Doctor Who fic: Five Adventures Martha Jones Never Had With the Ninth Doctor (3/5)
Martha’s hands were covered in blood. She tried to ignore how warm the blood felt but truly it was only part of her that was warm. The tent of Constable Henry Abbott did nothing to block out the harsh winter winds of the Canadian prairies. Suppressing her shivers the best she could, Martha applied more pressure to the gunshot wound that had torn out a chuck from Abbott’s left side. He let out a painful moan but it only proved the man was still alive. For now.
The flap of the tent was thrown aside, letting in the drifting snow. The sudden blast of cold air furthered the numbness Martha was feeling in her toes and cheeks. “Did you find it?” she asked, hunching over Abbott in an attempt to shield him from the wind.
The Doctor closed the tent flap and tied it shut as tightly as he could. The Time Lord’s hands were cracked and red from the subzero temperatures. Martha was surprised he could use his fingers at all. “The ship’s already half buried in the ground. This storm’s covered up the rest. Foy’s likely inside.”
“What about the TARDIS? You have an infirmary.”
The Doctor sat down heavily. The light provided by the modest lantern in the corner threw heavy shadows over his features. “I could search for hours in this cold but it’s impossible to get any bearings. We’ll have to wait until the storm subsides.”
With the wind howling outside it was hard to believe that would ever come. Abbott moaned again, his fingers clawing at the frozen ground. “Just hold on Henry,” Martha urged the man. The red of his uniform was beginning to turn black from his blood. “Foy’s still out there and you always catch your man.” She mustered a small smile and for once the Doctor didn’t correct her about using the false motto.
“You’re… too kind… Miss… Jones,” mumbled Abbott. His blue eyes, so full of life when Martha met him only hours ago, looked so dull in the half light.
Martha pushed harder on the wound. “Henry? You have to stay alert, okay?” He mumbled something unintelligible, but his eyes were already half closed. “Henry, look at me. You have to stay awake. Henry!”
When the sun finally dawned the next morning, the storm settled. Henry Abbott held on long enough to see one more sunrise. Martha closed his eyes, her hands caked with his blood. She remained next to the body while the Doctor searched through the provisions Abbott had left over from his long journey.
“I’ve never lost a patient before.” The statement drew the Doctor from his search. Martha stared at the front of the tent where a shaft of light had found its way in. “We would make rounds with Stoker at the hospital but they were never our patients. We were just students. If someone died, it was something to study. People die wherever we go, Doctor. Can’t we save any of them?”
Manoeuvring his way over in the small tent, the Doctor sat down beside Martha. He handed her a canteen of water. “There are hundreds of men like Henry Abbott out there. They joined the North West Mounted Police to protect this proud new nation and to uphold the justice in an untamed land. He knew what this life would bring him.”
Martha found no comfort in the words. Preserving life was what she was trained for. She had been on the brink of swearing to uphold it before she left with the Doctor.
A distant rumble penetrated her thoughts. Instantly the Doctor was on his feet and running out of the tent. Martha followed at a slower pace, the cold having frozen her joints at some point during the night.
“Hyperdrive engines,” said the Doctor, looking off to the horizon. In the very distance, a cloud of smoke was rising up from the ground.
“Foy,” muttered Martha.
“You want to save lives?” The Doctor grabbed her hand despite the blood. “Here’s your chance.”
The flap of the tent was thrown aside, letting in the drifting snow. The sudden blast of cold air furthered the numbness Martha was feeling in her toes and cheeks. “Did you find it?” she asked, hunching over Abbott in an attempt to shield him from the wind.
The Doctor closed the tent flap and tied it shut as tightly as he could. The Time Lord’s hands were cracked and red from the subzero temperatures. Martha was surprised he could use his fingers at all. “The ship’s already half buried in the ground. This storm’s covered up the rest. Foy’s likely inside.”
“What about the TARDIS? You have an infirmary.”
The Doctor sat down heavily. The light provided by the modest lantern in the corner threw heavy shadows over his features. “I could search for hours in this cold but it’s impossible to get any bearings. We’ll have to wait until the storm subsides.”
With the wind howling outside it was hard to believe that would ever come. Abbott moaned again, his fingers clawing at the frozen ground. “Just hold on Henry,” Martha urged the man. The red of his uniform was beginning to turn black from his blood. “Foy’s still out there and you always catch your man.” She mustered a small smile and for once the Doctor didn’t correct her about using the false motto.
“You’re… too kind… Miss… Jones,” mumbled Abbott. His blue eyes, so full of life when Martha met him only hours ago, looked so dull in the half light.
Martha pushed harder on the wound. “Henry? You have to stay alert, okay?” He mumbled something unintelligible, but his eyes were already half closed. “Henry, look at me. You have to stay awake. Henry!”
When the sun finally dawned the next morning, the storm settled. Henry Abbott held on long enough to see one more sunrise. Martha closed his eyes, her hands caked with his blood. She remained next to the body while the Doctor searched through the provisions Abbott had left over from his long journey.
“I’ve never lost a patient before.” The statement drew the Doctor from his search. Martha stared at the front of the tent where a shaft of light had found its way in. “We would make rounds with Stoker at the hospital but they were never our patients. We were just students. If someone died, it was something to study. People die wherever we go, Doctor. Can’t we save any of them?”
Manoeuvring his way over in the small tent, the Doctor sat down beside Martha. He handed her a canteen of water. “There are hundreds of men like Henry Abbott out there. They joined the North West Mounted Police to protect this proud new nation and to uphold the justice in an untamed land. He knew what this life would bring him.”
Martha found no comfort in the words. Preserving life was what she was trained for. She had been on the brink of swearing to uphold it before she left with the Doctor.
A distant rumble penetrated her thoughts. Instantly the Doctor was on his feet and running out of the tent. Martha followed at a slower pace, the cold having frozen her joints at some point during the night.
“Hyperdrive engines,” said the Doctor, looking off to the horizon. In the very distance, a cloud of smoke was rising up from the ground.
“Foy,” muttered Martha.
“You want to save lives?” The Doctor grabbed her hand despite the blood. “Here’s your chance.”