AN HOUR OR SO EARLIER:

"Martha!" The Doctor strolled across the TARDIS in search of his companion. He was worried about her. When he'd returned from his slow, stupid, human state a few hours ago it had been ok. He's blown up the family's ship, sorted them out and said goodbye to the now mildly annoying Joan Redfern. They'd had a hug, him and Martha, and she's announced she was going to have a shower. He'd nodded, and left her to it. That was an hour and a half ago, and Martha Jones had not yet emerged.

The Doctor had all three months of his memory intact and he remembered how Martha had been treated in 1913. No, how he had treated her in 1913. "Cultural differences," he'd mouthed to Nurse Redfern, as if he pitied her. Pitied her for something she should be proud of! He'd manhandled the small woman out of his office, he'd scorned her opinions, ignored her.

"Your favourite servant seems to have forgotten her place," the headmaster had said. And he's just nodded, because he agreed with the naïve man! He passed her everyday, scrubbing floors, cleaning, cooking, serving him and had he thanked her once? Never. But she'd greeted him every time he'd passed and he barely bothered to reply! And why should he? He was a British, white, teacher and she was a 'foreign' black servant. Why should he even know her name?

If it were anybody else, they would have abandoned him. Even Rose, anyone would have stormed out in disgust and abandoned John Smith as a human. He would have abandoned him! But Martha Jones just put up with his petty beliefs, his downright rude attitude towards her. He'd never seen her cry, never seen her lash out in anger, never seen her anything but slightly upset- and hiding it as well. Of course, as John

The Doctor hated himself.

He reached the door of her room and paused apprehensively. Despite both of them obstinately refusing to accept the fact, there was some sort of barrier that now existed between them following the events of 1913 and the Doctor hated it. He swallowed and tapped gently on the door. There was no answer.

"Marthaaaa," he said softly, his lips pressed against the door. "Martha, are you ok in there?" Still no reply. His converses shuffled against the floor and he chewed his lip. Was she ignoring him? He tapped against the door again, then sighed, and pushed open the door. And there she was.

She was lying, eagle spread and fast asleep, across the bed in clean clothes, her hair soft from a recent shower. The hairdryer lay by the bed, still connected to the wall by the cord and a damp towel was crumpled on the end of her bed. The Doctor noticed the heavy maid's uniform folded clumsily on the bright sofa in the corner of her room. He padded over to her and peered into her face. Her eyes were lined with dark shadows, tired, exhausted Martha. There was only so much one human, no matter how invincible, how alive, could take.

With a heavy heart, the Doctor reluctantly lifted her up so he could peel away her jacket. She moaned in quiet protest in the walls of her dreams but didn't wake up. Reassured she was in a heavy slumber, her tucked her under the covers, propping up her head on the pillows. He half wanted her to wake up, and then he could talk to her. But he forced such selfish emotions down and after kissing the tip of her nose, he flicked off the lights and tiptoed out of her bedroom. He was glad she was getting some rest, he really was. But he still wanted her to wake up.

!

The TARDIS was not a happy bunny. Instead of the comforting hums and occasional swooshes she made, the Doctor could hear a high-pitched whine. His brow furrowing, his laid his hands on the console, stroking it soothingly.

"You ok, old girl?" he whispered. She was tired too, even tireder, he thought, than Martha. But it was more than that. He rushed around the room, flicking switches, pulling leavers, kicking this that and the other- as if any of it would tell him anything. Then, a moan. A loud, long moan- the same moan he had heard from Martha when she's drunk too much on the planet Tyriu and woke up with that hangover. He had avoided her all day long after that, the effects of alcohol on humans made it rather pointless in his opinion.

He licked his lips nervously and checked the readouts on the small screen. Nothing out of the ordinary. He wondered what the cause of her apparent distress was. Probably nothing. He was about to shrug it off, when the TARDIS suddenly smashed into something, causing the whole time machine to shudder and quake. The Doctor stumbled backwards, tipping over the chairs as lights flashed on and off above his head.

"No!" he cried. "Stop!" The TARDIS has gone into frenzy, shaking and pulsing. The Doctor raced to stabilize her, flicking this and that, kicking and punching again, his teeth clenched, his bruised limbs throbbing. Hearing a yelp from Martha's room, followed by a crash, the Doctor intensified his actions, picked up the pace.

"Come on come on come on come on!" he yelled in frustration. He snatched a look over his shoulder. "It's ok, Martha," he called. "I'm sorting it out!" He didn't pause to see if she'd heard him, he couldn't. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been jerked suddenly taut, the TARDIS froze. The Doctor stopped dead still, listening to his panting breaths in the eerie silence. Silence, because the TARDIS was making no noise. No humming, no pounding, no gentle thoughts inside his head. Nothing.

Then she plummeted towards the floor like the puppet's strings had been cut.

The Doctor hurled himself against the consoles, but there was no reply, she was completely dead. Desperate, frantic, panicked, the Doctor raced towards Martha's room.

"Martha!" he yelled. "Get your arms over your head! Get down… you need to protect your neck!" A violent shudder sent him sprawling across the ground and he was hurled beneath the metal mesh of the floor. He raised his head to look up, and with a splintering crunch, the TARDIS landed.

The Doctor lay, trembling for a few seconds before he got up. He brushed his suit down, tousling his hair with a careless hand and touching a stabbing cut on the side of his head. The first thing he did was take in a gasping breath, the second was look around the TARDIS, and the third was to remove himself from his uncomfortable position.

The TARDIS seemed to be undamaged (she was surprisingly enduring) but she seemed… dead. There were no lights, there we no sounds, and it was suddenly very cold. Very cold and very dark. "Martha," the Doctor muttered, and then he was running to her room. He pushed the door open and saw her flopped down, half on her bed, half on the floor, her head lolled backwards, her eyes half shut. His hearts jumped in his chest and he rushed over to her.

"Martha!" Her head moved forward slightly, her pupils were defocused.

"Uh… Do'ah," he mumbled. Concussion. He took her face in his cool hands and spoke gently to her.

"Alright?" She twisted her head away from his, groaning slightly under her breath. She was going to pass out any second. The Doctor checked her for broken bones- there were none- and a quick scan from his sonic showed there was no internal bleeding. He bet she had a splitting headache thought.

"Do'ah," she was trying to speak, but she was dropping off. She shook her head, her eyes narrowing, frustrated with herself. The Doctor gently manoeuvred her back onto the bed and she sagged in his arms. He brushed away her hair and lay her down.

"Hush," he said. "It's ok. The TARDIS crashed. No damage- not even you. Not much, anyway. I'm going to get an icepack for your head, ok?"

"Mmm… yeah…" He kissed the top of her head and left the room. He padded across the TARDIS in search of some ice and returned a few minutes. He sat by her bed, pressing the icepack against her head, talking to her soothingly. Her eyelids fluttered when he was halfway through telling her about a selection of strange customs on various planets when and she was asleep.

He laid down the ice on the side of her bed and sat, stroking the back of her hand, deep in thought. He wondered where he was. Where they were, even. His palms were itching- he was desperate to go and explore. He snorted at the thought that some humans believed that an itchy palm was a method of calculating monthly income.

"Humans." He squeezed Martha's hand and got up. He promised himself that he'd just peek outside, literally peek, just to make sure they were somewhere safe (i.e., not in the middle of a raging battle or hanging off a cliff or something equally undesirable) and then return to Martha. Skipping- no literally, slipping- across the floor and flicking open the TARDIS door. He sighed.

Instead of the weird, alien atmosphere he'd been readying himself for, there was an utterly mundane, disgustingly dull village hall. He sighed in disappointment. A nice little alien invasion was exactly what he and Martha needed to break the tension caused after months of her being his maid. Uh. Maid. He hated that word.

He stepped out of the ship and studied the room. The clock said it was three thirty and the hall was deserted. Crossing the wooden floor and reaching the bulletin board, the Doctor cast an idle eye across the posters.

"Dig for victory," he read aloud. "Keep calm and carry on. How to move around in the blackout…" They were in wartime Britain. Not the most interesting place in the world… quite commonplace compared to where he had been planning on heading towards. He wandered through a small door leading to a small room and shut it behind him. "Oh!"

!

"Doctor!" Martha raced across the hall and pushed past Captain Mainwaring (much to his displeasure) throwing herself into the basic office. And there he was, sitting on the chair, his feet propped up on the table, reading a magazine.

"Ah, fantastic Martha," he said, jumping up and hugging her gently.

"Doctor! You cut your face! What happened?"

"Oh, I've already forgotten about that, actually. Nothing major; doesn't even hurt. What about you? Are you ok now? I was more than a little worried."

Martha flushed. Had he heard her crying?

"Why wouldn't I be ok?" she asked airily. Her voice trembled. His eyes narrowed.

"You hit your head pretty hard, Martha."

"I did?" She prodded at the tender flesh on the side of her face. "I thought it stung a bit."

"You don't remember?" He looked concerned.

"Nah. I guess I got a bit of concussion. But," she smiled clumsily. "I'm fine now. Honest. What happened?"

"Hey," said a voice. "Hey, that's my magazine!"

"Oh this?" said the Doctor, looking over Martha's head at the young bloke elbowing his way through the door. "I borrowed it. Sorry."

"I hadn't even finished it yet," he wined. "Uncle Arthur, you tell him."

"It's quite all right, Frank," said Wilson soothingly. "I'm sure the man's going to return it."

"Um, Doctor, this is Frank Pike and this is Arthur Wilson." The Doctor waved cheerfully at them.

"You read page 47 yet?" he asked Pike, who shook his head sullenly. "Aww, it's brilliant. B-r-illiant. How people come up with these things I will never know. Here you are." He held out the wad of papers and Pike snatched it close to his chest. He nodded at the Doctor and smiled shyly at Martha. She smiled back, and rolled her eyes at the Doctor, who smirked.

"So," said the Doctor. "Where are we then?"

"Warbington-on-sea church hall," Martha replied. "1941."

"God not you as well," Mr Mainwaring barged past everyone (the platoon had gathered round the door in curiosity) brandishing his balled fist. "Listen sir, I demand you tell us who you are and what your game is and why you are trespassing on military grounds." The Doctor blinked.

"Well my name's the Doctor and this is Martha- have you met Martha? I suppose you have… anyway, I'm the Doctor and I'm not playing any game. Although we could! If you like! What do you like, I like cricket! And running- we do a lot of running her, and me her and me do. Though that's not much of a game… I can play Grilly- though that doesn't really catch on in Earth until about ooooooooooooh… the twenty third century? So, to recap, I'm not playing any game." He looked around cordially. "Sorry, what was the last question again?"

"Why man, I asked why you were trespassing on military property," Mainwaring growled.

"S'more church property isn't it," said the Doctor. "Look there's a hymn book in her… and a church next door- and some half written Christmas cards. That's a Christian celebration, you know."

"But why-"

"Oh, well we brought the TARDIS here, completely by accident by the way, I got the right time, wrong galaxy if you follow my drift, and I just fancied a little nosy before we left."

"Doctor, this is Captain Mainwaring," Martha said. "They're home guard."

"Oh! I thought some of them were the wrong age for soldiers- you know what, that explains everything." Mainwaring closed his eyes despairingly.

"I rather think that the Captain would like it if you moved your blue box. Martha said that you would be able too," said Wilson.

"Here, sarge," cried a voice, and Joe Walker pushed his way to the front of the bundle. "Sarge, this bloke's ain't got a scrap o' mea' on 'im, 'e won't 'ave no chance moving that thing." The Doctor looked offended, but Martha took his hand to prevent him from protesting.

"This is Joe Walker," she said calmly. "Joe, this is the Doctor."

"Nice to meet you, I'm sure… but seriously Martha how we gonna move that thing? Me and Taffy just tried and it's bloody heavy. Barely moved it off the floor. What's it for, anyways?"

"Oh, this and that," said the Doctor. "Y'know. Basic stuff."

"Please just get it out of my sight," said Captain Mainwaring. "The… girl said you were able to move it and you bloody well better be able to."

"Ah," said the Doctor. "Well the thing is, I can't really."

"What!" Martha and Mainwaring spoke in unison. "Doctor, why not?" asked Martha.

"Well, it's a teensy bit broken. We sort of crashed."

"Is that how I…" Martha gestured to her head. "And you…" she pointed at his.

"Yep. We were in orbit and there was this whining noise and then we sort of… crashed. You were unconscious for a bit."

"Well I'm fine now," she said defensively.

"I'm sure you are," he reassured her.

"Martha, what are you talking about," said Joe nervously. The Doctor didn't give her a chance to answer.

"I need to fix the TARDIS," he said.

"How long will that take?" He mumbled something under his breath. She raised her eyebrows, and he raised his voice.

"Month."

"A month!"

"Maybe just under. She's in catatonic shock."

"A bloody month…" Martha ran a hand through her hair. "Doctor, this better be a joke, this really better be a joke."

"I don't find it funny," said Mainwaring. "You're saying you can't move it?"

"Permission to speak sir!"

"What is it Jones," said Mainwaring. Jones joined Joe in the doorway and smiled jollily around at everyone.

"I have a bit of an idea."