As if I didn't have enough fandoms to obsess over, now Dr. Who has taken over my brain. This is a Martha & Ten fic. I don't think it's a romantic pairing, but read it how you like. It's also my first attempt at Dr. Who. So... this may or may not go well... I'm at the mercy of the fanfic gods and my muse again.
Disclaimers etc:
The title is taken from Lewis Carroll's The Hunting of The Snark. Rule 42 of the code in the preface is: No one shall speak to the man at the helm. The chapter titles are also all taken from the same poem.
Lewis Carroll created everything to do with The Hunting of the Snark. The BBC, Russell T Davies and all kinds of other charming Brits own Doctor Who, and I own... my laptop. If you could see it and see that it's actually falling apart as I try to type on it you would know I'm getting no money from this story.
Oh! Also Martha Jones would know things about medicine, accurate things. I don't.
CHAPTER 1: THE LANDING
A warm sunny glow was filling the room, gently illuminating the walls, and stirring her from her sleep. Martha sighed, rolled over and finally resigned herself to opening her eyes. She looked blearily around her room, always disoriented by that first moment of realizing there was no window, no curtains that that morning light was filtering in through. The TARDIS created it artificially. It made sense really, the human body needs a certain cycle of light, and it was cheery and warm just like the real thing on a beautiful summer morning, but just like the real thing, sometimes it felt like morning came unreasonably early. She was a little more tired than usual... No, scratch that, completely knackered, but she already caught enough flack for being a "typical human, sleeping away half her life." It was probably just good natured teasing on The Doctor's part, but sometimes even in that she swore she could still hear his only recently abandoned "just one trip" mantra playing in the back of her head. The morning light glinted off of her brand new TARDIS key hanging from her bed post, and with a determined sigh, Martha rolled out of bed and went in search of clothes and a shower.
She found The Doctor a little while later, sitting, sneakered feet propped up on the console. His glasses were perched on his nose and an open book in his lap, but he seemed to be staring off into space.
"Doctor?"
He startled, and Martha frowned. He looked a little paler than usual, and something she would never normally associate with The Doctor: tired. Normally, he could give most hyperactive sugar-loaded ten year olds a run for their money in terms of boundless energy, but today...
"You alright?"
He regarded her for a moment with those fathomless brown eyes, and for a moment, she felt him looking at her; really looking at her, but just as she thought he was about to let his guard down, he abruptly snapped the book he was holding shut and jumped up with his usual maniacal grin decidedly in place.
"Me? Good, good. Yep! " he flicked a couple switches in the console and the TARDIS rumbled almost affectionately at her Timelord, "I'm fine. Always am, me."
It wasn't entirely convincing. The long fingers of his left hand lying on the console, curled loosely around a large green knob were trembling slightly, and she saw his thumb twitch involuntarily in a muscle spasm.
His gaze caught up with hers and he quickly drew his hand back and rubbed it a few times as if trying to work the circulation back into it.
"You sure?" Martha hesitated, "Because... we could take a bit of a break before we go running off-"
"No need!" he cut her off forcefully cheerful, " I'm fit as a fiddle, fine fighting form Doctor Jones. Allons-y!... Unless..." he paused and regarded her gently, "Unless you need a break, Martha." He slowed his manic dance around the console to look at her.
"No, I'm fine," she insisted quickly.
Just when she was finally earning his respect she wasn't about to blow it by being the one to slow them down. Giving her the TARDIS key had been a sign that he no longer thought of her as just a passenger. He trusted her. He expected her to keep up with him.
"Alright then," he resumed his flurry of activity, 'I had some time to think about it while you were sleeping and I have the perfect idea for where we should go next!" The Doctor lunged across the console, balancing on one foot and flipped up a series of levers, "I picked this just for you Martha Jones. You'll love it!"
A few rough landings had taught her to hang on tight and Martha gripped the console, feeling the old surge of excitement returning. As soon as they landed, they would open the doors of the TARDIS onto a whole new world, full of amazing sights and sounds she could hardly have imagined before The Doctor seemingly crash landed right in the middle of her routine life, and now this trip he'd said he picked it "just for her". She felt a warm glow of happiness blossom in her at the thought. It was like when they'd visited Shakespeare, only vastly better, because it wasn't just the one trip anymore, she wasn't a tourist or a favour, she was something more, and the TARDIS key swinging from the chain around her neck was solid proof of that.
It was a comparatively smooth landing, and Martha released her grip on the TARDIS console, excited to bound right out the doors and take in the new world.
"So where are we then?"
The Doctor shrugged mischievously, "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."
Martha rolled her eyes affectionately, earlier worry for The Doctor evaporated. He was fine. Of course he was. He was more than well enough to be playful; to tease her.
"Alright, then..." she made towards the doors of the TARDIS, and paused, "Why are you being so secretive?" Of course she was too delighted to be truly suspicious.
The Doctor's expression shifted a little and he tugged as his earlobe, "Well... the last trip was...a little rough."
They'd almost been burned to death by a living sun; she'd had to put him in a stasis chamber and listen to him scream as she tried to freeze the living sun particles out of him a -200 degrees. "A little rough" was a wee bit of an understatement.
"So I thought we'd go somewhere less hot," he continued, "a little more of a vacation. Fancy a party? Drinks, dancing, high society scandal..."
She arched an eyebrow, "Scandal?"
"Well..." he grinned wider instead of finishing that sentence.
"What kind of high society?"
The Doctor assumed a mock aristocratic bearing and took off his glasses with a goofy flourish to give her the once over, "One you certainly cannot walk amongst dressed like that Miss Jones."
"Oi!" she folded her arms, "And what would you and your superior fashion taste," she glanced pointedly down at the red high-tops peeking out from under his blue suit pants, "suggest I wear then?"
...
As a man who seemingly wore the same two suits in never ending rotation, Martha never would have expected to discover The Doctor owned a closet the size of which would make Kate Moss die of jealousy.
"What is this place?" She asked, fingers skimming over a fringed flapper's dress, a Roman tunic, and a series of other outfits in fabrics she couldn't even begin to name.
"TARDIS wardrobe," he explained as if it was perfectly obvious, "There are just some places and some time periods you can't go running around in as-you-please. Sometimes you need a little-" His voice was lost momentarily as he leaned into one of the jam packed racks and reappeared with a long black cape. 'Here it is!"
It was a beautiful, heavy, fur-lined velvet, very elegant.
"Very Phantom of the Opera," she teased.
From a deep inside pocket, he produced, of all things, a mask. It had been crafted in incredible detail with the features of a fox and a fine gold inlay.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, 'What's it for?"
The Doctor clucked in fake disapproval, "'Told you already, it's a surprise. Now: we just need to find something for you."
Martha eyed the tumult of clothes thrown over the rows upon rows of racks sceptically, "Find something in that?"
'What?" The Doctor looked genuinely taken aback for a moment, "It's a perfectly good filing system!"
She continued to look at him incredulously.
"Well... It's pretty good. Well, maybe it could use some reorganizing." He laughed. "Well, alright maybe it's a bit of a mess. But I picked something out for you already."
The Doctor gestured towards a small red door in the wall next to Martha which among all of the clothes and hangers and racks she'd never even noticed. The Doctor continued to beam at her completely pleased with himself and whatever this "surprise" was he was cooking up. The door was a little stiff but she yanked it open and inside was what looked like an old Hollywood dressing room, complete with a full length mirror and a makeup counter. But the thing that caught her eye was the beautiful turquoise gown hanging inside. It was floor length with incredibly intricate gold embroidery and tasteful lace trimming at the sleeves and bust line. On the counter beside it, a beautiful gold and turquoise mask trimmed with peacock feathers lay in wait.
"Meet you back up in the console room!" The Doctor announced cheerfully.
As for Martha, the power of speech had entirely abandoned her. He left her marvelling at the incredible creation, the yards of silk and embroidery and the full, elegant skirts, not to mention the intricately designed mask.
While other little girls on her block had been playing princess and mum to a horde of dolls in prams, little Martha Jones had always been climbing trees and playing super hero, and cops and robbers, or admittedly, on occasion, heart surgeon or brain doctor to her teddy bears. But twenty odd years later, standing in front of the genuine article as far as princess dresses go, Martha found herself breathless. The Doctor wasn't exactly your typical Prince Charming and the TARDIS was a good deal better than a white horse, furthermore, Martha could lay claim to being a good deal sharper than your average Cinderella, but for one night... She stroked her fingers lightly over the luxurious fabric... This was a fantasy she was beginning to think she was more than willing to indulge in.
She half expected to get lost on her way back out of the wardrobe, but she managed to find The Doctor again, sitting, waiting for her. He wore the dramatic cape from earlier, and she noticed, for the first time since she'd met him (excepting the hospital pyjamas) The Doctor was dressed in something other than his usual suits. He wore a black jacket, waistcoat, breeches, and even black boots. The only other hints of colour were the white of the linen shirt he'd changed into peeking above his collar, and of course the gold inlay of the fox mask he clutched in his hand. He looked brilliant. Martha had never been particularly enthused by the swashbuckling romantic look in those cheesy period films her girlfriends seemed to eat up, but seeing it in real life, was another story altogether. Paired with his cheeky grin, she had to admit, the look suited him.
When he caught sight of her his face lit up, "Martha Jones," he breathed, "Has anyone ever told you you're an absolute star?"
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, "Well I don't know if I got everything right... there were a lot of ties and skirts and things..." she muttered trailing off as he swept towards her and gave her a glowing appraisal.
"Looks good to me..." he stepped behind her and she felt his hands at the small of her back, sorting out the laces, "Just a few quick adjustments... Normally you'd have yourself a couple maids for this... There," he smoothed down the silk and stepped back to admire her, "Now you're ready."
He offered her his arm and she laughed when he nearly dragged her down the ramp towards the doors.
"Oh!" Halfway down he paused just long enough to grab a long white cape, thick and fur lined like his own."You'll need this too," he informed her whisking it around her shoulders with a flourish and smoothing it into place.
Then he was towing her along like an eager kid towards the doors again. He threw them open on a snowy medieval looking courtyard, lit by hundreds of tiny festive lanterns.
"Venice. 1775. New Years Eve. There's a famous masquerade ball that goes all night, and well in to tomorrow with food drinks, acrobats, jugglers, and just about anything else you can think of; and we," he smirked, pulling the psychic paper from his pocket, "happen to have an invitation."
The lanterns, the music drifting in from the nearby hall, the soaring arches of the courtyard, the glistening of the fine dusting of snow falling around them, all of it was so beautiful. She threw her arms around him without a second thought, and he laughed as her returned her hug.
"Can I assume you like your surprise?"
...
"The Lord Renard and the Lady Paon."
The steward at the door announced their fake names to the assembled guests and The Doctor led her into the biggest, most expensive ballroom Martha could ever have dreamed to be in existence. High above the marble floor, acrobats balanced on wires and swung from trapezes to the delight of the masked guests. People danced, ate, and drank with merry abandon, and after the last trip in the TARDIS had landed them right in the middle of a crisis, Martha couldn't help but soak in the joy and wonder of it all, of people simply having a good time, and enjoying life. A fire eater performed his act only a few feet away from where she stood, and all over the expansive dance floor, couples twirled together like confetti caught in a high, giddy wind.
"Fancy a dance Miss Jones?"
She had done a little ballroom dancing at her cousins' weddings, nothing spectacular, nothing like this, but The Doctor led her out onto the floor despite her protests and soon they were whirling along with the other couples, laughing at their missteps, adding a few moves here and there that wouldn't be seen for another couple centuries; the fox and the peacock, their alter egos for the night another colourful blur in the pinwheel of revellers.
Eventually, they dragged each other, laughing from the stream of dancers and The Doctor snagged them each a glass of champagne.
".. well when you accidentally did the electric slide into the Duke of Saxmeinegen," she smirked, "I thought we were going to get beheaded or something!"
The Doctor laughed as well , but it soon turned into a coughing fit as if he was short of breath. The concern she'd felt earlier in the TARDIS, the nagging fear she'd felt that something wasn't quite right since The Doctor announced his own clean bill of health after expelling the sun particles from his body; since they'd returned to the TARDIS and he'd been quiet and unwilling to talk about anything relating to the incident on board the ship they'd rescued; since she'd finally given up and gone to bed to leave him to sort through his mood himself... All of her worry came tumbling back.
"Doctor?"
The champagne glass he was holding fell to the floor and smashed and he sought her arm to steady himself against an apparent wave of dizziness.
"The Lord fox has had a bit too much to drink tonight I think," commented a large, round man in a mask shaped like a basset hound and the swans, and butterflies gathered around him twittered and began to whisper.
The Doctor had gotten his breath back, but was still holding onto her arm for dear life.
"Doctor?"
He put more of his quickly sagging wait on her shoulder and leaned down next to her ear mumbling, "Too hot in here..."
Martha scanned the chaos for an exit. An alcove, somewhere to sit him down and check him over properly, and spotted the doors to what looked like a small salon. Determinedly, she braced The Doctor against her and guided them past the fire eaters and dancing couples and tables laden with delicacies. They were nearly at the salon when suddenly, a man in a military looking uniform of the period stepped into their path.
"Excuse me Madame."
He looked to be in his mid forties, blonde, blue eyed, and utterly humourless.
"Those rooms are off limits to guests. Where is it exactly that you and... the gentleman desire to go?"
The Doctor, barely keeping on his feet next to her was obviously not going to be a whole lot of help in this situation.
"We um..." Martha sincerely hoped she wasn't going to somehow breech 18th century court etiquette and get them thrown in prison, "My Lord Renard here... the heat's bothering him. I just need to get him sitting down, and get some water for him."
"Those rooms are off limits," the uniformed man repeated.
Martha tried to take a deep calming breath and quell the urge to hit him. "Sure. I heard. But it's just for a minute and it's the nearest place, so maybe you could bend the rules this once yeah?"
He didn't look like a bend-the-rules kind of guy though and Martha was quickly losing her patience. A scenario in which she picked up the marble bust on the pedestal beside her and pitched it at Mr. "Off-Limits" was quickly forming in her mind, but before she had any time to entertain that notion any further another man in a similar uniform came rushing across the floor.
"Captain! Captain Battista! Quickly!"
The captain was distracted long enough for Martha to slip away again towards the doors to the salon. Quickly, she hauled The Doctor through and shut them behind her, easing him down into a straight backed study chair. They seemed to have stumbled into some kind of library.
"Doctor?"
She carefully removed his mask and grimaced at the pale complexion that was revealed. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and eyes were glassy and unfocused.
"Doctor..." she prodded gently, "Can you hear me?"
Her fingers found his pulse, far too shallow and quick.
He swallowed thickly, and to her relief managed to focus enough to find her eyes with his own, "Martha."
"What's going on with you?" she demanded noting the still rapid, shallow breaths he was taking.
The Doctor grimaced, "Too hot..."
She frowned, "If you were a human, I'd say you have a slight fever, but since you're you, I'd say it's more than slight yeah?"
He shut his eyes again as if the dim light of the library was bothering him, and a murmured, "Hm," was all the answer she got.
"We should get you out of some of these layers,"' she muttered, not entirely comfortable with the idea of undressing him, but the part of her brain that housed her medical training immediately told her she was being ridiculous, and she set about unbuttoning his coat to which he offered neither help nor resistance. She tossed the coat and waist coat on a nearby table and carefully unlaced his shirt, placing one hand on his exposed chest. The heat radiating off of him wasn't an overly dangerous amount for a normal human, but it was high enough to cause concern when she knew his ideal internal temperature was lower than normal to begin with. She nearly jumped when his hand came to rest over top of hers, his slender fingers hot to the touch.
"You're nice and cool," he muttered.
He didn't open his eyes, didn't look at her and she felt an irrational fear bubble up inside of her. It reminded her too much of being back on The Pentalion, when he'd kept his eyes closed against the raging sun inside of him, trying to burn her through the eyes she normally found so comforting.
"Doctor, look at me."
He didn't respond, simply kept holding her hand against his chest.
She pushed down her fears and reached out her other hand to rest it on his forehead, "Doctor."
His eyes flickered open laboriously slow and she breathed an audible sigh of relief to find his eyes, their usual brown depths and nothing particularly homicidal staring back at her.
"Hullo," he said softly, blinking with considerably more lucidity than only a moment ago, "What're we doing in here?..." he asked finally releasing her.
Martha noticed a flagon on the table nearby and was surprised and grateful to find it full of water, "You were acting like you were going to faint out there," she reminded him, filling a glass and handing it to him.
He took it from her and took a cautious sip. She waited, but he didn't volunteer any more information.
"and then you said you were feeling too hot," she continued, spurred on by her worry and frustration over his general lack of help, "and I thought you were going to pass out right in the middle of this ridiculous ball and I don't know, a bloody trapeze was going to fall on your or something!"
He winced and took another drink, "I'm fine; out of shape. I guess I'm just not used to so much dancing in one night."
This was beyond ridiculous.
" 'Out of shape'? Really? Are you kidding? We spend half of our time running for our lives. I know you're not 'out of shape' Doctor!"
Why wouldn't he just tell her what was wrong? Didn't he trust her? After everything that happened on The Pentallion, still he was trying to shut her out. If those sun particles were still inside him...
"Martha, it's nothing-"
Whatever she would have retorted was cut off by the sound of the entire ballroom erupting into screams outside.
...
The fact that you're reading this means you read my story, so thanks! I'd like to write more but we'll see where my muse takes me. Reviews make her happy and strong, so please R&R if you want to see more.
-Amazon