Farringham 1913 - Chapter 2
Title: Farringham 1913 - Chapter 2
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: John Smith, OC/Martha, Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3 up to and including Human Nature/Family of Blood
Summary: Someone notices Martha Jones is beautiful.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and all that jazz…
Author Notes: The idea for this fic turned up ages ago, but Ten!Bunny waited until silly o'clock the other morning to bite me for it ! The idea I had was for a fic in which John Smith doesn't fall for Joan Redfern, but does notice that someone is paying attention to Martha. This fic covers John Smith's and the Tenth Doctor's (once he's got his Time Lord essence back) reactions to the events that ensue. The Family don't show up at any point so Martha just has to wait out the three months until they die, coping as best she can.
This is the first fic I've written that uses flashbacks extensively - hopefully they'll work; I wanted to show how Martha learned to cope in 1913 and this seemed to be the way to write the fic.
I'm posting it in "chapters" because it looks like being a fairly long fic (possibly as long as my S3 finale rewrite fic was!) and I didn't want to find myself intimidated by how much I had to type up (as I was with "She Walks In Beauty") - and I didn't want to leave people with nothing new to read!
Chapter One.
~~~~~~
Wednesday 5 November, 1913
Martha wheeled her bicycle through the woods towards the clearing where she and Martin met; they had met here the first Sunday after their tea shop meeting and then continued to meet there, in part to spare themselves, or Martha in particular, the disapproving looks of the locals who considered that the son of the local doctor could do much better than a coloured housemaid. Martha knew she shouldn't let others' prejudices dictate her actions and behaviour, but she hadn't been able to summon up the energy to defy them when life at the school left her emotionally exhausted on a daily basis. Matron, in particular, had nearly caused Martha to lose her temper on more than one occasion.
Six weeks ago.
Mr Smith was trying to reach a book down from the top shelf of one of his bookcases when someone knocked on his door. Startled, he lost his balance and fell against the bookcase, dislodging not only the book he'd been trying to reach, but a handful of others as well. Typically the largest and heaviest one fell on his head and he tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain. He closed his eyes for a moment, annoyed at his clumsiness and trying to block out the pain; when he reopened his eyes, Martha was crouching in front of him, a look of concern on her face.
"Are you alright Sir?"
He was about to nod, but thought better of it and found his voice instead. "I think so."
She helped him up from the floor, then guided him over to the chair nearest to the window. She looked closely at his forehead and he lifted a hand with a wince to find a lump the size of an egg above his right eye.
"What happened Sir, can you remember?"
"I was trying to get a book from the top shelf and lost my balance," he answered, looking rather sheepish. "Several of my books fell and one of them hit me."
Martha continued to look closely at his temple, then looked him in the eyes. "You really ought to have a cold compress on that lump," she said, her medical training instinctively coming to the fore. "Don't try to move just yet - I'll be right back."
Mr Smith gave her a curious look, the note of authority in her voice a surprise, but she was already hurrying away. He couldn't have argued anyway, his head was sore and distracting him.
She returned quickly carrying a bowl of ice cold water and some clean cloths. She set the bowl down in the centre of the chess board that was laid out on the side table beside his chair, then soaked one of the cloths in the water. She applied it to the lump on his head with a surprisingly tender look in her eyes.
"You do that remarkably confidently," Mr Smith observed as she took the first cloth away and replaced it with a second several minutes later.
Martha flushed; she had forgotten that she was no longer almost a doctor and had reacted on pure instinct to the sight of his injury. "My younger brother fell out of a tree once and I watched the doctor giving him this treatment," she explained, hating the fact that she had to lie to him.
He nodded, then winced at the movement.
"Are you hurt anywhere else Sir?" she asked anxiously.
"My shoulder is sore. I think the book hit it after it hit my head."
"Would you like me to look at it Sir?" she asked, unsure whether he'd agree. She knew she ought to fetch the Matron, but she wanted to care for him herself.
He gave her such a grateful look that her concerns melted away. "Would you?"
She nodded, then helped him to take off his thick grey tweed jacket and the matching waistcoat, draping them across the leather sofa. She undid his tie, then eased the white shirt from his shoulder, gently holding his wrist and feeling his pulse jump underneath her fingers. She forced herself to maintain a professional manner, despite the fact that he was now half undressed. She reminded herself that this was John Smith and he wasn't interested in romance.
Finding a large, angry bruise on his shoulder, she soaked another cloth in the cold water, before applying it to his shoulder. He winced and hissed air through his teeth at the sting.
"Sorry Sir." Martha fought the urge to envelop him in a sympathetic hug.
The next moment someone knocked on the door. "Come in."
The door opened and Martha glanced around to see Nurse Redfern standing by the half open door, a look of disbelief and astonishment on her face. Martha winced inwardly, knowing the other woman would be upset that her territory had been encroached on.
"Mr Smith! What is going on here?"
"Just a little first aid," he answered calmly. "I had a slight accident with some books."
"Why didn't you send for me?" demanded Joan Redfern crossly. "You could have sent your girl here to fetch me."
Martha felt herself bristling at the Matron's tone and bit back an angry retort as the nurse marched across the room towards them. "Be about your work, girl, I will see to Mr Smith's medical care." She didn't even glance at Martha as she approached.
"Yes ma'am." Martha forced a respectful tone into her voice as she moved away and went to sort out the fallen books that still lay on the floor at the foot of the bookcase. She heard the Matron continuing to berate Mr Smith as if he was another of the boys.
"Honestly John! What were you thinking? That girl is only a skivvy, she can't possibly know what's good for your health."
Martha clenched her fists at her sides as she knelt to pick up the books.
"That girl, as you call her, is a perfectly sensible and practical young woman whom I have known all her life. Martha is also capable and intelligent, and I trust her implicitly." His tone was severe and Martha uncurled her fists again, unable to keep a grin from stealing across her face as John Smith defended her. "Can you fault her for what she has done for my care, Nurse Redfern?" He placed a gentle yet unmistakable emphasis on her title, as if to keep her at a distance and to reprimand her for her earlier use of his first name.
Martha gathered up the books quietly, eager to hear the other woman's response.
"No." She spoke grudgingly. "Not this time, but on another occasion it would be best if you sent for me."
"Should it be necessary, I will do so." His tone was dismissive and Martha's grin widened as she began to stack the books into a neat pile, wondering which one Mr Smith had wanted.
She peered between the shelves of the bookcase and saw the nurse crossing the room, then winced as she angrily banged the door shut.
"You can come out now she's gone," Mr Smith called to Martha.
She walked around the end of the bookcase and back into the main part of the room, her eyes on the floor and her expression neutral. She carried the pile of books over to where he sat with one cloth draped across the bruise on his shoulder, and another held against the lump on his head.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said quietly.
"Don't worry about it Sir," she answered with a shrug. "Which of these books did you want?"
"The Definitive Account of Mafeking by Aitchison-Price - the big blue one," he clarified.
Martha deftly pulled the book he named from the stack in her arms. "Where shall I put it Sir?"
"On top of the pile on the far right of my desk, please." He watched her put the book down, then asked curiously. "Do many of the staff, or the boys for that matter, look down on you like that?"
He saw her back stiffen and there was a long pause before she answered. "Some of them, Sir. But most of them don't even notice me." She turned to look at him, a brittle smile on her face.
He looked astonished. "Really? Why ever not?"
She gestured at her uniform. "This makes servants invisible to a lot of people," she answered, struggling not to let her anger and bitterness show.
He raised his eyebrows, then winced at the stab of pain in his temple. "But that's absurd," he protested.
She shrugged, then went to return the rest of the books in her arms to their proper places. Then she pulled a duster from the pocket on the front of her apron and began to dust along the mantle, careful to avoid even touching the fob watch that held the Doctor's Time Lord essence. She longed to open it and escape this era, but she knew it was far too soon yet and the Family would just continue to hunt for them through Time and Space.
John Smith watched her, puzzled by her revelation that many people didn't see her simply because she was a servant. He could not understand how anyone could fail to notice her. To him she was like an exotic rare flower that had been transplanted into a staid English landscape garden. Even in his newly widowed state, he couldn't fail to notice her: she was intelligent, caring, and utterly beautiful. As a child she had been pretty, but as a grown woman…
"Martha, would you mind coming back later to finish that? I think I'd like to lie down until my head stops aching so much."
She turned to him with a look of concern on her face, her dark eyes full of sympathy. "Of course Sir." She stuffed the duster back into her pocket. "You'll ring if you need m-anything?"
"Of course." He smiled at her and she nodded, then went out. He waited a few moments, then got up and crossed the room to lock the door, moving carefully and slowly thanks to the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: John Smith, OC/Martha, Tenth Doctor/Martha
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season 3 up to and including Human Nature/Family of Blood
Summary: Someone notices Martha Jones is beautiful.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" and all that jazz…
Author Notes: The idea for this fic turned up ages ago, but Ten!Bunny waited until silly o'clock the other morning to bite me for it ! The idea I had was for a fic in which John Smith doesn't fall for Joan Redfern, but does notice that someone is paying attention to Martha. This fic covers John Smith's and the Tenth Doctor's (once he's got his Time Lord essence back) reactions to the events that ensue. The Family don't show up at any point so Martha just has to wait out the three months until they die, coping as best she can.
This is the first fic I've written that uses flashbacks extensively - hopefully they'll work; I wanted to show how Martha learned to cope in 1913 and this seemed to be the way to write the fic.
I'm posting it in "chapters" because it looks like being a fairly long fic (possibly as long as my S3 finale rewrite fic was!) and I didn't want to find myself intimidated by how much I had to type up (as I was with "She Walks In Beauty") - and I didn't want to leave people with nothing new to read!
Chapter One.
~~~~~~
Wednesday 5 November, 1913
Martha wheeled her bicycle through the woods towards the clearing where she and Martin met; they had met here the first Sunday after their tea shop meeting and then continued to meet there, in part to spare themselves, or Martha in particular, the disapproving looks of the locals who considered that the son of the local doctor could do much better than a coloured housemaid. Martha knew she shouldn't let others' prejudices dictate her actions and behaviour, but she hadn't been able to summon up the energy to defy them when life at the school left her emotionally exhausted on a daily basis. Matron, in particular, had nearly caused Martha to lose her temper on more than one occasion.
Six weeks ago.
Mr Smith was trying to reach a book down from the top shelf of one of his bookcases when someone knocked on his door. Startled, he lost his balance and fell against the bookcase, dislodging not only the book he'd been trying to reach, but a handful of others as well. Typically the largest and heaviest one fell on his head and he tumbled to the floor with a cry of pain. He closed his eyes for a moment, annoyed at his clumsiness and trying to block out the pain; when he reopened his eyes, Martha was crouching in front of him, a look of concern on her face.
"Are you alright Sir?"
He was about to nod, but thought better of it and found his voice instead. "I think so."
She helped him up from the floor, then guided him over to the chair nearest to the window. She looked closely at his forehead and he lifted a hand with a wince to find a lump the size of an egg above his right eye.
"What happened Sir, can you remember?"
"I was trying to get a book from the top shelf and lost my balance," he answered, looking rather sheepish. "Several of my books fell and one of them hit me."
Martha continued to look closely at his temple, then looked him in the eyes. "You really ought to have a cold compress on that lump," she said, her medical training instinctively coming to the fore. "Don't try to move just yet - I'll be right back."
Mr Smith gave her a curious look, the note of authority in her voice a surprise, but she was already hurrying away. He couldn't have argued anyway, his head was sore and distracting him.
She returned quickly carrying a bowl of ice cold water and some clean cloths. She set the bowl down in the centre of the chess board that was laid out on the side table beside his chair, then soaked one of the cloths in the water. She applied it to the lump on his head with a surprisingly tender look in her eyes.
"You do that remarkably confidently," Mr Smith observed as she took the first cloth away and replaced it with a second several minutes later.
Martha flushed; she had forgotten that she was no longer almost a doctor and had reacted on pure instinct to the sight of his injury. "My younger brother fell out of a tree once and I watched the doctor giving him this treatment," she explained, hating the fact that she had to lie to him.
He nodded, then winced at the movement.
"Are you hurt anywhere else Sir?" she asked anxiously.
"My shoulder is sore. I think the book hit it after it hit my head."
"Would you like me to look at it Sir?" she asked, unsure whether he'd agree. She knew she ought to fetch the Matron, but she wanted to care for him herself.
He gave her such a grateful look that her concerns melted away. "Would you?"
She nodded, then helped him to take off his thick grey tweed jacket and the matching waistcoat, draping them across the leather sofa. She undid his tie, then eased the white shirt from his shoulder, gently holding his wrist and feeling his pulse jump underneath her fingers. She forced herself to maintain a professional manner, despite the fact that he was now half undressed. She reminded herself that this was John Smith and he wasn't interested in romance.
Finding a large, angry bruise on his shoulder, she soaked another cloth in the cold water, before applying it to his shoulder. He winced and hissed air through his teeth at the sting.
"Sorry Sir." Martha fought the urge to envelop him in a sympathetic hug.
The next moment someone knocked on the door. "Come in."
The door opened and Martha glanced around to see Nurse Redfern standing by the half open door, a look of disbelief and astonishment on her face. Martha winced inwardly, knowing the other woman would be upset that her territory had been encroached on.
"Mr Smith! What is going on here?"
"Just a little first aid," he answered calmly. "I had a slight accident with some books."
"Why didn't you send for me?" demanded Joan Redfern crossly. "You could have sent your girl here to fetch me."
Martha felt herself bristling at the Matron's tone and bit back an angry retort as the nurse marched across the room towards them. "Be about your work, girl, I will see to Mr Smith's medical care." She didn't even glance at Martha as she approached.
"Yes ma'am." Martha forced a respectful tone into her voice as she moved away and went to sort out the fallen books that still lay on the floor at the foot of the bookcase. She heard the Matron continuing to berate Mr Smith as if he was another of the boys.
"Honestly John! What were you thinking? That girl is only a skivvy, she can't possibly know what's good for your health."
Martha clenched her fists at her sides as she knelt to pick up the books.
"That girl, as you call her, is a perfectly sensible and practical young woman whom I have known all her life. Martha is also capable and intelligent, and I trust her implicitly." His tone was severe and Martha uncurled her fists again, unable to keep a grin from stealing across her face as John Smith defended her. "Can you fault her for what she has done for my care, Nurse Redfern?" He placed a gentle yet unmistakable emphasis on her title, as if to keep her at a distance and to reprimand her for her earlier use of his first name.
Martha gathered up the books quietly, eager to hear the other woman's response.
"No." She spoke grudgingly. "Not this time, but on another occasion it would be best if you sent for me."
"Should it be necessary, I will do so." His tone was dismissive and Martha's grin widened as she began to stack the books into a neat pile, wondering which one Mr Smith had wanted.
She peered between the shelves of the bookcase and saw the nurse crossing the room, then winced as she angrily banged the door shut.
"You can come out now she's gone," Mr Smith called to Martha.
She walked around the end of the bookcase and back into the main part of the room, her eyes on the floor and her expression neutral. She carried the pile of books over to where he sat with one cloth draped across the bruise on his shoulder, and another held against the lump on his head.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said quietly.
"Don't worry about it Sir," she answered with a shrug. "Which of these books did you want?"
"The Definitive Account of Mafeking by Aitchison-Price - the big blue one," he clarified.
Martha deftly pulled the book he named from the stack in her arms. "Where shall I put it Sir?"
"On top of the pile on the far right of my desk, please." He watched her put the book down, then asked curiously. "Do many of the staff, or the boys for that matter, look down on you like that?"
He saw her back stiffen and there was a long pause before she answered. "Some of them, Sir. But most of them don't even notice me." She turned to look at him, a brittle smile on her face.
He looked astonished. "Really? Why ever not?"
She gestured at her uniform. "This makes servants invisible to a lot of people," she answered, struggling not to let her anger and bitterness show.
He raised his eyebrows, then winced at the stab of pain in his temple. "But that's absurd," he protested.
She shrugged, then went to return the rest of the books in her arms to their proper places. Then she pulled a duster from the pocket on the front of her apron and began to dust along the mantle, careful to avoid even touching the fob watch that held the Doctor's Time Lord essence. She longed to open it and escape this era, but she knew it was far too soon yet and the Family would just continue to hunt for them through Time and Space.
John Smith watched her, puzzled by her revelation that many people didn't see her simply because she was a servant. He could not understand how anyone could fail to notice her. To him she was like an exotic rare flower that had been transplanted into a staid English landscape garden. Even in his newly widowed state, he couldn't fail to notice her: she was intelligent, caring, and utterly beautiful. As a child she had been pretty, but as a grown woman…
"Martha, would you mind coming back later to finish that? I think I'd like to lie down until my head stops aching so much."
She turned to him with a look of concern on her face, her dark eyes full of sympathy. "Of course Sir." She stuffed the duster back into her pocket. "You'll ring if you need m-anything?"
"Of course." He smiled at her and she nodded, then went out. He waited a few moments, then got up and crossed the room to lock the door, moving carefully and slowly thanks to the uncomfortable tightness of his trousers.