When Harry Met Martha (1/2)
Title: When Harry Met Martha (1/2)
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Harry Sullivan, UNIT
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The Ark in Space, Genesis of the Daleks, The Last of the Time Lords, Reset
Summary: Martha Jones meets Harry Sullivan in unusual circumstances.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" - I don't even own my brain any more!
Author Notes: This fic is for livii who has been the chief advocate and most prolific writer of fics for the Martha/Harry pairing. She encouraged me to try my hand at one so I've written this story which moves backwards and forwards along both Martha's and Harry's timelines.
Betas: livii and padawanpooh, who have both done an awesome job; any remaining mistakes are entirely mine.
~~~~~~
First Meeting: Martha's PoV (Winter, Year That Never Was)
After crossing the border into Germany, Martha looked for somewhere to shelter; she was exhausted and needed to rest her body, if not her mind. She lifted the weight of her rucksack away from her back for a moment, then headed towards a barn in a nearby field. It was partially damaged; no doubt the Toclafane had done that, but she knew it was better than being out in the open while she rested.
She approached the barn warily, noting tyre marks; she bent down and brushed her hand over the grass and found it was less wet from the recent rain inside the tyre marks than outside them, which meant the vehicle had stood there for some time. She eased the barn door open quietly, then cautiously stepped inside, inhaling the lingering scent of animals and hay as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. When they did what she saw made her stare in astonishment: a two-person tent had been erected in the most sheltered corner, and in front of it there was a fire burning merrily.
Martha immediately began to back towards the door and nearly jumped out of her skin when a quiet voice spoke behind her.
"Please don't panic. Everything is OK."
She turned sharply and found herself looking up into the weather-beaten face of a man in his sixties; his thick brown hair was sprinkled with grey and there were lines around his eyes and mouth. He was dressed surprisingly neatly in slacks and a blazer with a cravat arranged inside the neck of his shirt.
"Who are you?" Martha demanded, her voice hoarse from months of repeatedly telling her story.
"Harry," he answered. "I've been waiting for you." He held out his hand and Martha was so surprised by the gesture that she shook it automatically.
He smiled at her and she had to look away because his smile was warm, caring and completely unbearable in its normality.
"Come and get warm," he said.
She let him guide her over to the tent and help her to take off her rucksack, then sat down cross-legged on the blanket. Her mind was in a whirl of surprise because he seemed to have been expecting her, and puzzlement because he seemed to like her even though they had only just met.
"Tea?"
She gave a speechless nod, not quite daring to believe that he actually possessed tea until he poured it out of a thermos into a mug and handed it to her.
"How?" she asked.
Harry gave her another smile. "I had word of your coming," he said. "I've got a couple of contacts who were in Eastern Europe and passed through here a few days ago."
Martha shook her head, too tired to take it in or work it out. She took a mouthful of the tea, which was hot and sweet, still feeling astonished that anyone actually possessed tea: she hadn't drunk any since she'd fled Japan months ago.
"Do you want food first, or sleep?" he asked.
"Sleep. I ate a couple of hours ago," she answered, then yawned enormously.
"Finish your tea then."
She mumbled a thank you, then quickly swallowed the rest of her tea. Harry took the mug from her and gestured to the tent.
"Go ahead, it's all yours."
"What about you?" she asked curiously.
"I'll be fine out here."
"All night?" He nodded. "That's silly. If it's big enough for two, there's no reason not to share it. I've slept five to a bed before now."
"I thought you might like some privacy," he said gently.
"You're very sweet," she answered, yawning again, "but I won't sleep properly if I know you're out here."
"And you're very stubborn." He gave her a smile, to let her know he wasn't entirely serious. "OK, we'll share."
"Good." Martha's answer came out as a mumble as she crawled into the tent to find two good quality sleeping bags set out on a rubber groundsheet. She sat on one of them and struggled to unlace her boots.
"Let me," Harry offered and she nodded; he quickly removed her boots, and she shrugged out of her coat as well. He put them both in a corner, then sat down and pulled off his own boots and coat.
She manoeuvred herself into the sleeping bag, yawned again and closed her eyes. Moments later she was sleeping and Harry lay watching her for some time, thinking about the first time they'd met, in her future and his past. She wasn't quite the woman he remembered: she was obviously just as strong and determined or she wouldn't have survived this long, but the Martha his younger self would be meeting was tougher, more confident, and seemed much older than this young woman. This Martha was thinner too, which wasn't very surprising: he doubted she was really getting enough to eat, and all the walking she'd done in the last nine months meant she hadn't an ounce of spare fat on her now. He reached out and carefully brushed some stray hair from her face, although what he desperately wanted was to pull her into his arms and hold her. He'd just have to settle for taking care of her as much as possible while she travelled through Western Europe.
After a while Harry succumbed to sleep too, but he was woken again a few hours later by a cry; when he lit the camping lamp he kept handy, he saw that Martha was thrashing about in her sleep, crying out to someone: "Just run and don't look back!"
He called her name but she didn't hear him, so he reached across the small distance between them to grasp her shoulders. "Martha!"
She sat bolt upright, panting for breath as if she'd been running for miles. It took her a few moments to focus on the man who held her, and when she saw Harry watching her with great concern, she started to cry silently.
"It's OK, Martha," he said softly as he wondered what she'd been dreaming about. She had buried her face in her hands and he could tell she was still crying, though he couldn't see her tears.
"Come here." He pulled her body closer to his, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against his chest. After several more minutes she pulled back a little and he slipped his hand into his pocket to offer her his handkerchief. She accepted it and dried her face, then looked down at the square of cotton in her hand, then back up to his face, her own full of wonder.
"Who are you?"
"Harry Sullivan," he answered with a small chuckle.
"How is it possible that you've still got such a thing as a pocket handkerchief? And your clothes are clean too," she said wonderingly. She suddenly jerked back from him and gave him a hunted look.
"You're in league with Saxon?"
He looked at her sadly. "If I was in league with Saxon, you'd be in his hands already. Believe me, he wouldn't leave you on Earth a minute longer than necessary if he knew where to find you."
She looked down at the handkerchief she still held, ashamed of her suspicion. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Harry reached out and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye. "You're forgiven," he said softly. "Your suspicion is natural and not unexpected." He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb and he felt her lean into the hand that now cupped her cheek.
"My dear girl, will you let me tell you a story for a change?"
She looked up in surprise at his gentle tone of voice and the epithet, then gave a quick nod.
"Lie down again," he said and waited whilst she did so, then he turned down the lamp until there was barely enough light for them to see each other's faces. He took her hands in his as he began to speak.
"Once upon a time, thirty or so years ago, there was a man named Harry Sullivan who was a doctor. For a little while he travelled extensively in the company of two friends. One of his friends was a very clever man, a scientist, who was working for the same organisation as him; the other was a young woman, who was a freelance investigative journalist with a good nose for a story. The three of them got into quite a few scrapes during their travels and Harry made it his job to keep an eye on them, to help them if he could. He also helped those they met, if he was able."
He looked down at Martha's hands in his, organising his thoughts before he continued.
"Eventually Harry felt he ought to return to his job, but he never forgot his travels with his friends; he had learnt a lot during that short time and had been given a new perspective on life. He spent the next thirty years doing all he could to help people in trouble. Then a man named Harold Saxon became Prime Minister, and the world went to hell. He lost several friends with whom he'd worked for many years, all of whom were destroyed by the Toclafane, so he vowed to do everything he could to help those who were trying to survive. Then one day, a few months ago, he heard a story of a young woman named Martha Jones; she was said to be walking the Earth, telling a story of her own. She was said to be the only person who could stop Saxon, who now called himself the Master. The story of Martha Jones was giving hope to those who suffered under Saxon's rule: the hope that this madness would not last forever."
He looked up at her and gave her a warm smile. "When I heard that, I vowed to do everything in my power to help you. I've been looking for you ever since, calling in favours from old contacts, but you've proved very elusive - naturally enough - so it's taken me some time to catch up with you."
"You're crazy," Martha whispered, but there was a genuine smile on her face.
He laughed. "And you're not?" He lifted a hand to cup her cheek again. "Will you let me help you, Martha Jones, on your journey across Western Europe?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now see if you can get some more sleep."
They lay down again and she settled against his chest, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, falling asleep again in minutes. Harry found himself on the verge of tears, such was his relief that she had agreed to let him help her. It took him several minutes longer to fall asleep again, Martha's body a familiar weight against his.
* * * * * *
The following morning Harry made them breakfast, preparing porridge and black coffee, then producing some pears from the pocket of his camel hair coat. Martha just stared at the fruit after he placed it in her hand: she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had fresh fruit, but she knew it was months ago.
"Are you a magician?" she asked with a half laugh.
"Sadly not," he answered with a smile. "If I was, I'd make this go away."
Once they'd eaten he doused their fire, then buried the ashes, before beginning to roll up one of the sleeping bags. Martha quickly moved to help him and it wasn't long before there was no evidence remaining of their little camp. They carried everything outside and around the back of the barn, where Martha saw that Harry had parked a small green van.
"How can you drive?" she asked. "I thought the Master had forbidden it?"
"Medical staff can still drive, if they can get a permit," he answered.
How ironic is it that I'm travelling with a doctor again? she wondered.
They loaded their things into the back of the van, then moved round to the front and got in. Harry handed Martha a large packet of maps and a reporter's notebook.
"I've worked out an itinerary," he told her. "Do you want to look it over and see if there's anything you want to add?"
She couldn't help staring at him in shock as she accepted the notebook and maps.
"What?" he asked.
"You've really prepared for this," she said quietly.
"I told you, I've been waiting to meet up with you for months," he reminded her. "I've had plenty of time to prepare." He didn't bother telling her of the itineraries he'd scrapped because he hadn't caught up with her sooner.
She shook her head in quiet disbelief at his absolute faith in her, then opened the notebook and looked over his itinerary whilst he drove around the barn, across the field, then out onto the road.
"This is good work," she said and he felt foolishly pleased by how impressed she sounded and how grateful she looked when he stole a sidelong glance at her.
"Thank you." He reached behind him and lifted a small rucksack into her lap. "Supplies," he told her, and she felt only a small amount of surprise: she was beginning to accept that Harry was the most efficient and organised person she'd met so far on this long trek.
Inside the rucksack she found a neck pillow, a full thermos flask, a full plastic lunchbox, a large pack of tissues, a two-litre bottle of water, and a paper bag of apples.
"Harry Sullivan, I could kiss you!" she exclaimed. She saw a blush steal up his neck and couldn't resist immediately leaning across to peck his cheek.
"Help yourself to the supplies," he told her. "The flask contains coffee, but there's no milk I'm afraid, as I've not been able to find a farm with milk cows for a week."
"Black coffee is fine," Martha assured him gratefully.
"If you want to nap while I drive, don't hesitate."
"I won't," she assured him.
* * * * * *
They quickly settled into a routine. Thanks to Harry's van, Martha was able to reach far more people than she'd have managed if she'd still been on foot. They travelled north through Germany, pausing in Berlin and Hamburg, but not lingering there long, before moving on into Denmark. After that they drove back down through Germany and into Italy, before crossing to Sicily by boat. They left the van tucked away whilst they were on the island and Martha felt very relieved that it was still there when they got back. They drove back up through Italy, into Switzerland, then down through southeast France to Spain and Portugal. After that they headed back into France, then went on to Belgium and the Netherlands.
They visited all the major towns and cities in each country, Martha telling her story everywhere that they stopped and found groups of refugees. She and Harry would treat the sick and wounded as best they could, though medical supplies were scarce outside of the Master's camps. The worst problem was dealing with the sick around the radiation pits: the best they could do, in most cases, was administer a lethal dose of morphine to end the patient's suffering. Sometimes, if there were only a few patients, Harry would refuse to let Martha help him, insisting that she had nightmares enough without adding to them; most of the time, though, it was necessary for both of them to administer the injections. Neither one of them liked doing it, but they both felt strongly that no one should have to suffer longer than necessary whilst they carried the means to offer a dignified passing.
They would sometimes have to take shelter when the Toclafane swept through and twice they found themselves the unwilling witnesses to a Toclafane massacre, while they cowered safely nearby. Both times Harry had to physically restrain Martha from rushing out of their shelter in what he knew would be a futile attempt to save a child from the deadly spinning blades; and afterwards he cradled her in his arms as she sobbed broken-heartedly.
They were stopped many times whilst driving, but thanks to the perception filter key she wore, Martha remained undetected, and each time Harry managed to persuade the Toclafane that he was permitted to be wherever they had found him.
They would sleep as and when they could; sometimes they travelled by night and slept by day. Martha suffered constantly from nightmares, which she always refused to talk about, insisting that there was no sense in burdening Harry with them. He tried telling her that he didn't mind, but the look she gave him persuaded him not to pursue it. Each night he would hold her, soothing her back to sleep with quiet words. He wished he dared to offer her more, but he held back because he could hear in her voice, as she told her story of the Doctor, that at that moment the Time Lord had her heart completely.
* * * * * *
By the time they reached Calais, they had become good friends and worked well together as a team: Martha trusted Harry implicitly and although she occasionally felt guilty at letting him do so much for her, she knew he was right when he argued that she needed to conserve her strength and energy for her inevitable confrontation with the Master once they got back to London.
They reached Calais late one night and left the van parked near an abandoned warehouse whilst they went in search of someone who would be willing to take them across the Channel sometime in the next two days. Eventually they located a small group of sailors in a wine bar that was under a warehouse near the docks. As they slipped quietly into the room total silence fell upon the group, then the dozen men all stood up and bowed to Martha, who stared in surprise.
"That's a good start," Harry said softly in her ear.
She gave a quick nod, then stepped forward as the eldest of the men moved towards them, smiling in welcome. They shook hands with Pierre, as he introduced himself and explained, in flawless English, how delighted they were to see the famous Martha Jones.
She and Harry joined Pierre at the rectangular table around which the group had re-seated themselves, and allowed him to introduce everyone.
"You will tell us your story, yes?" asked the youngest, a boy of 17.
"After they have eaten," Pierre admonished gently.
"I'll tell you my story," Martha said, "but that's not the only reason we're here."
Pierre cocked his head. "You wish to cross La Manche to England?" he asked perceptively.
"If someone can take us," Martha agreed.
"It will be an honour," Pierre assured her. "We will take you tomorrow."
"Thank you." She didn't try to disguise her relief at this welcome news: she was very aware that the time left before she had to return to the Valiant was growing short, and although the prospect was frightening, she knew she could not turn her back on the meeting after coming this far.
Pierre gave them a gracious nod, then turned and spoke in rapid French to two of the men, who immediately crossed to a door in the far corner of the room and disappeared through it.
"We will eat soon," he told them. "Jacques and Michel were both cooks aboard ship before this madness - they will enjoy cooking for two new friends."
"We will enjoy sharing a meal with you," Harry answered. "We have a few supplies of our own, if you would like to share?"
Pierre shook his head decisively. "Keep your supplies; you may need them in England."
"Thank you," Martha answered.
He waved her thanks away. "You should rest now: we will wake you when the food is ready." They stood up and followed him across the room to where a few makeshift beds were arranged in a corner screened by a couple of velvet curtains. Pierre shifted a pile of odds and ends from one of the beds, and gestured Martha towards it, then he turned to a second bed.
"We'll share," Harry said, "no sense in disturbing everything."
Pierre gave him a speculative look that made Harry blush in the darkness, but didn't comment. "Rest," he urged, then stepped backwards, pulling the curtains along the makeshift pole above their heads.
Martha sank down onto the bed and Harry immediately knelt to unlace her boots, gently easing them off her feet. "Thanks," she murmured, shrugging out of her jacket.
She stretched out on the bed, lying on her right side as she faced the wall. Harry pulled off his own coat and boots, then stretched out beside her, spooning up behind her. He slipped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her left shoulder for a moment.
"OK?" he asked softly.
"Yeah." She already sounded half asleep.
"Sleep well," he said, kissing her cheek.
Despite the stuffy air and the pervasive smells of wine, garlic and cheese, Martha fell asleep almost instantly, but Harry took a while longer to drop off, which was the norm for both of them by now. He had long since schooled himself not to think about the fact that they were sharing a bed, because thinking about it would be too much of a torment and would make it awkward for him and Martha, but the speculative look that Pierre had given him had brought a rush of desire that he was doing his best to ignore.
Eventually he fell asleep too and they slept for a couple of hours without disturbance before Pierre woke them again.
They pulled on their boots and carried their coats over to the table, which had been laid with a once-white, now rather grey, cloth and set with mismatched crockery. Jacques and Michel began serving the food, the mere smell of which, after days of little variety in their diets, set Harry's and Martha's mouths watering with anticipation. They were served an impressive looking Bouillabaisse with fresh bread and glasses of wine, and Martha had to nudge Harry in the ribs to remind him to close his mouth as he gaped at such luxury.
"Cela ressemble fantastique," Martha said, nodding to both men as they filled her plate and bowl, and Harry had to agree that it did look fantastic.
"Merci mademoiselle," they murmured as they moved on to the next person.
"Eat," Pierre urged, waving a spoon at them.
They needed no second bidding and were soon lost in the pleasure of eating fresh fish and vegetables for the first time in months. The sailors talked quietly amongst themselves, sensing that the English pair were more interested in their food than in talking, and knowing there would be conversation enough after they had finished their meal.
Once everyone had eaten their fill, the table was quickly cleared and coffee was served, and Martha began her familiar tale; Harry listened with half an ear, being more interested in gauging the reactions of the dozen men who listened intently to every word.
There was a silence of several minutes when Martha finished speaking, a not uncommon reaction, then Pierre gave a quick nod.
"Truly, Martha Jones, the legend of you does not lie. This Doctor has a mighty champion: both healer and warrior. It is to be hoped he can do all that you say, for all our sakes."
There was a murmur of agreement from around the table and Martha nodded. "If he doesn't, it won't be from want of trying," she told them.
Pierre nodded in return. "Do you wish to stay here tonight?"
She turned to Harry, who smiled. "Your choice," he said softly, "it's always your choice."
She looked over at Pierre. "Yes please. But we will fetch our things from where we left them."
"Very well. Antoine will accompany you and he will spread the word that you are here. Tomorrow morning we will have a meeting for you to tell your story again, then we will cross La Manche to Dover, yes?"
Martha agreed, knowing it was the least she could do; the more people who heard her story, the better it would be for the Doctor when the countdown ended. She and Harry pulled on their coats and followed Antoine, a burly middle-aged man, out onto the street. He checked that they were certain of their route to and from the wine bar, then set off to spread the news that the legendary Martha Jones would be speaking the following morning.
Harry slipped an arm around Martha's shoulders as they walked back to the van. "We're almost on the last lap," he told her, "just a few more days and this will all be over."
"I know," she answered.
He thought she sounded subdued, rather than pleased by the prospect, and wondered why.
They reached the van and unloaded the things they wanted to take across the Channel with them: they added their sleeping bags to their packs, as well as the field medical kit they had put together during their months of travelling. They sorted out their food supplies too, divvying them up between their two packs: Harry was always careful to ensure Martha carried the lion's share of food - just in case anything happened to him. They'd never discussed it, but he was certain she knew just why he made such a point of it: he'd realised quite early in their partnership that Martha was astute, particularly when it came to reading other people's motives, so they had never discussed it.
They took their packs back to the wine bar and found Pierre had rigged up a separate curtained-off area for them to share.
"We thought you would appreciate some privacy," he informed them when Martha told him that it wasn't necessary.
"Thank you." She didn't need to look at Harry to know he was blushing again. She found it sweet that such things made him blush, and if the circumstances had been different, she probably would have teased him about it.
They found Pierre had provided them with a camp bed and Martha briefly wondered who was going without, but she knew better than to ask since some people who had hosted her had taken it as a personal affront when she'd suggested that she'd be fine on the floor.
They settled down for the night and Martha found herself thinking longingly of a long, hot bath and a change of clothes, and the chance to sleep in pyjamas instead of her combats.
"OK?" Harry asked, his arms snaking around her middle as usual.
"Yeah," she answered softly. She wasn't as comfortable as she'd like to be, but while he was with her, she felt safe and that counted for a lot.
She shifted slightly so she could look at him over her shoulder. "Thank you for everything you've done for me the last three months."
"You are quite welcome, Martha," he answered. "It's been an honour to help you."
She huffed out a soundless laugh, but didn't object to his compliment. They soon fell asleep, and Martha didn't suffer any nightmares.
* * * * * *
The next morning, after a more satisfying breakfast than usual (freshly baked bagels with cheese, fruit, and coffee with milk), Pierre took Martha and Harry across the town to a warehouse where a group of refugees were in hiding from the Toclafane's raids.
"We hear that the Master is still sending out the Toclafane, even though his rocket program is almost complete; some say it is out of spite because he still has not found the Doctor's Champion."
With a start Martha realised that Pierre was referring to her and she felt glad that her darker skin meant her blush wasn't too obvious. Harry grinned down at her when she looked up to see his reaction and mouthed 'Champion' at her. She gave him a scowl but his grin just broadened, much to her annoyance.
She forgot the teasing in the next moment as Pierre opened the warehouse door and revealed a gathering of at least 100 people. She took a deep breath, feeling Harry give her shoulder a comforting squeeze, then stepped inside. She had schooled herself to ignore the smell of unwashed bodies, knowing she didn't smell much better after nearly a year without a hot bath. She had also taught herself not to panic at the prospect of speaking to so many people; she remembered, as if she had been another person, how she had always hated her mother's parties because Francine always insisted on 'parading' her and Tish in front of her friends. Tish, of course, had always enjoyed it. Now she thought she'd probably cope quite easily at such a party. The people nearest the door stood back to let her enter more easily and she walked forward, following Pierre, with Harry's right hand on her shoulder.
They made their way to the front of the warehouse and everyone sat down, with Martha, Harry and Pierre on wooden chairs facing the crowd who'd come to hear her speak.
She took a deep breath again and then began to speak: "Let me tell you a story. Let me tell you the truth about Martha Jones. I have travelled across the world, from the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I've been, I've seen people, just like you, living as slaves. But if Martha Jones became a legend then that's wrong, 'cos my name's not important. There's someone else. The man who sent me out here. The man who told me to walk the Earth. And his name, is the Doctor."
Harry, as usual, scanned the faces in front of them as Martha continued to speak of all that the Doctor had done for Earth. There was a teenage boy at the back of the room, leaning against the wall close to the door: he caught Harry's eye because of the look of insolence and disdain on his face - an expression Harry hadn't really seen since before the Master had set the Toclafane loose on an unsuspecting world. It chilled him and he made a mental note to watch where the boy went when they left the warehouse.
Martha finished speaking and then, as usual, invited anyone who needed medical treatment, to come to the front. There was a movement forward from about twenty people and Harry wondered whether they carried enough supplies to deal with so many. Fortunately an older man came forward first, carrying a wooden box, about four feet by two. He set it down by Martha's chair, then spoke rapidly to her and Pierre. Harry didn't understand all he said, but he understood enough to realise that the box contained medical supplies.
"Merci beaucoup, monsieur." Martha shook the man's hand as she thanked him, then she bent down and lifted the lid on the box.
Pierre began organising those who were waiting, and Martha and Harry were soon busy treating cuts, burns and other, thankfully minor, injuries. They were busy for a good hour before the last person was sent away, then Pierre was back at their side with a thermos of coffee and some food.
"We will eat, then we shall cross La Manche," he told them.
Martha gave him a tired nod, clearly worn out by the morning's events. "Thank you."
"Thank you very much," Harry said.
Pierre moved an old packing case across to use as a makeshift table, spreading out the food on top of a red and white checked cloth. There was fresh bread, astonishingly still warm from the oven, cheese, and sweet apples.
"Eat what you want, and take the rest with you if you don't finish it," he told them.
"What about you?" Martha asked instantly.
"I ate while you were busy," he assured her.
Harry pulled out his pocket knife and began cutting off chunks of cheese and folding slices of bread around them. "Here." He offered the first crude sandwich to Martha, then poured some coffee into a mug for her. He pocketed a couple of the apples for himself, then put the bag holding the remainder into the top of her rucksack, before making another sandwich for himself. They ate quickly, anxious to get the Channel crossing over with, despite dreading what they would find in England.
"Ready?" Harry asked Martha when they had finished.
She gave him a tired smile. "Ready." She stood and stretched, then allowed him to help her pull on her rucksack. She stretched up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, causing him to blush.
"Oh I say. What was that for?" he asked, surprised.
She shrugged. "Just saying thank you," she said. "I do know why you always give me most of the food to carry, you know."
"I know you do," he answered softly. He pulled her into a quick hug, despite her rucksack, then let her go and picked up his own.
"Let's go," he said, nodding to Pierre.
They crossed the warehouse together, Martha and Harry hand-in-hand for once. They followed Pierre back to the dock and found five of the sailors from the night before were waiting for them with a sturdy motorboat. Pierre boarded first, then Martha; Harry was just about to follow up the plank when they all heard the sound they dreaded: the giggles of the Toclafane. Everyone looked up as three of them swarmed into view.
"Come on Harry!" Martha called in a low voice, wondering why he was still standing there. She couldn't see that he had spotted the teenager whom he'd noticed earlier and was mentally kicking himself for losing sight of the boy.
He turned and began to move up the plank, Martha watching anxiously from the doorway of the cabin. She desperately wanted to rush to him and haul him to safety, but she knew any sudden movement on her part would render her visible. Pierre stood beside her, watching intently.
"Identify, little man," demanded one of the Toclafane.
Harry was half way up the plank, but he turned and pulled his ID out of his coat pocket, holding it up towards the spheres.
"I've got a licence. Sullivan, Peripatetic Medical Squad, I'm allowed to travel," he said swiftly.
"That name is known to us," they answered, "and you have travelled much of late. The Master wishes to see you."
Harry glanced back at Martha, looking startled, and saw she was beckoning urgently to him. He glanced up at the Toclafane, then continued up the plank.
"You will obey, little man," insisted the Toclafane.
Harry ignored them, trying to hurry up the rest of the narrow plank; above him the spheres' blades snapped out and they swooped down, giggling insanely.
"NO! HARRY!" Martha screamed, struggling to pull away from Pierre's grip as he held her back.
"You can't," he told her hoarsely.
She wrenched one arm free, glaring at him furiously, but when she turned back to look at the plank, it was already too late, and she watched in horror as Harry's shredded body toppled down into the water.
"He was my friend, you bastards!" Martha yelled as the Toclafane shot away towards a teenage boy on the quayside. She collapsed to the deck, her back against the cabin wall, sobbing brokenly as the sailors got the boat under way. She didn't see the Toclafane descending on the babbling teenager, who was protesting that they'd got the wrong person and had just missed Martha Jones.
The boat moved away from Calais, leaving Martha feeling as if her heart was at the bottom of the dock along with one of the best men she'd ever known. If the Master had appeared at that moment, she knew she'd have killed him herself with her bare hands, plan or no plan.
* * * * * *
First meeting: Harry's PoV (April 2008)
Green grass and blue sky; white-tiled lab; green grass and blue sky; white-tiled lab. Harry Sullivan's existence flickered between two places for several seconds, though to him it felt far longer. He could see and hear the Doctor one moment, then he saw a group of rather surprised looking men and women in the next moment. Finally he settled into one place, but not the place he had expected to be: the group of men and women in the lab all looked rather serious and slightly intimidating.
"Wh - " He tried to speak but found his throat too dry to get the words out. He tried to move and swayed on his feet before a slim, dark-skinned young woman darted out of the group and wrapped surprisingly strong arms around him.
"Here," she said softly, helping him into a chair, before turning to one of the others. "Get him some water," she said sharply. Harry flinched at her tone and she turned back to him with a look of concern on her face.
"Are you OK?" she asked gently, her tone a sharp contrast to a moment ago.
He started to nod, then stopped, realising that he felt as if his entire being had been scrambled like a Morse code message and frowned instead.
"Ma'am." A young man offered the young woman a glass of water and she gestured at him to give it to Harry, who tried to take it but found he couldn't quite coordinate his fingers.
"Uh - " he said. The young woman quickly took the glass, then offered it to Harry with a worried expression.
"Steady now, drink it slowly," she told him. He took a mouthful and she immediately moved the glass away from his mouth and waited for him to swallow. After several more mouthfuls, Harry felt as if he might manage to speak.
"Where am I," he asked, "and what just happened?"
"You're at UNIT HQ," the young woman answered. "I was hoping you might know what happened. What's the last thing you remember before you appeared here?"
He frowned in puzzlement. "This isn't UNIT HQ," he said.
The young woman gave him a considering look. "What's your name?"
"Surgeon Lieutenant Harry Sullivan."
"I'm Martha Jones, Medical Officer with UNIT." She hoped he hadn't noticed her momentary surprise at his name: she had met someone called Harry Sullivan during her long walk around the world.
Harry opened his mouth to protest that he was the MO, then snapped it closed again. "What year is this?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as panicked as he suddenly felt.
"2008," Martha responded.
He gaped at her. It was one thing to be carried thousands of years into the future in a strange Police Box, but it was something else to be carried thousands of years back from there whilst standing on your own two feet.
"Where were you, before you arrived here?" Martha asked again.
"Aboard a space station orbiting Earth. I tried to beam down to Earth via a transmat device."
She raised her eyebrows, looking thoughtful. "Well, it looks like the transmat device wasn't functioning properly. You've arrived safely on Earth, just not where you expected to."
"Or when," he muttered.
She gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean 'when'?"
"The space station I was on, it was thousands of years in the future," he explained. "The Doctor - "
"The Doctor?" Martha interrupted incredulously.
"You know him?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Tall fellow with wild brown hair, wears a suit and trainers."
"Oh!" He frowned. "Must be someone different. The chap I was travelling with had curly hair, and wore a long multicoloured scarf and a hat."
"Yours must be a different incarnation then," she said thoughtfully. "We'll need to debrief you properly, but in the meantime I'm going to take you to the Infirmary to check you've not suffered any ill effects from travelling thousands of years via a transmat. Time travel without a capsule - horrible," she muttered, shaking her head as she moved away to confer briefly with some of her colleagues. She returned a few moments later to help Harry up from the chair.
"Can you walk?" she asked.
"I think so," he answered. She let go of his arm, but stayed close just in case, and led the way out of the lab, then down the corridor to the Infirmary.
"Here we go," she said, opening the door and ushering him into a gleaming room filled with what was clearly the most up-to-date medical equipment. Harry couldn't help staring at it all as Martha guided him over to a bed.
"I'm going to have to run some tests," she told him as he seated himself on the bed. "This is probably going to be a bit tedious, I'm afraid."
He gave a shrug. "Tests usually are, in my experience," he answered rather vaguely.
* * * * * *
Forty five minutes later, Martha was satisfied that Harry was fit, if a little dehydrated from his trip, and he was able to get dressed after the various tests she'd run, which had included a physical.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Ravenous, actually," Harry admitted cheerfully as he stepped out from behind a privacy screen, fully dressed again.
"Come on then, we'll go to the staff canteen for some lunch, then we'll see if the scientists have worked out a way to get you back."
He followed Martha out into a maze of corridors, glad that he had a guide. They reached the canteen a few minutes later to find lunch was just starting to be served. There was a radio playing, which surprised Harry, although not as much as Martha's reaction when she registered the song that was playing:
You swept my feet right off the ground, you're the love I found / Doctor Jones, Jones, / Calling Doctor Jones / Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones
She scowled in a very fierce manner and Harry suddenly decided that he wouldn't want to get on her wrong side. The man behind the serving counter must have spotted her reaction because he turned and quickly retuned the radio to something classical, and Martha relaxed again.
"I hate that song," she told Harry, "and my brother Leo loves to torment me with it."
"Brothers, eh?" he said, sounding sympathetic.
"Yeah." She shook her head, then approached the counter. "Thanks Andy."
"No problem," he answered with a smile. "What can I get you?"
"A cheese omelette and salad please." She turned to Harry. "What are you having? Something with plenty of protein would be a good idea, I think."
"I'll have the same as you please," he answered.
"Two then, please Andy." She gave him a plastic card, which he swiped then handed back, before loading up two trays with their food. Martha led the way over to a corner table, and sat down, then poured herself a glass of water from the jug standing on the table.
"There's tea and coffee in the machine over there if you want it," she said, gesturing with her fork.
Harry shook his head. "Water's fine, thank you."
They talked about medicine as they ate, comparing notes animatedly, and Martha found herself wishing that he could stick around for a little while so they could go on talking.
They each grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine, then headed back to the lab where Harry had arrived. He was also wishing he could stay and talk longer, since he couldn't talk medicine with Sarah, and the Doctor had said his degree was purely honorary. Martha, on the other hand, was clearly interested in alien biology, and he felt sure she'd be interested in hearing about the Wirrn, but he knew he ought to get back to the Doctor and Sarah soon or they would worry about him; well, Sarah might worry about him, he wasn't sure the Doctor would.
Entering the lab, though, they found the scientists huddled together around a computer, all of them looking quite glum.
"What's wrong?" Martha asked immediately.
"We're not sure if we can send Doctor Sullivan back," answered one of the scientists, a woman in her forties with a weary air that made Harry wonder when she'd last slept.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because we're not sure of the exact coordinates that you arrived from," she explained, "since you came via a transmat beam rather than something more tangible, like a ship. We're not even sure how you ended up here instead of where you were intending to arrive."
"Oh!" Harry knew he ought to be upset, but he was trying not to grin at the prospect of spending further time talking to Martha, and he noticed from the corner of his eye that she didn't look particularly horrified at the prospect of having him around a while longer either.
"How long will it take you to work out how to get him back?" asked Martha.
The scientist shrugged. "It could be a couple of days or so."
"OK. I'd better go and see the Brig, let her know the situation."
Harry felt his eyebrows rising in surprise: Her? So it's not Lethbridge-Stewart any more? I suppose he must be retired by now.
"You'd better come too," Martha said, breaking in on his musings.
"Right you are." He followed her back out into the corridors, surprised to discover that she positively strode along and that, despite his longer legs, he had to hurry to keep up.
She stopped outside a door with a brass nameplate for 'Brigadier W Bambera' and knocked.
"Come in," called a voice and they stepped inside.
"Brigadier Bambera, this is Surgeon Lieutenant Harry Sullivan. He's a time traveller, and it appears he’s connected to UNIT," Martha said.
The Brigadier, a tough-looking woman in her fifties, raised her eyebrows. "Care to explain, Jones?"
"Doctor Sullivan was travelling with the Doctor and was accidentally flung here by a transmat beam from a space station thousands of years in our future. The scientists aren't sure how it sent him here, except that they think the transmat beam must have been defective, and they're not sure how to send him. It may take a day or two."
"The Doctor?" Bambera asked. "Your Doctor?"
Martha felt her face heat up at the word 'your'. "No ma'am, an earlier incarnation."
The older woman nodded thoughtfully. "I take it you've checked out Doctor Sullivan to ensure he's not carrying anything that's potentially dangerous to us?"
"Yes ma'am. He's clean, fit and healthy."
Harry wondered if talking about people who were in the same room as them as if they weren't there was something that all UNIT officers always did. He cleared his throat, and Bambera immediately switched her attention from Martha to him.
"Well young man, we'll do the best we can to send you back where you came from. In the meantime, I'll leave you in Jones' capable hands."
"Thank you sir, ma'am," Harry hastily corrected himself. "May I ask, is Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart still around?"
Bambera flicked a look at Martha that Harry couldn't interpret. "Yes he is. He retired a few years ago now. I've been doing this job for over 20 years." She rubbed her chin. "I wouldn't recommend getting in touch though: the last thing he needs is more confusion with the timeline. His, personal timeline particularly."
"No ma'am."
"If you need anything, Jones, let me know." She looked down at a letter on her desk, then looked back up. "Oh, we'd better sort out some accommodation for you, I suppose."
"He can stay with me, ma'am," Martha said promptly, earning raised eyebrows from the Brigadier. "I just thought it might be more pleasant for him than staying in the barracks," she clarified.
"Very well." She gave them a nod of dismissal and Harry felt Martha's hand on his arm.
He followed her back out of the office, smiling when the young MO put a finger to her lips in caution. They set off down the corridor again without speaking until they reached the Infirmary.
"She didn't seem very interested," Harry commented.
"She's a very busy woman," Martha answered, "and she's seen far stranger things and people than you." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "No offence intended, but randomly time-travelling humans are small beer in comparison, and you're not dangerous."
"Oh." Harry tried not to feel deflated.
She grinned at him mischievously. "Don't worry, I find you interesting." Her grin widened when Harry blushed bright red from the neck upwards. He looked away, embarrassed that he was embarrassed.
Fortunately Martha appeared to take pity on him, because she didn't tease him any further. Instead, she gestured to a small office off the side of the Infirmary.
"Come and sit down, and tell me about your adventures so far with the Doctor."
Relieved, Harry followed her and accepted her offer of some coffee; they settled in chairs on either side of Martha's desk.
"Tell me about this space station you were on," she suggested.
So he told her all about the Wirrn and the cryogenically preserved humans who inhabited the space station. She listened attentively, asking intelligent questions, and looking concerned when he mentioned getting shot at by the automatic defences. At the end of his recital, she blew out a breath.
"That sounds very exhilarating," she said.
Harry nodded. "What about you?" he asked.
"What about me?" she countered.
"Well you knew who the Doctor was - so what's your story about him? Does he make a habit of regenerating at UNIT HQ?"
Martha laughed. "He may do, I wouldn't know. I ran into him before I started working for UNIT." She got up. "Do you want some more coffee?"
Harry shook his head. "Not for the moment. I'd quite like to know where the gents is, though."
"Oh sorry, of course. Let me show you, don't want you getting lost - although anyone could easily tell you where to find the Infirmary."
She lead the way out of the office. "We'll go and talk to the scientists afterwards," she said, as she indicated the right door, "see how they're getting on."
He nodded, then slipped inside. When he came back out Martha was in an animated discussion with two young soldiers and didn't notice him immediately. He watched her, noticing for the first time how her face transformed when she was excited by something, so that she looked quite beautiful.
"I can feel you staring, Harry Sullivan," she said suddenly and the two soldiers laughed, before setting off along the corridor.
Harry felt himself blushing again as she turned and smiled at him. "You know, I don't know many men who blush as readily as you do," she observed, taking his arm and setting off down the corridor.
"It's very embarrassing," he answered, "especially for a sailor."
"You're a sailor?" she asked, surprised.
"Well I started out as a doctor in the Navy," he told her. "So technically, I'm a sailor."
Martha grinned at him. "I'd love to see you in naval uniform, I bet you'd turn a lot of heads."
"Oh well, I don't know about that," he answered, feeling very flustered and aware that he was blushing yet again.
She laughed, causing those who were in the corridor to turn and look. "It's OK," she told him. "I'll stop teasing you now."
He murmured a heartfelt thank you and allowed her to lead him back into the lab again.
"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Martha asked and a young woman moved across the lab to join them near the doors.
"I'm afraid we're no further forward ma'am as we're still trying to analyse the data the computers recorded when Doctor Sullivan arrived."
"All right, well keep me apprised. I'm going to take Doctor Sullivan on a tour of the base."
The Sergeant nodded, then moved back to the group gathered around the computers, and Martha led Harry back out into the corridors.
* * * * * *
Two hours later, after a lengthy tour of the base and some conversation about the changes between the UNIT that Harry knew and the UNIT of now, he was starting to feel quite worn out. He suddenly realised that he didn't know when he'd last slept, what with the time-travelling he'd been doing.
Martha must have noticed his fatigue because she led him back to her office and suggested that he wait for her there whilst she went to talk to a couple of people. "Then we'll head to my flat, and you can get some sleep," she said.
"Thank you," he answered gratefully.
She clasped his shoulder briefly as she passed him on her way out of the office, and he suddenly realised that he had temporarily forgotten about Sarah and the Doctor. Martha had filled his head: watching and listening to the confident way she talked to everyone, no matter what their rank; hearing the compassion and sympathy in her voice when she spoke to a young officer whose brother was fighting overseas somewhere and had been injured in the course of his duties. He had noticed that she seemed to have time for everyone with whom she spoke, and he wondered again what had led her to work for UNIT since she was clearly a civilian rather than a soldier.
Martha came back a few minutes later and shed her white coat, swapping it for a red leather jacket that hung on a peg near the door.
"Right then, Harry Sullivan, let's get you home and you can get some rest." She smiled cheerfully and he smiled back, following her out of the office and through the building to the car park. He climbed into Martha's small car, folding his long limbs in carefully, and she drove them through the streets. The streets in the future didn't look too different to his own, but he did notice a lot of people with wires trailing from their ears, or clutching small devices to one ear, and he guessed that technology, at least, had changed a lot.
"You're in luck," she told him, "I actually live quite close to the base. I had to find a new flat about a year ago, before I started working at UNIT, and the one I found isn't too far away."
"That is lucky," he agreed, fighting a yawn that was threatening to escape.
She clasped his arm briefly. "Go ahead and yawn," she said, "I won't take it personally."
He gave her a startled look. "How did you know?" he asked, then yawned, one hand over his mouth.
She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I've had lots of practise at reading people," she said cryptically.
He was about to ask what she meant when she pulled into a gateway that led into a small, private car park.
"Here we are." She parked neatly, and they got out of the car, Martha taking a laptop in a shoulder bag from the backseat.
They crossed the car park and went up the steps of a house; she let them in and she waved at a door a short way down the hall. "That's me." She pulled some mail from one of a set of pigeonholes on the wall between the front door and the door to her flat, then moved past Harry to unlock her door.
"Come in," she said. She put the mail and the laptop on a small table just inside the flat door, then pulled off her coat. Harry slipped out of his own camel hair coat and Martha hung it beside hers.
"Quick tour," she said, "then you can sleep."
She opened doors and showed him the various rooms. "Sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, master bedroom." She snorted derisively, which mystified Harry. "Spare room-cum-study." She stepped into the last and over to a sofa. "This doubles as a bed," she told him.
Harry watched as she pulled at the base of the sofa and it folded out into a double bed.
"I'll just grab some bedding, "she said. "Take a seat." She gestured at the chair in front of a desk.
"Thanks."
Half an hour later, the bed was made and Martha had found him some pyjamas that, to his surprise, looked like they would fit him reasonably well. He discreetly didn't ask whose they were, but she again showed her ability to figure out what he was thinking by informing him they belonged to her brother Leo. "He stayed overnight with me recently, instead of going back to his girlfriend and baby, and he left them behind. I haven't had time to drive over and take them back, which is lucky since none of mine would fit you. Now, do you want a shower, or would you rather sleep first?"
"Sleep," he answered.
"Then sleep well." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, leaving him blushing yet again.
Martha went into the hall and collected her mail and laptop, then returned to the sitting room, not quite sure why she'd kissed Harry like that. She wondered, too, why she was so drawn to him. Perhaps it was the fact that he shared the same name as the man who'd travelled Western Europe at her side during the year the Doctor had rewound. She shook her head, then pushed her thoughts aside and went through her mail quickly, before getting out her laptop. She had resolved never to think about that year, if she could help it.
Harry had slept for four hours and Martha was just wondering whether to wake him to offer him something to eat when she heard him go into the bathroom. She stepped out into the hall as he came out of the bathroom, and tried not to stare too obviously. He was rumpled from sleep and looked completely adorable and, if she was honest, quite shaggable too.
She pushed that thought aside quickly and asked him how he'd slept.
"Very well thank you," he answered. "That bed was quite comfortable."
"Good. I was thinking of making some dinner, are you hungry?"
He nodded. "What time is it?"
"A little after six," Martha answered, moving into the kitchen.
He followed her, apparently not bothered about wandering around in pyjamas with a woman he hardly knew; she decided he was probably still half asleep and that she wouldn't comment: it really wasn't fair to keep teasing him, even if he was very easy to tease and looked adorable when he blushed.
"What do you want for dinner?"
He shrugged, leaning against the door frame to watch her. "I don't mind."
She opened her cupboards and the fridge, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the way he was looking at her.
"Stir-fry?" she suggested.
"Yes please."
"OK. This will take about half an hour or so. There's some wine in the fridge if you want some, glasses in this cupboard." She gestured with one hand as she began pulling out ingredients.
Harry took the hint and got out the wine glasses, then opened the wine and poured them both half a glass. He put Martha's glass on the window ledge, then leant against the end of the counter and watched as she began to prepare the chicken and vegetables. She switched the radio on, then turned it down low so they could still hear each other talk.
"You still haven't told me how you met the Doctor," he observed, over the sound of a male voice singing:
and through it all she offers me protection / a lot of love and affection / whether I’m right or wrong
She looked up from cutting the chicken breasts into strips. "My hospital was transported to the Moon," she said, as if it was a fairly normal occurrence.
He raised his eyebrows. "Don't stop there."
Martha laughed softly, then proceeded to recount the events of that mad day, her hands busy with cutting up chicken and vegetables, then heating oil in a pan on the cooker. Harry listened intently, watching the play of emotions on her face as she talked and cooked. He could tell that the Doctor had made a huge impact on her, and he wondered how much she liked him: the warmth in her voice when she spoke of the Time Lord made him suspect it was rather a lot, and he tried not to feel jealous. He had no right to feel jealous, he knew: he was out of his time and had absolutely no claim on this beautiful young woman, but there was something about her that roused all his senses.
She broke in on his thoughts to ask him to get out plates and cutlery, telling him which cupboard and drawer they were in, and a few moments later she served up two platefuls of a chicken stir-fry that had Harry's mouth watering in anticipation. Martha topped up both their wine glasses, then indicated that he should be seated, before taking a seat herself.
"This is very good," Harry exclaimed after the second mouthful.
"Thank you. I learnt how to cook it in China," she said.
Something about the way she said it and the closed expression on her face made him wonder what the story was behind that remark, but he didn't ask her: he suddenly had the sense that Martha had a lot of stories to tell, but he wasn't sure he had any right to ask about them.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, apart from the radio still playing in the background.
"Sorry," Martha said as she cleared away their plates.
"What for?" he asked, looking up in surprise.
"The lack of conversation," she answered. "I - "
"Martha, it doesn't matter," he protested, interrupting her. "This is your home and I'm an unanticipated guest."
She crossed back to the table and looked down at him. "But not unwelcome," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder before she picked up the empty wine bottle.
He was glad she couldn't see his face as he was quite sure he was blushing again. He rubbed his face, then picked up their empty wine glasses and carried them over to the counter by the sink.
"Let me wash up for you," he offered.
"Thanks." She hid a smile as he rolled up the sleeves of the pyjama top, until he turned and looked at her, his face a picture of consternation.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. "Letting me eat in pyjamas!"
She laughed. "I didn't want to embarrass you. Thought I'd done enough of that today."
He shook his head without comment, then turned back to the sink and began to wash up. He suddenly found himself aware of what was playing on the radio:
Time after time / If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting / Time after time.
and Harry couldn't help remembering how Martha had darted out of the group of UNIT people and caught him before he fell over; he wondered if he was falling in love with her. It would be rather foolish of him, he knew, but then feelings couldn't be turned on and off like a tap. He finished the washing up and accepted the towel Martha offered him to dry his hands.
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked.
"Yes please."
"Why don't you go and have a seat, and I'll bring it through," she suggested.
He nodded and went out whilst Martha filled the kettle. He thought he ought to get dressed again, so he went into the study to change. As he pulled off the pyjama top, a photo in a frame caught his eye. He pulled his shirt on, then picked up the photo to look at it more closely; it wasn't very high quality, but he recognised the TARDIS in the background. In the foreground stood a tall, skinny man in a blue suit: he had wild brown hair and his hands were shoved into his pockets as he looked at something to the left of the TARDIS. This must be the Doctor: Harry remembered Martha had mentioned a suit and wild hair when he'd mentioned the Time Lord this morning.
He was still staring at the photo, convinced now of Martha's strong feelings for the Doctor, when she spoke behind him, startling him.
"There you are."
He turned, embarrassed at being caught prying. "I'm sorry," he began, "I saw the TARDIS and couldn't help looking."
She crossed the room and took the photo from his hand, then set it back in its place. "That's OK," she said.
"I think the Doctor means a lot to you," he observed cautiously as he began to button up his shirt.
"He does, but not like you think," Martha said. "I fell hard for him, but he wasn't interested in me. Then something big happened - a Time Paradox - and I realised that I was wasting my time mooning over him, when I could be finishing my studies and getting out there, helping people."
She gave him a smile that looked slightly brittle. "I've moved on, even dated a couple of guys."
He tentatively put a hand on her left shoulder. "It's none of my business," he said, "but I can't see how anyone could not be interested in you."
She smiled, properly this time, and reached up to squeeze his fingers. "Harry Sullivan, you say the nicest things."
She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, then kissed him: her lips were soft, but the kiss was slightly hesitant, as if she wasn't one hundred percent sure of its reception. He felt a momentary jolt of surprise, but that was quickly overruled by other emotions and he felt little hesitation about kissing her back, his hands reaching up to cup her face. She pulled her mouth from his and looked up at him.
"I wasn't sure - " she started.
"Be sure," he interrupted. "I've been wanting you all afternoon."
His lips curved into a smile as she brought her lips back to his. He brushed his tongue across her lips and as she opened her mouth he found that she tasted very good.
He slipped a hand under Martha's t-shirt, stroking her right side, then up across her ribcage until he reached her breast. She arched into his hand and he felt her nipple hardening under his fingers; he pushed up her t-shirt, then pulled his mouth from hers to duck down and suck her breast through her bra.
Part 2
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Harry Sullivan, UNIT
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The Ark in Space, Genesis of the Daleks, The Last of the Time Lords, Reset
Summary: Martha Jones meets Harry Sullivan in unusual circumstances.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Doctor Who" - I don't even own my brain any more!
Author Notes: This fic is for livii who has been the chief advocate and most prolific writer of fics for the Martha/Harry pairing. She encouraged me to try my hand at one so I've written this story which moves backwards and forwards along both Martha's and Harry's timelines.
Betas: livii and padawanpooh, who have both done an awesome job; any remaining mistakes are entirely mine.
~~~~~~
First Meeting: Martha's PoV (Winter, Year That Never Was)
After crossing the border into Germany, Martha looked for somewhere to shelter; she was exhausted and needed to rest her body, if not her mind. She lifted the weight of her rucksack away from her back for a moment, then headed towards a barn in a nearby field. It was partially damaged; no doubt the Toclafane had done that, but she knew it was better than being out in the open while she rested.
She approached the barn warily, noting tyre marks; she bent down and brushed her hand over the grass and found it was less wet from the recent rain inside the tyre marks than outside them, which meant the vehicle had stood there for some time. She eased the barn door open quietly, then cautiously stepped inside, inhaling the lingering scent of animals and hay as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. When they did what she saw made her stare in astonishment: a two-person tent had been erected in the most sheltered corner, and in front of it there was a fire burning merrily.
Martha immediately began to back towards the door and nearly jumped out of her skin when a quiet voice spoke behind her.
"Please don't panic. Everything is OK."
She turned sharply and found herself looking up into the weather-beaten face of a man in his sixties; his thick brown hair was sprinkled with grey and there were lines around his eyes and mouth. He was dressed surprisingly neatly in slacks and a blazer with a cravat arranged inside the neck of his shirt.
"Who are you?" Martha demanded, her voice hoarse from months of repeatedly telling her story.
"Harry," he answered. "I've been waiting for you." He held out his hand and Martha was so surprised by the gesture that she shook it automatically.
He smiled at her and she had to look away because his smile was warm, caring and completely unbearable in its normality.
"Come and get warm," he said.
She let him guide her over to the tent and help her to take off her rucksack, then sat down cross-legged on the blanket. Her mind was in a whirl of surprise because he seemed to have been expecting her, and puzzlement because he seemed to like her even though they had only just met.
"Tea?"
She gave a speechless nod, not quite daring to believe that he actually possessed tea until he poured it out of a thermos into a mug and handed it to her.
"How?" she asked.
Harry gave her another smile. "I had word of your coming," he said. "I've got a couple of contacts who were in Eastern Europe and passed through here a few days ago."
Martha shook her head, too tired to take it in or work it out. She took a mouthful of the tea, which was hot and sweet, still feeling astonished that anyone actually possessed tea: she hadn't drunk any since she'd fled Japan months ago.
"Do you want food first, or sleep?" he asked.
"Sleep. I ate a couple of hours ago," she answered, then yawned enormously.
"Finish your tea then."
She mumbled a thank you, then quickly swallowed the rest of her tea. Harry took the mug from her and gestured to the tent.
"Go ahead, it's all yours."
"What about you?" she asked curiously.
"I'll be fine out here."
"All night?" He nodded. "That's silly. If it's big enough for two, there's no reason not to share it. I've slept five to a bed before now."
"I thought you might like some privacy," he said gently.
"You're very sweet," she answered, yawning again, "but I won't sleep properly if I know you're out here."
"And you're very stubborn." He gave her a smile, to let her know he wasn't entirely serious. "OK, we'll share."
"Good." Martha's answer came out as a mumble as she crawled into the tent to find two good quality sleeping bags set out on a rubber groundsheet. She sat on one of them and struggled to unlace her boots.
"Let me," Harry offered and she nodded; he quickly removed her boots, and she shrugged out of her coat as well. He put them both in a corner, then sat down and pulled off his own boots and coat.
She manoeuvred herself into the sleeping bag, yawned again and closed her eyes. Moments later she was sleeping and Harry lay watching her for some time, thinking about the first time they'd met, in her future and his past. She wasn't quite the woman he remembered: she was obviously just as strong and determined or she wouldn't have survived this long, but the Martha his younger self would be meeting was tougher, more confident, and seemed much older than this young woman. This Martha was thinner too, which wasn't very surprising: he doubted she was really getting enough to eat, and all the walking she'd done in the last nine months meant she hadn't an ounce of spare fat on her now. He reached out and carefully brushed some stray hair from her face, although what he desperately wanted was to pull her into his arms and hold her. He'd just have to settle for taking care of her as much as possible while she travelled through Western Europe.
After a while Harry succumbed to sleep too, but he was woken again a few hours later by a cry; when he lit the camping lamp he kept handy, he saw that Martha was thrashing about in her sleep, crying out to someone: "Just run and don't look back!"
He called her name but she didn't hear him, so he reached across the small distance between them to grasp her shoulders. "Martha!"
She sat bolt upright, panting for breath as if she'd been running for miles. It took her a few moments to focus on the man who held her, and when she saw Harry watching her with great concern, she started to cry silently.
"It's OK, Martha," he said softly as he wondered what she'd been dreaming about. She had buried her face in her hands and he could tell she was still crying, though he couldn't see her tears.
"Come here." He pulled her body closer to his, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against his chest. After several more minutes she pulled back a little and he slipped his hand into his pocket to offer her his handkerchief. She accepted it and dried her face, then looked down at the square of cotton in her hand, then back up to his face, her own full of wonder.
"Who are you?"
"Harry Sullivan," he answered with a small chuckle.
"How is it possible that you've still got such a thing as a pocket handkerchief? And your clothes are clean too," she said wonderingly. She suddenly jerked back from him and gave him a hunted look.
"You're in league with Saxon?"
He looked at her sadly. "If I was in league with Saxon, you'd be in his hands already. Believe me, he wouldn't leave you on Earth a minute longer than necessary if he knew where to find you."
She looked down at the handkerchief she still held, ashamed of her suspicion. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Harry reached out and lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye. "You're forgiven," he said softly. "Your suspicion is natural and not unexpected." He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb and he felt her lean into the hand that now cupped her cheek.
"My dear girl, will you let me tell you a story for a change?"
She looked up in surprise at his gentle tone of voice and the epithet, then gave a quick nod.
"Lie down again," he said and waited whilst she did so, then he turned down the lamp until there was barely enough light for them to see each other's faces. He took her hands in his as he began to speak.
"Once upon a time, thirty or so years ago, there was a man named Harry Sullivan who was a doctor. For a little while he travelled extensively in the company of two friends. One of his friends was a very clever man, a scientist, who was working for the same organisation as him; the other was a young woman, who was a freelance investigative journalist with a good nose for a story. The three of them got into quite a few scrapes during their travels and Harry made it his job to keep an eye on them, to help them if he could. He also helped those they met, if he was able."
He looked down at Martha's hands in his, organising his thoughts before he continued.
"Eventually Harry felt he ought to return to his job, but he never forgot his travels with his friends; he had learnt a lot during that short time and had been given a new perspective on life. He spent the next thirty years doing all he could to help people in trouble. Then a man named Harold Saxon became Prime Minister, and the world went to hell. He lost several friends with whom he'd worked for many years, all of whom were destroyed by the Toclafane, so he vowed to do everything he could to help those who were trying to survive. Then one day, a few months ago, he heard a story of a young woman named Martha Jones; she was said to be walking the Earth, telling a story of her own. She was said to be the only person who could stop Saxon, who now called himself the Master. The story of Martha Jones was giving hope to those who suffered under Saxon's rule: the hope that this madness would not last forever."
He looked up at her and gave her a warm smile. "When I heard that, I vowed to do everything in my power to help you. I've been looking for you ever since, calling in favours from old contacts, but you've proved very elusive - naturally enough - so it's taken me some time to catch up with you."
"You're crazy," Martha whispered, but there was a genuine smile on her face.
He laughed. "And you're not?" He lifted a hand to cup her cheek again. "Will you let me help you, Martha Jones, on your journey across Western Europe?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now see if you can get some more sleep."
They lay down again and she settled against his chest, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, falling asleep again in minutes. Harry found himself on the verge of tears, such was his relief that she had agreed to let him help her. It took him several minutes longer to fall asleep again, Martha's body a familiar weight against his.
* * * * * *
The following morning Harry made them breakfast, preparing porridge and black coffee, then producing some pears from the pocket of his camel hair coat. Martha just stared at the fruit after he placed it in her hand: she couldn't even remember the last time she'd had fresh fruit, but she knew it was months ago.
"Are you a magician?" she asked with a half laugh.
"Sadly not," he answered with a smile. "If I was, I'd make this go away."
Once they'd eaten he doused their fire, then buried the ashes, before beginning to roll up one of the sleeping bags. Martha quickly moved to help him and it wasn't long before there was no evidence remaining of their little camp. They carried everything outside and around the back of the barn, where Martha saw that Harry had parked a small green van.
"How can you drive?" she asked. "I thought the Master had forbidden it?"
"Medical staff can still drive, if they can get a permit," he answered.
How ironic is it that I'm travelling with a doctor again? she wondered.
They loaded their things into the back of the van, then moved round to the front and got in. Harry handed Martha a large packet of maps and a reporter's notebook.
"I've worked out an itinerary," he told her. "Do you want to look it over and see if there's anything you want to add?"
She couldn't help staring at him in shock as she accepted the notebook and maps.
"What?" he asked.
"You've really prepared for this," she said quietly.
"I told you, I've been waiting to meet up with you for months," he reminded her. "I've had plenty of time to prepare." He didn't bother telling her of the itineraries he'd scrapped because he hadn't caught up with her sooner.
She shook her head in quiet disbelief at his absolute faith in her, then opened the notebook and looked over his itinerary whilst he drove around the barn, across the field, then out onto the road.
"This is good work," she said and he felt foolishly pleased by how impressed she sounded and how grateful she looked when he stole a sidelong glance at her.
"Thank you." He reached behind him and lifted a small rucksack into her lap. "Supplies," he told her, and she felt only a small amount of surprise: she was beginning to accept that Harry was the most efficient and organised person she'd met so far on this long trek.
Inside the rucksack she found a neck pillow, a full thermos flask, a full plastic lunchbox, a large pack of tissues, a two-litre bottle of water, and a paper bag of apples.
"Harry Sullivan, I could kiss you!" she exclaimed. She saw a blush steal up his neck and couldn't resist immediately leaning across to peck his cheek.
"Help yourself to the supplies," he told her. "The flask contains coffee, but there's no milk I'm afraid, as I've not been able to find a farm with milk cows for a week."
"Black coffee is fine," Martha assured him gratefully.
"If you want to nap while I drive, don't hesitate."
"I won't," she assured him.
* * * * * *
They quickly settled into a routine. Thanks to Harry's van, Martha was able to reach far more people than she'd have managed if she'd still been on foot. They travelled north through Germany, pausing in Berlin and Hamburg, but not lingering there long, before moving on into Denmark. After that they drove back down through Germany and into Italy, before crossing to Sicily by boat. They left the van tucked away whilst they were on the island and Martha felt very relieved that it was still there when they got back. They drove back up through Italy, into Switzerland, then down through southeast France to Spain and Portugal. After that they headed back into France, then went on to Belgium and the Netherlands.
They visited all the major towns and cities in each country, Martha telling her story everywhere that they stopped and found groups of refugees. She and Harry would treat the sick and wounded as best they could, though medical supplies were scarce outside of the Master's camps. The worst problem was dealing with the sick around the radiation pits: the best they could do, in most cases, was administer a lethal dose of morphine to end the patient's suffering. Sometimes, if there were only a few patients, Harry would refuse to let Martha help him, insisting that she had nightmares enough without adding to them; most of the time, though, it was necessary for both of them to administer the injections. Neither one of them liked doing it, but they both felt strongly that no one should have to suffer longer than necessary whilst they carried the means to offer a dignified passing.
They would sometimes have to take shelter when the Toclafane swept through and twice they found themselves the unwilling witnesses to a Toclafane massacre, while they cowered safely nearby. Both times Harry had to physically restrain Martha from rushing out of their shelter in what he knew would be a futile attempt to save a child from the deadly spinning blades; and afterwards he cradled her in his arms as she sobbed broken-heartedly.
They were stopped many times whilst driving, but thanks to the perception filter key she wore, Martha remained undetected, and each time Harry managed to persuade the Toclafane that he was permitted to be wherever they had found him.
They would sleep as and when they could; sometimes they travelled by night and slept by day. Martha suffered constantly from nightmares, which she always refused to talk about, insisting that there was no sense in burdening Harry with them. He tried telling her that he didn't mind, but the look she gave him persuaded him not to pursue it. Each night he would hold her, soothing her back to sleep with quiet words. He wished he dared to offer her more, but he held back because he could hear in her voice, as she told her story of the Doctor, that at that moment the Time Lord had her heart completely.
* * * * * *
By the time they reached Calais, they had become good friends and worked well together as a team: Martha trusted Harry implicitly and although she occasionally felt guilty at letting him do so much for her, she knew he was right when he argued that she needed to conserve her strength and energy for her inevitable confrontation with the Master once they got back to London.
They reached Calais late one night and left the van parked near an abandoned warehouse whilst they went in search of someone who would be willing to take them across the Channel sometime in the next two days. Eventually they located a small group of sailors in a wine bar that was under a warehouse near the docks. As they slipped quietly into the room total silence fell upon the group, then the dozen men all stood up and bowed to Martha, who stared in surprise.
"That's a good start," Harry said softly in her ear.
She gave a quick nod, then stepped forward as the eldest of the men moved towards them, smiling in welcome. They shook hands with Pierre, as he introduced himself and explained, in flawless English, how delighted they were to see the famous Martha Jones.
She and Harry joined Pierre at the rectangular table around which the group had re-seated themselves, and allowed him to introduce everyone.
"You will tell us your story, yes?" asked the youngest, a boy of 17.
"After they have eaten," Pierre admonished gently.
"I'll tell you my story," Martha said, "but that's not the only reason we're here."
Pierre cocked his head. "You wish to cross La Manche to England?" he asked perceptively.
"If someone can take us," Martha agreed.
"It will be an honour," Pierre assured her. "We will take you tomorrow."
"Thank you." She didn't try to disguise her relief at this welcome news: she was very aware that the time left before she had to return to the Valiant was growing short, and although the prospect was frightening, she knew she could not turn her back on the meeting after coming this far.
Pierre gave them a gracious nod, then turned and spoke in rapid French to two of the men, who immediately crossed to a door in the far corner of the room and disappeared through it.
"We will eat soon," he told them. "Jacques and Michel were both cooks aboard ship before this madness - they will enjoy cooking for two new friends."
"We will enjoy sharing a meal with you," Harry answered. "We have a few supplies of our own, if you would like to share?"
Pierre shook his head decisively. "Keep your supplies; you may need them in England."
"Thank you," Martha answered.
He waved her thanks away. "You should rest now: we will wake you when the food is ready." They stood up and followed him across the room to where a few makeshift beds were arranged in a corner screened by a couple of velvet curtains. Pierre shifted a pile of odds and ends from one of the beds, and gestured Martha towards it, then he turned to a second bed.
"We'll share," Harry said, "no sense in disturbing everything."
Pierre gave him a speculative look that made Harry blush in the darkness, but didn't comment. "Rest," he urged, then stepped backwards, pulling the curtains along the makeshift pole above their heads.
Martha sank down onto the bed and Harry immediately knelt to unlace her boots, gently easing them off her feet. "Thanks," she murmured, shrugging out of her jacket.
She stretched out on the bed, lying on her right side as she faced the wall. Harry pulled off his own coat and boots, then stretched out beside her, spooning up behind her. He slipped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her left shoulder for a moment.
"OK?" he asked softly.
"Yeah." She already sounded half asleep.
"Sleep well," he said, kissing her cheek.
Despite the stuffy air and the pervasive smells of wine, garlic and cheese, Martha fell asleep almost instantly, but Harry took a while longer to drop off, which was the norm for both of them by now. He had long since schooled himself not to think about the fact that they were sharing a bed, because thinking about it would be too much of a torment and would make it awkward for him and Martha, but the speculative look that Pierre had given him had brought a rush of desire that he was doing his best to ignore.
Eventually he fell asleep too and they slept for a couple of hours without disturbance before Pierre woke them again.
They pulled on their boots and carried their coats over to the table, which had been laid with a once-white, now rather grey, cloth and set with mismatched crockery. Jacques and Michel began serving the food, the mere smell of which, after days of little variety in their diets, set Harry's and Martha's mouths watering with anticipation. They were served an impressive looking Bouillabaisse with fresh bread and glasses of wine, and Martha had to nudge Harry in the ribs to remind him to close his mouth as he gaped at such luxury.
"Cela ressemble fantastique," Martha said, nodding to both men as they filled her plate and bowl, and Harry had to agree that it did look fantastic.
"Merci mademoiselle," they murmured as they moved on to the next person.
"Eat," Pierre urged, waving a spoon at them.
They needed no second bidding and were soon lost in the pleasure of eating fresh fish and vegetables for the first time in months. The sailors talked quietly amongst themselves, sensing that the English pair were more interested in their food than in talking, and knowing there would be conversation enough after they had finished their meal.
Once everyone had eaten their fill, the table was quickly cleared and coffee was served, and Martha began her familiar tale; Harry listened with half an ear, being more interested in gauging the reactions of the dozen men who listened intently to every word.
There was a silence of several minutes when Martha finished speaking, a not uncommon reaction, then Pierre gave a quick nod.
"Truly, Martha Jones, the legend of you does not lie. This Doctor has a mighty champion: both healer and warrior. It is to be hoped he can do all that you say, for all our sakes."
There was a murmur of agreement from around the table and Martha nodded. "If he doesn't, it won't be from want of trying," she told them.
Pierre nodded in return. "Do you wish to stay here tonight?"
She turned to Harry, who smiled. "Your choice," he said softly, "it's always your choice."
She looked over at Pierre. "Yes please. But we will fetch our things from where we left them."
"Very well. Antoine will accompany you and he will spread the word that you are here. Tomorrow morning we will have a meeting for you to tell your story again, then we will cross La Manche to Dover, yes?"
Martha agreed, knowing it was the least she could do; the more people who heard her story, the better it would be for the Doctor when the countdown ended. She and Harry pulled on their coats and followed Antoine, a burly middle-aged man, out onto the street. He checked that they were certain of their route to and from the wine bar, then set off to spread the news that the legendary Martha Jones would be speaking the following morning.
Harry slipped an arm around Martha's shoulders as they walked back to the van. "We're almost on the last lap," he told her, "just a few more days and this will all be over."
"I know," she answered.
He thought she sounded subdued, rather than pleased by the prospect, and wondered why.
They reached the van and unloaded the things they wanted to take across the Channel with them: they added their sleeping bags to their packs, as well as the field medical kit they had put together during their months of travelling. They sorted out their food supplies too, divvying them up between their two packs: Harry was always careful to ensure Martha carried the lion's share of food - just in case anything happened to him. They'd never discussed it, but he was certain she knew just why he made such a point of it: he'd realised quite early in their partnership that Martha was astute, particularly when it came to reading other people's motives, so they had never discussed it.
They took their packs back to the wine bar and found Pierre had rigged up a separate curtained-off area for them to share.
"We thought you would appreciate some privacy," he informed them when Martha told him that it wasn't necessary.
"Thank you." She didn't need to look at Harry to know he was blushing again. She found it sweet that such things made him blush, and if the circumstances had been different, she probably would have teased him about it.
They found Pierre had provided them with a camp bed and Martha briefly wondered who was going without, but she knew better than to ask since some people who had hosted her had taken it as a personal affront when she'd suggested that she'd be fine on the floor.
They settled down for the night and Martha found herself thinking longingly of a long, hot bath and a change of clothes, and the chance to sleep in pyjamas instead of her combats.
"OK?" Harry asked, his arms snaking around her middle as usual.
"Yeah," she answered softly. She wasn't as comfortable as she'd like to be, but while he was with her, she felt safe and that counted for a lot.
She shifted slightly so she could look at him over her shoulder. "Thank you for everything you've done for me the last three months."
"You are quite welcome, Martha," he answered. "It's been an honour to help you."
She huffed out a soundless laugh, but didn't object to his compliment. They soon fell asleep, and Martha didn't suffer any nightmares.
* * * * * *
The next morning, after a more satisfying breakfast than usual (freshly baked bagels with cheese, fruit, and coffee with milk), Pierre took Martha and Harry across the town to a warehouse where a group of refugees were in hiding from the Toclafane's raids.
"We hear that the Master is still sending out the Toclafane, even though his rocket program is almost complete; some say it is out of spite because he still has not found the Doctor's Champion."
With a start Martha realised that Pierre was referring to her and she felt glad that her darker skin meant her blush wasn't too obvious. Harry grinned down at her when she looked up to see his reaction and mouthed 'Champion' at her. She gave him a scowl but his grin just broadened, much to her annoyance.
She forgot the teasing in the next moment as Pierre opened the warehouse door and revealed a gathering of at least 100 people. She took a deep breath, feeling Harry give her shoulder a comforting squeeze, then stepped inside. She had schooled herself to ignore the smell of unwashed bodies, knowing she didn't smell much better after nearly a year without a hot bath. She had also taught herself not to panic at the prospect of speaking to so many people; she remembered, as if she had been another person, how she had always hated her mother's parties because Francine always insisted on 'parading' her and Tish in front of her friends. Tish, of course, had always enjoyed it. Now she thought she'd probably cope quite easily at such a party. The people nearest the door stood back to let her enter more easily and she walked forward, following Pierre, with Harry's right hand on her shoulder.
They made their way to the front of the warehouse and everyone sat down, with Martha, Harry and Pierre on wooden chairs facing the crowd who'd come to hear her speak.
She took a deep breath again and then began to speak: "Let me tell you a story. Let me tell you the truth about Martha Jones. I have travelled across the world, from the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I've been, I've seen people, just like you, living as slaves. But if Martha Jones became a legend then that's wrong, 'cos my name's not important. There's someone else. The man who sent me out here. The man who told me to walk the Earth. And his name, is the Doctor."
Harry, as usual, scanned the faces in front of them as Martha continued to speak of all that the Doctor had done for Earth. There was a teenage boy at the back of the room, leaning against the wall close to the door: he caught Harry's eye because of the look of insolence and disdain on his face - an expression Harry hadn't really seen since before the Master had set the Toclafane loose on an unsuspecting world. It chilled him and he made a mental note to watch where the boy went when they left the warehouse.
Martha finished speaking and then, as usual, invited anyone who needed medical treatment, to come to the front. There was a movement forward from about twenty people and Harry wondered whether they carried enough supplies to deal with so many. Fortunately an older man came forward first, carrying a wooden box, about four feet by two. He set it down by Martha's chair, then spoke rapidly to her and Pierre. Harry didn't understand all he said, but he understood enough to realise that the box contained medical supplies.
"Merci beaucoup, monsieur." Martha shook the man's hand as she thanked him, then she bent down and lifted the lid on the box.
Pierre began organising those who were waiting, and Martha and Harry were soon busy treating cuts, burns and other, thankfully minor, injuries. They were busy for a good hour before the last person was sent away, then Pierre was back at their side with a thermos of coffee and some food.
"We will eat, then we shall cross La Manche," he told them.
Martha gave him a tired nod, clearly worn out by the morning's events. "Thank you."
"Thank you very much," Harry said.
Pierre moved an old packing case across to use as a makeshift table, spreading out the food on top of a red and white checked cloth. There was fresh bread, astonishingly still warm from the oven, cheese, and sweet apples.
"Eat what you want, and take the rest with you if you don't finish it," he told them.
"What about you?" Martha asked instantly.
"I ate while you were busy," he assured her.
Harry pulled out his pocket knife and began cutting off chunks of cheese and folding slices of bread around them. "Here." He offered the first crude sandwich to Martha, then poured some coffee into a mug for her. He pocketed a couple of the apples for himself, then put the bag holding the remainder into the top of her rucksack, before making another sandwich for himself. They ate quickly, anxious to get the Channel crossing over with, despite dreading what they would find in England.
"Ready?" Harry asked Martha when they had finished.
She gave him a tired smile. "Ready." She stood and stretched, then allowed him to help her pull on her rucksack. She stretched up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, causing him to blush.
"Oh I say. What was that for?" he asked, surprised.
She shrugged. "Just saying thank you," she said. "I do know why you always give me most of the food to carry, you know."
"I know you do," he answered softly. He pulled her into a quick hug, despite her rucksack, then let her go and picked up his own.
"Let's go," he said, nodding to Pierre.
They crossed the warehouse together, Martha and Harry hand-in-hand for once. They followed Pierre back to the dock and found five of the sailors from the night before were waiting for them with a sturdy motorboat. Pierre boarded first, then Martha; Harry was just about to follow up the plank when they all heard the sound they dreaded: the giggles of the Toclafane. Everyone looked up as three of them swarmed into view.
"Come on Harry!" Martha called in a low voice, wondering why he was still standing there. She couldn't see that he had spotted the teenager whom he'd noticed earlier and was mentally kicking himself for losing sight of the boy.
He turned and began to move up the plank, Martha watching anxiously from the doorway of the cabin. She desperately wanted to rush to him and haul him to safety, but she knew any sudden movement on her part would render her visible. Pierre stood beside her, watching intently.
"Identify, little man," demanded one of the Toclafane.
Harry was half way up the plank, but he turned and pulled his ID out of his coat pocket, holding it up towards the spheres.
"I've got a licence. Sullivan, Peripatetic Medical Squad, I'm allowed to travel," he said swiftly.
"That name is known to us," they answered, "and you have travelled much of late. The Master wishes to see you."
Harry glanced back at Martha, looking startled, and saw she was beckoning urgently to him. He glanced up at the Toclafane, then continued up the plank.
"You will obey, little man," insisted the Toclafane.
Harry ignored them, trying to hurry up the rest of the narrow plank; above him the spheres' blades snapped out and they swooped down, giggling insanely.
"NO! HARRY!" Martha screamed, struggling to pull away from Pierre's grip as he held her back.
"You can't," he told her hoarsely.
She wrenched one arm free, glaring at him furiously, but when she turned back to look at the plank, it was already too late, and she watched in horror as Harry's shredded body toppled down into the water.
"He was my friend, you bastards!" Martha yelled as the Toclafane shot away towards a teenage boy on the quayside. She collapsed to the deck, her back against the cabin wall, sobbing brokenly as the sailors got the boat under way. She didn't see the Toclafane descending on the babbling teenager, who was protesting that they'd got the wrong person and had just missed Martha Jones.
The boat moved away from Calais, leaving Martha feeling as if her heart was at the bottom of the dock along with one of the best men she'd ever known. If the Master had appeared at that moment, she knew she'd have killed him herself with her bare hands, plan or no plan.
* * * * * *
First meeting: Harry's PoV (April 2008)
Green grass and blue sky; white-tiled lab; green grass and blue sky; white-tiled lab. Harry Sullivan's existence flickered between two places for several seconds, though to him it felt far longer. He could see and hear the Doctor one moment, then he saw a group of rather surprised looking men and women in the next moment. Finally he settled into one place, but not the place he had expected to be: the group of men and women in the lab all looked rather serious and slightly intimidating.
"Wh - " He tried to speak but found his throat too dry to get the words out. He tried to move and swayed on his feet before a slim, dark-skinned young woman darted out of the group and wrapped surprisingly strong arms around him.
"Here," she said softly, helping him into a chair, before turning to one of the others. "Get him some water," she said sharply. Harry flinched at her tone and she turned back to him with a look of concern on her face.
"Are you OK?" she asked gently, her tone a sharp contrast to a moment ago.
He started to nod, then stopped, realising that he felt as if his entire being had been scrambled like a Morse code message and frowned instead.
"Ma'am." A young man offered the young woman a glass of water and she gestured at him to give it to Harry, who tried to take it but found he couldn't quite coordinate his fingers.
"Uh - " he said. The young woman quickly took the glass, then offered it to Harry with a worried expression.
"Steady now, drink it slowly," she told him. He took a mouthful and she immediately moved the glass away from his mouth and waited for him to swallow. After several more mouthfuls, Harry felt as if he might manage to speak.
"Where am I," he asked, "and what just happened?"
"You're at UNIT HQ," the young woman answered. "I was hoping you might know what happened. What's the last thing you remember before you appeared here?"
He frowned in puzzlement. "This isn't UNIT HQ," he said.
The young woman gave him a considering look. "What's your name?"
"Surgeon Lieutenant Harry Sullivan."
"I'm Martha Jones, Medical Officer with UNIT." She hoped he hadn't noticed her momentary surprise at his name: she had met someone called Harry Sullivan during her long walk around the world.
Harry opened his mouth to protest that he was the MO, then snapped it closed again. "What year is this?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as panicked as he suddenly felt.
"2008," Martha responded.
He gaped at her. It was one thing to be carried thousands of years into the future in a strange Police Box, but it was something else to be carried thousands of years back from there whilst standing on your own two feet.
"Where were you, before you arrived here?" Martha asked again.
"Aboard a space station orbiting Earth. I tried to beam down to Earth via a transmat device."
She raised her eyebrows, looking thoughtful. "Well, it looks like the transmat device wasn't functioning properly. You've arrived safely on Earth, just not where you expected to."
"Or when," he muttered.
She gave him a sharp look. "What do you mean 'when'?"
"The space station I was on, it was thousands of years in the future," he explained. "The Doctor - "
"The Doctor?" Martha interrupted incredulously.
"You know him?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Tall fellow with wild brown hair, wears a suit and trainers."
"Oh!" He frowned. "Must be someone different. The chap I was travelling with had curly hair, and wore a long multicoloured scarf and a hat."
"Yours must be a different incarnation then," she said thoughtfully. "We'll need to debrief you properly, but in the meantime I'm going to take you to the Infirmary to check you've not suffered any ill effects from travelling thousands of years via a transmat. Time travel without a capsule - horrible," she muttered, shaking her head as she moved away to confer briefly with some of her colleagues. She returned a few moments later to help Harry up from the chair.
"Can you walk?" she asked.
"I think so," he answered. She let go of his arm, but stayed close just in case, and led the way out of the lab, then down the corridor to the Infirmary.
"Here we go," she said, opening the door and ushering him into a gleaming room filled with what was clearly the most up-to-date medical equipment. Harry couldn't help staring at it all as Martha guided him over to a bed.
"I'm going to have to run some tests," she told him as he seated himself on the bed. "This is probably going to be a bit tedious, I'm afraid."
He gave a shrug. "Tests usually are, in my experience," he answered rather vaguely.
* * * * * *
Forty five minutes later, Martha was satisfied that Harry was fit, if a little dehydrated from his trip, and he was able to get dressed after the various tests she'd run, which had included a physical.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Ravenous, actually," Harry admitted cheerfully as he stepped out from behind a privacy screen, fully dressed again.
"Come on then, we'll go to the staff canteen for some lunch, then we'll see if the scientists have worked out a way to get you back."
He followed Martha out into a maze of corridors, glad that he had a guide. They reached the canteen a few minutes later to find lunch was just starting to be served. There was a radio playing, which surprised Harry, although not as much as Martha's reaction when she registered the song that was playing:
You swept my feet right off the ground, you're the love I found / Doctor Jones, Jones, / Calling Doctor Jones / Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones
She scowled in a very fierce manner and Harry suddenly decided that he wouldn't want to get on her wrong side. The man behind the serving counter must have spotted her reaction because he turned and quickly retuned the radio to something classical, and Martha relaxed again.
"I hate that song," she told Harry, "and my brother Leo loves to torment me with it."
"Brothers, eh?" he said, sounding sympathetic.
"Yeah." She shook her head, then approached the counter. "Thanks Andy."
"No problem," he answered with a smile. "What can I get you?"
"A cheese omelette and salad please." She turned to Harry. "What are you having? Something with plenty of protein would be a good idea, I think."
"I'll have the same as you please," he answered.
"Two then, please Andy." She gave him a plastic card, which he swiped then handed back, before loading up two trays with their food. Martha led the way over to a corner table, and sat down, then poured herself a glass of water from the jug standing on the table.
"There's tea and coffee in the machine over there if you want it," she said, gesturing with her fork.
Harry shook his head. "Water's fine, thank you."
They talked about medicine as they ate, comparing notes animatedly, and Martha found herself wishing that he could stick around for a little while so they could go on talking.
They each grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine, then headed back to the lab where Harry had arrived. He was also wishing he could stay and talk longer, since he couldn't talk medicine with Sarah, and the Doctor had said his degree was purely honorary. Martha, on the other hand, was clearly interested in alien biology, and he felt sure she'd be interested in hearing about the Wirrn, but he knew he ought to get back to the Doctor and Sarah soon or they would worry about him; well, Sarah might worry about him, he wasn't sure the Doctor would.
Entering the lab, though, they found the scientists huddled together around a computer, all of them looking quite glum.
"What's wrong?" Martha asked immediately.
"We're not sure if we can send Doctor Sullivan back," answered one of the scientists, a woman in her forties with a weary air that made Harry wonder when she'd last slept.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because we're not sure of the exact coordinates that you arrived from," she explained, "since you came via a transmat beam rather than something more tangible, like a ship. We're not even sure how you ended up here instead of where you were intending to arrive."
"Oh!" Harry knew he ought to be upset, but he was trying not to grin at the prospect of spending further time talking to Martha, and he noticed from the corner of his eye that she didn't look particularly horrified at the prospect of having him around a while longer either.
"How long will it take you to work out how to get him back?" asked Martha.
The scientist shrugged. "It could be a couple of days or so."
"OK. I'd better go and see the Brig, let her know the situation."
Harry felt his eyebrows rising in surprise: Her? So it's not Lethbridge-Stewart any more? I suppose he must be retired by now.
"You'd better come too," Martha said, breaking in on his musings.
"Right you are." He followed her back out into the corridors, surprised to discover that she positively strode along and that, despite his longer legs, he had to hurry to keep up.
She stopped outside a door with a brass nameplate for 'Brigadier W Bambera' and knocked.
"Come in," called a voice and they stepped inside.
"Brigadier Bambera, this is Surgeon Lieutenant Harry Sullivan. He's a time traveller, and it appears he’s connected to UNIT," Martha said.
The Brigadier, a tough-looking woman in her fifties, raised her eyebrows. "Care to explain, Jones?"
"Doctor Sullivan was travelling with the Doctor and was accidentally flung here by a transmat beam from a space station thousands of years in our future. The scientists aren't sure how it sent him here, except that they think the transmat beam must have been defective, and they're not sure how to send him. It may take a day or two."
"The Doctor?" Bambera asked. "Your Doctor?"
Martha felt her face heat up at the word 'your'. "No ma'am, an earlier incarnation."
The older woman nodded thoughtfully. "I take it you've checked out Doctor Sullivan to ensure he's not carrying anything that's potentially dangerous to us?"
"Yes ma'am. He's clean, fit and healthy."
Harry wondered if talking about people who were in the same room as them as if they weren't there was something that all UNIT officers always did. He cleared his throat, and Bambera immediately switched her attention from Martha to him.
"Well young man, we'll do the best we can to send you back where you came from. In the meantime, I'll leave you in Jones' capable hands."
"Thank you sir, ma'am," Harry hastily corrected himself. "May I ask, is Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart still around?"
Bambera flicked a look at Martha that Harry couldn't interpret. "Yes he is. He retired a few years ago now. I've been doing this job for over 20 years." She rubbed her chin. "I wouldn't recommend getting in touch though: the last thing he needs is more confusion with the timeline. His, personal timeline particularly."
"No ma'am."
"If you need anything, Jones, let me know." She looked down at a letter on her desk, then looked back up. "Oh, we'd better sort out some accommodation for you, I suppose."
"He can stay with me, ma'am," Martha said promptly, earning raised eyebrows from the Brigadier. "I just thought it might be more pleasant for him than staying in the barracks," she clarified.
"Very well." She gave them a nod of dismissal and Harry felt Martha's hand on his arm.
He followed her back out of the office, smiling when the young MO put a finger to her lips in caution. They set off down the corridor again without speaking until they reached the Infirmary.
"She didn't seem very interested," Harry commented.
"She's a very busy woman," Martha answered, "and she's seen far stranger things and people than you." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "No offence intended, but randomly time-travelling humans are small beer in comparison, and you're not dangerous."
"Oh." Harry tried not to feel deflated.
She grinned at him mischievously. "Don't worry, I find you interesting." Her grin widened when Harry blushed bright red from the neck upwards. He looked away, embarrassed that he was embarrassed.
Fortunately Martha appeared to take pity on him, because she didn't tease him any further. Instead, she gestured to a small office off the side of the Infirmary.
"Come and sit down, and tell me about your adventures so far with the Doctor."
Relieved, Harry followed her and accepted her offer of some coffee; they settled in chairs on either side of Martha's desk.
"Tell me about this space station you were on," she suggested.
So he told her all about the Wirrn and the cryogenically preserved humans who inhabited the space station. She listened attentively, asking intelligent questions, and looking concerned when he mentioned getting shot at by the automatic defences. At the end of his recital, she blew out a breath.
"That sounds very exhilarating," she said.
Harry nodded. "What about you?" he asked.
"What about me?" she countered.
"Well you knew who the Doctor was - so what's your story about him? Does he make a habit of regenerating at UNIT HQ?"
Martha laughed. "He may do, I wouldn't know. I ran into him before I started working for UNIT." She got up. "Do you want some more coffee?"
Harry shook his head. "Not for the moment. I'd quite like to know where the gents is, though."
"Oh sorry, of course. Let me show you, don't want you getting lost - although anyone could easily tell you where to find the Infirmary."
She lead the way out of the office. "We'll go and talk to the scientists afterwards," she said, as she indicated the right door, "see how they're getting on."
He nodded, then slipped inside. When he came back out Martha was in an animated discussion with two young soldiers and didn't notice him immediately. He watched her, noticing for the first time how her face transformed when she was excited by something, so that she looked quite beautiful.
"I can feel you staring, Harry Sullivan," she said suddenly and the two soldiers laughed, before setting off along the corridor.
Harry felt himself blushing again as she turned and smiled at him. "You know, I don't know many men who blush as readily as you do," she observed, taking his arm and setting off down the corridor.
"It's very embarrassing," he answered, "especially for a sailor."
"You're a sailor?" she asked, surprised.
"Well I started out as a doctor in the Navy," he told her. "So technically, I'm a sailor."
Martha grinned at him. "I'd love to see you in naval uniform, I bet you'd turn a lot of heads."
"Oh well, I don't know about that," he answered, feeling very flustered and aware that he was blushing yet again.
She laughed, causing those who were in the corridor to turn and look. "It's OK," she told him. "I'll stop teasing you now."
He murmured a heartfelt thank you and allowed her to lead him back into the lab again.
"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Martha asked and a young woman moved across the lab to join them near the doors.
"I'm afraid we're no further forward ma'am as we're still trying to analyse the data the computers recorded when Doctor Sullivan arrived."
"All right, well keep me apprised. I'm going to take Doctor Sullivan on a tour of the base."
The Sergeant nodded, then moved back to the group gathered around the computers, and Martha led Harry back out into the corridors.
* * * * * *
Two hours later, after a lengthy tour of the base and some conversation about the changes between the UNIT that Harry knew and the UNIT of now, he was starting to feel quite worn out. He suddenly realised that he didn't know when he'd last slept, what with the time-travelling he'd been doing.
Martha must have noticed his fatigue because she led him back to her office and suggested that he wait for her there whilst she went to talk to a couple of people. "Then we'll head to my flat, and you can get some sleep," she said.
"Thank you," he answered gratefully.
She clasped his shoulder briefly as she passed him on her way out of the office, and he suddenly realised that he had temporarily forgotten about Sarah and the Doctor. Martha had filled his head: watching and listening to the confident way she talked to everyone, no matter what their rank; hearing the compassion and sympathy in her voice when she spoke to a young officer whose brother was fighting overseas somewhere and had been injured in the course of his duties. He had noticed that she seemed to have time for everyone with whom she spoke, and he wondered again what had led her to work for UNIT since she was clearly a civilian rather than a soldier.
Martha came back a few minutes later and shed her white coat, swapping it for a red leather jacket that hung on a peg near the door.
"Right then, Harry Sullivan, let's get you home and you can get some rest." She smiled cheerfully and he smiled back, following her out of the office and through the building to the car park. He climbed into Martha's small car, folding his long limbs in carefully, and she drove them through the streets. The streets in the future didn't look too different to his own, but he did notice a lot of people with wires trailing from their ears, or clutching small devices to one ear, and he guessed that technology, at least, had changed a lot.
"You're in luck," she told him, "I actually live quite close to the base. I had to find a new flat about a year ago, before I started working at UNIT, and the one I found isn't too far away."
"That is lucky," he agreed, fighting a yawn that was threatening to escape.
She clasped his arm briefly. "Go ahead and yawn," she said, "I won't take it personally."
He gave her a startled look. "How did you know?" he asked, then yawned, one hand over his mouth.
She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I've had lots of practise at reading people," she said cryptically.
He was about to ask what she meant when she pulled into a gateway that led into a small, private car park.
"Here we are." She parked neatly, and they got out of the car, Martha taking a laptop in a shoulder bag from the backseat.
They crossed the car park and went up the steps of a house; she let them in and she waved at a door a short way down the hall. "That's me." She pulled some mail from one of a set of pigeonholes on the wall between the front door and the door to her flat, then moved past Harry to unlock her door.
"Come in," she said. She put the mail and the laptop on a small table just inside the flat door, then pulled off her coat. Harry slipped out of his own camel hair coat and Martha hung it beside hers.
"Quick tour," she said, "then you can sleep."
She opened doors and showed him the various rooms. "Sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, master bedroom." She snorted derisively, which mystified Harry. "Spare room-cum-study." She stepped into the last and over to a sofa. "This doubles as a bed," she told him.
Harry watched as she pulled at the base of the sofa and it folded out into a double bed.
"I'll just grab some bedding, "she said. "Take a seat." She gestured at the chair in front of a desk.
"Thanks."
Half an hour later, the bed was made and Martha had found him some pyjamas that, to his surprise, looked like they would fit him reasonably well. He discreetly didn't ask whose they were, but she again showed her ability to figure out what he was thinking by informing him they belonged to her brother Leo. "He stayed overnight with me recently, instead of going back to his girlfriend and baby, and he left them behind. I haven't had time to drive over and take them back, which is lucky since none of mine would fit you. Now, do you want a shower, or would you rather sleep first?"
"Sleep," he answered.
"Then sleep well." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, leaving him blushing yet again.
Martha went into the hall and collected her mail and laptop, then returned to the sitting room, not quite sure why she'd kissed Harry like that. She wondered, too, why she was so drawn to him. Perhaps it was the fact that he shared the same name as the man who'd travelled Western Europe at her side during the year the Doctor had rewound. She shook her head, then pushed her thoughts aside and went through her mail quickly, before getting out her laptop. She had resolved never to think about that year, if she could help it.
Harry had slept for four hours and Martha was just wondering whether to wake him to offer him something to eat when she heard him go into the bathroom. She stepped out into the hall as he came out of the bathroom, and tried not to stare too obviously. He was rumpled from sleep and looked completely adorable and, if she was honest, quite shaggable too.
She pushed that thought aside quickly and asked him how he'd slept.
"Very well thank you," he answered. "That bed was quite comfortable."
"Good. I was thinking of making some dinner, are you hungry?"
He nodded. "What time is it?"
"A little after six," Martha answered, moving into the kitchen.
He followed her, apparently not bothered about wandering around in pyjamas with a woman he hardly knew; she decided he was probably still half asleep and that she wouldn't comment: it really wasn't fair to keep teasing him, even if he was very easy to tease and looked adorable when he blushed.
"What do you want for dinner?"
He shrugged, leaning against the door frame to watch her. "I don't mind."
She opened her cupboards and the fridge, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the way he was looking at her.
"Stir-fry?" she suggested.
"Yes please."
"OK. This will take about half an hour or so. There's some wine in the fridge if you want some, glasses in this cupboard." She gestured with one hand as she began pulling out ingredients.
Harry took the hint and got out the wine glasses, then opened the wine and poured them both half a glass. He put Martha's glass on the window ledge, then leant against the end of the counter and watched as she began to prepare the chicken and vegetables. She switched the radio on, then turned it down low so they could still hear each other talk.
"You still haven't told me how you met the Doctor," he observed, over the sound of a male voice singing:
and through it all she offers me protection / a lot of love and affection / whether I’m right or wrong
She looked up from cutting the chicken breasts into strips. "My hospital was transported to the Moon," she said, as if it was a fairly normal occurrence.
He raised his eyebrows. "Don't stop there."
Martha laughed softly, then proceeded to recount the events of that mad day, her hands busy with cutting up chicken and vegetables, then heating oil in a pan on the cooker. Harry listened intently, watching the play of emotions on her face as she talked and cooked. He could tell that the Doctor had made a huge impact on her, and he wondered how much she liked him: the warmth in her voice when she spoke of the Time Lord made him suspect it was rather a lot, and he tried not to feel jealous. He had no right to feel jealous, he knew: he was out of his time and had absolutely no claim on this beautiful young woman, but there was something about her that roused all his senses.
She broke in on his thoughts to ask him to get out plates and cutlery, telling him which cupboard and drawer they were in, and a few moments later she served up two platefuls of a chicken stir-fry that had Harry's mouth watering in anticipation. Martha topped up both their wine glasses, then indicated that he should be seated, before taking a seat herself.
"This is very good," Harry exclaimed after the second mouthful.
"Thank you. I learnt how to cook it in China," she said.
Something about the way she said it and the closed expression on her face made him wonder what the story was behind that remark, but he didn't ask her: he suddenly had the sense that Martha had a lot of stories to tell, but he wasn't sure he had any right to ask about them.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, apart from the radio still playing in the background.
"Sorry," Martha said as she cleared away their plates.
"What for?" he asked, looking up in surprise.
"The lack of conversation," she answered. "I - "
"Martha, it doesn't matter," he protested, interrupting her. "This is your home and I'm an unanticipated guest."
She crossed back to the table and looked down at him. "But not unwelcome," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder before she picked up the empty wine bottle.
He was glad she couldn't see his face as he was quite sure he was blushing again. He rubbed his face, then picked up their empty wine glasses and carried them over to the counter by the sink.
"Let me wash up for you," he offered.
"Thanks." She hid a smile as he rolled up the sleeves of the pyjama top, until he turned and looked at her, his face a picture of consternation.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. "Letting me eat in pyjamas!"
She laughed. "I didn't want to embarrass you. Thought I'd done enough of that today."
He shook his head without comment, then turned back to the sink and began to wash up. He suddenly found himself aware of what was playing on the radio:
Time after time / If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting / Time after time.
and Harry couldn't help remembering how Martha had darted out of the group of UNIT people and caught him before he fell over; he wondered if he was falling in love with her. It would be rather foolish of him, he knew, but then feelings couldn't be turned on and off like a tap. He finished the washing up and accepted the towel Martha offered him to dry his hands.
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked.
"Yes please."
"Why don't you go and have a seat, and I'll bring it through," she suggested.
He nodded and went out whilst Martha filled the kettle. He thought he ought to get dressed again, so he went into the study to change. As he pulled off the pyjama top, a photo in a frame caught his eye. He pulled his shirt on, then picked up the photo to look at it more closely; it wasn't very high quality, but he recognised the TARDIS in the background. In the foreground stood a tall, skinny man in a blue suit: he had wild brown hair and his hands were shoved into his pockets as he looked at something to the left of the TARDIS. This must be the Doctor: Harry remembered Martha had mentioned a suit and wild hair when he'd mentioned the Time Lord this morning.
He was still staring at the photo, convinced now of Martha's strong feelings for the Doctor, when she spoke behind him, startling him.
"There you are."
He turned, embarrassed at being caught prying. "I'm sorry," he began, "I saw the TARDIS and couldn't help looking."
She crossed the room and took the photo from his hand, then set it back in its place. "That's OK," she said.
"I think the Doctor means a lot to you," he observed cautiously as he began to button up his shirt.
"He does, but not like you think," Martha said. "I fell hard for him, but he wasn't interested in me. Then something big happened - a Time Paradox - and I realised that I was wasting my time mooning over him, when I could be finishing my studies and getting out there, helping people."
She gave him a smile that looked slightly brittle. "I've moved on, even dated a couple of guys."
He tentatively put a hand on her left shoulder. "It's none of my business," he said, "but I can't see how anyone could not be interested in you."
She smiled, properly this time, and reached up to squeeze his fingers. "Harry Sullivan, you say the nicest things."
She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders, then kissed him: her lips were soft, but the kiss was slightly hesitant, as if she wasn't one hundred percent sure of its reception. He felt a momentary jolt of surprise, but that was quickly overruled by other emotions and he felt little hesitation about kissing her back, his hands reaching up to cup her face. She pulled her mouth from his and looked up at him.
"I wasn't sure - " she started.
"Be sure," he interrupted. "I've been wanting you all afternoon."
His lips curved into a smile as she brought her lips back to his. He brushed his tongue across her lips and as she opened her mouth he found that she tasted very good.
He slipped a hand under Martha's t-shirt, stroking her right side, then up across her ribcage until he reached her breast. She arched into his hand and he felt her nipple hardening under his fingers; he pushed up her t-shirt, then pulled his mouth from hers to duck down and suck her breast through her bra.
Part 2