[Doctor Who Fic] "Strangers with Bow Ties" for rosalui
This was meant to go up yesterday, but sometimes trips to the pub stuff happens. :)
So, my first go at Eleven, who is really fun to write. Spoilers up through 5x07, "Amy's Choice" (but very very minor). Bigger spoilers for "The End of Time" and "Journey's End." In all, Eleven meets Martha. Or Martha meets Eleven. Pick your favorite.
Spoilers for "Journey's End", "The End of Time", and up through "Amy's Choice" in Series 5.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I could be witty about not owning it, but that seems clichéd by now.
Beta'd by the lovely milieva and requested by the lovely rosalui!
Strangers with Bow Ties
sciathan file
It had taken Martha three months of paperwork, meetings, and protracted arguments with top UNIT brass in New York to even gain the traction to start to dismantle the Osterhagen Project. Inevitably, it seemed, all of the discussions about the matter boiled down to a simple philosophical deadlock:
"Miss Jones, there might be a use for it someday in the hour of our most dire need."
"Or we might all die and commit a terrible act of possibly unnecessary genocide into the bargain."
"May I remind you, Miss Jones, that during the Dalek invasion had there been no other alternative - "
"But there was an alternative then. And there will continue to be an alternative - he's not going away."
From there, the question would inevitably become one of the wisdom of faith in the Doctor and whether he could indeed be trusted to come every time when humanity was in dire need of a protector. Annoyed, Martha had once simply dropped a stack of files, all she could find containing information on everything from Silurians to Cybermen, as evidence of the Doctor's evident interest in protecting the earth without need of strategically placed nuclear warheads. Rather than rational discussion, she had been given a pained look and the response of "And what would have happened if he hadn't been there?"
However, the three months of interminable arguments hadn't been without all merit. Martha had managed to win over some rather influential people. Even the legendary Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart had made an appearance (at Sarah Jane's urging) in an attempt to sway the more entrenched individuals. Once or twice she even considered phoning Jack to see if Torchwood might be able to persuade some of the individuals involved through their particular means.
But after months of political bickering, the issue had been tabled until a session in two weeks time when she had been assured that a final resolution concerning the program would be adopted. Martha, annoyed and exhausted, decided it would be best to gather her strength back in the familiar territory of London until then. And really, she couldn't remember a time when the prospect of watching the telly in her flat with a take-away Chinese had excited more enthusiasm in her. Arriving at the door, she turned the key, flipped on the light absently, and busied herself in a kitchen drawer pulling utensils out. She was startled out of her composure, however, when an unfamiliar voice came from her living room.
"You've redecorated the place...not sure I like it. But," the intruder paused almost thoughtfully, "Your sofa is quite comfy."
Pausing only to slip one of her steak knives into her hand, Martha moved slowly towards the source of the voice. There, sitting cross-legged upon her sofa, was an innocuous looking man that rather reminded her of a rather absent-minded professor she had had at university. That memory was certainly amplified by the fact he had on a silly looking bow tie and…there the similarities stopped. In fact, he seemed to be dipping some kippers into a wine glass filled with a thick substance that appeared to be marmite.
After all she had seen, Martha understood that even the most ordinary looking of people could be monsters. Even the Doctor looked normal enough at first glance, and he was capable of…god knew what. He looked more normal than the man on her sofa at any rate.
Stepping into the living room with a calculated caution, all the while holding onto the only weapon she had just in case the stranger wasn't as innocuous as he looked, Martha asked, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The stranger responded merely by placing the tin of kippers on the table in front of him and leaning slightly forward.
"The thing is, I've come about a crack. Non-specific as of now. Could change, though."
By this time, Martha was fairly certain that this was some bow tie wearing madman who could not speak a word of sense if he tried. Without so much as a word, she made up her mind to make her way towards her phone in the most unobtrusive manner possible.
The stranger, still blissfully oblivious to the fact that his conversation was fairly one-sided, continued explaining, "You know like a crack," and illustrating his point he took up the glass and knocked it on the side of the table. However, rather than merely cracking, the glass shattered into four jagged pieces. He pulled a face and wiped a marmite-covered hand on the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
"Well, it was supposed to crack. And now I've managed to coat your comfy sofa with marmite. But the point stands, Martha, have you seen any cracks - the crack-y kind, not the shatter-y kind - about?"
Martha stiffened and stopped her progress towards phoning the police.
"How do you know my name?"
In her head she conjured the storylines of terrible stalker movies she had seen on during her stay in New York in her brief breaks from UNIT. The stranger, however, merely gave her a look as if he thought her rather dense and then, as if he remembered something, opened his mouth in an "o" of revelation. After a moment, he sprung up and strode towards her. Crossing his arms over his chest the mad man leaned forward towards Martha, as if examining her. Martha only responded by bringing the knife out in front of her.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she said.
"How…pointy," the stranger commented, terribly unconcerned in the face of the weapon. In fact, he merely continued on as if it hadn't been there.
"But you really don't know? Daft man sitting in your flat, devouring the neglected items from your kitchen, with no explanation? And, I may mention, a gentleman who is a purveyor of cat nuns, haemovores, Shakespeare, and the Daleks, if they have, in fact, still happened here. Nothing's changed, really. Just bringing back the bow-tie as a fashion icon."
Incredulously, Martha surveyed him again.
"Doctor?"
The man's face cracked into a smile.
"Right in one! And more to the point - by the way, mind putting away that knife? - and not unrelated to the cracks - sorry about the marmite, again - but a score of Daleks did invade and the Earth did move, correct?"
Martha examined him again for a moment, looking for trace of the man she had known in this younger man with his bow tie and bandy legs. Taking a deep breath, she put down the knife and just did what she had been arguing in favour of for the last three months: she believed in the Doctor.
"How…how can you be him?"
The Doctor frowned for a moment.
"I suppose we'll have to sort that first."
"You certainly aren't you,"
"'Course I am! Remember? I came back, said a dramatic and silent good-bye, knocked out a Sontaran with a mallet…"
Vaguely, Martha wondered if someone else had found out about Shakespeare or had reached into her memories…she eyed where she had set the knife down at, wondering about her wisdom in letting it go in the first place.
"Or," he said, raising a finger in the air as if he were making a point during a lecture, "I've messed up the order."
He paused.
"So, to speed things along, instead of dying I can use Time Lord voodoo to change my face and cheat death. And, to answer your next question, I will say good-bye to you - that is the other me will say good-bye to you - but as of right now I need to say 'Hello! Seen any creepy looking cracks in the universe lately?' But first, to orient myself as the TARDIS has not quite cooperated in bringing me to the correct time, when did I last see you?"
"It's nice to know you do come back, then."
The Doctor sighed and, sticking and un-sticking his fingers from his marmite smeared sleeve, complained, "Why is it that all of my companions think that I just abandon you on a whim?"
Martha gave him a hard look.
"Sometimes you do."
The look he gave her, more contained in its guilt and grief than the man she had known, nonetheless was tinged with an ancient sorrow. That look in his eyes confirmed his identity in a way nothing else could have. It was there for a moment and gone and before she knew it, and as it had in the man before him, his manic demeanour covered everything else over and he returned to gazing with distinct interest at his sticky fingertips.
"I'll have you know it would have to be a particularly strong whim," he said defensively.
"And I wouldn't say abandon. I always come back when you need me. Anyways, when was the last time you saw me?"
Without further reservation, she was ready to believe in him.
"It was three months ago with the Daleks and Davros and flying the Earth back home. And I've been cleaning up that Osterhagen project ever since, just so you know. It's necessary but not easy."
The Doctor mumbled something about bureaucracies in action and then went on, "Well, now that we have established when we are, we are just left with some very enigmatic things to clear up in other quarters."
Martha went over and plopped herself down on a sofa cushion that was generally free of marmite and shattered glass.
"And these cracks of yours - I know of one. UNIT found it in Guam in the wall of a military base. Someone was screaming at the other end and they kept screaming even after the building was torn down. No one even knows what that means."
And in a display as maddeningly as it was when the Doctor had been an older man in a pinstriped suit, he looked momentarily grave before promptly changing the subject entirely.
"So other than humans being humans about the Osterhagen nonsense, how is UNIT? And - what's his name? - your fiancé….Tim, Todd,…Tom. It's Tom."
Even though Martha recognized his tactics, for a moment Martha was confused by his second question.
"Don't you mean my fiancé, Mickey?"
The Doctor frowned deeply, and merely responded by kneeling in front of her and scanning her with the strange greenish light from what she guessed was a new sonic screwdriver.
"No," he said slowly, passing it over her once more before stowing it safely away in the pocket of his coat, "I mean Tom Milligan. Tom, doctor and African missionary, Tom."
"Doctor," she answered back, "I honestly don't know how you know about him. I knew him, but not in the world - only in the year you weren't with me…But, he's not important."
She took a deep breath.
"And as soon as I finish with the Osterhagen Program, Mickey and me are getting married."
The Doctor stood up and, as if he hadn't heard her paced the length of the room before abruptly turning back.
"Martha, that crack, the one in Guam, did you ever go and see it?"
She blinked, wondering whatever a crack in a wall could have to do with her.
"Once," she answered. "They called me in on a consult. Doctor, what is it?"
She paused and bit her lip for a moment.
"And what has it done to me?"
He looked at her steadily for a moment.
"It is a crack in the universe. I don't know where that one leads, but it's not good by the sound of it. It's a bad, bad crack. And it rewrites things - time, really - and" he paused, "you are not someone that should be rewritten. Especially not this early on."
"So," she said slowly, processing what she heard, "Tom…"
Martha could only bring herself to trail off. Likewise, the Doctor gave a curt nod.
"Doctor, do you know what's causing it?"
He looked toward the door.
"I don't know."
He swallowed.
"Honestly, Martha, I don't know. But I do intend to find out."
In some ways, to hear this from the Doctor was almost more frightening than whatever was screaming in midair on Guam. The grim thread of Martha's thoughts, however, was suddenly interrupted by a knock at her door. Without waiting for a response, a ginger haired girl popped her head in.
"Doctor, you know how you said we should start worrying if that thing moved?"
For a moment, Martha wondered exactly who exactly this Scottish girl was to him.
"Well, worry!"
But after that moment, as the Doctor gave her an apologetic shrug and a "Good-bye until the next good-bye" the answer was perfectly obvious. Martha knew that whoever she was, Martha had been her once, infatuated with the universe and both repulsed and drawn to its terrors. Now she fought her own less exciting, but necessary battles for the same reasons, in boardrooms and among bureaucrats rather than on alien planets and other times. This was the mission that the Doctor had given her and her duty as a citizen of the universe no matter where and when she might be.
After this strange meeting, Martha didn't hear from the Doctor, except in an oblique way when the faction that had been opposing the complete dissolution of the Osterhagen Project inexplicably yielded to every single point that they had argued against for months. While some of her colleagues seemed baffled by this sudden turn of events, Martha was aware that intervention had come from a higher authority than the UNIT higher-ups were used to.
And when the Doctor - her Doctor - knocked out a Sontaran with a mallet in her honour, the sadness of his loss was tempered by the knowledge that it was not the end. Over the course of those three months fighting the Osterhagen project she had believed in him and now she had the Doctor's own assurances: he came when he was needed.
Despite it all, knowing the Doctor as she did, Martha believed that the familiar unfamiliar man in a bow tie was where he needed to be at that moment.
Fin
Woot. And tomorrow I will be old.
So, my first go at Eleven, who is really fun to write. Spoilers up through 5x07, "Amy's Choice" (but very very minor). Bigger spoilers for "The End of Time" and "Journey's End." In all, Eleven meets Martha. Or Martha meets Eleven. Pick your favorite.
Spoilers for "Journey's End", "The End of Time", and up through "Amy's Choice" in Series 5.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I could be witty about not owning it, but that seems clichéd by now.
Beta'd by the lovely milieva and requested by the lovely rosalui!
Strangers with Bow Ties
sciathan file
It had taken Martha three months of paperwork, meetings, and protracted arguments with top UNIT brass in New York to even gain the traction to start to dismantle the Osterhagen Project. Inevitably, it seemed, all of the discussions about the matter boiled down to a simple philosophical deadlock:
"Miss Jones, there might be a use for it someday in the hour of our most dire need."
"Or we might all die and commit a terrible act of possibly unnecessary genocide into the bargain."
"May I remind you, Miss Jones, that during the Dalek invasion had there been no other alternative - "
"But there was an alternative then. And there will continue to be an alternative - he's not going away."
From there, the question would inevitably become one of the wisdom of faith in the Doctor and whether he could indeed be trusted to come every time when humanity was in dire need of a protector. Annoyed, Martha had once simply dropped a stack of files, all she could find containing information on everything from Silurians to Cybermen, as evidence of the Doctor's evident interest in protecting the earth without need of strategically placed nuclear warheads. Rather than rational discussion, she had been given a pained look and the response of "And what would have happened if he hadn't been there?"
However, the three months of interminable arguments hadn't been without all merit. Martha had managed to win over some rather influential people. Even the legendary Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart had made an appearance (at Sarah Jane's urging) in an attempt to sway the more entrenched individuals. Once or twice she even considered phoning Jack to see if Torchwood might be able to persuade some of the individuals involved through their particular means.
But after months of political bickering, the issue had been tabled until a session in two weeks time when she had been assured that a final resolution concerning the program would be adopted. Martha, annoyed and exhausted, decided it would be best to gather her strength back in the familiar territory of London until then. And really, she couldn't remember a time when the prospect of watching the telly in her flat with a take-away Chinese had excited more enthusiasm in her. Arriving at the door, she turned the key, flipped on the light absently, and busied herself in a kitchen drawer pulling utensils out. She was startled out of her composure, however, when an unfamiliar voice came from her living room.
"You've redecorated the place...not sure I like it. But," the intruder paused almost thoughtfully, "Your sofa is quite comfy."
Pausing only to slip one of her steak knives into her hand, Martha moved slowly towards the source of the voice. There, sitting cross-legged upon her sofa, was an innocuous looking man that rather reminded her of a rather absent-minded professor she had had at university. That memory was certainly amplified by the fact he had on a silly looking bow tie and…there the similarities stopped. In fact, he seemed to be dipping some kippers into a wine glass filled with a thick substance that appeared to be marmite.
After all she had seen, Martha understood that even the most ordinary looking of people could be monsters. Even the Doctor looked normal enough at first glance, and he was capable of…god knew what. He looked more normal than the man on her sofa at any rate.
Stepping into the living room with a calculated caution, all the while holding onto the only weapon she had just in case the stranger wasn't as innocuous as he looked, Martha asked, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The stranger responded merely by placing the tin of kippers on the table in front of him and leaning slightly forward.
"The thing is, I've come about a crack. Non-specific as of now. Could change, though."
By this time, Martha was fairly certain that this was some bow tie wearing madman who could not speak a word of sense if he tried. Without so much as a word, she made up her mind to make her way towards her phone in the most unobtrusive manner possible.
The stranger, still blissfully oblivious to the fact that his conversation was fairly one-sided, continued explaining, "You know like a crack," and illustrating his point he took up the glass and knocked it on the side of the table. However, rather than merely cracking, the glass shattered into four jagged pieces. He pulled a face and wiped a marmite-covered hand on the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
"Well, it was supposed to crack. And now I've managed to coat your comfy sofa with marmite. But the point stands, Martha, have you seen any cracks - the crack-y kind, not the shatter-y kind - about?"
Martha stiffened and stopped her progress towards phoning the police.
"How do you know my name?"
In her head she conjured the storylines of terrible stalker movies she had seen on during her stay in New York in her brief breaks from UNIT. The stranger, however, merely gave her a look as if he thought her rather dense and then, as if he remembered something, opened his mouth in an "o" of revelation. After a moment, he sprung up and strode towards her. Crossing his arms over his chest the mad man leaned forward towards Martha, as if examining her. Martha only responded by bringing the knife out in front of her.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she said.
"How…pointy," the stranger commented, terribly unconcerned in the face of the weapon. In fact, he merely continued on as if it hadn't been there.
"But you really don't know? Daft man sitting in your flat, devouring the neglected items from your kitchen, with no explanation? And, I may mention, a gentleman who is a purveyor of cat nuns, haemovores, Shakespeare, and the Daleks, if they have, in fact, still happened here. Nothing's changed, really. Just bringing back the bow-tie as a fashion icon."
Incredulously, Martha surveyed him again.
"Doctor?"
The man's face cracked into a smile.
"Right in one! And more to the point - by the way, mind putting away that knife? - and not unrelated to the cracks - sorry about the marmite, again - but a score of Daleks did invade and the Earth did move, correct?"
Martha examined him again for a moment, looking for trace of the man she had known in this younger man with his bow tie and bandy legs. Taking a deep breath, she put down the knife and just did what she had been arguing in favour of for the last three months: she believed in the Doctor.
"How…how can you be him?"
The Doctor frowned for a moment.
"I suppose we'll have to sort that first."
"You certainly aren't you,"
"'Course I am! Remember? I came back, said a dramatic and silent good-bye, knocked out a Sontaran with a mallet…"
Vaguely, Martha wondered if someone else had found out about Shakespeare or had reached into her memories…she eyed where she had set the knife down at, wondering about her wisdom in letting it go in the first place.
"Or," he said, raising a finger in the air as if he were making a point during a lecture, "I've messed up the order."
He paused.
"So, to speed things along, instead of dying I can use Time Lord voodoo to change my face and cheat death. And, to answer your next question, I will say good-bye to you - that is the other me will say good-bye to you - but as of right now I need to say 'Hello! Seen any creepy looking cracks in the universe lately?' But first, to orient myself as the TARDIS has not quite cooperated in bringing me to the correct time, when did I last see you?"
"It's nice to know you do come back, then."
The Doctor sighed and, sticking and un-sticking his fingers from his marmite smeared sleeve, complained, "Why is it that all of my companions think that I just abandon you on a whim?"
Martha gave him a hard look.
"Sometimes you do."
The look he gave her, more contained in its guilt and grief than the man she had known, nonetheless was tinged with an ancient sorrow. That look in his eyes confirmed his identity in a way nothing else could have. It was there for a moment and gone and before she knew it, and as it had in the man before him, his manic demeanour covered everything else over and he returned to gazing with distinct interest at his sticky fingertips.
"I'll have you know it would have to be a particularly strong whim," he said defensively.
"And I wouldn't say abandon. I always come back when you need me. Anyways, when was the last time you saw me?"
Without further reservation, she was ready to believe in him.
"It was three months ago with the Daleks and Davros and flying the Earth back home. And I've been cleaning up that Osterhagen project ever since, just so you know. It's necessary but not easy."
The Doctor mumbled something about bureaucracies in action and then went on, "Well, now that we have established when we are, we are just left with some very enigmatic things to clear up in other quarters."
Martha went over and plopped herself down on a sofa cushion that was generally free of marmite and shattered glass.
"And these cracks of yours - I know of one. UNIT found it in Guam in the wall of a military base. Someone was screaming at the other end and they kept screaming even after the building was torn down. No one even knows what that means."
And in a display as maddeningly as it was when the Doctor had been an older man in a pinstriped suit, he looked momentarily grave before promptly changing the subject entirely.
"So other than humans being humans about the Osterhagen nonsense, how is UNIT? And - what's his name? - your fiancé….Tim, Todd,…Tom. It's Tom."
Even though Martha recognized his tactics, for a moment Martha was confused by his second question.
"Don't you mean my fiancé, Mickey?"
The Doctor frowned deeply, and merely responded by kneeling in front of her and scanning her with the strange greenish light from what she guessed was a new sonic screwdriver.
"No," he said slowly, passing it over her once more before stowing it safely away in the pocket of his coat, "I mean Tom Milligan. Tom, doctor and African missionary, Tom."
"Doctor," she answered back, "I honestly don't know how you know about him. I knew him, but not in the world - only in the year you weren't with me…But, he's not important."
She took a deep breath.
"And as soon as I finish with the Osterhagen Program, Mickey and me are getting married."
The Doctor stood up and, as if he hadn't heard her paced the length of the room before abruptly turning back.
"Martha, that crack, the one in Guam, did you ever go and see it?"
She blinked, wondering whatever a crack in a wall could have to do with her.
"Once," she answered. "They called me in on a consult. Doctor, what is it?"
She paused and bit her lip for a moment.
"And what has it done to me?"
He looked at her steadily for a moment.
"It is a crack in the universe. I don't know where that one leads, but it's not good by the sound of it. It's a bad, bad crack. And it rewrites things - time, really - and" he paused, "you are not someone that should be rewritten. Especially not this early on."
"So," she said slowly, processing what she heard, "Tom…"
Martha could only bring herself to trail off. Likewise, the Doctor gave a curt nod.
"Doctor, do you know what's causing it?"
He looked toward the door.
"I don't know."
He swallowed.
"Honestly, Martha, I don't know. But I do intend to find out."
In some ways, to hear this from the Doctor was almost more frightening than whatever was screaming in midair on Guam. The grim thread of Martha's thoughts, however, was suddenly interrupted by a knock at her door. Without waiting for a response, a ginger haired girl popped her head in.
"Doctor, you know how you said we should start worrying if that thing moved?"
For a moment, Martha wondered exactly who exactly this Scottish girl was to him.
"Well, worry!"
But after that moment, as the Doctor gave her an apologetic shrug and a "Good-bye until the next good-bye" the answer was perfectly obvious. Martha knew that whoever she was, Martha had been her once, infatuated with the universe and both repulsed and drawn to its terrors. Now she fought her own less exciting, but necessary battles for the same reasons, in boardrooms and among bureaucrats rather than on alien planets and other times. This was the mission that the Doctor had given her and her duty as a citizen of the universe no matter where and when she might be.
After this strange meeting, Martha didn't hear from the Doctor, except in an oblique way when the faction that had been opposing the complete dissolution of the Osterhagen Project inexplicably yielded to every single point that they had argued against for months. While some of her colleagues seemed baffled by this sudden turn of events, Martha was aware that intervention had come from a higher authority than the UNIT higher-ups were used to.
And when the Doctor - her Doctor - knocked out a Sontaran with a mallet in her honour, the sadness of his loss was tempered by the knowledge that it was not the end. Over the course of those three months fighting the Osterhagen project she had believed in him and now she had the Doctor's own assurances: he came when he was needed.
Despite it all, knowing the Doctor as she did, Martha believed that the familiar unfamiliar man in a bow tie was where he needed to be at that moment.
Fin
Woot. And tomorrow I will be old.