctor was startled, but he didn't try to resist, even when she bit his bottom lip. Eventually Martha released his mouth, needing to breathe.
"Sorry," she said quietly.
"Why?" he asked.
"Why what?"
"Why are you sorry for kissing me?" He slid his arms around her, then shifted so they were lying on their sides, face to face.
"Because I'm not Rose," she answered.
The Doctor frowned. "I don't want you to be Rose," he said. "I want you to be Dr Martha Jones, and not just a shadow of Martha Jones, either. I want the feisty, smart, quick-witted, compassionate woman who travelled with me." He cupped her left cheek in his right hand. "I - "
The rest of his sentence petered out as she turned her head and kissed his hand, then the inside of his wrist, before she captured his mouth with hers again. He groaned when she teased his tongue with her own, then groaned again when her right hand reached down and began to stroke his semi-erect cock through his trousers.
He gasped and pulled away slightly when her hand slipped inside his trousers. "Martha, are you - "
"Shh," she said, kissing him hungrily.
Within moments his trousers were off, and she was wrestling herself out of the black combat trousers she wore. The Doctor was still trying to work out a way to suggest that this might not be a good idea without making her feel rejected, when she crawled up his body.
"Please," she said, her tone quietly intense.
He couldn't say no, not that he really wanted to at this point, even if he doubted the wisdom of what they were about to do.
He wrapped his arms around her body, then rolled them both over, before pushing inside her. Martha gasped 'yes', then wrapped her legs around his, pulling him deeper, then ran her fingers through his hair. He groaned in response, then began to move, leisurely at first, then faster and harder as he sensed her orgasm approaching. He drove her over the brink twice before giving in to his own orgasm and spending himself inside her.
"Okay?" he asked quietly once his hearts had slowed down.
"Yes." She lifted her head to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
This close, he could see that she was embarrassed now. "It was a pleasure," he said. "I'm not sure it was the wisest thing to do, but I don't regret it, and I hope you won't either." He kissed her tenderly on the mouth and felt her relaxing again.
"You're not angry with me for pushing you into having sex with me?" she asked.
"No. If I'd really wanted to, I could have stopped you." He pushed himself up and off her body, lying beside her in an ungainly sprawl.
"Do you still want some hot chocolate?" he asked.
"No, thank you. I think I'll sleep easily once I've had a shower."
The Doctor smirked. "Worn you out, have I?" he asked.
"Watch it, or you won't get that ego of yours through the door," she teased, with something of her old spirit.
"Cheeky."
"Will you stay with me while I sleep?" she asked, quietly.
"If you want me to, then yes."
"Yes please." She got up and crossed to the bathroom, and he lay on the bed, full of amazement at what they had just done.
* * * * * *
Now
"I know what's wrong with Jamie, anyway," the Doctor said, moving back to the bedside and unhooking the various bits of equipment.
"What?"
"He's developing telepathic skills, and he's been overwhelmed by the thoughts of everyone around him. There are signs of telepathic activity in his prefrontal cortex."
"How can he be telepathic?" Martha asked.
"I have some telepathic skills myself," he answered. "And you humans all have the potential, it's just rarely developed."
"Can you help him?" she asked.
"I can put him into a healing coma for several hours," the Doctor answered. "And after that I can teach him how to shield his mind." He looked over at her. "And while he's healing, we need to talk."
She nodded, feeling a bit dazed, and watched while he leant over Jamie, his long fingers at her son's temples. She saw Jamie's body relax out of its unnatural tension, and his chest beginning to rise and fall in a normal manner, and felt a wave of relief so powerful that she had to sit down again.
"Will you make us some tea while I move the TARDIS?" the Doctor asked as he pulled a sheet up over Jamie.
"Okay." She got up and moved to the bed to clasp Jamie's hand for a moment, then went out into the corridor.
The Time Lord stood for a few moments after she left, looking down at the boy on the bed, tracing Jamie's face with his eyes. "Sleep well, son," he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. He cupped the boy's cheek in his hand for a moment, then pushed himself away from the bed.
* * * * * *
Martha had a pot of tea sitting on the table, a yellow and black stripped tea cosy knitted into a bee keeping the pot hot, when the Doctor walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. She poured him some without being asked, then pushed the mug across the table as he sat down.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Why didn't you give serious consideration to the idea that Jamie might be my son, not Tom's?" he asked.
Martha shrugged one shoulder. "I wanted him to be Tom's," she said. "Losing him in that way, to appendicitis, of all things, really hurt." She didn't look at the Doctor as she spoke. "We were only a couple of months away from getting married, and we were trying for a baby, and then he was suddenly gone. When Jamie was born, I thought that at least I'd still got something of Tom." She turned her mug round and round in her hands. "Besides, I knew how you'd reacted when you had an unexpected daughter foisted on to you, and I didn't want to subject my son to that, so on those rare occasions when I did wonder, I buried the idea immediately."
"Jenny was completely different," the Doctor said, rising anger in his tone. "She was created when a tissue sample was taken from me without consent, whereas you and I consented to have sex together."
"And then I didn't see you again for a year," Martha said, her own anger rising. "So of course I assumed you wouldn't be interested."
"I would have come if you'd told me," he snapped.
"And if I had told you, what would you have done?" she asked. "Bought me a house and settled down to work with UNIT or Torchwood, and played happy families?"
"Probably not," he answered. "But I would have helped you. You wouldn't have had to bring Jamie up on your own."
"I didn't!" Martha snapped. "Mum helped me. She's been bloody brilliant with him. Even took early retirement from her own job so she could help me out. You and I may be friends, of a sort, but that's all we are."
"You often have sex with your friends, do you?" asked the Doctor angrily.
"No I bloody don't! You know full well I wasn't entirely in control that night. And the next morning we agreed that it was just a one-off and it would never happen again."
Martha pushed herself up from her chair, intending to storm out, but the Doctor caught hold of her. "This isn't helping," he said, his tone calmer. "It won't help Jamie, either, and he's going to need our help more and more as he gets older." He leant his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I ever gave you the idea that I wouldn't want to know any child of mine. I'm sorry I haven't been around to help bring him up. And don't think I'm decrying your mum's help. After all, she brought you up, and I'm very proud of you and all you've done."
After a moment she leant against him, and they embraced. "I'm sorry too," she said. "So, what are we going to do?"
"Sit down again?" he suggested.
Martha rolled her eyes, but returned to her seat, and the Doctor joined her at the table, this time shifting his chair so they were sitting closer together.
"I'd like to spend some time getting to know Jamie, and spend some time with the two of you. Maybe I could start teaching him about Time Lord culture." He looked down at the table. "Teach you both, perhaps?" he suggested.
She put her hand over his. "I'd like that," she said softly. "And I bet he would too." She gave a quiet laugh. "He's obsessed with space, you know."
The Doctor looked up, surprised. "He is?"
"Oh yeah. Wait until you see how mum and I decorated his bedroom. And he asked me if he could have a telescope for Christmas this year, and mum and dad agreed to buy him one between them."
The Time Lord grinned. "Think he'd like to go and meet Galileo?" he asked.
"Oi!" Martha said. "No TARDIS trips just yet, thank you." She squeezed his hand when she saw his disappointed expression. "Let's wait a few more years, please? Otherwise he'll want to go with you and not stay on Earth at all, and I'm not ready for that yet."
"I wasn't planning on leaving you behind," the Doctor said quickly. "If we go anywhere, we'll go as a family. But I can wait - although I'm not sure Jamie will want to, once he knows his dad's got a Time and Spaceship available."
She looked away, biting her bottom lip.
"What is it, Martha?"
She gave a shrug, trying to swallow down the urge to cry. "I don't want to lose him, that's all," she said.
"You won't lose him. Martha, look at me." He waited until she'd turned to face him again. "You won't lose him. I am not going to take our son away from you. I'm not promising to settle down with the two of you to play happy families - we both know that's not me. But I am going to spend significant amounts of time with you both." He gave her a crooked grin. "After all, I do live in a Time machine."
"True," she said, trying to smile at his pun.
"Now, why don't we go and sit somewhere more comfortable, and you can tell me what you and UNIT have been up to since I saw you last, and then when Jamie's awake again, we'll go back to the hospital, pick up your mum, and we'll spend some time together?"
"Okay." She let him pull her up from the chair and lead her towards the library, where there were large comfortable sofas to lounge on, and as they walked, she wondered just what changes were coming to her life, and Jamie's, now that she'd found out the Doctor was Jamie's father. And she couldn't help wondering how it would change her relationship with the Time Lord, too.
I wonder what mum will say when she finds out, she thought.