AT THE RISK OF CREATING MY OWN 'WHO-VERSE,' WHICH I HAVE NO INTENTION OF DOING, I AM, YET AGAIN, WRITING A STORY THAT CONTINUES ON FROM ANOTHER. SHADES OF BLUE ESTABLISHES THE DOCTOR AND MARTHA'S RELATIONSHIP, FERAL TESTS AND RE-AFFIRMS IT, AND THIS STORY IS WHAT COMES NEXT.
THOUGH THIS WILL PROVE A MULTI-CHAPTER STORY, I THINK OF THIS FIRST CHAPTER AS A STORY IN AND OF ITSELF. IT ANSWERS THE QUESTION I'VE BEEN ASKING EVER SINCE I WATCHED "BLINK": HOW THE HECK WERE THE WEEPING ANGELS ABLE TO GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO THE DOCTOR AND MARTHA TO ZAP THEM BACK IN TIME? AND IN MY INFINITE LOVE OF TEN/MARTHA PAIRINGS... WELL, JUST READ ON.
AND BY THE WAY, THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST A BIT WACKY. I DECIDED TO GO FOR THE HUMOR THIS TIME, RATHER THAN THE ANGST. ENJOY!
THE HOW
Something unseen had brought closure to the Doctor's mind. After eighteen months of pining after a lost love, he'd found a new one. And then hideous, horrible circumstances had opened the old wound, and found that lost love for him again. But she couldn't be what she was – she was changed. She'd been to hell and back, and wanted nothing to do with this life, this travel, the madness that was the Doctor's world. He had been fractured for a long time, wondering, hoping and dreaming… tormenting himself.
And now he could stop. The recurring nightmare was releasing him back into the wild, and he could start anew, again, with Martha Jones at his side.
But after sorting out their debts in Victorian London, they had gone to a planet where life was sustained by a magnetic pulse which maintained all inhabitants' heartbeats between 80 and 95 beats per minute. Any higher than that, and the cardiovascular system explodes. This made their visit very difficult, because it prevented them from doing the two things they relied upon the most, one of them being running. When the TARDIS was stolen on their first day there, they were obliged to walk around looking for help, with even intonation explain that their vessel was taken, breathe normally when they nearly saw it burned upon a pyre of alpha-neutrino incendiary matter, and remain cool when they were taken as prisoners of the royal family.
Remain cool and tragically asexual in the face of near-certain death and in the confines of a tight, steadily warming jail cell…
So, by the time they rescued the TARDIS and left, six lunar days after they arrived, they were ready to burst. All they wanted was to break out into a good sprint, do some quality shouting, and of course, shag like there was no tomorrow. The plan was to get safely back to the 21st century on Earth, with a stop-off in London for some of Martha's personal effects, and then to spend at least a week in Tahiti doing all the things that get the pulse pounding.
Including parasailing, the Doctor had mentioned. He'd never been parasailing, not in 900 years' time.
But cruel fate intervened once again when the Doctor set the TARDIS down across the street from the restaurant where Martha's mother happened to be having lunch on a sleepy, grey afternoon in 2007. Before Martha knew what was happening, Francine was out the door and throwing herself at her daughter.
"Martha!" she shouted, hugging her middle child. "How did you know I was here?"
The Doctor stepped outside the blue box and had to hold back from rolling his eyes in exasperation when he saw Francine.
"We didn't," Martha said. "It's just a coincidence." She looked up at the Doctor with an expression that seemed to say of all the streets in the whole city…
"Well, I'm glad to see you, darling," said Francine. Tightly, she greeted the suited man. "Doctor."
"Hello, Francine," he returned. "Lovely day."
Unfazed, she grabbed Martha's hand and began dragging her across the street. "Well, we haven't even ordered yet. Come have lunch with me and Mitzi."
"Mum, I can't!" she said. "What about the Doctor?"
Francine stopped. She looked at the Doctor. "What about him?"
"We have plans!"
"Lunch plans? Can't you postpone?"
Martha exhaled angrily. "Mum, you're being rude."
But the Doctor intervened. "Martha, it's fine. I'll meet you at your flat at seven tonight. Then we can carry on with our plans."
She sighed in resignation. "Okay." She looked at him with pleading eyes. He gave her a clandestine little smile and re-entered the TARDIS.
Martha sat through lunch tight-lipped against her mother and Mitzi's laughter. Nothing about this encounter was fun for her, she didn't even much enjoy the food. After three days with the Victorians and another six locked in the Temple of Chastity with the Doctor on the magnetic heartbeat planet, anything that kept her restrained in any fashion was unwelcome. She was wound like a nine-day clock. She wanted to let loose so badly, her joints actually ached from the coiling. She wanted to take off down the street running, screaming, tearing her clothes off...
But she did not. In fact, she was so well-behaved, she thought she might vomit.
In very much the same caged-tiger fashion, the Doctor paced inside the TARDIS. He could go anywhere he wanted right now. He could disgorge himself from the tightness that he felt in any fashion he chose... but somehow, this was more fun, more alive. Feeling socially oppressed, physically restrained and sexually frustrated was actually an interesting change, which he relished. Not that he had any inclination toward remaining this way any longer than it took to get Martha back into the TARDIS and out of her clothes, but still, the tactile entanglement of it, the humanness of it was sort of delicious.
And it made him want to be a bit more human. Sure, he could show off for Martha once again and take her to Tahiti in a matter of seconds. But to do something really grounded, something really human... this had always been his challenge.
But he was a coiled spring, and he'd never been more equal to it. He used the controls on the console to send Martha a text message. "Change of plans. Toulouse Lautrec at 7. 140 Newington Butts. Don't bring mum."
He resisted the urge to jump ahead seven hours so that he could see her right now, and forced himself to kill some time by reading. And then, in such a human fashion, that deteriorated into watching television, but at least it was the Food Network and not a marathon of that singularly obnoxious American sit-com Roseanne which he had always, for some reason, never been able to turn off once it got its hooks into him. The food programme confirmed what he had always suspected about saltwater taffy: it contains no saltwater.
At half-past six, he actually took a bus to the white and glass cornerstone that was Brasserie Toulouse-Lautrec. It was a nod to the French painters that he and Martha had failed to meet while they were toiling in the bowels of the Paris Opéra in 1882. They hadn't made it to the New Year's Eve party to hobnob with the elite of Paris' genius scum, so this was the next best human thing to do.
He requested a table near the back, ordered a good wine and sat, facing the door. When Martha entered, she nearly stole his breath. She was in a chiffon dress with a misty emerald rainforest pattern. It was strapless, knee-length and empire-waisted, gathered at the bust and the striking colour was absolutely perfect for her caffè lattè complexion. Her hair was down, but pulled away from her face. Silver chandelier earrings and the soft curl at the ends of her hair framed her neck and made it incredibly enticing to kiss.
She saw him and approached, smiling that radiant smile that tended these days to make his knees weak. He stood.
"Good evening," he said, cordially pulling out her chair. "Lovely to see you."
"Likewise," she answered, equally cordially stifling a giggle. She sat, and he pushed her chair in.
As if on cue, a waiter appeared with the requested wine. He made a big production out of opening the bottle with flair, offering it to the Doctor to taste and then pouring it with flourish into two crystal goblets.
"So what brought on the change in plan?" she asked, sipping the sweet white.
"I wanted to take you out on a proper date," he told her, leaving out the entire train of thought that had led him here instead of to Tahiti. "We've saved the world together, and other worlds too, but we've never shared a meal and wine and then danced."
"You dance?" she asked, coquettishly.
He feigned exasperation. "Why is everyone so surprised to hear that I can dance? I am a spectacular dancer. Just you wait, Martha Jones!"
She laughed and said, "I'm excited to see!"
When the waiter returned, they ordered baked brie with skewered roasted garlic cloves as an appetizer. Then, they proceeded, by turns, to delight and disgust those sitting nearest by feeding each other from their fingers, including catching the dribbling cheese from each others' wrists, kissing in-between tastes of garlic, enlacing their hands, giggling like idiots and generally being oblivious to the world around them.
They shared an entrée of giant scallops in lemon butter, breadcrumb-stuffed tomatoes with rosemary and saffron, and carrots julienne. By this time, the wine had been drained, and they asked for a second bottle. They finished this with the entrée, which they periodically fed each other (from forks, this time), oohing and aahing sensually over the tenderness of the scallop meat and the carrots steamed to spice-infused perfection.
At eight o'clock, the jazz piano music began, but it was upbeat and the two lovers in back were still licking saffron from their fingers. At half-past, the lights dimmed, a double bassist joined the pianist and they began playing the pendulous It Had To Be You. The Doctor stood and offered Martha his hand. She didn't have to be asked twice (or even once). She followed him to the small area near the piano which passed for a dance-floor, and followed the suit of others around them dancing close.
The Doctor moved well, but honestly, Martha had no idea about dance steps or what constituted a "good" ballroom dancer. She was just happy that he held her close and that she could feel his breath on her skin.
"Thank you for this," she whispered. "It's been so long since I have had a night like this." She sighed in his ear, and the little wisp of warmth and the sound of her breathy voice stirred him.
"You're welcome," he whispered back, gazing at her. "It's been a while for me too. So glad I get to share it with you."
"I forgot how much fun this could be," she mused. "First dates, I mean."
He chuckled. "First date? Yes, I suppose it is. Except most first dates don't end the way this one will." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, with space travel and lovemaking."
She stretched up and put her mouth against his ear. "Doctor... I'm practically ready to pop." Her whisper came barely articulately. "I don't need you to make love to me."
A pause as a frisson of hot and cold shock bolted through the Doctor's body. "What do you need?"
"Something else entirely," she sighed into his ear, still barely to be heard. Her tongue snaked out and subtly stroked the curve that formed the top of his ear, and suddenly, he found his knees turning to mush. "Pay the bill. Right now," she demanded huskily.
She backed away from him, holding his gaze, and disappeared back into the dining area. He fumbled with the cash in his pocket and found Martha back at their table, gathering her handbag. He left a bit too much money on the table, threw on his overcoat and then took Martha and kissed her hard before pulling her out the door.
"Where did you park?" she asked, feeling a bit desperate.
"Where I was before, over by Surrey Water," he answered, leading her across the street. "I took the bus over here."
"You did what?" she shrieked. "Why did you do that?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time!"
Wine and desire coursed through her like adrenaline, mixing with the pent-up emotions of the past couple weeks. Frustration was settling in as an unwelcome guest, more so with each block they walked. And if that weren't enough, it began to rain. She let out the cry of aggravation she'd been holding in for far too long.
The Doctor offered her his coat, sensing that the cold rain on her bare shoulders might not be the most pleasant of circumstances for her.
"It's too long and too heavy, especially if it gets soaked," she told him. "Let's just find someplace to stop!"
He looked about. They were in a strange tree-laden area, one of the few non-park areas such as this in the city. The TARDIS was out here somewhere, but Martha did not want to walk – she clearly would rather wait out the rain at this point. Trouble was, there was nothing nearby – no coffee shops or pubs or even a Laundromat. But through a patch of trees, the Doctor thought he saw some brick for a split second in the lightning. He had no idea what it was, but he called out, "Come on!" and began dragging Martha in that direction.
A large, ancient house loomed in front of them, and it looked deserted. Martha didn't like the look of the angel statues which ornamented the garden, but she quickly forgot them in favour of wondering how they'd gain entry. Fortunately, the sonic screwdriver saved the day, and within seconds, they were inside a deserted, but dry, old mansion. He tried a light switch, and to his surprise, a dim fixture illuminated itself over the staircase.
He tousled the water out of his hair with both hands, and asked, "You all right?"
"Yeah," said Martha, slicking back the hair hair plastered to her head.
"Are you cold?" he wanted to know.
"No, I'm just pissed off," she told him, stomping into an adjacent room, beginning to pace back and forth. Her dress shoes made a loud 'clack' each time they came into contact with the floorboards.
He followed her. "About what?"
"Well, not pissed off, exactly, just... frustrated," she said, stopping her pace with flourish, crossing her arms to stare at him. "It's always when we need to get back to the TARDIS that we can't."
"Why do we need the TARDIS?" he asked, again cocking his eyebrow in a secretive way.
Suddenly, she was all warm again, and smiling sheepishly. "You know."
"Oh, to hell with that," he insisted. He grabbed her, kissing her harder than ever before and pushing her nearly off her feet. Before she knew what was happening, she found her back up against the hideously papered wall. His erection was insistent against her abdomen and when he pulled away from the kiss, the look in his eyes was one of pure hunger.
She reached down and grasped the waistband of his trousers, grown tight with extra girth now apparent in the front. She practically ripped open the zip and as soon as his member was freed, he wrapped his arms around her, supporting her bum in his hands, and she jumped up to help. She was never sure what happened to her knickers after that, whether somehow they were removed or simply torn, but it didn't matter. What did matter was the relief she felt when he slammed his hard length into her and pressed her into the wall with a driving urgency. She shut her eyes tight and let herself be taken.
Over and over he drove into her, giving in to all the pent-up forces that had been brewing since even before the planet of deadly heartbeats. Her legs clasped hard around his waist while her arms clung to his shoulders. She scratched at the back of his suit as she felt her temperature rise and her back pressed more and more flush against the wall. She panted and whispered his name, encouraged him, begged him, and he never stopped satisfying. In return, he hissed her name right back at her, told her how badly he needed her, and more often, moaned inarticulately. And once he was in rhythm, an orgasm rose up in her like internal combustion and pushed its way up from between her legs into her torso and her extremities and burned her until nothing was left. She went limp and opened her eyes.
"Doctor!" she screamed out, seeing over his shoulder that the creepy-looking statues from the garden were now somehow in the room with them.
But he mistook her cry of fear for one of passion, and he did not stop thrusting. Martha knew that he was too far gone to stop now, and even with this new menace, she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop. Danger is powerful, and she felt another climax brewing inside. Even so, she moaned again, "Doctor!"
He moaned something back, a sound which seemed to come from the pit of his stomach rather than from his voicebox or brain, and his body was ruling his actions now. There was no turning back. Her second climax bubbled to the surface, and she found herself, again, flying into pleasure as though it were a black hole. Somehow, the statues were moving closer, and now they were reaching out, but she never saw them move – they were just displacing somehow. Almost within the blink of her eyes.
"Doctor!" she cried again. "They're here!"
He returned with a grunt, and a growl-like whisper of "I'm coming," and he drove her painfully and carelessly into the wall. A second explosion took her at the same time as it took him, and Martha shut her eyes, once more to yield to the sweet, brutal release. The last thing she saw was the ominous stone finger of an angel statue, and the last thing she heard was a loud pop, just as her body gave way.