Accepting prompts / requests today, a friend asked me for Martha Jones showing off her badass doctor skills because there hasn't been enough of that in - series. Despite never having written before I was very happy to try my hand at this because damn MJ u a star indeed. [ lovesss. ]
Enjoy!
THAT ONE TIME WHEN I WAS
[ tenth | martha ]
There was no such thing as rest for the wicked, but time and time again it came to prove that particularly the good were not even allowed a leisurely cup of tea. Breakfast blend, actually, and a very English plate to match at that, but with the car clapping into the poor crossing cyclist, Martha Jones was unsure whether she'd still get the mush of beans, tomato and bacon downed after.
Nothing a lot more gross than smothered lukewarm egg, after all.
" 'Scuse me, could you — ?! " She had immediately relinquished her seat at the roadside pub, but still not swiftly enough to press ahead of the clustering conglomeration of mumbling disaster tourists.
She tightened her mouth faintly, the crease of her brow much more evident. " Hello?! " She tried again, faintly indignant, as the three - row wall of people before her didn't budge in the slightest. " Could you just — I'm a doctor! "
No reaction.
Twenty - first century, and still problems being female and black. " DOCTOR! "
Maybe they'd let tall, sideburned blokes with flashy psychic paper through.
She felt a sudden nudge in her back that indicated his arrival, but was distracted from turning around by the woman next to her, who, cellphone to her ear, brought up her finger to indicate Martha to hush.
" Oh, no no no no! " She heard behind her, in the rapid soft spitfire voice he used whenever he gave explanations. " No need to call! We have a doctor! "
Martha finally swiveled, a grin blooming. When she came to face with him, however, the expression dropped, because he was regarding her with a certain impish pride she could not appropriately react to.
" Are you not, Martha Jones? " He quipped, gently and a little too knowingly.
She stared at him for a moment ( wait, was she being given credit — was she being given the limelight?! ), and then, as she became aware of the sets of eyes enclosing her and burning with both hope and disbelief at the good fortune, she set herself to real half a smile, corner of her mouth triumphantly curling, and gave a determined nod. " You bet I am, mr. Smith! "
Well, doctor in training and currently on a hiatus of sorts, but they'd long practiced travel accidents — she knew fair well how to handle the situation until the ambulance arrived.
" DOCTOR! " She heard the man with the actual name wave about excitedly. " DOCTOR COMING THROUGH! " It was a brilliant cover - up for her earlier shoot ( what else to expect of the Timelord? ), and, suddenly, the fortress of folks parted like the seas before Moses.
Oh, and was she gonna be a saviour.
" Got you a new cup. " He sniffed, distractly, nodding his head off to mug of steaming hot water, glasses on and very busy fiddling with his sonic screwdriver and a wad of cash implying he'd just rigged another ATM.
Martha sighed heavily, and dropped down upon her chair, hands flopping into her lap.
" Is he gonna be okay? " The Doctor still spoke in a vacant mumble, tinkering with the settings some.
" Should be. " Martha turned her head from the direction the ambulance had disappeared in, and gave a light shrug, raising her arms in the motion. " Step by step. Done it all. Personel said he'd be good now. " That I did good, she mentally added, but buried herself in steeping her tea instead, not exactly expecting praise even if she did mention such.
" You did good. "
She froze.
It was not long enough for her to open - faced and crying - eyed look up at him ( dry, still, but full of awe and confusion and on the verge of a curled - in emotional outburst ) and catch his bleak and pale expression and the gaze he cast down because there was the underlying thought.
" You did good, " He repeats, pocketing the screwdriver and peering off at an indefined freckle of clouds.
Better than Rose would have here, it hangs between them.
Martha Jones was still very grateful when a new plate came ( ' all on the house ' , the waiter mentioned ), but she was too light and raised upon his list for more a breathy, hitching thanks.