"Run!"

Martha hurtled over a small obstruction and tore down the corridor, the Doctor close behind. She heard the hum of the sonic screwdriver, then, "Left!"

Diving around the corner, Martha paused, sucking in great gasps of air. Her running skills were steadily improving, thanks to this new, life-threatening exercise regime, but the air seemed thicker here, harder to draw in and out. She put her hands on her knees.

"Don't give up on me yet!" the Doctor cried, rounding the corner and flashing her a bracing smile. "We're almost there!"

She took his hand, and together they tore off again. Behind them, the wispy forms of the Kraavin were gathering, hovering in midair like ghosts. Their telepathy plucked at the edges of Martha's mind, and she stumbled, the Doctor yanking at her arm to keep her from falling.

"Close your mind!" he shouted, running even faster. "Think about boxes, doors, gates, anything! Don't let them take you!"

She tried, but the Kraavin, finding the Doctor's mind impenetrable, were focusing their collective energy at her. They tore open her thoughts of boxes and doors, and she screamed, falling to the floor. Desperately, the Doctor heaved her upright, half-carrying her down the next corridor.

"Strangers...must...die..." whispered a hoarse voice that came from Martha, but was not hers. The Doctor supported her weak frame as he shoved open the doors of the TARDIS. Leaning against the door frame, he placed one hand on Martha's forehead and repelled the alien mind. As she blinked at him, he pushed her inside and slammed the door closed.

"Bit of a rough patch there, wasn't it?" he crowed, flying to the the console and taking them into the Vortex. Martha moved to join him, swaying a little. Her head throbbed, and every step brought a fresh wave of nausea with it. Sinking to the grille floor, she wished dimly for aspirin.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asked, turning from the console to look at her properly.

"I think so," Martha replied. "Got a bit of a headache, though."

"Not surprising. You're not telepathic by nature, and they ripped right through those defenses. We were a few months early...the war was coming to an end. Still, it was a bit of fun, wasn't it?"

Fun was not the first thought in Martha's mind. She kneaded at her forehead.

"If it's alright with you, I think I'll take an aspirin and lie down for a bit," she said, clutching at the railing as the nausea broke over her.

"Ah, yes. Well. Of course." The Doctor seemed a little embarrassed, but he didn't contradict her. Or offer to take her to the infirmary, either, Martha noticed. She grinned in spite of the pain. Typical, that he would be too prideful to admit he had almost gotten her brain sucked up by an alien consciousness. Of course, she had too much pride to admit how badly her head really hurt, so they were sort of even.

"Night," she said, stumbling into her bedroom. It was pleasantly cool and dim, and Martha sank into the bed, forgetting the aspirin entirely. She was asleep within seconds.

It was a beach. A cold, windy beach. Martha drew her jacket closer around her, shivering as the spray hit her. On a rock only a few yards away, a girl sat, gazing at the writhing ocean. She seemed unperturbed by the cold; in fact, she seemed like she barely registered any feeling at all. Her blonde hair whipped around her face in the wind, and as Martha drew closer, she could see the silver tracks of tears on her cheeks.

"Who are you?" Martha asked. The girl looked at her, her brown eyes large and knowing and, Martha thought, tired.

"I don't know," the girl answered slowly. "I was a shopgirl, once. I was the Bad Wolf, once. I remember who I was to him, but I don't think I'm that person anymore."

"Who were you to him?" He was irrelevant, Martha knew. Who she was, on the other hand, was terribly important.

"He called me the defender of Earth," the girl answered softly. "Rose."