A/N:
At the moment, I'm re-watching all of Doctor Who (well, just the reboot, not classic who), so I invented this AU while watching series 3 and I rapidly became obsessed with it. I just find the Doctor-Martha dynamic interesting, and also I adore the complexity of the Master's character as well as his relationship with the Doctor. I'll be updating this fic once a week, on a Wednesday. I hope you enjoy! Reviews and follows/favourites are always appreciated :)
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Groaning, Martha Jones lazily rolled over in bed, completely cocooned in her duvet. Her morning alarm, which she was currently reaching over to turn off, buzzed repetitively like a wasp overcome with tedium. She vaguely acknowledged the time: 6:15am. Sighing irritably, she placed a hand on her forehead and gently closed her eyes again.
Bzzzt. Bzz-
"Alright! I heard you the first hundred times!" Martha yelled exasperatedly at the alarm as she abruptly threw her covers off her and swung her feet over the bed, slamming her fist down on the alarm button to end its malevolent reign. The next part of her automatic daily routine was to check her mobile for messages and emails, so she did; her phone revealed that she had one voicemail from her friend Vicky about meeting up, and a text from her boss to remind her to go straight to her office when she arrived at work that morning. Hang on, why did that ring a bell…?
That was it! Leaping up from her bed, Martha grinned to herself. In the depressing fog of having just woken up on a Monday morning, she'd almost forgotten – after recently going for a game-changing interview, Martha had received a promotion that would elevate her status from Detective Constable to Detective Sergeant, and that new job started today. The mere realisation of the beginning of a new chapter in her life immediately stimulated motivation within Martha, therefore she excitedly sprung across the room and delved into her wardrobe, attempting to select the perfect outfit for her new position. Eventually, she exited with a neat light-blue blouse, accompanied by a freshly ironed dark grey suit jacket and a matching knee-length pencil skirt.
At only twenty-nine years old, Martha Jones was rather young to be a Detective Sergeant, and prejudice due to her age was something she put up with every day. In fact, life as a young, female, black cop was certainly difficult to endure at times, however Martha more than proved her worth. The police had captured her interest ever since she was a child growing up in the heart of London, so she had committed herself to relentlessly pursuing this dream. She studied law at college and law and criminology at university for three years, attaining one of the highest grades in her whole year, before joining the police force, then the CID, and qualifying as a Detective Constable at an admirable twenty-five years of age. Martha was determined, strong-willed, intelligent, and all-round incredibly skilled at what she did. So, it was no surprise that she'd earned a promotion after only four years of being a constable.
After she'd got washed and dressed, Martha dashed downstairs, only to bump into her younger sister making breakfast.
"Oi, watch where you're going! We don't all have important, live-saving jobs to get to, you know." She teased.
Martha replied jokingly as a continuation of the familial banter. "Says the government girl. You never know, next week you might have an interview to be Harriet Jones' secretary."
"I wish! But you're right – one day, I might be your boss."
"I'd like to see you try. Now, budge over and let me get some toast, will you?" Martha playfully nudged, thought she genuinely needed to get breakfast due to her rush to get into work.
Yes, Martha was currently sharing a flat with her little sister, Letitia (Tish, for short) Jones, a twenty-five year old local government employee whose sights were set on bigger things. She one day hoped to work in Downing Street, even though her humble nature caused her to think that that was highly improbable. Martha got on well with Tish, although the younger sister had unfortunately always been a little envious of her older sister's success, however she would never make it obvious. Tish was immensely caring and clever, though her timidness was perhaps what held her back.
"Right," Martha declared as she poured a glass of orange juice, then rapidly downed it. "I don't have time to stay for much longer, so it's breakfast-on-the-go for me. See you later, Tish." The older sister placed her empty glass in the sink, grabbed a hastily buttered slice of toast, and planted a light kiss on the top of her sister's head before exiting the kitchen.
"Good luck sis! Byeee-" That was all that Tish had time to say before the front door of their apartment slammed shut as Martha departed.
Upon entering the police building (aka. a giant stack of offices), Martha practically jogged to the coffee machine on the third floor – her department – and rushed to make a standard latte before she headed for her boss' office. Just as Martha exited the lift, much to her humiliation, she ran straight into a man, probably in his early 60s, causing the files he was holding to scatter all over the corridor floor.
"Oh! I'm so sorry – here, let me help." Martha instantly bent down and scrambled to retrieve his files, remaining extremely apologetic.
"Don't worry about it, dear. I'll pick up the rest, it's alright-"
"No! No, I've got them, it's fine." Before the old man could protest, Martha had picked up all of his papers and cheerily handed them back to him. As soon as she stood up again, she could observe the man's appearance in much more detail; his watery blue eyes seemed kind and gentle on the surface, but she could sense a whole life of turbulent emotions hidden behind them. His wispy white hair floated about his ears like an innocent cloud, however a slight gap at the hairline suggested it was most likely a wig. He wore round-rimmed glasses that were crooked in a comical manner, giving him an amusingly harmless exterior. After having stared at him for a good long few seconds, Martha realised she was beginning to look rude.
"Forgive me, I never asked your name!" She exclaimed in a friendly manner.
"Of course – I'm Professor Yana, I teach criminal psychology to students at the university a few streets away. I used to be a detective here, you see, many years ago. Before your time. I just popped in to check up on the place. I daresay it's far busier and more confusing nowadays. Anyhow, who might you be?" The professor spoke kindly, with the air of a generic elderly person reminiscing about their past.
"Sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I'm Martha Jones. I actually got a promotion, so I'm starting my new job as a Detective Sergeant today." She spoke with a combination of humbleness and politeness, the ideal mixture to bounce off the professor's personality.
"Oh, I'd best be off then! Good luck, Martha Jones. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again." Despite his gentle persona, Martha couldn't help noticing that Professor Yana's final words were tinged with an oddly sinister tone. Before she could reply, he smiled as if nothing was out of place and strode away, his back turned towards her, never looking back once. It was as if Martha had just spoken with a ghost. One minute, here; the next, gone.
Shaking her head slightly, as if shaking off the old man's presence, Martha then continued on her way, winding and weaving her way through the halls until she reached her boss' office. Knocking hesitantly on the door that was a tiny bit ajar, she awaited an encouragement to enter the room. She wasn't waiting long.
"Come in, Martha." A heavy yet somehow light-hearted voice called out to her.
Stepping in, Martha couldn't help but question her boss. "How did you know it was me?"
"By your footsteps, knock, gentle breathing, the height of your shadow on the glass of my door… I didn't spend over half my life training and being a detective for nothing, you know." The boss' name was engraved on a golden name plate upon her desk: Sarah Jane Smith. The woman herself had autumnal brown hair that swept over her shoulders – despite it generally being regulation to tie hair back, Ms Smith refused to, as a reflection of her stubborn attitude. Her face was benevolent and familial, although she had a few age lines appearing prematurely due to the stress of her job as a Detective Chief Inspector. She was in her late 40s to early 50s, and her superior (though not patronising in any way) demeanour suggested she was experienced and incredibly suited to her job as a leader.
Martha blushed a little in response to DCI Smith's intellectual statement. "Of course." She remarked quietly.
"Anyway, do take a seat. Actually, don't. I know you already know all the ins and outs of the job, and that you're more than qualified, so we might as well get down to business." As she spoke, DCI Smith rose from her seat behind her desk and strolled towards the door, gesturing for Martha to follow her. As the two colleagues began to walk in step down the corridor, DCI Smith continued to explain to situation. "So, I know your promotion is to be a Detective Sergeant, and that still is the case, however I've made the decision to pair you up with someone a bit more experienced. With your advanced skill, I do think it will be beneficial to you, as well as the department as a whole."
As her boss carried on speaking, Martha's trepidation and a hint of anxiety began blooming inside her, especially as she was now leading her into the elevator and pressing the button for the fourth floor, which was the department above her current one. When DCI Smith observed Martha's bordering on terrified expression when looking at the fourth floor button, she smiled reassuringly and explained.
"Ah yes – I did tell you in your interview that, as a Detective Sergeant, you'd remain on the third floor but gain more control over your department. Because of my decision, you're actually moving up to the fourth floor, however you won't have a great deal of control over the other colleagues because they're-"
"Detective Inspectors. The fourth floor is for Detective Inspectors. It's where your office is supposed to be, apart from there's no room up there." Martha finished, staring directly at her boss, who returned her gaze.
"Yes, that's right. Your new partner is a Detective Inspector, hence the 'more experienced' that I described him as." Just as DCI Smith finished her sentence, the lift doors pinged open to reveal a bustling floor. The boss immediately strode out of the elevator and towards their destination, whereas Martha struggled to keep up.
"But I'm not qualified enough! Am I even allowed to work with DI's?" She inquired, getting rather worked up now.
"It's not a common thing, though technically, yes you can. I'm taking advantage of this and making it happen. Like I said, it will be beneficial to you, and I know that, with your capabilities, you'll be able to keep up, no problem. Now, here we are." Before Martha could intervene with another anxiety-induced question, DCI Smith reached an office right at the end of the corridor and briefly knocked before entering without invitation.
"Here we go." She beckoned Martha to join her in the room. "Detective Sergeant Martha Jones, meet Detective Inspector John Smith, your new partner."
"Ah, Martha! Martha Jones… It's brilliant to meet you at last. Just brilliant! I've heard a lot about you – all good, of course. Seriously though, we'll have great fun working together! I can't wait- Oh, you should really stop me when I start babbling, I just don't stop! Anyway, how are you? Can I get you anything, tea, coffee, biscuits, water…? Gah, I love having a new partner, it's fantastic!"
"Uhh…" Martha honestly had no idea how to react to the bubbling ball of unadulterated positive energy in the form of a human being. When she was told she was getting a new partner that was a Detective Inspector, she imagined a grumpy, potentially misogynistic old man that would patronise her at any given opportunity, just for being younger, or female. The last thing she expected was a crazily optimistic man in his mid-30s, with adorable freckles and gravity-defying brown hair sticking up in all directions, who was currently grinning intensely at her. But she certainly wasn't complaining.
"Yeah, you'll get used to him after a day or two. His attitude is really quite contagious." DCI Smith muttered into Martha's ear, then smiled and turned to both her and John. "Right! I'll leave you two to it, then. I'm sure you'll get on great."
"Hang on, a-are you related? You know, same surname and all." Martha interjected with the only thing she could think of quickly enough so she wouldn't be left alone with John too early.
"Oh, yes, 'Smith' is a shared surname of ours. But no, no relation. If that's all…?" DCI Smith cleared things up.
"Yep, that's everything! I can't wait to get to know my new partner. Martha Jones. The excitement's unbearable!" John Smith replied to their boss before Martha could.
"Yeah…" Martha attempted enthusiasm, but it mostly came off as concern for her own sanity. She directed a final 'help me' glance at DCI Smith as she was leaving, but all she got in return was a thumbs up, as if to say 'good luck'. And boy, was she gonna need it.