"So what else can it do?" Martha Jones asked the Doctor as he finished demonstrating the TARDIS's previously hidden talent to brew the perfect cup of tea.
"Taste this, and you won't care what else it can do," the Doctor grinned, offering her a cup. "What good's all of time and space without a good English Breakfast or Earl Grey every once in a while?"
Martha sipped cautiously, and was pleasantly surprised. The tea was perfectly balanced, cream and sugar enhancing the flavour rather than covering it, and there was no bitterness in the aftertaste.
"How does it do it?" she asked, taking another taste. The Doctor grinned.
"You start with glacial water," he said. "Not dirty old Earth glaciers, all sliding about and whatnot. A whole planet, frozen to its core, and the clearest water in the universe. Once you melt it, of course."
"Of course," Martha laughed. "And the tea?"
"Twinings!" the Doctor declared triumphantly. "Loose leaf. The Queen's favourite."
Martha smiled. "Well, it's delicious."
They walked together back to the control room. Martha settled onto a bench, and the Doctor leaned over the instruments.
"Wherever shall we go now?" he mused, raising one eyebrow. "I hear Corrifrey Five is gorgeous this time of year."
Before Martha could ask where, or what, Corrifrey Five might be, a shrill peeping rang through the chamber. The Doctor sprang to life, racing to the monitor.
"What's happening?" Martha cried as the TARDIS lurched into gear, spilling her tea.
"Something's been forced through the fabric of space time!" the Doctor said, grunting as he hauled down on a lever. "Close enough to us that the TARDIS picked up on it. If we move fast, we can follow it." He threw a look at Martha. "Give me a hand. Grab this." He gestured at some kind of handle. Martha glanced down at her teacup and sighed. She dropped it as gently as she could and ran over to the Doctor.
"Hold that down," he instructed. "This isn't going to be a pretty landing."
Martha pressed down on the handle with both hands and closed her eyes, hoping that the Doctor knew what he was doing.
Of course he does. He always does.
"Allons-y," she muttered to herself as the room shook around them.
After what seemed like an eternity, the TARDIS finally settled. Martha opened her eyes to see that the Doctor was already halfway down the ramp.
"You coming?" he asked, as if oblivious to the fact that thirty seconds ago it had felt like the entire box was going to come apart, relative dimensions or no.
"We don't even know what's out there!" Martha protested, reluctantly relinquishing her hold on the handle.
"Only one way to find out!" the Doctor replied, and bounded out the door. Martha sighed. He was such a kid sometimes.
"Wait for me!" she called, hurrying after him.
Whatever Martha had been expecting, the view outside the TARDIS was not even close.
"It's...medieval," she said, looking around at the small village they had landed just outside. The Doctor furrowed his brow.
"Would be, if this were Earth." He sniffed the air. "Similar execution of technique, but definitely more technologically advanced than Earth in the Dark Ages."
Martha shook her head, bewildered and relatively certain he had just made that up. "Then where are we?"
The Doctor shrugged. "I'm as lost as you are."
Martha sighed. "Okay. But we followed something here, so shouldn't it, you know, be here?"
"Anomalies in space time," the Doctor explained. "It's here, but it's been here longer than we have. Few days at least. Maybe a week." He frowned. "But it doesn't belong here, whatever it is, so we'd better find it and send it back to wherever it came from."
He strode off towards the village, and Martha trailed after him, casting a nervous glance back at the TARDIS. She was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.
There were no people.
Martha had fully expected to be swarmed by suspicious villagers pointing and whispering about her skin, their clothes, the general strangeness of the two of them.
"There's no one here," she whispered to the Doctor. "Where is everyone?"
The Doctor looked back at her. "We don't know what got here before us."
"You think they're dead?" Martha hissed, stunned.
"No no no no no," the Doctor replied hastily. "Hiding, more likely."
"You would be correct," a voice stated suddenly. The Doctor and Martha turned to see a woman standing in a doorway, watching them. She walked slowly towards them, her long wheat coloured skirt brushing her sandaled feet.
"Who are you?" Martha demanded. The woman halted several feet from them.
"My name is Morybdu," she said. "I am the chief healer here. And you are?"
"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, "and this is Martha Jones."
"You are a doctor?" Morybdu asked. The Doctor nodded.
"And you are travellers," she continued.
"Yeah," Martha answered.
"Have you seen many places?" Morybdu asked.
"More than you could count," the Doctor replied. Morybdu tilted her head slightly.
"I imagine you are quite acquainted with enigmas?" she queried.
"I never have breakfast without finding one first," the Doctor joked. Morybdu raised her chin.
"Then perhaps you can help us with ours."
They followed Morybdu to a house on the very edge of town, as far away from the other buildings as possible, it seemed. The healer stopped just before the door.
"This may not be easy to see," she said quietly. "One of the nurses went mad."
"Show me," the Doctor said. Morybdu bowed her head.
"As you wish."
She pushed open the door.
The room was empty.
"I don't see..." Martha started.
"Shh," the Doctor hushed her.
"Up the stairs," Morybdu whispered.
The Doctor led. Martha followed uneasily, and Morybdu moved like a ghost behind them. Martha wondered if the woman was telling them the whole story.
At the top of the stairs, a closed door waited at the end of a short hallway. Martha knew that whatever had led the Doctor and her here was behind it.
Before she could say anything, the Doctor had reached out and opened the door.
Martha strained her eyes, but the room was too dark to see anything. Morybdu handed the Doctor a candle and a match.
"I cannot go in there," she apologised. "If I see it again..."
The Doctor lit the candle. "I know."
"We don't even know what it is," Martha protested.
"I don't have to," the Doctor replied quietly, and stepped into the room. Martha swallowed hard and moved to the doorway.
The dim glow illuminated a young man lying on a bed, his body motionless. Martha estimated his age at about nineteen, but she could never be sure anymore.
The rise and fall of his breathing was barely perceptible, and for a moment before she saw it, Martha wondered if he was even still alive. Both of his wrists were bandaged, and there was another strip of gauze over his eyes.
The Doctor set the candle down on a small table beside the bed, kneeling. He fished out his clever specs and put them on, squinting slightly as he then pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his inner breast pocket and scanned it down the boy's form.
"He didn't come here of his own free will," the Doctor observed gravely.
"Weeping Angel?" Martha offered hesitantly.
"Something like that," the Doctor replied. "But his journey was far more violent. Weeping Angel touches you, you land fine, you're just stranded. This boy was battered." He stepped towards the door and called to Morybdu.
"Why are his eyes covered?"
"It was necessary," Morybdu said, adding no explanation.
"Let's find out," the Doctor muttered, and tore the bandage away.
The boy 's eyes flew open, and the Doctor inhaled sharply.
"Residual energy with no place to go," he breathed. "An impossibility contained in flesh. No wonder that nurse went mad."
"What is it?" Martha asked.
"Come see," the Doctor said.
Martha stepped into the room, unsure of what she was about to see.
The candle lent a fiery gleam to the boy's eyes, but Martha had the strangest feeling that they would have glowed regardless of exterior illumination. His irises flashed and burned a thousand colours.
"It's like a storm inside his head," she whispered, still in shock.
"There is a storm inside his head," the Doctor corrected. "Whatever power wasn't used up in sending him here is all in there, tearing through his mind like a hurricane."
The Doctor turned back to the boy. He had remained unmoving, as if unaware of the presence of others in the room.
"He's still unconscious," the Doctor said gravely. "There's no room for him in his own mind."
"What do we do?" Martha asked. The Doctor removed his specs.
"I can absorb the energy, no problem," he replied. "The problem will then be figuring out where and when he belongs, because he can't stay here."
"Can't we just...ask him?" Martha ventured, feeling foolish.
"His memories will be shattered, the way that energy's raging inside his head," the Doctor said, his voice low. "He might not even survive. That firestorm might be the only thing keeping him alive." He seemed almost to hesitate, as if reconsidering.
"But we have to try," Martha argued. "He'll die if we don't."
The Doctor considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"He will."
Gingerly, the Time Lord placed his fingers against the boy's temples. Without realising it, Martha stepped back to the doorway, watching as brilliant iridescent tendrils began to wind around the Doctor's hands.
Moments later, the Doctor stepped back, exhaling heavily.
"It's done," he stated.
"Is he still alive?" Martha asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.
"Only just," the Doctor sighed.
Morybdu placed her hand lightly on Martha's shoulder, and Martha jumped. She had forgotten about the healer.
"Thank you, Doctor," Morybdu said quietly. "We are in your debt."
"No one owes me anything," he replied.
"You will at least join us for our evening meal?" Morybdu offered. "That would allow you to monitor his condition in a more...stable environment."
"Certainly," the Doctor agreed. "We haven't got anywhere else we need to be, right, Martha?"
Martha shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the boy in the bed.
Where does he need to be?
The meal was simple but delicious. Despite her unease, Martha found herself eating more than she expected. The Doctor chatted easily with the villagers, and Martha was surprised at how he engrossed himself in their stories. He seemed as enraptured by their tales of growing wheat as he would have been by chronicles of great battles. He truly was an incredible man.
Martha smiled. And she was the one to travel with him.
Supper was winding down. Everyone leaned back in their chairs, their stomachs full and their minds growing sleepy. The conversations were slowly lulling into a contemplative silence. Martha reached out to nudge the Doctor.
"Doctor."
A new voice spoke his name before she could. Each person at the long table turned towards the door.
The boy stood silhouetted by the evening sun, casting a long slender shadow across the table. Some of the villagers gasped, and a low murmur spread through the room.
The Doctor was beginning to stand up when the boy spoke again.
"The Bad Wolf...saved my life."
"How do you know that name?" the Doctor demanded. "Who told you that name?"
"Someday," the boy replied, then collapsed.
The Doctor raced to his side, but the boy had already lost consciousness.
"What is it?" Martha asked. "What's the Bad Wolf?"
"A ghost," the Doctor replied grimly.