Tish wasn't even having it.

"No way Martha, there is no way you are bailing on me on this one. You have known about this for weeks, I just knew you would try to bail on me at the last minute."

Martha shrugged as if the woman on the phone could see her gesture of disinterest. "What can I say T Tish, work is short staffed."

"Oh no Martha Anne Jones!" Tish bellowed loud enough to make Martha move the phone away from her ear. Far away. "Don't you dare blame this one on work. I have had it up to here with your residence in Martyrdom!"

Martha wondered if now would be a bad time to point out her sister's resemblance to their mother.

Probably.

"Tish, I have to stay tonight and help out. There aren't enough people here to cover a Saturday night, and you can only imagine how crazy things can get."

"Don't make me show up there to check things out Martha." Tish threatened.

"Tish, come on give it a rest, yeah?"

But the rest Martha was begging for was nowhere on Tish's agenda. "Ever since your divorce from Mickey, you haven't done anything, gone anywhere, been with anyone."

"Tish, I am still in the mourning stage of my divorce."

"Mourning my ass. You are going through the same shit that ruined your marriage in the first place."

Tish." Martha warned, knowing full well where this conversation was headed. "Stop right there before you tread onto dangerous-"

"Dangerous what? You are still pining over someone-thing, that you are never going to have. Why don't you just give it up already. Or, join a convent. Something. Just, stop pretending you are trying to move on in your life, because the truth is, you are not moving on at all. You are stuck on stupid and you will be forever if you are not careful, and do you know where that gets you?"

Martha let her silence speak for itself.

"It gets you a flat with doilies, hard candies in fake crystal dishes, and a million cats. Alone. Always alone Martha. He does not give a shit about you and he never will. Join the land of the living, some out and play with the humans for a while." The sound of the connection being severed was louder than Martha could have imagined on a mobile.

"That phone aint gonna dial itself." Nurse Patel muttered as she passed by,.

"There is an app for that." Martha countered as she wondered if Nurse Patel ever maintained a stationary location.

Martha shut her phone and turned to the attending nurse at the station. "Is there anything about that broken arm?"

The nurse shrugged and pointed to the file sitting in the in box.

"You should go out with your sister. Meet the new guy she wants to hook you up with." Patel smirked from the other side of the desk.

Martha shrugged non committedly and refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of her nurse's summation.

"I just think that you are young, and free, and sticking around this hospital cannot be good for you." Patel went on, pretending no to pay attention to the younger woman. "Unless men in bandages and comas in your thing."

Martha again shrugged.

"He must have been some fella." Patel surmised without looking at Martha.

"He was." She agreed after a long pause.

Patel nodded and went on. "He dead?" she asked, her Indian accent coming through thickly.

"No, yes. Sort of."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The arm was broken.

She hated when the patient was right. It was not a personal affront to her technique nor her ability as a doctor. It was the fact that she had to swallow humble pie and admit that some nurse knew as much as she did about osteology as she did.

Curtain two was on the far side of the A and E, tucked in a corner away from the fray. Martha advanced upon the area as she thumbed through the x-rays. It was a greenstick break, the kind that would have occurred from torsion upon the bone in a spiral motion. If John Smith got his arm broken in a football game, then that was one rough ass game.

She was practicing her interrogation skills when she came upon the scene in the small exam room.

"Ahhh, come on Rory, say 'ahhh'" the voice implored.

"I am not going to open my mouth to let you examine my tongue. I have not injured my mouth. I have a broken arm."

"Just let him look at you, quit being such a baby," the female voice implored impatiently.

Martha was not sure if she should intrude upon what was obviously a personal moment, but the possibility of someone practicing medicine on what was her patient made it a matter of medical importance.

Martha Jones opened the door and entered the small room with a smile and a cadence what brokered no argument for control. "I have your test results Mr. Smith." she offered with a wave of the file in her hand.

The man in the tweed jacket and bow tie turned to face her entrance., "OH, " he remarked in a voice that dripped with surprise. "Well, look at that, we are blessed to be in the presence of Dr. Jones!' he exclaimed, hands moving from the face of the patient.

Martha stared at the young man in front of her. "Do I know you?" she asked quizzically.

The thin brunette smiled at her with all of the charm of a child caught in the act of stealing cookies. He made an odd motion at his lapel and cleared his throat. Martha subconsciously "Oh, right, I keep forgetting that they put our names on these things." she tugged at her coat.

The brunette smiled at her and turned his attention back to the man with the broken arm. "This is good Rory, she is going to fix you right up."

"Rory?" Martha asked, ashamed of feeling so confused in the situation. "I thought you were John Smith?"

The tall man in the bow tie fixed an acrid look at his friend. "What did you use that name for? That's my name. I like that name. I've used it for a long time; you had no right to steal it. " the man spoke in a voice that seemed to stem from both hurt and anger.

"Don't you yell at him!" the red headed woman defended.

The brunette turned to the red head and spoke. "Amy, I am trying to help him but I cannot if he uses things that do not belong to him."

"Oi!" the injured man interjected. "You told me to keep a low profile, what's lower than an alias?"

"Well, you didn't have to use mine!" he added.

"Whoa, wait a minute, what the hell is going on here." Martha spoke, finally sick of the disjointed conversation.

They ignored her anyway.

"You could have come up with a completely different alias, do you have any idea how many people have used that particular moniker?" the brown haired man insisted.

"Then why do you use it?"" the man that had been referred to as Rory asked, still holding his arm.

"And stop yelling at him , he was doing as he was told. You are the one who told us to keep a low profile!" The red head again insisted.

Martha, used to insanity in her job, surmised the situation and decided it was time to take control. "OK," she began. "This has gone on long enough. I have a patient in need of medical care, and if you two wish to continue your idiocracy, I suggest you do it in the waiting room while I attend to my patient." She finished.

The two non-patients in the room closed their mouths and eyed the dark skinned woman with a mixture of awe and reverence. "Sorry." The red head offered as she moved closer to her husband, "Is he gpoing to be ok?" she asked finally.

Martha nodded as she set about gathering the necessary tools for setting the cast on 'John's' arm. "He will be fine once I set his arm.. He will be able to go in an hour or so."

The lanky brunette nodded and moved to the other side of the room. "Right, thanks Martha I appreciate it." He offered with a nod.

Martha felt every single cell in her body cease for a moment, every single cell in her body stopped any and all function as she processed the ideas that ran through her mind. "My first name is not on my coat mate," she admitted as she began to wrap the man's arm.

The man in the tweed coat grinned and turned his face toward the beautiful doctor. "Guess you don't need to make that cast." He mentioned whipping out an odd instrument with a green light at the end.

"Guess not Doctor." Martha nodded as she stood and stepped away from her patient, watching as the Doctor healed Rory's would with a small pass of the odd instrument.

'