Hi all! Here's my new offering. I think it'll be a bit bizarre.

And let me just start out by saying, that this story has a "secret identity," a spoiler from the get-go, which I will reveal as an Author's Note at some point in the next few/several chapters, when I feel the moment is appropriate. If I give away the secret now, it will give too much of the game away too soon. Although, if you've been reading my stuff, you may realize what's happening on your own! If you do, please don't let on in reviews. You can feel free to send me a PM, though.

So, suffice it to say, here we go again! I know the first chapter is short, but it does contain a QUALITY cliffie. :-)

Chapter 1

Francine and Clive Jones had gone upstairs in a state of resignation. She had been muttering all the things she could not or would not say to her daughter, and he had been shushing, lulling and reassuring her. Martha and the Doctor had watched them go, knowing that no-one was entirely comfortable with the situation. They shrugged at one another, then picked up Martha's two duffels, headed across the street and into the TARDIS. They would be back for Tish's birthday in August, and then for the start of clinical rotations in early September.

A long discussion had occurred in which the Doctor, Martha, and even Clive, had assured Francine that of course their middle daughter's new romance with the Time Lord would not interfere with her family life, or, more importantly, her studies. The Doctor had acknowledged that Martha absolutely needed to finish medical school, and had agreed to take her on the road no more than one-third of the time, so that she could concentrate on passing her exams next spring.

Martha's mother had asked a million questions, and the uneasy couple had done their best to answer them, without disclosing anything unneeded.

How old was the Doctor, really? Nine hundred and three.

No, really? Really.

Would he stop loving her if he regenerated? Very, very unlikely.

Could he maybe use some of his regeneration powers to ensure Martha's safety? No, sorry, it doesn't work that way.

What if he got captured again, like he had by the Master, only on a distant planet - what's Martha supposed to do then? It had happened before, and she had always found a way to get him out of it.

Didn't he think it was irresponsible of him to put anyone in that situation? Perhaps it is, but that's why he had a tendency to travel with responsible people. Well, more or less.

How many times had he been in relationships like this with companions? Well, that's a bit touchy to discuss...

Had he been married? Yes.

More than once? Yes.

Had children? Yes.

What had happened to them? That's a longer conversation for not so late at night...

"And kids, forgive me," she had asked in her businesslike way. "But, what kinds of precautions are you taking? You know, to prevent pregnancy?"

"Oh," Martha said, standing up. "We are so done talking now."

Clive and the Doctor were able to calm them both long enough to end the conversation civilly, the worried parents had gone to bed, and for now, the lovers were free.

Free, though only for a very short while, because within a few minutes of dematerialising from the Jones family's street, the TARDIS picked up a wonky signal coming from somewhere in middle America.

"What do you mean by wonky?" Martha asked the Doctor, staring earnestly at the screen full of Gallifreyan symbols, as if she were at all capable of helping to make sense of them.

"Just something alien, trying to disguise itself as everyday human technology," he answered. "It's trying to cloak."

"But they weren't banking on us tracking 'em down," she muttered, still staring at the screen.

"Nope," he agreed.

They set a course to land in the vicinity, and when they exited the TARDIS, they found themselves in the midst of a crowd, convivial enough, in what looked like a very large park. A quick glance about let them know that they were in Chicago, at some sort of International festival. People were walking past them, wearing all manner of interesting costumes, and eating exotic foods; two blonde women in kimonos were eating Wienerschnitzel off a stick and a man in Lederhosen was walking with a little with a plush Eiffel Tower hat on her head, eating gelato.

There were booths nearby with different games and culture-specific activities to do, some of which were simply exhibits with video enhancements and dioramas, some of which were cute little ring-toss games that the Scandinavians play, handed down from the Vikings.

The Doctor couldn't help but smile widely, and Martha laughed out loud at the fun atmosphere.

"Who ever said the Americans don't care about anyone but themselves?" she asked.

"Hellooooo Chicago!" a voice said in the distance, coming through speakers. "Are you all having a good time?"

With that, some of the people around them cheered; others were absorbed in something else.

"I'm your meeew-sical host for the day, Vance Ray, and I'm here to kick off an afternoon of multicultural, multilingual, meeeew-sical fun! We're gonna kick off today with an Oldie but a goodie, right here from the good old U.S. of A! In a meeeew-sical style indicative of this great country of ours, and lyrics that invoke our undaunted patriotic spirit! Are you ready?"

Again, a few cheers came through, but the crowd was really much more interested in the games and food.

"Hey, Chicago! I'm talking to you! You, with the Moo-shoo pork in your hand! Hey, you, with the Statue of Liberty shirt! You, dude, with that curried turkey leg! You, with the brown suit and the blue box! You, the guy dressed like the Crocodile Hunter! Talking to you! Are you ready?" he shouted even louder.

"Did you hear that?" the Doctor asked Martha, his eyes wide.

"Hear what?" she asked, amid the now much more enthusiastic cheering from the crowd.

But he did not answer. Instead, they both found themselves muted, deafened and compressed. From head to toe, they felt their bodies go flat, and were whisked, whipped through some kind of tunnel. They could not scream, nor put conscious thought to the nausea they felt.

And then they were dumped, unceremoniously, in a field. They found themselves ankle-deep in mud, and thigh-high in grass. Within a few moments, they were surrounded by angry-looking men with guns.