Two Doctors
by robspace54
Doc Martin is a production of Buffalo Pictures and Doctor Who is produced by British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).
This chance meeting of these iconic characters is an accident of time and space, not likely to be seen on the small screen, but since the universe is vast and very old, who is to say?
The story below is strictly a product of my head and I lay no claim to any characters, settings, or plots.
It was a sunny day in the small village. Cloudless blue skies held a contrail high overhead, and a few raucous seagulls flew about, but it was a peaceful day as far as Mother Nature was concerned.
Doctor Martin Ellingham stood by a bench on the headland overlooking the tiny village of Portwenn and he inhaled deeply and with great fatigue. He'd had a terrible day, which was par for the course in his GP practice. He'd been coughed and sneezed on, had managed to avoid a blob of projectile vomit by barely an inch, and had been peed on by a sick one year old. He'd also had to listen to useless whinging from patients who were both not sick and those who were sick. Those who were not sick tended to want medications, while those who were sick did not want any medicine. It all frustrating and baffling as well.
He blew air out of his lungs and stared across at the school, where he could make out the dark haired figure of Louisa Glasson leave Portwenn School. She walked past the Post Office store, then turned and walked from his sight on the way to her cottage.
He really must figure out some way to deal with the woman. She was bright, good hearted, and a looker as well, yet no matter how much he wanted to really converse with her, things always happened to stop it. If it wasn't rude villagers butting in or barking dogs, there was a ringing mobile or a giant misunderstanding of some sort to break the moment.
So he stood there on the headland above the harbor, arms crossed, back straight and rigid, and tried to create a possible scenario in which he and Louisa could actually have an honest moment for a real talk. He knew such ruminations were likely a waste of time, but he tried anyway. In a few minutes Martin was ready to go back to his cottage, when he heard footsteps approach and a voice at his back.
"Hello!"
Martin turned to find a youngish man, with unruly dark hair and brown eyes, wearing a dark suit with a light pinstripe and a dark tie staring at him. Another odd Cornishman, obviously. But his accent seemed not Cornish as it had perhaps a bit of Welsh with some Suffolk thrown in, and a whole lot of other influences. Not a Cornishman, then, Martin realized.
"What do you want?" Martin growled, being in absolutely no mood for company.
"Mind the company?" asked the stranger.
"Yes," Martin added grumpily.
"Oh, well, I just thought…" the man smiled happily.
Martin curled his lip and stayed silent.
The stranger scanned the panorama with his eyes. "Quite a view, isn't it?"
Martin nodded yes.
"But you knew that," the man told him.
"Right."
"Well, perhaps we can share it?"
Martin looked askance at the man, who looked to be perhaps forty years old or so. He was close shaven and his face was aglow in the sunshine streaming down. "If we must," he grunted.
The stranger breathed deeply and laughed. "Smell that air! Wonderful! Quite a warm day, isn't it?" He tugged at his necktie and loosed the top button on his white shirt.
Martin curled his lip. "Yes. Obviously."
"You don't speak much do you?"
Martin turned towards the man. "What do you want?" he said in irritation.
"Nothing." The man chuckled. "Nothing at all. Well…" he looked down. "Perhaps just to enjoy the sunshine."
"It's been sunny the entire week! Where have you been? Antarctica?"
The visitor laughed. "No. Somewhere much colder, actually," he muttered. "But you don't care about that, do you? What is it that you care about, anyway? I'd imagine nothing much happens in a village such as this. Where are we, anyway?'
"You don't know?" asked Martin Ellingham in disgust.
"Well… I travel a lot. Sometimes hard to keep track, you know?"
Martin bristled. "No. I don't!"
"My, my! You are a gloomy Gus, aren't you? Don't reckon you travel very much do you?"
"Do you mind?" yelled Martin. "I have had a very hard day and I only wanted some bloody peace and quiet! Don't want to have strangers questioning my motives or actions! Just sod off, would you?"
"Oh," replied the man. "Ever been to India, say?"
"No."
"Oh. North America, then?"
"Do you mind? Shut up! And this is Portwenn – in bloody Cornwall!"
"Oh." That quieted the young man. He poked around at the ground with a toe. "Sorry. I suppose you hear too much prattle - in your business, that is."
"How do you know my business?" asked Martin warily.
"Oh… you know," the man smiled saying this and tipped his head from side to side and pursed his lips. "People talk."
Martin groaned. "I can only imagine. Just what have the benighted and socially backward denizens of this biscuit-tin town been saying about me this time?"
"Noth… nothing. Just relax," said the man as he saw Martin ball his fists in anger. The man held up his hands to ward Martin away.
"Well?"
"I heard some say that you were a right good doc." The man stopped and twisted his head about, then dropped his voice. "You know. Always up on the latest medical papers and so forth?"
"Yes. Yes, I am. What do you want, anyway? Who are you?"
"No one. Not an important person," said the man.
"Got a name? I'm Doctor Ellingham."
The man gave a giggle. "Some just call me the Doctor."
"Erhm. Doctor of what?"
"Oh… a lot and a little, I suppose." The stranger smiled and stuck out his hand. "Just call me Doctor Smith, I guess. Pleased to meet you."
They shook hands and Martin twisted his face into an angry look. "So why are you wasting my time?" he asked.
"Oh, I have a sick friend. She's been poorly lately. We just… er… stopped by for an ice cream and she mentioned she's not been feeling well. Since our last, uhm… trip."
"Well, bring her by my surgery on Monday, unless it's an emergency."
"Well," the man dug a toe into the turf again. "She's not able to move her arm very well. A matter of fact, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd be able to… take a little time… right now?"
"If she's ill, then have her seen to!"
"That's what I'm trying to do Doctor Ellingham. Trying to! So if you could…"
Martin sighed. "Oh, very well." He sighed once more. Typical Portwenn day – being bothered at every odd moment. Never a moment's rest and he'd just decided to try and intercept Louisa. "So where is the patient?"
The man frowned. "Where is your surgery?"
"Oh, for God's sake. It's right down the lane there!" Martin flung out a finger like a lance. "Brick cottage; on the right as you travel down. The sign says SURGERY on it!"
The Doctor made a concerned expression at Martin. "Has any one told that when you yell like that there's a vein in your neck that gets all squished up! Bulges a bit. Right about there…" He pointed to Martin's neck above the clavicle. "Most likely not a good thing for your blood pressure!"
Martin took a deep breath as he struggled to control himself. "Do you… think… you can get your lady friend… to my surgery?" Between gritted teeth he grunted out words haltingly, just one second away from striking the man.
The strange man backed up a step. "Yes, I can do that. On the right you say?"
Martin nodded and took a step away. "I'll give you ten minutes to get her there, as surgery is actually closed." Then he stalked away.
The peculiar man stood his ground watching Martin Ellingham stride away and he smiled. "Right," he added than walked back across the headland whistling an off-key tune.
000
Martin stomped back to his surgery, unlocked the door and rushed inside, feeling quite put upon. He looked around the ancient consulting room hating the putrid green walls, the low ceiling and the leaky windows with cracked glazing. He took a careful breath, trying to center himself as much as possible and reign in his temper. "Martin, have a care!" he said aloud. He carefully sat at his desk, tugged his coat into proper alignment and then waited for his patient to show up.
He didn't have long to wait as he heard a squeal of strange brakes, which sounded on his ear in an odd stutter. "What in God's name is that?" he shook his head as the noise seemed to go right through his head, then it faded away.
He rose and walked to the front door when the little man appeared supporting his friend, who was a red haired woman. She wore a leather coat over a gray top with a fuchsia camisole peeking out underneath. She wore gray trousers below a wide brown belt, dividing her generous frame. She stumbled inside as the man steadied her. The woman held her left hand outstretched stiffly below her ample bust. The hand was wrapped with silver cloth.
Martin looked down and now saw the man was wearing red and white trainers. He groaned. The man must be a mad local, and there were so many. "Go thru," said Martin, pointing to his consulting room.
"This is Donna," said the man, after giving her an odd look.
"Is that wise?" mumbled the woman. "What if… he… looks up my name? You did say it might not be wise?"
Martin started. "Say what? What about your name? Don't you want to give your name?"
"Well, not that…" she said.
Smith cut her off in a brusque wave then fished a folder out his suit coat, flipped it open, and flashed it at Martin.
Martin could see the badge inside read 'Dr. John Smith – MI5.' He nodded. "I see… Security Service."
"Doctor Ellingham, may I call you Martin? That is all right isn't it? You don't mind?" asked Smith.
Martin looked sharply at the man, as he held out the folder for further inspection. The next line read 'Special Investigations.' Yes, but there was something about the way the Smith asked if he could call him by his first name. "I prefer Doctor Ellingham."
The man exchanged glances with the woman. "Right. Well… seems a bit formal, doesn't it?"
"Look, Doctor Smith!" Martin stiffened. "Are we going to bandy about with names and titles or can we get attending to your friend? Donna, is it?"
"Yes. Donna…" she looked at John Smith, who nodded at her.
"Alright, come inside then and let me look at your arm!" Martin waved her on.
"Ok." She held her arm out further from her body and grimaced. "It is painful."
Martin practically had to push Donna and Smith into the consultingroom, where she sank down on the examination couch with an exhausted sigh.
Smith wandered about the room examining everything in sight, running a finger over most objects. "Nice," Smith said. "I really love what you've done with the place."
Martin ignored the man, until Smith touched the medicine Buddha on the shelf. "Don't touch that! It's valuable!"
Smith smiled, with his top teeth slightly protruding. "Right. You are rude, just as…" Smith cleared his throat. "Sorry. I should let you get on… examining… that." He pointed at Donna's hand then went to examining a large clock laid out on a side table in partial disassembly.
"Don't touch that either!" Martin quit being distracted by Smith and turned to his putative patient. "You do have a name – front and back?"
She looked at Smith, who told her, "Go on."
"Noble. Donna Noble," said the woman.
Martin snapped on gloves and began to probe her fingers under the cloth. "I see. Mind telling me what's happened?"
The woman went pale as he touched it. "Oww! God! That hurts!" she yelled.
Martin ignored the outburst and partially unwrapped the bandage enough to touch her fingers which were ice cold. "Where have you been? Your fingers are like ice."
"Somewhere… cold?" she said.
"Alright." Martin wondered what was going on with these two. Must have had the air-conditioning quite high in their car. "Take the coat off please?"
Smith quit spinning about the room, looking at every inch, to help Donna off with her coat.
Martin wondered why anyone would be wearing a leather coat on such a day as today, with the temps in the low 80s. But that thought went straight into the bin, for as Donna's whole left arm was revealed to his medical gaze he saw that the back of her left hand was quite swollen, with a greenish tinge along with red streaks running towards the elbow. "Good God! What have you done to your arm?" He prodded the margins of the swelling as the woman winced and tried to pull her hand away.
"It was…" started the woman.
"A bite," finished Smith.
Martin looked closely and could see two puncture marks above the knuckles. "A bite?" The wounds looked fresh, yet swelling such as this was atypical in so short a time. "I can see that! A snake."
Smith smiled. "Yes a snake."
Martin grunted. "Never seen an adder bite out here at the coast."
Donna said, "It was a cobra!"
Just as Smith added "A rattlesnake!"
Martin turned his eyes from one to the other. "Cobra? Or a rattlesnake? In England? Are you mad?"
Smith tipped his head from side to side. "Well, it was sort of a cobra."
"But it had a rattle on its tail!" wailed Donna. She glared at Smith. "You said it wouldn't bite me! But it did!" A small tear ran down her face.
Martin turned back to the injured hand. Now he saw the puncture wounds were three in number; each about one quarter of an inch wide, across an arc of a three inches. "What sort of snake was this?" he turned the hand over and saw only edema, other than a row of small punctures beneath. "No snake has three upper fangs!"
Smith turned a hard stare at Martin. "Not yet, they don't."
"What in God's name are you talking about? Are you mad?" shouted Martin.
"I said, not yet. That is they will, some day," added Smith.
"And when will that be?" asked Martin in the most sarcastic tone possible. He had no idea if this was a snake bite, but this pair was acting very strangely.
Donna Noble caught his eye. "In about ten thousand years, Doc."
Martin looked up at the woman in disbelief. "Oh?" He wondered if Joe Penhale might be useful handling these two if they got violent. He pulled out his mobile, just as Smith grabbed his arm before he could slide the phone open.
"Doctor Ellingham! Martin!" Smith yelled and his grip was like steel clamps. "Perhaps we need to explain a few things. For one thing, my name is not Smith, but you can call me The Doctor. This was a snake bite, and I need your excellent and skilled diagnostic knowledge to treat Donna."
Martin tried to pull his arm free but the way Smith, or whoever he was, spoke to him struck a distant chord of memory. "Have we met?" he asked.
The Doctor sighed. "Yes, about twenty years ago."
"I don't remember you," said Martin Ellingham. "I'm not that good with names, but your face…. I'd remember that much."
The Doctor smiled kindly at the Portwenn GP. "Oh, but we have met. But… faces change… people change." He released Martin's arm and clapped his hands once, then wrung them together. Now his narrow face broke into a huge smile. "Now, Martin, a long time ago… well, how to begin?"
Donna interrupted with a pleading look. "Why don't you do something for my hand, Doc, while The Doctor tells you a story?" She smiled at Martin so he did as he was told.
