Doctor Who ficathon entry: "The Temptation of Martha Jones" (Martha, 9th Doctor)
Title: The Temptation of Martha Jones.
Written for the Tardis Gen ficathon! <-go visit! so many great fics! there
for Persiflage_1
Prompt: . Nine meets Martha Jones pre-S1 for him, post-S3 for her
Author: Keenir
Characters: Martha Jones, 9th Doctor.
Rating/Category: PG-13
Spoilers: the 8th Doctor’s tv movie, Rose, Smith and Jones, Gridlocked, Shakespeare.
Summary: Martha Jones finds the Doctor before she met him - and, temptingly, before Rose met him. She finds him, in short, right after the Time War spat him out.
you can follow the fake cut here, or the real cut just ahead
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][
Doctor Martha Jones came upon him on her way home from work. She was taking the scenic route, which meant the longer-than-long way home, a path that went to more out-of-the-way spots than her normal routine passed. Which was the whole point of the scenic route.
And that was when and where she found him - she ran to him where he lay, nine-tenths unconscious and face-down on paving stones that looked like nobody’d cleaned them since V-E Day. And he hadn’t been beaten up - but there was something most definitely wrong with him: Shroedinger’s Cat was at work here - his hands were flickering between three different sets; his face that of three different people, sometimes of someone else entirely. If not for little bits and pieces the Doctor had mentioned to her, Martha might have no idea what manner of being she was looking at.
His clothing was odd in the sense of being out of time, 19th Century overcoat, Doctor?, but nothing about the clothing or fashion seemed to be responsible for this. What caught Martha’s attention was the dull gloaming-metal that cuffed the Doctor’s right wrist.
There were no seams, buttons, or anything other that might indicate where to break the cuff apart. Aliens, honestly. It took only a moment, but Martha spied one mark on the cuff: and it looked like a silhouette of a Martian Tripod. Wells? Why not, Martha reasoned, and spat squarely on the image.
The cuff split open and, falling on the ground, dissolved into nothing.
His body solidified - Shroedinger no longer a problem - as his regeneration finally was permitted to finish.
Levering himself up weakly, he looked Martha in the eyes, and told her, “Thank you,” his voice surprisingly strong in Martha’s opinion for someone who’d been two or more people a moment ago.
Regeneration. Always full of surprises. “You’re welcome. I’m Martha,” she told him.
“Hello Martha,” he said, taking it as an introduction. “I’m the Doctor.” Says it with the air of confidence and self-assuredness that she’s familiar with… and something else in there too.
At least he’s not the Master. ‘Course, if he was, I wouldn’t know it was him - not if he had a new face and a new voice. Wouldn’t know until it was too late.
Still, he says he’s the Doctor, so why not take him at his word - for now. “Easy there,” Martha suggests. “You’re not lying in anything,” that I can see, “so just lie there and make sure you’re a hundred percent before you run off to save the world.”
He lets himself down and rolls over, releasing a silent groan that has nothing whatsoever to do with physical pain or exertion.
The Doctor’s tired of saving the world? Can’t really say I blame him. But how far in the future is he from, that he’s in no mood to save Earth? knowing that her question only makes sense from certain perspectives. “Do you need to go anywhere first? Grab a bite to eat, say hi to anyone?”
Martha isn’t sure when his bright eyes had closed, but she definitely notices when he opens them. “Brilliant, simply brilliant idea that is,” and he rocks himself to a standing position - a physical action any human can do. And he looks at her. The Doctor looks at her.
Martha is floored. He’s looking at her as if she has the answers, as if it’s her that’s the most important person in at least the world if not further.
“Anyone in particular?” the Doctor asks.
“Well, I don’t know many of your friends,” Martha says. “But there’s always Rose, right?”
And that attentiveness takes on a puzzled aspect. Confused; the Doctor is confused. “I’m sorry, but who?” he asks.
“Rose?” Martha asked. “Rose Tyler?”
The Doctor stood stock still, looking off into nothing as he checked his recoverable memories. “Nope. Can’t say I’ve met her. She a friend of yours?”
“A friend of a friend, you might say.” Wait a minute, if you don’t remember Rose… then maybe you haven’t met her yet. And if you haven’t met her… then maybe you don’t need to - maybe you won’t.
What the Doctor said next, well, it reinforced that thought: “I tend to remember my friends,” the Doctor said. “At least their names. Or at least part of their names. Maybe I haven’t met this Rose as yet.”
“Maybe,” Martha said. And her mind rolled with the idea of sticking with the Doctor for a while, being a companion like she’d been before - like Rose and who knows who else had been before her - and having all new adventures.
The ties of domesticity tugged on the edges of Martha’s mind, reminding her of her role here, both in family and in love. She couldn’t leave, not really. It’s a time machine, she reminded herself, quoting the Doctor himself. “What do you feel like?” Martha asked the Doctor.
“Chips,” he answered without having to really think it over. “But I have to get back, at least pop in and get changed,” looking down at his prior regeneration’s choice of clothes for the first time with these eyes.
“Nah, I think I’ve got something just your size back at my place.”
“You sure? Because I really -”
“It’s not a problem, Doctor,” Martha said. “Really.”
He appraised her, his eyes measuring and examining in a nice way all of her. “We know each other, don’t we? In my future. We know each other well.”
Not as well as I’d’ve liked, Doctor. But I like to think I’m not lingering. “Things happened,” Martha said, and knew that, if she held on to him - this early him - that the lingering was still clinging. No. I’m not going to be that.
“Let’s get you on your feet,” Martha told Nine. Literally and figuratively. If you’re going to be going off, I want you being of sound mind at least, and not hungry.
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][
The End
Written for the Tardis Gen ficathon! <-go visit! so many great fics! there
for Persiflage_1
Prompt: . Nine meets Martha Jones pre-S1 for him, post-S3 for her
Author: Keenir
Characters: Martha Jones, 9th Doctor.
Rating/Category: PG-13
Spoilers: the 8th Doctor’s tv movie, Rose, Smith and Jones, Gridlocked, Shakespeare.
Summary: Martha Jones finds the Doctor before she met him - and, temptingly, before Rose met him. She finds him, in short, right after the Time War spat him out.
you can follow the fake cut here, or the real cut just ahead
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][
Doctor Martha Jones came upon him on her way home from work. She was taking the scenic route, which meant the longer-than-long way home, a path that went to more out-of-the-way spots than her normal routine passed. Which was the whole point of the scenic route.
And that was when and where she found him - she ran to him where he lay, nine-tenths unconscious and face-down on paving stones that looked like nobody’d cleaned them since V-E Day. And he hadn’t been beaten up - but there was something most definitely wrong with him: Shroedinger’s Cat was at work here - his hands were flickering between three different sets; his face that of three different people, sometimes of someone else entirely. If not for little bits and pieces the Doctor had mentioned to her, Martha might have no idea what manner of being she was looking at.
His clothing was odd in the sense of being out of time, 19th Century overcoat, Doctor?, but nothing about the clothing or fashion seemed to be responsible for this. What caught Martha’s attention was the dull gloaming-metal that cuffed the Doctor’s right wrist.
There were no seams, buttons, or anything other that might indicate where to break the cuff apart. Aliens, honestly. It took only a moment, but Martha spied one mark on the cuff: and it looked like a silhouette of a Martian Tripod. Wells? Why not, Martha reasoned, and spat squarely on the image.
The cuff split open and, falling on the ground, dissolved into nothing.
His body solidified - Shroedinger no longer a problem - as his regeneration finally was permitted to finish.
Levering himself up weakly, he looked Martha in the eyes, and told her, “Thank you,” his voice surprisingly strong in Martha’s opinion for someone who’d been two or more people a moment ago.
Regeneration. Always full of surprises. “You’re welcome. I’m Martha,” she told him.
“Hello Martha,” he said, taking it as an introduction. “I’m the Doctor.” Says it with the air of confidence and self-assuredness that she’s familiar with… and something else in there too.
At least he’s not the Master. ‘Course, if he was, I wouldn’t know it was him - not if he had a new face and a new voice. Wouldn’t know until it was too late.
Still, he says he’s the Doctor, so why not take him at his word - for now. “Easy there,” Martha suggests. “You’re not lying in anything,” that I can see, “so just lie there and make sure you’re a hundred percent before you run off to save the world.”
He lets himself down and rolls over, releasing a silent groan that has nothing whatsoever to do with physical pain or exertion.
The Doctor’s tired of saving the world? Can’t really say I blame him. But how far in the future is he from, that he’s in no mood to save Earth? knowing that her question only makes sense from certain perspectives. “Do you need to go anywhere first? Grab a bite to eat, say hi to anyone?”
Martha isn’t sure when his bright eyes had closed, but she definitely notices when he opens them. “Brilliant, simply brilliant idea that is,” and he rocks himself to a standing position - a physical action any human can do. And he looks at her. The Doctor looks at her.
Martha is floored. He’s looking at her as if she has the answers, as if it’s her that’s the most important person in at least the world if not further.
“Anyone in particular?” the Doctor asks.
“Well, I don’t know many of your friends,” Martha says. “But there’s always Rose, right?”
And that attentiveness takes on a puzzled aspect. Confused; the Doctor is confused. “I’m sorry, but who?” he asks.
“Rose?” Martha asked. “Rose Tyler?”
The Doctor stood stock still, looking off into nothing as he checked his recoverable memories. “Nope. Can’t say I’ve met her. She a friend of yours?”
“A friend of a friend, you might say.” Wait a minute, if you don’t remember Rose… then maybe you haven’t met her yet. And if you haven’t met her… then maybe you don’t need to - maybe you won’t.
What the Doctor said next, well, it reinforced that thought: “I tend to remember my friends,” the Doctor said. “At least their names. Or at least part of their names. Maybe I haven’t met this Rose as yet.”
“Maybe,” Martha said. And her mind rolled with the idea of sticking with the Doctor for a while, being a companion like she’d been before - like Rose and who knows who else had been before her - and having all new adventures.
The ties of domesticity tugged on the edges of Martha’s mind, reminding her of her role here, both in family and in love. She couldn’t leave, not really. It’s a time machine, she reminded herself, quoting the Doctor himself. “What do you feel like?” Martha asked the Doctor.
“Chips,” he answered without having to really think it over. “But I have to get back, at least pop in and get changed,” looking down at his prior regeneration’s choice of clothes for the first time with these eyes.
“Nah, I think I’ve got something just your size back at my place.”
“You sure? Because I really -”
“It’s not a problem, Doctor,” Martha said. “Really.”
He appraised her, his eyes measuring and examining in a nice way all of her. “We know each other, don’t we? In my future. We know each other well.”
Not as well as I’d’ve liked, Doctor. But I like to think I’m not lingering. “Things happened,” Martha said, and knew that, if she held on to him - this early him - that the lingering was still clinging. No. I’m not going to be that.
“Let’s get you on your feet,” Martha told Nine. Literally and figuratively. If you’re going to be going off, I want you being of sound mind at least, and not hungry.
][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][
The End