Fic: Suspended and Open 1/2
Title: Suspended and Open 1/2
Characters: Ten, Martha, Donna
Spoilers: Post JE
Warnings: PG for one use of bad language. Erm, a bit of verbal conflict never hurt anyone?
Summary: "Martha’s eyes were searching his once more and he wondered why his doctor kept coming to him for all the answers." The Doctor and Dr Martha Jones meet for the first time since Journey's End...
A/N: Started writing this a long time ago for radiantbaby because I wanted to write her something with Ten and Martha post S4 and other requirements I can't remember. Anyhow, blindly but happily writing my way I think I got a sort of a plot. I'm enjoying it anyways, and it's distracting, and it has me writing. I don't know when part two will be up but posting this is certainly impetus for me. Title comes from a lyric by Regina Spektor called 'Open'.
persiflage_1 beta'd the first section, and many thanks for that. Nevertheless, I felt rather than mulling over it for days and talk myself out posting it I'll post the rest of the part with unbeta'd. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course and any comments I recieve are wonderful, so don't hold back. I've got issues with the pacing, but I hope you like it!
There was the soft flump sound of a coat hitting the ground. Or maybe someone was throwing in the towel. Either way, the Doctor’s head snapped up in attention.
Martha looked at the Doctor dead in the eye, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face this time. “There’s nothing for it, I guess. Do you want some tea?”
It had been a long, long day so far. After moving the Tardis into the vortex, leaving Chiswick for the last time, the Doctor dragged his feet to Donna’s old room. There was no other word for it; his ship was now unnervingly quiet. And it wasn’t like there was anything to rush towards just yet. No real disasters. No one to cook lunch for. No one’s sleep to interrupt because you’ve just thought of an amazing new use for paperclips for fixing the ship.
Her room was quite empty now - the Doctor and Wilf had spent about an hour unpacking Donna’s many, many, many suitcases. But he did keep one thing: a photo from the planet Yella, a fast paced planet that had the technology to produce the fastest Polaroid in the Polo galaxy. The Doctor had stopped them as they were running for their lives to commemorate the release of an endangered species and in the photo had the triumphant grin to prove it; Donna was frowning.
The Doctor sat on her bed and stared at the picture. He recalled the sun that beat down on their backs all day. He remembered that she had a new perfume on and smelt slightly alien, but the way she shouted down the guard, that was totally Donna. But he couldn’t exactly remember the name of the species they set free. Come to think of it, was that the night they had Harvey Wallbangers? The Doctor gulped his emotions down. His memory had to be perfect. He had to remember for two people now, and was going to need reminders, mementos, facts.
The Timelord had been there for some time when Martha rang. Hurried, harsh words and a quick dash through the Vortex lead him to the UNIT headquarters in London. Martha shoved Donna’s file in his face and walked away, her white coat billowing behind her. The Doctor read through the notes and thought this was all going way too fast for him. He needed a breather, to gather his thoughts. Ideally, he could seriously murder a cup of tea.
Finding himself sitting outside Donna’s room in the hospital, he leapt up when he saw Martha return, and hoped she would talk to him.
“Donna’s been stabilised,” Martha said. The Doctor tensed, waiting for more news, but none came. Doctor Jones stared back defiantly for a few more moments, before she sighed with exasperation. “What have you done?!” She snapped. Her voice was so infused with nightmarish restraint the Doctor almost stepped back at her words.
“She doesn’t remember me, Doctor! I bumped into her on the street, and she didn’t know me at all, thought I was nuts. Then I called her Supertemp and she started trembling and…”
The Doctor’s left hand twitched, wanting to reach out to Martha, to comfort her as she continued. “She looked terrified. She cried that her mind was burning…” Martha trailed off, and the Doctor saw this as his cue.
“I killed her, Martha. The Donna you know is dead. The metacrisis, her becoming the DoctorDonna, was overwhelming her mind and killing her. I had to wipe all memory of me and anything to do with me to save her, you must understand?”
The Doctor had never wanted Martha’s touch so badly in such a long time. The damning of his actions was draining him, and for once he felt that he was reaching out to save himself. He was so close to shaking.
“Please…please tell me you understand.”
Martha, who was determinedly not looking at the Timelord, looked up sharply at the note of desperation in his words. She opened her mouth to speak, blinked hard as if to wipe away tears and then walked away without speaking a word. He sat on the nearest orange plastic chair and hoped.
Time passed as the Doctor watched Donna through the one way glass. In the hospital bed, attached to so many devices and wires that she looked like the robot woman in Metropolis. Terrified to even be in the same room as Donna lest her mind started to burn again, he paced and muttered possible solutions (the chameleon arch, copper wire, setting the DNA steriliser to maximum and passing it through a binary-binary-binary-binary-binary-binary-binary-) talking and talking to himself, as if a companion was hanging onto his every syllable. No one approached him; they steered clear of the grieving man with over-bright eyes harshly chattering to himself.
It was an hour until he let himself sit on one of the smooth, orange chairs to hold his head in his hands.
“Please.”
“Don’t get up; I’ll get us a cuppa.”
Seven minutes later, the two doctors were curled around their hot mugs of tea. They moved to Martha’s office, (because Donna looked too fucking pale) on opposite sides of her desk, waiting for the right temperature to drink. The Doctor, finally grown tired of talking outside Donna’s bed, and fixed his eye on Martha’s room. Even though Martha had been working at UNIT for around a year now, the office still felt new with strange echoey spaces and spider plants creating empty gaps.
The only thing that the Timelord found frankly odd was below her UNIT certificate was a tray of herbal plants. He saw basil, lemon thyme, fenugreek, coriander and the first sprouting leaves of mint. She wasn’t great with plants. He smiled to himself, remembering her apologetic face whenever she had emerged from the Tardis garden because she was too anxious around the bullying sentient flora and fauna. He should have Martha cook for him sometime. It was nice, though, to have thoughts like that. Knowing, that for some time there’ll always be someone to visit. Someone for the regularity after you’ve reversed the polarity. The Doctor smiled at his little poem, even if it was bit rubbish. The Timelord wondered who was going to reassure one another this time.
“Is she going to be okay?”
Martha’s eyes were searching his once more and he wondered why his doctor kept coming to him for all the answers.
“There’s never been a biological metacrisis, simply because there can’t be.”
“So you don’t know?” Silence. “You haven’t got a clue.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, I don’t know. You never said if you understood. Do you? Please, please tell me you understand.”
The pause felt sickening, and the Doctor had talked himself out after this long, long day. He felt as if he was being considered. The unstable ground threatened to throw him off his axis. And all Martha was doing was choosing her words.
“I think I understand you. I understand you did it to save a friend, but how did it feel having that new consciousness bursting out? Suddenly your brain wasn’t so alone any more.” Martha sounded more curious now, as if they were back in the Tardis library, discussing planets and aliens. But the Doctor knew exactly what answer she was angling for, and couldn’t deny her.
“It felt just a little too much.”
Martha took a sip from her mug. “Hmm, just right.”
Gently setting the mug down on the table, she touched his arm, seeing his stricken face. “You’re not a monster.”
Not that he believed her, anyway. They just drank their tea in silence. The Doctor thought over today, how many times he had hung on Martha’s every word. Something felt unfinished about the conversation and the Timelord just couldn’t let it be.
“For a second, I thought you were judging me.” The Doctor said.
Martha bit her lip. “You make it sound as if I should be some sort of saint. I hated you at that moment. It was suffocating! Just be glad I wasn’t honest with you at that moment, alright? Am I not allowed to feel the slightest bit of betrayal for what you’ve done to Donna? To me, and Jack and Sarah Jane and everyone else who met her? I almost killed a friend today, Doctor, and it was your fault.”
The Doctor’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
Martha tried to look surprised. “And now you’re not even going to try to defend yourself? You loved Donna -“
“Wait -“The Doctor tried to interrupt but Martha was having none of it.
“Don’t, Doctor. You loved her liked you loved any other companion, maybe even a little bit more. I don’t know. She was exactly what you needed, wasn’t she? Don’t insult what’s left of her memory by denying what she did for you.” And the Doctor fell quiet as Martha’s voice began to rise.
“Aren’t you even going to give yourself a chance at forgiveness? The same chance -“ she stopped herself.
“I know what you were going to say.” The Doctor spoke up, his old eyes burning. “The same chance I never gave myself with you when we were travelling together. I’m sorry for that. Especially since you did try to be friends, and it’s a shame you didn’t always feel like I thought you were brilliant because frankly Martha, you’re a unicorn!”
It’s always good to hear Martha laugh, he thought. “You’re completely mad.”
“Always good to know. I can’t imagine not being just a little unbalanced - “The Doctor finally took a sip of his tea and beamed. “Martha this tea is brilliant!”
Martha smiled and shook her head. Seeing the evening approach, and with the air much lighter between them she picked up her jacket and left the desk where the tea lay cold.
“Wh-what are you doing?” The Doctor asked, slightly wide-eyed.
“Well, you and I are going to go to your Tardis where we can figure out how to help Donna. I can’t leave her hanging.” The Timelord was always thrown by how she can be so beautiful and dominating at the same time. “I’ll even throw a stir fry into the bargain - fresh herbs and everything.” Martha ended this pronouncement with a quirk of her eyebrow, and the Doctor had a feeling she’d fly off in the Tardis without him if she had to.
“I’ve always had a thing for fresh herbs,” The Doctor quipped. They grabbed their coats and left the tea forlorn, grabbing the box of herbs as they left.