Fic: Chance Encounter
TITLE: Chance Encounter
RATING: G/all ages
CHARACTERS: Martha, Tom, Luke, Sarah Jane Smith
SPOILERS: Last of the Time Lords, Invasion of the Bane
Not a licensed tie-in. All characters property of the BBC.
This is probably going to be jossed, but that didn't stop me from writing the Rose and Sarah Jane stories Wendys and A Good Life.
One year later…
Martha smiled at the television hanging high in the corner of the room. There was too much noise to hear it and she was too far away to read the scroll underneath Harriet Jones’ face, but just seeing her gave everyone a lift. Harriet, the woman who had survived the Downing Street Bombing to bring Britain back to the Golden Age, had been pressed by an eager Party to come back and once again lead a frightened and demoralized nation.
Nobody asked if she was tired now. An editorialist in the London Times even said that he didn’t care if she came to work in bunny slippers and a sensible robe, as long as she was saner than the last PM. The vote was as close to unanimous as could be counted.
It had been almost as eventful a year without the toclafane as it had been with them. The Archangel satellites had malfunctioned simultaneously, knocking out world communications just as the American President was assassinated on television. The Americans almost bombed Britain flat in retaliation - they certainly threatened to - but in the end they decided that Britain had problems enough when the entire Cabinet was found gassed to death in a conference room on Downing Street and a barely coherent Lucy Saxon confessed to shooting her husband. Harold Saxon was declared an international criminal. Lucy was given awards from the Queen and the newly promoted former Vice President for protecting the public from further attacks by her husband and then shipped away somewhere for a very nice long rest far away from reporters.
Harold Saxon’s body was never found. Nor were the ball-like aliens he had babbled about. “Must have been mad,” people muttered. “Illusion.” Now that he was gone, all his lies about his past were revealed. Nobody could quite remember why they thought they liked him, and life, somehow, went on.
Martha passed her exams and chose the Accident and Emergency department as her internship. Sometimes walking into a roomful of frightened, injured people looking to her for hope brought on terrible flashbacks to the year that had never happened. But unlike the time she walked a toclafane-infested, broken Earth, this time she could do more than just talk. She could heal. She, Martha, could fix their problems and sooth their fears. It was the most magnificent rush. Even better than traveling in time and space.
Mostly.
It had been quiet; Sunday mornings usually were. Time enough that she could slip away and meet up with Tom, maybe have a quick lunch together. He didn’t quite have that pirate edge anymore, not having been forced to resist anything other than National Health paperwork, so he was just a sweet, kind man who had been returning her interest ever since she had accidentally-on-purpose run into him in the hall one day.
Life was as good as it could get. Her family was trying to heal itself, her parents having reassessed over their mutual imprisonment on the Valiant. Her work was excellent, her boyfriend was loving, and for those times when she just had to talk about things - those kind of things - she had a new friend up in Cardiff who was just a phone call away.
Then Martha stepped into the waiting room for the Pediatrics department and the key around her neck flashed with heat.
Startled, she looked around (since she could hardly look down her cleavage!) It was the one thing she’d kept, aside from the memories. She hadn’t offered it back to the Doctor, and he hadn’t asked. So she got it a proper chain, a silver one, and looped it around her neck under her clothes. Nobody asked; a lot of the people in the hospital had chains with religious medals or sentimental lockets.
Another step, and the key was getting warmer. Martha looked wildly around. There was nothing - no police box in a corner, no hyperactive man in a suit grinning at her. There wasn’t anyone else in the room at all, except a neat, tiny woman about her mother’s age, who was staring at her with a gobsmacked expression. As Martha boggled back, the other woman suddenly snapped her mouth shut and flipped up the face of her watch, moving so that her wrist was pointed at Martha, who fell back.
“This won’t hurt,” the woman said absently. “Normal human… readings show...” With a gasp, she shut the watch and looked up again, this time calculating. “Readings show artron energy. You’ve traveled in space.”
“Did you ever hear the story about that hospital that was taken to the moon?” Martha began.
“And time.” The woman stood up, barely coming up to Martha’s chin. She fished in her jacket pocket, bringing out a ring of keys. There was a charm on it, something flat with little designs, and it was glowing. “What would you say if I said the words ‘it’s bigger on the inside’?”
“I’d say Shakespeare’s breath didn’t half stink.”
“You should have smelled the Loch Ness Monster’s breath! Ugh!” The grin the little woman suddenly gave her was brighter than the key. “Sarah Jane Smith, journalist,” she said, holding out her hand.
Martha shook while fishing out her key with the other hand. “Doctor Martha Jones.” The standard Yale key looked plain next to the odd ornament on Sarah Jane’s keyring. “What’s that then, a locator?”
Sarah Jane shrugged. “It was the key before he redecorated. Everything was all bright white when I lived in it.” her smile dimmed just a bit and turned nostalgic, “oh, thirty years ago now.”
“Sort of blue-green and flowy-oceany when I last saw it. Just coming up on a year.” Martha rubbed her thumb across her key, pleased that she didn’t sound the least bit pining or regretful.
“Manic, skinny young man? Looks a bit like a boy playing dressup in a suit?”
“That’s the Doctor, same as ever!” Something flashed across Sarah Jane’s face, but the smile was back in a moment. “Wait,” Martha said, “he mentioned regeneration a couple of times. Did he look different? With you?”
Sarah Jane nodded. “He’s had dozens of faces. Never quite know what you’re going to get with him.”
“Just as long as he keeps on doing it. I can’t imagine what the universe would be like if he refused and just died, like the Master did.”
Sarah Jane’s hand whipped out, grabbing tight as a manacle. “What did you say?” she hissed. “The Master? Here on Earth?”
“Yeah, but he’s dead. He was Harold Saxon, but he’s dead.”
“Harold Saxon’s body was never found.”
“The Doctor took it. I think he burned it, somewhere.”
Sarah Jane was shaking her head. “Oh, no, the Master doesn’t die that easily. Damn! Saxon! I voted for him!”
“A lot of people did. There was something hypnotic in the Archangel satellites.”
“Oh.” Sarah Jane’s voice was flat. “Hypnosis. Again.” She sighed. “Yes, he was good at that. Mind you, I knew something was up, but by then it was too late. And none of my contacts could get me through the stonewalling afterwards.” Another sigh, then a fairly good imitation of the previous smile. “Thank you, Doctor Martha Jones. I like knowing the truth, even if I can’t print it.”
“But you, here,” Martha gestured at the walls covered in child-friendly pictures, and the toys littering the tables. “What are you doing here? Are there any aliens or anything?”
“Just my son, who was trying to impress the girl next door by doing tricks on a skateboard.”
“Is he… alien?”
“Worse! He’s fourteen.”
A moment later, Tom ushered a gangling boy out of his office, one arm done up in a sling. “Now, stay off that leg as much as possible for the next week, don’t let the cast get wet, and find a better way of getting Maria’s attention, okay?” Tom ordered, ruffling the boy’s hair.
The kid blushed and limped toward Sarah Jane.
“Wait!” Martha said as they turned to go. “Take this, please.” She held out her card. “I’d like to talk to you sometime.”
“You know, I think I would enjoy that very much.” Sarah exchanged cards with her. “Do you have plans for next Thursday?”
“I’ll have to check, why?”
“That’s when we all try to get together.”
“I’ll check my calendar, give you a call.” Martha’s brain caught up with her ears. “We all WHO?”
But Sarah Jane only grinned and waved on her way out the door.
x-posted to Teaspoon, sarahjane_fic, and lifeonmartha .
RATING: G/all ages
CHARACTERS: Martha, Tom, Luke, Sarah Jane Smith
SPOILERS: Last of the Time Lords, Invasion of the Bane
Not a licensed tie-in. All characters property of the BBC.
This is probably going to be jossed, but that didn't stop me from writing the Rose and Sarah Jane stories Wendys and A Good Life.
One year later…
Martha smiled at the television hanging high in the corner of the room. There was too much noise to hear it and she was too far away to read the scroll underneath Harriet Jones’ face, but just seeing her gave everyone a lift. Harriet, the woman who had survived the Downing Street Bombing to bring Britain back to the Golden Age, had been pressed by an eager Party to come back and once again lead a frightened and demoralized nation.
Nobody asked if she was tired now. An editorialist in the London Times even said that he didn’t care if she came to work in bunny slippers and a sensible robe, as long as she was saner than the last PM. The vote was as close to unanimous as could be counted.
It had been almost as eventful a year without the toclafane as it had been with them. The Archangel satellites had malfunctioned simultaneously, knocking out world communications just as the American President was assassinated on television. The Americans almost bombed Britain flat in retaliation - they certainly threatened to - but in the end they decided that Britain had problems enough when the entire Cabinet was found gassed to death in a conference room on Downing Street and a barely coherent Lucy Saxon confessed to shooting her husband. Harold Saxon was declared an international criminal. Lucy was given awards from the Queen and the newly promoted former Vice President for protecting the public from further attacks by her husband and then shipped away somewhere for a very nice long rest far away from reporters.
Harold Saxon’s body was never found. Nor were the ball-like aliens he had babbled about. “Must have been mad,” people muttered. “Illusion.” Now that he was gone, all his lies about his past were revealed. Nobody could quite remember why they thought they liked him, and life, somehow, went on.
Martha passed her exams and chose the Accident and Emergency department as her internship. Sometimes walking into a roomful of frightened, injured people looking to her for hope brought on terrible flashbacks to the year that had never happened. But unlike the time she walked a toclafane-infested, broken Earth, this time she could do more than just talk. She could heal. She, Martha, could fix their problems and sooth their fears. It was the most magnificent rush. Even better than traveling in time and space.
Mostly.
It had been quiet; Sunday mornings usually were. Time enough that she could slip away and meet up with Tom, maybe have a quick lunch together. He didn’t quite have that pirate edge anymore, not having been forced to resist anything other than National Health paperwork, so he was just a sweet, kind man who had been returning her interest ever since she had accidentally-on-purpose run into him in the hall one day.
Life was as good as it could get. Her family was trying to heal itself, her parents having reassessed over their mutual imprisonment on the Valiant. Her work was excellent, her boyfriend was loving, and for those times when she just had to talk about things - those kind of things - she had a new friend up in Cardiff who was just a phone call away.
Then Martha stepped into the waiting room for the Pediatrics department and the key around her neck flashed with heat.
Startled, she looked around (since she could hardly look down her cleavage!) It was the one thing she’d kept, aside from the memories. She hadn’t offered it back to the Doctor, and he hadn’t asked. So she got it a proper chain, a silver one, and looped it around her neck under her clothes. Nobody asked; a lot of the people in the hospital had chains with religious medals or sentimental lockets.
Another step, and the key was getting warmer. Martha looked wildly around. There was nothing - no police box in a corner, no hyperactive man in a suit grinning at her. There wasn’t anyone else in the room at all, except a neat, tiny woman about her mother’s age, who was staring at her with a gobsmacked expression. As Martha boggled back, the other woman suddenly snapped her mouth shut and flipped up the face of her watch, moving so that her wrist was pointed at Martha, who fell back.
“This won’t hurt,” the woman said absently. “Normal human… readings show...” With a gasp, she shut the watch and looked up again, this time calculating. “Readings show artron energy. You’ve traveled in space.”
“Did you ever hear the story about that hospital that was taken to the moon?” Martha began.
“And time.” The woman stood up, barely coming up to Martha’s chin. She fished in her jacket pocket, bringing out a ring of keys. There was a charm on it, something flat with little designs, and it was glowing. “What would you say if I said the words ‘it’s bigger on the inside’?”
“I’d say Shakespeare’s breath didn’t half stink.”
“You should have smelled the Loch Ness Monster’s breath! Ugh!” The grin the little woman suddenly gave her was brighter than the key. “Sarah Jane Smith, journalist,” she said, holding out her hand.
Martha shook while fishing out her key with the other hand. “Doctor Martha Jones.” The standard Yale key looked plain next to the odd ornament on Sarah Jane’s keyring. “What’s that then, a locator?”
Sarah Jane shrugged. “It was the key before he redecorated. Everything was all bright white when I lived in it.” her smile dimmed just a bit and turned nostalgic, “oh, thirty years ago now.”
“Sort of blue-green and flowy-oceany when I last saw it. Just coming up on a year.” Martha rubbed her thumb across her key, pleased that she didn’t sound the least bit pining or regretful.
“Manic, skinny young man? Looks a bit like a boy playing dressup in a suit?”
“That’s the Doctor, same as ever!” Something flashed across Sarah Jane’s face, but the smile was back in a moment. “Wait,” Martha said, “he mentioned regeneration a couple of times. Did he look different? With you?”
Sarah Jane nodded. “He’s had dozens of faces. Never quite know what you’re going to get with him.”
“Just as long as he keeps on doing it. I can’t imagine what the universe would be like if he refused and just died, like the Master did.”
Sarah Jane’s hand whipped out, grabbing tight as a manacle. “What did you say?” she hissed. “The Master? Here on Earth?”
“Yeah, but he’s dead. He was Harold Saxon, but he’s dead.”
“Harold Saxon’s body was never found.”
“The Doctor took it. I think he burned it, somewhere.”
Sarah Jane was shaking her head. “Oh, no, the Master doesn’t die that easily. Damn! Saxon! I voted for him!”
“A lot of people did. There was something hypnotic in the Archangel satellites.”
“Oh.” Sarah Jane’s voice was flat. “Hypnosis. Again.” She sighed. “Yes, he was good at that. Mind you, I knew something was up, but by then it was too late. And none of my contacts could get me through the stonewalling afterwards.” Another sigh, then a fairly good imitation of the previous smile. “Thank you, Doctor Martha Jones. I like knowing the truth, even if I can’t print it.”
“But you, here,” Martha gestured at the walls covered in child-friendly pictures, and the toys littering the tables. “What are you doing here? Are there any aliens or anything?”
“Just my son, who was trying to impress the girl next door by doing tricks on a skateboard.”
“Is he… alien?”
“Worse! He’s fourteen.”
A moment later, Tom ushered a gangling boy out of his office, one arm done up in a sling. “Now, stay off that leg as much as possible for the next week, don’t let the cast get wet, and find a better way of getting Maria’s attention, okay?” Tom ordered, ruffling the boy’s hair.
The kid blushed and limped toward Sarah Jane.
“Wait!” Martha said as they turned to go. “Take this, please.” She held out her card. “I’d like to talk to you sometime.”
“You know, I think I would enjoy that very much.” Sarah exchanged cards with her. “Do you have plans for next Thursday?”
“I’ll have to check, why?”
“That’s when we all try to get together.”
“I’ll check my calendar, give you a call.” Martha’s brain caught up with her ears. “We all WHO?”
But Sarah Jane only grinned and waved on her way out the door.
x-posted to Teaspoon, sarahjane_fic, and lifeonmartha .