Fic: Sullivan and Jones, Medical Mysteries Our Specialty (Martha/Harry, R)
Title: Sullivan and Jones, Medical Mysteries Our Specialty
Author: livii
Pairing: Harry Sullivan/Martha Jones
Rating: hard R
Summary: Saving the world, one duck-person at a time.
Notes: Blame doyle_sb4 for the prompt of "60-something retired Harry and his glamourous young protégé solve alien medical mysteries..." Many thanks to vandonovan and croc_rocketfan for reading it over and their encouraging comments! ~3750 words. x-posted to lifeonmartha and worksonsailors.
Scene: a quiet alleyway, half past one in the morning. No one was about; but down at the end, a light burned in a window. The sign over the door fluttered in the wind as the door was carefully opened and then quickly shut again.
An unseen hand removed a small, hand-lettered sign from the window.
Help required, it read. Serious enquiries only.
* * *
"Daleks?"
"Met them and their pig slaves."
"Cybermen?"
"Heard all about them."
"Loch Ness Monster?"
"Okay, now you're putting me on, Dr Sullivan."
"Call me Harry," he said with a broad smile. "And welcome to my humble shop."
* * *
They sat for a while at a narrow table, drinking excellent cups of tea that Dr Sullivan had fussed over.
"So you've found my secret practice," Dr Sullivan - Harry - said, beaming. "A former companion of the Doctor and a doctor in her own right - I couldn't have asked for more."
"Well," Martha said, lingering over the sugar longer than strictly necessary, "I've been sort of...looking for something to do, you know. It's a bit hard, coming back here, much as I needed to."
"Did you try to find any of the Doctor's other companions first? He was on Earth for quite a long time while he was with UNIT, you know. Many other people who could have helped you out."
"Oh, I did, I met Sarah first. She told me about this...specialty practice of yours. And she says hello and not to let you call me 'old thing' or she'll drive up herself to tell you off."
"Good old Sarah," Harry said, ignoring the threat against his wellbeing. "She sends a fair bit of business my way."
"So, alien medical mysteries only, then," Martha said, leaning forward with interest. "It's a bit...limited, isn't it?"
Harry's eyes twinkled. "Only if you don't know where to look!"
* * *
Training on the job consisted of telling increasingly outrageous stories that Martha was sure had to be stretching the truth.
"You're kidding me. It had the body of a pig."
"Normal pig from Earth. Perfectly normal. Other than that its brain was packed full of alien technology, of course."
"How awful. But if UNIT had it, how did you get a look at it?"
"Well," Harry said, awkwardly, "I did keep my UNIT credentials. They never asked for my old ID badge back!" he protested, at Martha's look. "And they're hiring the youngest slips of a thing these days; some pretty young girl wearing high heels with her lab coat, impossibly impractical, she was so happy to have someone else to look at this incredible pig that she let me right in."
Martha laughed. "Slip of a thing; bet you anything she was at least twenty-eight."
"Scandalously young for that type of assignment," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Anyway," Martha said loudly, "tell me about your encounter with the Daleks."
* * *
Their first assignment arrived several weeks later, by night, so that Martha was awakened by a phone call at an obscenely early hour.
"Good one?" Martha asked as she stepped into the shop, yawning and clutching a coffee as if she might drown without it. "I was working the late shift until midnight last night, and casualty was incredibly busy."
"If an assignment's not as interesting as patching up broken bones and cleaning up after drunks, I'm very sorry."
"No, no," Martha said, throwing herself into a chair and smiling widely up at him. "I can't wait! Finally, something proper alien again, something exciting."
"Well," Harry said, mollified, "we've received an eyewitness account of several people down in Surrey who have recently begun acting very strangely, and it seems to be spreading all along their street. These people have been...well, they've been acting like ducks. Ducks that can talk," he amended hastily as Martha raised her eyebrows, "but a quack-y sort of talk, you see. And they keep trying to fly. Making a bit of a mess, let me tell you."
Martha laughed, and jumped to her feet, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "Dr Sullivan," she said, "we're on the case."
"After you, Dr Jones," he replied, holding out his arm. She took it with a grin.
* * *
They encountered their first setback in team alien mystery solving (Harry flatly refused to use any references to Scooby-Doo whatsoever, even if they were driving a van) when they discovered that neither of them quite had the knack of the domestic approach.
"Great rapport with patients," Martha muttered to herself as they crouched behind a shrubbery, Harry rubbing his knee ruefully. "Excellent bedside manner. Top marks for getting a concise and quick history. Er, maybe that last one's not such a good thing outside the hospital."
"Navy," Harry said, matter-of-factly. "Not much call for bedside manner then, I should say, old thing!"
"Sarah Jane," Martha said, and Harry stammered an apology.
"We'll have to use some different tactics," Martha continued. She shifted position, preparing for an end run around the house, back to the van without being spotted by one of the duck-people. "Come on," she said as she stood up, stretching out her hand towards Harry.
He blinked at her for a moment, then carefully put his hand in hers. They ran out together, fast as the wind.
* * *
Two doctors were better than one, especially when they both had a hell of a right hook when things got slightly desperate.
"Good shot!" Harry yelled as one of the mutated humans went flying.
"Behind you!" Martha yelled back, and Harry wheeled about with surprising speed and socked one right on the bill.
"Bit of a nuisance, this, isn't it?" Harry said, as three more duck people advanced upon them. "I didn't expect the cure for an anatidae mutation to involve a punch out."
"I'll cover you so you can get back to the van and finish the antidote," Martha said. "Go on, go! It's no time for chivalry!"
Harry had time to knock out another duck person before he could be convinced to leave Martha to deal with the others; several family members had joined in the fray, trying mostly unsuccessfully to restrain their loved, if duckish, ones. Martha's last look at him before engaging a particularly enraged specimen was of a very concerned face vanishing behind the van doors, shadow-boxing the old one-two.
* * *
"Blimey, that was a bit of a close one, yeah?"
"I should say so. Goodness, there are feathers everywhere."
"Hold still, I'm getting them," Martha said, but with gentleness. She was dusting them both off, downy feathers showering onto the ground outside the van. "There, I think that's most of them."
"There's one in your hair, just a moment," Harry said, reaching out for it. "Oh, so sorry, excuse me," he said, extremely flustered, as he accidentally brushed his hand across her chest. Martha just bit her lip and smiled.
"Great work with the antidote," she said. "Right at the last moment, bam, you synthesized the DNA out of thin air!"
"I couldn't have done it without your insight into mutating alien chromosomes," Harry replied, looking at Martha with pride.
"Well, I've had some experience there," Martha said, with a grin. "Now come on, I'm starving. Saving the world is hungry work. You, Dr Sullivan, can buy me some lunch."
"Synthesized alien DNA and I still end up buying lunch," Harry said mournfully, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as he put out his arm to help Martha into the van.
* * *
"It's amazing what a real bonding experience it is, saving the world from duck-people," Martha said, as she sat at the table and opened the post. There was a steaming mug of tea in front of her, along with a plate of biscuits. Harry was sitting across the way in an easy chair, reading the evening paper.
"You don't have to be here when there's no mysteries to solve," Harry said suddenly, looking up from his newspaper with a frown. "You definitely don't need to open the post, good gracious."
"I just said," Martha replied gently, "that I enjoy spending time with you."
"Thank you," Harry said, at a loss for a more suitable response, a blush creeping up his neck. He turned the page of his newspaper quickly, then leaned forward, looking at a story more carefully.
"Now here's something," he said, with the air of a man desperately reaching for a safe topic of conversation. "Mysterious black substance in Cardiff...insistence from the authorities that no one has been permanently harmed...something about a man in a greatcoat. Now he turns up frequently enough, mark my words."
Martha had sat up straight at Harry's words. "Jack? Oh, I know him," she said, flustered at Harry's look, "that has to be Jack. He travelled with the Doctor and with me for a while. He's with Torchwood."
"Torchwood," Harry said, disapproval dripping from every syllable. "But, goodness me, I'm sure your friend Jack does as best as he can, so sorry."
Martha laughed. "The Doctor didn't have much good to say about them either, but Jack's loyal to them, and that's pretty cool."
"There's always some new mystery happening in Cardiff," Harry said carefully, "and if your friend is there, why aren't you working with him?"
"I came back to be with my family," Martha said, "and they're in London. Maybe if we needed, we could liaise with Torchwood from time to time," she mused, missing the look of fear on Harry's face. "How about you, then? Why here in London if so much is going on in Wales?"
"We get a fair bit here," Harry said, "spaceships crashing into Big Ben and Cybermen at Canary Wharf, and honestly, it's Wales, and the people working there all seem to be - all seemed to be a load of tossers, excuse my language, so sorry. So I stuck it out here in London."
"Fair enough," Martha said, laughing. "Ooh, a circular for Secret Ops Training, Incorporated. Not too secret if they're sending circulars, are they? Nice looking girl on the front, though," she said, holding out the glossy paper for Harry to inspect. The girl on the front was wearing an army uniform that couldn't possibly be anywhere near regulation-issue and holding a gun in an extremely suggestive pose. Harry cleared his throat, and looked back at Martha, who was now standing up and imitating the girl's pose.
"What do you think, a future in modelling?" she said with a smile and a wink, as Harry stammered and buried his head back in his newspaper.
* * *
"Martha, there's someone here to see you," Nadia said, inclining her head toward the door with a clear 'I'll run him off if you need' look on her face.
Martha looked over and grinned. Harry was standing in the doorway, hat in his hands, peering over people's shoulders for a look at her.
"Be right back," Martha called to the other doctor, who just shook her head.
"Visiting me at work now, are we?" Martha said, reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing Harry's cheek in greeting.
"So sorry, I know you're busy. But I've just had a jolly good report of definitely alien activity, and I thought we should head over straightaway." He had a hopeful look on his face, and Martha smiled again.
"You look like a kid in a candy shop," she said. "Adorable. Come on, I'm almost off shift anyway. Let me grab my jacket." She squeezed his arm as she jogged off to her locker.
"Aliens?" Nadia said, coming up behind Harry so that he jumped. "You sure you're not looking for the psychiatric ward, sir?" She fluttered her eyelashes as she spoke, keeping Harry extremely off-balance.
"Leave him alone, woman," Martha said, reappearing on the scene with her jacket and purse. "You're just evil. C'mon, Harry," she said, taking his arm.
"I suppose we should be more circumspect," Harry said once they were outside and he'd regained his voice.
To his annoyance, Martha just tipped her head back and laughed loudly.
"You're a scream, Dr Sullivan," she said, "do all girls cause you this much grief?"
"It's you young things, all, all, brazen and, well, I never know what you're going to say next!" he replied, nettled. "In my day -" He didn't get to complete his thought, as Martha responded by leaning over to kiss him again, only she missed his cheek by several inches and ended up grazing his neck just below his ear.
"Or do next," she said, grinning, and taking his arm more firmly. "Now come on, we've got alien activity to investigate, don't you remember?"
* * *
It was Martha, finally, who took the lead; you could only save the world with someone so many times, helpfully guided and taught and allowed to flourish along the way, having adventures full of laughter and camaraderie, before you really, really wanted to jump their bones. And if they were human and handsome to your eye and not a bastard, well, all the better.
"This isn't right," Harry managed to gasp as Martha moved on top of him, arching her back. "I'm too old for you."
"Shush," she said, "you're not psychiatrics. And at least you're not a thousand-year old alien."
This was eminently true, and Martha was keening now, lips parted, and Harry was nothing if not a gentleman, and so he kept quiet.
* * *
The return of the Sycorax was, full credit to UNIT for their hard work, much less horrible than it could have been. The fact that it turned out to be an elaborate hoax didn't lessen anyone's efforts, and the post-traumatic stress disorder that developed in the people involved who had been standing on a rooftop on that Christmas Day was certainly nothing to scoff at.
"It's really quite fascinating how extensive their susceptibility to mind control still is," Harry said, writing up his notes.
"It's awful, is what it is," Martha said. "I can't stand it. I could tell one of those poor blokes in there to start, I don't know, quacking like a duck, and they'd do it if I used the right tone of voice!"
"Ducks?" Harry said. "I've got the cure for that still back at the shop."
Martha smiled, but shook her head. "I feel so bloody useless with this one. I don't have psychiatrics training, and other than the fact alien blood control caused them to act this way, it's a bit out of our league, don't you think?"
"You talked with that one woman in there for thirty minutes, didn't you?" Harry asked. "Sweet woman, found herself on that rooftop in the lingerie her boyfriend had given her for Christmas?"
"She was so embarrassed," Martha said, sighing.
"And you told her she wasn't mad, that it was all right, what had happened, and that she was strong enough to fight it. I know, I heard you. And did you see her face when you told her of all the wonderful things that adventures in the alien and unknown can bring? You saved that woman, Martha Jones."
"Oh, but, okay," Martha said, holding off further comment from Harry. "Yes, I guess so. But it wasn't a mystery - that's just basic human kindness and compassion!"
Harry's eyes twinkled, causing Martha to pout, but half-heartedly. "You know what I'm going to say to that," he said. "Come on, we can finish up these notes back at the shop. I'll cook you a spot of dinner. We can watch some telly. Make love. It'll be fun."
Martha snorted, trying to hide her laughter and failing. Harry just smiled.
* * *
Gaseous creatures making the dead walk and talk were worth the trip to Wales.
"Good-fucking-golly miss-fucking-Molly," Harry breathed, as a recently deceased man lumbered towards them. "So sorry, excuse my language, but that's incredible."
"Dr Sullivan!" Martha said, staring at him. "I didn't know you could swear like that."
"I was in the navy, Dr Jones."
"Either way, that's getting a bit close, there," she said, backing away from the zombie.
Reinforcements broke in at that moment, Jack leading the charge.
"Don't kill all the specimens!" Harry called out, but Jack just turned around and winked at him. "Torchwood," Harry grumbled.
Martha laughed, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him to the exit. "C'mon, Tosh said she'd keep one tied down in the morgue, we can get a look there."
"Kinky!" Jack yelled back at them. Martha laughed as Harry turned a violent shade of purple.
* * *
Trying to combine personal and working relationships wasn't always easy.
"You can't keep me out of the line of fire like that!" Martha said. "We're equal partners! Look where it got you!" She gestured at Harry's face, which currently sported a shallow but ugly cut right across his right cheek.
"I didn't have time to call you," he said, stubbornly. "And it was an accident I got injured."
"Call me," Martha said, "the moment you get wind of trouble, all right? Honestly, I can't believe you'd do otherwise. I don't need protecting!"
Harry muttered something that sounded vaguely like the sort of chivalrous statement that Martha would normally swat him for.
"I swear," Martha said. "Oy. You quite like it when I boss you around a bit, don't you?" she said suddenly, breaking off her line of attack, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Yes - er, no, er, what was the question?" Harry said, helplessly flustered.
"I should have known from meeting Sarah Jane," Martha said. She moved over in front of Harry and began slowly and deliberately undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Not too much, of course - you're so ridiculously sweet, anyway, I could never be properly mean to you - but just a little, am I right? Arguing too, I think?" She finished with his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, eyeing his belt buckle with anticipation.
"We're, we're in a bit of a rush, here," Harry said, "I have an engagement at four, and it's, er, it's three-thirty, and we were having a discussion where you had some very valid points, and, oh, please," he said, closing his eyes as Martha went down on her knees.
"Open your eyes, Sullivan," she said, undoing his fly. "Come on, come on."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then opened one, and the other, slowly. He watched in fascination as Martha took him in her mouth, her hands firmly pinning his hips to the wall.
"Four o'clock engagement should be fine," Martha said a few minutes later, tucking Harry's cock away neatly and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling widely. She was caught short by the look on Harry's face. The only word to describe it was sheer, heart-stopping devotion.
"Oh, you," she said, blushing, pleased. Harry shook his head, and reached forward and nudged her chin.
"You're an amazing woman, Dr Jones," Harry said, "and I'm ever so lucky to have you in my life."
Martha just bit her lip, and smiled, still flushed. "Go on, then," she said, helping him get his shirt back on and moving to locate his jacket. "I'll see you later. I've got to go meet Tish for dinner at six, but I'll come back and stay the night afterwards."
"Domestic," Harry said, shaking his head, but his smile gave him away.
They kissed at the door and Harry walked off, whistling and swinging his old-fashioned medicine bag. At the end of the alleyway he turned back to the shop and waved, doffing his hat.
"Domestic," Martha said to herself, smiling, as she shut the door.
* * *
"Only you," Tish said, shaking her head, "only you, Martha Jones, would wear those boots to your own wedding. And arrive thirty minutes late, with your dress ripped and a great big wound on your arm."
"These boots?" Martha asked, downing the rest of her champagne and looking at her black, high-heeled leather boots. "These boots are fabulous. These boots saved the world. Oh my god, I'm married!" she squealed, grabbing Tish and dancing her around.
Tish rolled her eyes, but danced along with Martha, caught up in her enthusiasm.
"Martha," Harry said, coming up beside her, "your aunt wants a few more photos, though she wants us to stand behind that table, there." Harry's trousers looked as if they had been hastily wiped free of unidentified gore, and his shoes had the distinct air of having been chewed upon by something rather larger than a disobedient dog.
"I don't suppose there's any stopping you now, is there," Tish said. "At least tell me why the boots were necessary, Martha, come on."
"The aliens had a really vulnerable point," Martha said enthusiastically, grabbing Harry's hand and making him stand across from her to demonstrate. "Right here - " she said, miming a kick at a spot that made Harry and Tish both wince in sympathy.
"That's my girl," Harry said, slightly pale, "using her knowledge of biology and physiology to kick aliens in the balls."
Tish and Martha both stared at him.
"So sorry, excuse my language," he said, but his smile was not entirely remorseful.
"Fabulous boots," Martha reiterated, hugging Harry fiercely. "Come on, I know there's cake. And the leader might have mentioned something about the secondary battle fleet landing at twenty-one-o'clock, so if we're going to eat anything before going back out there, it'll have to be now. We still need to develop a more efficient way of delivering the antibody capsules into their bloodstream. I don’t think your shoes -" she eyed them critically " - could take another round of action."
From off in the entrance to the small church came a resounding bang as the doors were flung open. Everyone jumped, Martha and Harry instantly battle-ready.
"HARRY SULLIVAN," someone yelled, "you have not married one of my assistants!"
Harry looked at Martha apologetically. "He never did think much of me, you know," he said. "I suppose he disapproves."
Martha laughed, long and loud. "Tough luck for him, then," she said, holding her ring up to the light. "I've got myself another doctor now, and it's for keeps."
Tish groaned, but Harry beamed, and took Martha's hand. "Come on," he said, "let's go say hello and get his help - bet there's something on that bally old TARDIS that can deliver the antibodies properly."
"What if he wants us to go with him afterwards?" Martha asked.
"Honeymoon anywhere in the universe? Sounds wonderful," Harry replied, tugging Martha along towards the door. Her laughter trailed behind them.
* * *
Of course, Metebelis Three really wasn't as romantic a honeymoon spot as the Doctor had promised.
Author: livii
Pairing: Harry Sullivan/Martha Jones
Rating: hard R
Summary: Saving the world, one duck-person at a time.
Notes: Blame doyle_sb4 for the prompt of "60-something retired Harry and his glamourous young protégé solve alien medical mysteries..." Many thanks to vandonovan and croc_rocketfan for reading it over and their encouraging comments! ~3750 words. x-posted to lifeonmartha and worksonsailors.
Scene: a quiet alleyway, half past one in the morning. No one was about; but down at the end, a light burned in a window. The sign over the door fluttered in the wind as the door was carefully opened and then quickly shut again.
An unseen hand removed a small, hand-lettered sign from the window.
Help required, it read. Serious enquiries only.
* * *
"Daleks?"
"Met them and their pig slaves."
"Cybermen?"
"Heard all about them."
"Loch Ness Monster?"
"Okay, now you're putting me on, Dr Sullivan."
"Call me Harry," he said with a broad smile. "And welcome to my humble shop."
* * *
They sat for a while at a narrow table, drinking excellent cups of tea that Dr Sullivan had fussed over.
"So you've found my secret practice," Dr Sullivan - Harry - said, beaming. "A former companion of the Doctor and a doctor in her own right - I couldn't have asked for more."
"Well," Martha said, lingering over the sugar longer than strictly necessary, "I've been sort of...looking for something to do, you know. It's a bit hard, coming back here, much as I needed to."
"Did you try to find any of the Doctor's other companions first? He was on Earth for quite a long time while he was with UNIT, you know. Many other people who could have helped you out."
"Oh, I did, I met Sarah first. She told me about this...specialty practice of yours. And she says hello and not to let you call me 'old thing' or she'll drive up herself to tell you off."
"Good old Sarah," Harry said, ignoring the threat against his wellbeing. "She sends a fair bit of business my way."
"So, alien medical mysteries only, then," Martha said, leaning forward with interest. "It's a bit...limited, isn't it?"
Harry's eyes twinkled. "Only if you don't know where to look!"
* * *
Training on the job consisted of telling increasingly outrageous stories that Martha was sure had to be stretching the truth.
"You're kidding me. It had the body of a pig."
"Normal pig from Earth. Perfectly normal. Other than that its brain was packed full of alien technology, of course."
"How awful. But if UNIT had it, how did you get a look at it?"
"Well," Harry said, awkwardly, "I did keep my UNIT credentials. They never asked for my old ID badge back!" he protested, at Martha's look. "And they're hiring the youngest slips of a thing these days; some pretty young girl wearing high heels with her lab coat, impossibly impractical, she was so happy to have someone else to look at this incredible pig that she let me right in."
Martha laughed. "Slip of a thing; bet you anything she was at least twenty-eight."
"Scandalously young for that type of assignment," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Anyway," Martha said loudly, "tell me about your encounter with the Daleks."
* * *
Their first assignment arrived several weeks later, by night, so that Martha was awakened by a phone call at an obscenely early hour.
"Good one?" Martha asked as she stepped into the shop, yawning and clutching a coffee as if she might drown without it. "I was working the late shift until midnight last night, and casualty was incredibly busy."
"If an assignment's not as interesting as patching up broken bones and cleaning up after drunks, I'm very sorry."
"No, no," Martha said, throwing herself into a chair and smiling widely up at him. "I can't wait! Finally, something proper alien again, something exciting."
"Well," Harry said, mollified, "we've received an eyewitness account of several people down in Surrey who have recently begun acting very strangely, and it seems to be spreading all along their street. These people have been...well, they've been acting like ducks. Ducks that can talk," he amended hastily as Martha raised her eyebrows, "but a quack-y sort of talk, you see. And they keep trying to fly. Making a bit of a mess, let me tell you."
Martha laughed, and jumped to her feet, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "Dr Sullivan," she said, "we're on the case."
"After you, Dr Jones," he replied, holding out his arm. She took it with a grin.
* * *
They encountered their first setback in team alien mystery solving (Harry flatly refused to use any references to Scooby-Doo whatsoever, even if they were driving a van) when they discovered that neither of them quite had the knack of the domestic approach.
"Great rapport with patients," Martha muttered to herself as they crouched behind a shrubbery, Harry rubbing his knee ruefully. "Excellent bedside manner. Top marks for getting a concise and quick history. Er, maybe that last one's not such a good thing outside the hospital."
"Navy," Harry said, matter-of-factly. "Not much call for bedside manner then, I should say, old thing!"
"Sarah Jane," Martha said, and Harry stammered an apology.
"We'll have to use some different tactics," Martha continued. She shifted position, preparing for an end run around the house, back to the van without being spotted by one of the duck-people. "Come on," she said as she stood up, stretching out her hand towards Harry.
He blinked at her for a moment, then carefully put his hand in hers. They ran out together, fast as the wind.
* * *
Two doctors were better than one, especially when they both had a hell of a right hook when things got slightly desperate.
"Good shot!" Harry yelled as one of the mutated humans went flying.
"Behind you!" Martha yelled back, and Harry wheeled about with surprising speed and socked one right on the bill.
"Bit of a nuisance, this, isn't it?" Harry said, as three more duck people advanced upon them. "I didn't expect the cure for an anatidae mutation to involve a punch out."
"I'll cover you so you can get back to the van and finish the antidote," Martha said. "Go on, go! It's no time for chivalry!"
Harry had time to knock out another duck person before he could be convinced to leave Martha to deal with the others; several family members had joined in the fray, trying mostly unsuccessfully to restrain their loved, if duckish, ones. Martha's last look at him before engaging a particularly enraged specimen was of a very concerned face vanishing behind the van doors, shadow-boxing the old one-two.
* * *
"Blimey, that was a bit of a close one, yeah?"
"I should say so. Goodness, there are feathers everywhere."
"Hold still, I'm getting them," Martha said, but with gentleness. She was dusting them both off, downy feathers showering onto the ground outside the van. "There, I think that's most of them."
"There's one in your hair, just a moment," Harry said, reaching out for it. "Oh, so sorry, excuse me," he said, extremely flustered, as he accidentally brushed his hand across her chest. Martha just bit her lip and smiled.
"Great work with the antidote," she said. "Right at the last moment, bam, you synthesized the DNA out of thin air!"
"I couldn't have done it without your insight into mutating alien chromosomes," Harry replied, looking at Martha with pride.
"Well, I've had some experience there," Martha said, with a grin. "Now come on, I'm starving. Saving the world is hungry work. You, Dr Sullivan, can buy me some lunch."
"Synthesized alien DNA and I still end up buying lunch," Harry said mournfully, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as he put out his arm to help Martha into the van.
* * *
"It's amazing what a real bonding experience it is, saving the world from duck-people," Martha said, as she sat at the table and opened the post. There was a steaming mug of tea in front of her, along with a plate of biscuits. Harry was sitting across the way in an easy chair, reading the evening paper.
"You don't have to be here when there's no mysteries to solve," Harry said suddenly, looking up from his newspaper with a frown. "You definitely don't need to open the post, good gracious."
"I just said," Martha replied gently, "that I enjoy spending time with you."
"Thank you," Harry said, at a loss for a more suitable response, a blush creeping up his neck. He turned the page of his newspaper quickly, then leaned forward, looking at a story more carefully.
"Now here's something," he said, with the air of a man desperately reaching for a safe topic of conversation. "Mysterious black substance in Cardiff...insistence from the authorities that no one has been permanently harmed...something about a man in a greatcoat. Now he turns up frequently enough, mark my words."
Martha had sat up straight at Harry's words. "Jack? Oh, I know him," she said, flustered at Harry's look, "that has to be Jack. He travelled with the Doctor and with me for a while. He's with Torchwood."
"Torchwood," Harry said, disapproval dripping from every syllable. "But, goodness me, I'm sure your friend Jack does as best as he can, so sorry."
Martha laughed. "The Doctor didn't have much good to say about them either, but Jack's loyal to them, and that's pretty cool."
"There's always some new mystery happening in Cardiff," Harry said carefully, "and if your friend is there, why aren't you working with him?"
"I came back to be with my family," Martha said, "and they're in London. Maybe if we needed, we could liaise with Torchwood from time to time," she mused, missing the look of fear on Harry's face. "How about you, then? Why here in London if so much is going on in Wales?"
"We get a fair bit here," Harry said, "spaceships crashing into Big Ben and Cybermen at Canary Wharf, and honestly, it's Wales, and the people working there all seem to be - all seemed to be a load of tossers, excuse my language, so sorry. So I stuck it out here in London."
"Fair enough," Martha said, laughing. "Ooh, a circular for Secret Ops Training, Incorporated. Not too secret if they're sending circulars, are they? Nice looking girl on the front, though," she said, holding out the glossy paper for Harry to inspect. The girl on the front was wearing an army uniform that couldn't possibly be anywhere near regulation-issue and holding a gun in an extremely suggestive pose. Harry cleared his throat, and looked back at Martha, who was now standing up and imitating the girl's pose.
"What do you think, a future in modelling?" she said with a smile and a wink, as Harry stammered and buried his head back in his newspaper.
* * *
"Martha, there's someone here to see you," Nadia said, inclining her head toward the door with a clear 'I'll run him off if you need' look on her face.
Martha looked over and grinned. Harry was standing in the doorway, hat in his hands, peering over people's shoulders for a look at her.
"Be right back," Martha called to the other doctor, who just shook her head.
"Visiting me at work now, are we?" Martha said, reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing Harry's cheek in greeting.
"So sorry, I know you're busy. But I've just had a jolly good report of definitely alien activity, and I thought we should head over straightaway." He had a hopeful look on his face, and Martha smiled again.
"You look like a kid in a candy shop," she said. "Adorable. Come on, I'm almost off shift anyway. Let me grab my jacket." She squeezed his arm as she jogged off to her locker.
"Aliens?" Nadia said, coming up behind Harry so that he jumped. "You sure you're not looking for the psychiatric ward, sir?" She fluttered her eyelashes as she spoke, keeping Harry extremely off-balance.
"Leave him alone, woman," Martha said, reappearing on the scene with her jacket and purse. "You're just evil. C'mon, Harry," she said, taking his arm.
"I suppose we should be more circumspect," Harry said once they were outside and he'd regained his voice.
To his annoyance, Martha just tipped her head back and laughed loudly.
"You're a scream, Dr Sullivan," she said, "do all girls cause you this much grief?"
"It's you young things, all, all, brazen and, well, I never know what you're going to say next!" he replied, nettled. "In my day -" He didn't get to complete his thought, as Martha responded by leaning over to kiss him again, only she missed his cheek by several inches and ended up grazing his neck just below his ear.
"Or do next," she said, grinning, and taking his arm more firmly. "Now come on, we've got alien activity to investigate, don't you remember?"
* * *
It was Martha, finally, who took the lead; you could only save the world with someone so many times, helpfully guided and taught and allowed to flourish along the way, having adventures full of laughter and camaraderie, before you really, really wanted to jump their bones. And if they were human and handsome to your eye and not a bastard, well, all the better.
"This isn't right," Harry managed to gasp as Martha moved on top of him, arching her back. "I'm too old for you."
"Shush," she said, "you're not psychiatrics. And at least you're not a thousand-year old alien."
This was eminently true, and Martha was keening now, lips parted, and Harry was nothing if not a gentleman, and so he kept quiet.
* * *
The return of the Sycorax was, full credit to UNIT for their hard work, much less horrible than it could have been. The fact that it turned out to be an elaborate hoax didn't lessen anyone's efforts, and the post-traumatic stress disorder that developed in the people involved who had been standing on a rooftop on that Christmas Day was certainly nothing to scoff at.
"It's really quite fascinating how extensive their susceptibility to mind control still is," Harry said, writing up his notes.
"It's awful, is what it is," Martha said. "I can't stand it. I could tell one of those poor blokes in there to start, I don't know, quacking like a duck, and they'd do it if I used the right tone of voice!"
"Ducks?" Harry said. "I've got the cure for that still back at the shop."
Martha smiled, but shook her head. "I feel so bloody useless with this one. I don't have psychiatrics training, and other than the fact alien blood control caused them to act this way, it's a bit out of our league, don't you think?"
"You talked with that one woman in there for thirty minutes, didn't you?" Harry asked. "Sweet woman, found herself on that rooftop in the lingerie her boyfriend had given her for Christmas?"
"She was so embarrassed," Martha said, sighing.
"And you told her she wasn't mad, that it was all right, what had happened, and that she was strong enough to fight it. I know, I heard you. And did you see her face when you told her of all the wonderful things that adventures in the alien and unknown can bring? You saved that woman, Martha Jones."
"Oh, but, okay," Martha said, holding off further comment from Harry. "Yes, I guess so. But it wasn't a mystery - that's just basic human kindness and compassion!"
Harry's eyes twinkled, causing Martha to pout, but half-heartedly. "You know what I'm going to say to that," he said. "Come on, we can finish up these notes back at the shop. I'll cook you a spot of dinner. We can watch some telly. Make love. It'll be fun."
Martha snorted, trying to hide her laughter and failing. Harry just smiled.
* * *
Gaseous creatures making the dead walk and talk were worth the trip to Wales.
"Good-fucking-golly miss-fucking-Molly," Harry breathed, as a recently deceased man lumbered towards them. "So sorry, excuse my language, but that's incredible."
"Dr Sullivan!" Martha said, staring at him. "I didn't know you could swear like that."
"I was in the navy, Dr Jones."
"Either way, that's getting a bit close, there," she said, backing away from the zombie.
Reinforcements broke in at that moment, Jack leading the charge.
"Don't kill all the specimens!" Harry called out, but Jack just turned around and winked at him. "Torchwood," Harry grumbled.
Martha laughed, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him to the exit. "C'mon, Tosh said she'd keep one tied down in the morgue, we can get a look there."
"Kinky!" Jack yelled back at them. Martha laughed as Harry turned a violent shade of purple.
* * *
Trying to combine personal and working relationships wasn't always easy.
"You can't keep me out of the line of fire like that!" Martha said. "We're equal partners! Look where it got you!" She gestured at Harry's face, which currently sported a shallow but ugly cut right across his right cheek.
"I didn't have time to call you," he said, stubbornly. "And it was an accident I got injured."
"Call me," Martha said, "the moment you get wind of trouble, all right? Honestly, I can't believe you'd do otherwise. I don't need protecting!"
Harry muttered something that sounded vaguely like the sort of chivalrous statement that Martha would normally swat him for.
"I swear," Martha said. "Oy. You quite like it when I boss you around a bit, don't you?" she said suddenly, breaking off her line of attack, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Yes - er, no, er, what was the question?" Harry said, helplessly flustered.
"I should have known from meeting Sarah Jane," Martha said. She moved over in front of Harry and began slowly and deliberately undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Not too much, of course - you're so ridiculously sweet, anyway, I could never be properly mean to you - but just a little, am I right? Arguing too, I think?" She finished with his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, eyeing his belt buckle with anticipation.
"We're, we're in a bit of a rush, here," Harry said, "I have an engagement at four, and it's, er, it's three-thirty, and we were having a discussion where you had some very valid points, and, oh, please," he said, closing his eyes as Martha went down on her knees.
"Open your eyes, Sullivan," she said, undoing his fly. "Come on, come on."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then opened one, and the other, slowly. He watched in fascination as Martha took him in her mouth, her hands firmly pinning his hips to the wall.
"Four o'clock engagement should be fine," Martha said a few minutes later, tucking Harry's cock away neatly and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling widely. She was caught short by the look on Harry's face. The only word to describe it was sheer, heart-stopping devotion.
"Oh, you," she said, blushing, pleased. Harry shook his head, and reached forward and nudged her chin.
"You're an amazing woman, Dr Jones," Harry said, "and I'm ever so lucky to have you in my life."
Martha just bit her lip, and smiled, still flushed. "Go on, then," she said, helping him get his shirt back on and moving to locate his jacket. "I'll see you later. I've got to go meet Tish for dinner at six, but I'll come back and stay the night afterwards."
"Domestic," Harry said, shaking his head, but his smile gave him away.
They kissed at the door and Harry walked off, whistling and swinging his old-fashioned medicine bag. At the end of the alleyway he turned back to the shop and waved, doffing his hat.
"Domestic," Martha said to herself, smiling, as she shut the door.
* * *
"Only you," Tish said, shaking her head, "only you, Martha Jones, would wear those boots to your own wedding. And arrive thirty minutes late, with your dress ripped and a great big wound on your arm."
"These boots?" Martha asked, downing the rest of her champagne and looking at her black, high-heeled leather boots. "These boots are fabulous. These boots saved the world. Oh my god, I'm married!" she squealed, grabbing Tish and dancing her around.
Tish rolled her eyes, but danced along with Martha, caught up in her enthusiasm.
"Martha," Harry said, coming up beside her, "your aunt wants a few more photos, though she wants us to stand behind that table, there." Harry's trousers looked as if they had been hastily wiped free of unidentified gore, and his shoes had the distinct air of having been chewed upon by something rather larger than a disobedient dog.
"I don't suppose there's any stopping you now, is there," Tish said. "At least tell me why the boots were necessary, Martha, come on."
"The aliens had a really vulnerable point," Martha said enthusiastically, grabbing Harry's hand and making him stand across from her to demonstrate. "Right here - " she said, miming a kick at a spot that made Harry and Tish both wince in sympathy.
"That's my girl," Harry said, slightly pale, "using her knowledge of biology and physiology to kick aliens in the balls."
Tish and Martha both stared at him.
"So sorry, excuse my language," he said, but his smile was not entirely remorseful.
"Fabulous boots," Martha reiterated, hugging Harry fiercely. "Come on, I know there's cake. And the leader might have mentioned something about the secondary battle fleet landing at twenty-one-o'clock, so if we're going to eat anything before going back out there, it'll have to be now. We still need to develop a more efficient way of delivering the antibody capsules into their bloodstream. I don’t think your shoes -" she eyed them critically " - could take another round of action."
From off in the entrance to the small church came a resounding bang as the doors were flung open. Everyone jumped, Martha and Harry instantly battle-ready.
"HARRY SULLIVAN," someone yelled, "you have not married one of my assistants!"
Harry looked at Martha apologetically. "He never did think much of me, you know," he said. "I suppose he disapproves."
Martha laughed, long and loud. "Tough luck for him, then," she said, holding her ring up to the light. "I've got myself another doctor now, and it's for keeps."
Tish groaned, but Harry beamed, and took Martha's hand. "Come on," he said, "let's go say hello and get his help - bet there's something on that bally old TARDIS that can deliver the antibodies properly."
"What if he wants us to go with him afterwards?" Martha asked.
"Honeymoon anywhere in the universe? Sounds wonderful," Harry replied, tugging Martha along towards the door. Her laughter trailed behind them.
* * *
Of course, Metebelis Three really wasn't as romantic a honeymoon spot as the Doctor had promised.