A/N Sorry all for the unacceptable lateness of this chapter! I was about to post it when I realized that I absolutely hated it and needed to rewrite the whole thing. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I was having a lot of trouble with this one and I wanted to get it out to you as soon as I could. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4

The flight back to Cardiff had been a blur. One long, agonizing blur. Jack hadn't gone into much detail over the phone, but if the tone of his voice spoke for anything, he was freaking out. All Martha knew as she threw her things haphazardly into a suitcase and dodged a few irritated and confused comments from her new husband was that the steadfast Captain Jack was scared and the Doctor needed her help, and badly.

Those two aspects combined were enough to make her blood run cold, but nothing could have compared her for what she saw upon rushing into the hub just barely four hours later, having miraculously caught the first plane out of Athens. Now, Martha Smith was a doctor; she'd seen many gruesome injuries and disturbing scenarios during her time at the hospital and then with UNIT before going freelance, and while she stayed far away from being detached, she had always felt a certain level of professionalism was owed towards her patients at those times. But now – now this was hitting way too close to home.

Martha felt as if her heart had been stabbed though by a shaft of ice, frozen over, and then shattered as she first looked down at the bloodied and broken frame of her Doctor. "We got the other heart going." Jack was saying beside her, but his voice now sounded far away and so very tired. "And we took care of the minor wounds we could see, but – well, as you can probably tell, there's a lot more…"

Jack's voice trailed off slowly. They were speaking in whispers, partially because they didn't want to wake the Doctor, but mostly because neither of them felt like there was enough air reaching their lungs to speak normally. The two companions were so used to the Doctor filling the room with his loud, unstoppable gob, probably rambling on about some sort of technical gibberish only he would understand. But now, with the Doctor laying unconscious on the stark white medical bed, the room was too quiet.

"What happened, Jack?" Martha breathed. Jack let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, which was rumpled in a way that suggested he'd already done that quite a few times.

"Still working on it. I've never seen or heard of anything like it – " – or felt anything like it – " – But whatever it was, we need to figure it out and make sure there aren't more of them."

"More of them?"

"I did what I could for him but, well, you're the medical expert here." Martha scoffed. Expert? The only expert on how to heal a Time Lord's body in probably the whole universe was the Doctor, and seeing as he's the one in need of healing, the odds weren't looking very good.

Jack had filled her in on all the major injuries he'd found earlier. Severe damage to the back of the head; definite concussion, possible permanent damage to the brain. X-rays would be needed, and an MRI would be nice and handy, but it seemed they were going to have to wait till the Doctor wakes up to get a full concussion test. Both ankles broken, although one seemed to be healing faster than the other, which was not mending properly and would need to be rebroken and reset. Broken ribs, fractured collarbone, cuts and bruises mangling his chest, arms, face, and back, not to mention black marks on his toes, the tips of his fingers and, strangely, his knees that Martha could only identify as frostbite. There was also the ring of bruising and gashes caused by chafing around his neck and, of course, the obvious malnutrition and dehydration that made the Doctor look as thin and breakable as a twig and made Martha, insanely, hesitate to touch him for fear of causing him the shatter into a million tiny pieces. But she had to. It was her job. Save the Doctor.

Martha chuckled despite herself as she recognized the role reversal going on.

Jack shuffled out of the room, muttering something about coffee and research, leaving Martha alone with her patient. After another frozen moment – Martha could hear the Doctor's weak, rattled breath now, see the sweat forming on his blood-stained brow, his face ashen against the unyieldingly white pillow – she set to work.

There were tests that needed to be done. The sweat on his forehead and the slight fever he was running could mean infection, and, from the state of him, he could have picked up any illness with what had to be a weakened immune system. Martha wanted to get a blood test going as soon as possible so she could work on his more physical injuries while it was being processed.

She squeezed the Doctor's limp hand as she moved to his side and dragged a tray of needles, syringes, and wipes closer. She held a finger to his arm, feeling a weak but surprisingly fast double-pulse, and began to clean the spot with an antibacterial pad. Next she attached a tube to the needle and lowered the sharp tip to his skin.

The needle had barely pricked the surface when suddenly the Doctor's arm was wrenched away from her. Martha jumped as the Doctor woke as if by electrical shock, his whole body convulsing as he tried to lurch up, eyes screwed shut in pain. He held the arm close to his chest as if trying to protect it. "No, please, no more. Please."

"Shhh, easy Doctor, it's alright." Martha said in an urgent yet soothing voice. She gently held his shoulders in what she hoped was a supportive and comforting action, trying to channel her best bedside manner while her own heart beat heavily in her ears. Was the Doctor…begging?

The Doctor flinched when she touched him at first before he froze, letting the sound of her voice sink into his mind. His eyes flew open suddenly and Martha was amazed to see then alight with recognition and surprise. A moment of stunned silence passed between them as Martha studied the complexity of those ancient, tortured eyes before it was broken by the Doctor's weak voice. "M-Martha?"

Martha smiled. "Yeah, Doctor, it's me. Long time no see, eh?"

The Doctor didn't respond or smile back immediately, but instead reached forward with his long fingers and, carefully as if touching a butterfly, placed them on her cheek, softly gliding them over her skin to feel her nose and the curve of her jaw. Martha began to wonder what he was doing when a laugh broken with relief escaped his lips.

"You're alive?" He breathed in awe, smiling against the pain he felt with each breath.

Martha placed her own hand gently over his, cupping her face so as to prove she was truly, actually there. "Yes of course I'm alive." She smiled reassuringly.

The Doctor laughed again – a hoarse laugh as if he, of all people, had forgotten how to do it – before a fit of coughing attacked him. Martha rushed to help him sit up, letting him lean heavily on her as his body was wracked with the onslaught. "I k-knew – he was – l-lying." He managed to gasp between the coughs.

She rubbed her hand in soothing circles on his back as his body once again convulsed, his breath rattling in her ear as he tried to suck in air. He had absolutely no strength, relying almost entirely on laying her shoulder in order to keep himself upright.

"There we go." She said as the coughing became less violent. Still holding his upper body against herself, Martha shuffled the pillows with her one free hand so they were propped up better and the gently lowered the shaking Time Lord back into the bed. "You alright?" Even though she could guess the answer he wouldn't say.

The Doctor nodded stiffly as he collapsed into the pillows, letting his eyes slid shut momentarily. "Mucus in –" Cough "the lungs. Pneumonia –" Cough "I think. Respiratory bypass should –" Cough "sort it out soon."

Martha was just relieved to hear the Doctor speaking more like himself (minus the coughing), as if being able to explain something to a 'companion' again strengthened his voice and made him sound more sure of himself than previously. But something he had said before suddenly seemed to register in her mind. "What do you mean, he was lying?"

The Doctor opened his eyes, looking worriedly up at Martha. "He said you w-were dead? Said he k-killed you." Then he smiled. "But I knew. It'd t-take more than t-that to take down the famous Martha Jones."

"Who is he?"

His smile instantly dropped, a shadow crossing over his features as he subconsciously wrapped his arms around his torso as if to protect himself. "I d-don't – I c-can't – not n-now, Martha."

"Okay, that's okay." Martha assured as she rubbed his shoulder. The Doctor flinched again at her touch, but this time it didn't seem to be from fear but from pain. She'd almost forgotten about the broken collarbone, not to mention all the other injuries riddling his body. "We don't have to talk about him. But can I fix you up?"

The Doctor went to nod but instead gasped loudly as the movement sent a spike of vicious pain through his skull. He clutched at it as his vision flashed white, madly wondering if he pulled his head clean off his shoulders if the pain would stop. "Oh, my head." He groaned through clenched teeth.

Through the pain he felt kind fingers gently trying to peel away his own. He released his hold was an surprised to find that the pain didn't escalate without his grip holding it in.

Martha lowered The Doctor's hands to his lap and began to examine the large gash on the back of his head. Most of the blood had been cleaned away – probably by Jack – leaving the hair surrounding it tinted slightly with red. Luckily it didn't look too horrible, but it would definitely need stitches and probably an x-ray to make sure the skull hadn't been cracked. Jack had said it came from the Doctor being bashed against a stone wall, so concussion was a definite already. He shouldn't have been allowed to sleep so long…

"Doesn't look too bad, Doctor." She tried to settle him. "Just need a couple stitches, maybe an x-ray."

"No, I…I don't think anything's cracked." He muttered uncertainly.

"Just in case, then." Martha pressed a finger as gently as she could against the puckered skin surrounding the gash, trying to estimate if there was swelling. The Doctor flinched and sucked I air harshly through his teeth. "Sorry." Martha winced sympathetically. "We should get those stitches going as soon as possible though. Here," She pulled the tray holding the syringes and different bottles of clear liquid, which had been forgotten for the time being, closer and reached for one of the syringes. "I'll just give you a little Lidocaine so you won't feel –"

The Doctor spun around and grabbed her wrist just as she was closing her fingers around the syringe. "No." He growled, glaring straight into her surprised eyes. "No drugs. No needles."

Something in his eyes scared Martha; perhaps it was how scared he was. There was definite fear behind that glare, and she noticed how his eyes kept flitting between hers and the needle still in her hand.

Pointedly, she dropped her hold on the syringe and shoved the tray away. The Doctor visibly relaxed, still gripping her wrist tightly though. "Okay," She said slowly, moving her hands into a sort of sign of surrender. "No drugs, no needles. But Doctor, you know I would never do anything to hurt or scare you, right?"

The Doctor shivered, remembering. "N-no more drugs. P-please."

TBC

A/N What is the Doctor remembering? Will there be some whumpy flashbacks in the next chapter?...Actually I'm not even sure (I gotta do some major rewriting) BUT that should be even MORE incentive for you to check in for the next one, cuz you never know what you're gonna get. Till then, a friendly reminder: The review box does. not. bite. It's valentines day, show it some love :)