Complications

by Kathryn Andersen

Chapter 2: Face the Facts

Martha sat with her phone in her hand, but she wasn't looking at it. Her thoughts circled like vultures hovering over something unpleasant. She had to call him. She didn't want to. She did want to. How would he react? What could she do? She had to call him.

"Oh, stop dithering," she muttered to herself. She flipped open the phone and hit the speed dial.

The voice that answered was cautious. "Hello?" But it was his voice; the Doctor.

"Doctor?"

"Martha?" he said, as if he didn't quite believe it.

"Who else would it be?" Calm, calm, think calm.

"Well, any one of the many people you failed to give your new number to," he said. "Such as Tish, your mother, Julia, Morgenstern, Doctor Tom Mulligan, your hairdresser -"

"Tom called this number?"

"So it's 'Tom', is it?"

"But I didn't give him this number," Martha said, her mind seizing on any distraction.

"Must be a resourceful bloke," the Doctor said.

"Yeah, he's thinking of working with UNICEF in Africa. He's a pediatrician."

"Africa, now there's a place," the Doctor said. "Nearly got married to the High Priestess of Opar, once. Wasn't actually a lost city so much as a crashed spaceship, but Burroughs wrote it as a Lost City. He said it was simpler that way."

"You've met Edgar Rice Burroughs?"

"Yeah, he traveled with me for a bit," the Doctor said. "His Venus books weren't actually about Venus; they were about the double-planet system of Etheria-Marhabu. The real inhabitants of Venus aren't humanoid at all; they're green, have five legs and get about by jumping."

"Doctor," she said with an edge in her voice. She'd forgotten how hard it was to stop him in full flow. It was at once both soothing and frustrating.

"What? It's true!"

"Yes, of course it's true," she said. "But-"

"But you didn't just call for a chat," the Doctor said. "How bad is it?" His voice was grim.

"The world isn't ending, there isn't an invasion, no ravening alien hordes or plagues or anything," Martha said quickly. "But I need you to come here."

"What's the matter? Is it your family?"

"No, no, they're fine," Martha said. "Just come. Please. I'll explain when you get here."

-oOo-

The person on the platform of the "visitor's lift" was dressed in a blue pinstriped suit. His hands were in his pockets, as if an invisible lift was an everyday occurrence for him. "Jack," he called out, as the lift made its stately descent, "you really need to get better security if you're trying to keep hostile aliens out of here."

"Only if they can see through a perception filter," Jack called up to him.

"Okay, good point," the Doctor conceded. "Nice place you've got here. Very Victorian underground."

"We try," Jack said.

As soon as he stepped off the platform, the Doctor asked, "Where's Martha?"

"In my office," Jack said. "She'll explain everything."

-oOo-

"Martha?"

"Doctor," Martha said. She'd forgotten how tall he was. It was like meeting people at family reunions; familiar yet strange, the distance of time overcome by the rock-solid foundation of affection. She stepped forward just as he held out his arms, and they hugged each other. "You came," she said into his shoulder.

"Of course I came." He took her by the shoulders, his face full of concern. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

"I-" Martha broke off. How am I going to explain this? "Something happened to me-"

She broke off as he frowned in puzzlement. Then he sniffed deeply, and laid one hand against her forehead. She expected his touch to be cool, but it was almost warm. Is he-? No. Body temperature. We have the same body temperature. She shivered involuntarily, and not from cold. He touched her neck with his other hand, feeling her pulse. He shook his head and the flicker of hope in his face died. "Only one beat," he said, the faintest of tremors in his voice. "Stupid of me to think-"

"I'm still growing the other one," she said quickly.

He stared at her, jaw slack with shock. "You're still growing the other..."

"It was called Reset - I went undercover, and they shot me full of this drug - and it's rewritten my DNA because of the lymphocytes - nobody realized what would - it only happened a few days ago," Martha said, all in a rush. "Can you change me back?"

"You want me to change you back," he said flatly, his expression frozen.

She had studied his face often enough to know what that meant. He's hurt, and hiding it. Because... because I don't want to be a Time Lord. She started to be angry, then. Angry at him for making this more difficult, and angry at herself for wanting to listen to the little voice which said that he'd notice her at last, if she gave in; angry at herself for wanting to give in. "It's my life," she snapped. "I was born a human being, I don't want to be something else." She looked away from him. "I don't want to be your shadow," she said softly.

"Martha, look at me," he said.

She wasn't a coward; she looked.

"You were never my shadow," he said. "You're Martha Jones, and that means magnificent."

"And I want to stay Martha Jones," she said, ignoring his flattery. "What's wrong with that? Don't I have the right to be me?"

"You're still Martha Jones," he said.

"Yes, now," she said. "But who will I become?"

"More," he said. His eyes were full of promises. Promises he wouldn't be able to keep.

"Change me back," she said.

His voice trembled. "I can't." She'd seen that expression on his face before; it was the one he wore when he told her he couldn't change history, that he couldn't save someone; the face of sorrow and death.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Martha said. It wasn't the first time she'd argued with that face, either. "You still have the chameleon-"

"It would kill you," he interrupted.

"It didn't kill you," she said.

"You're undergoing genetic modification, which is also what the chameleon arch does. Put the two together, and your DNA would unravel like knitting ravaged by the claws of a very enthusiastic cat."

"Undergoing genetic modification," she said. "But once the process was complete...?" I have to change back, I have to.

He shook his head. "It still wouldn't be stable enough. It wouldn't be stable short of regeneration, and I don't even know if you can do that. This kind of change... it's like you're a hybrid clone... it really wouldn't work."

"And if I regenerated, if I could regenerate, I'd still lose myself; become a different person." No matter what I do, I lose. She bit her lip. "I'd rather be-"

"Don't!" he said sharply. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. There's so much to live for, so much to see, so much to experience. So much universe out there. Don't throw that away. Please. I couldn't..."

"I thought you considered immortality a curse," she said, fighting off the appeal in those eyes.

"It is when you're alone," he answered. "You wouldn't be."

"Is that an offer? Or are you just afraid of being alone again, yourself?" She remembered his grief at the death of the Master. Not grief. Devastation. "Am I just some substitute-"

"No," he snapped. "I see you, Martha Jones. I see you. Not him. Not her. You."

"You're just saying that," she said. Don't get your heart broken again, Martha.

"Words are all I have," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took you for granted. You keep on doing the impossible for me. Over and over again. That year-" He broke off. "That year, you kept me going. Knowing you were out there, knowing you were alive. Nobody else could have done what you did. Nobody."

"So you're grateful," she said, a bitter twist to her mouth.

"Martha," he said. "Since when have I been grateful to the people who help me save the world? We do what we do because we must, because it's the right thing to do."

"So it means nothing."

"No!" He ran his hands through his hair. "Let me make this clear: you're not a Time Lord. You can't ever be a Time Lord: there's more to that than mere genetics. There's culture and history-"

"I know," she said, unable to suppress a sigh. Never good enough. "I've never seen the golden sky and silver leaves of Gallifrey, and I never will. I've never sung your songs, read your books-"

"There's the TARDIS Library," he said, "but that's beside the point. The point I am trying to make is, you can't be a substitute Time Lord, and I don't want you to be. Do you really think I'd be daft enough to want you to be something you're not?" He pointed at her. "You, Martha Jones, are unique and precious and I don't want to lose you again."

"You haven't lost me," Martha said. "I'm right in front of you." Is he seeing me? Is he really seeing me at last?

"You walked out," the Doctor said.

"You didn't stop me," she said.

"I didn't think I could."

"One word-"

"No," he said, "it wouldn't have stopped you. You were right. I let you go on thinking you were second-best, and you weren't. You needed to be free of me, to be with your family. To heal."

"And now this."

He gave a wry smile. "Yes, now this." He scratched his head. "Could you run by me what happened exactly, in a bit more detail?"

"I'll do better than that," she said. "I'll show you." She gestured to the door.

"Lead on, Doctor Jones."

TBC