NINE

Martha carried Tom's legs, and the Doctor carried his torso, and they made their way down to the street, ignoring all questions along the way, from the grey-haired man, other guests, pub patrons…

As they moved away from the building, they looked back up at the first-floor window which they had noticed sitting open, when they'd first heard Tom and Sylvie exchanging energy signatures. They saw her sitting prettily, looking through the screen, waving at them as if she hadn't just tried to behead one of them.

The TARDIS was parked on the grounds of the university, which was a bit of a hike away. In any case, it was too far to carry a largeish man and his strategically-placed bedsheet. They found a skip round the corner, out of sight of the Kings Arms, and the Doctor pulled Tom and Martha behind it, telling her, "Stay with Tom. I'm going to go get our transport. I'll see you in less than five minutes."

Martha sat down on the pavement, and the Doctor laid Tom's head in her lap. He then took off running toward the university.

"Let me see, Tom," she said, and he let her, taking his fingers away from the wound.

For the second time that night, Martha found herself pressing her bare fingers to a bleeding throat wound, though this one, as she already knew, was not nearly as bad. This one was not spurting, and was, in fact, nowhere near the jugular.

"It's not so bad," she said. "There was a spray when she first got you because of the violence of the blow, but…"

"I know," he croaked. "I'll be okay. I could've probably walked down the stairs. Sorry."

"It's all right," she said. She studied his face. He was staring blankly at the sky. "You're in shock."

He didn't answer.

She gently laid his head down on the pavement, pressed his own fingers against his throat wound once more, and moved toward his feet. She stood, elevating them with her hands.

"Tom, are you cold? Tom? Oi!"

"I'm not cold."

"You feel light-headed at all?"

"No."

"Do you…"

"Martha, I'm fine. I'm not in shock. I'm just… I'm just going to need a few minutes."

"Can you walk on your own when the Doctor gets back?"

"The Doctor?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "The guy in the suit."

"John?"

"Well... yeah, I guess."

"Yes, I can walk. You can put my feet down." She obliged, then sat down on the cement beside him to wait. At least a minute's silence passed before he said, "Martha, what is she?"

"I don't know all the details, Tom," she answered. "The Doctor would be better-equipped to answer that question."

"Was any part of that episode an hallucination?"

"I would love to say it was."

He was silent for a long time, and he stared at the sky. When he spoke, he said, "I feel like huge chunks of my life have been a lie."

"Don't blame you, mate."

"Mate?" he asked. "Is that what I am now?"

She sighed heavily again, and paused before saying, "Yes."

"Even though…"

"Yes."

"But she's a monster, Martha. Literally a monster."

"I know," Martha said.

"Do you think she had some kind of special thrall over me? Something… inhuman?"

"Yes, I do think so. And I now realise that none of what happened with her was your fault."

Another silence hung heavily in the air between them, while he waited for her to elaborate. She knew he was waiting for it, but she said no more.

So Tom filled in the blanks. "But you still feel you can't be with me, don't you?"

"You know that thing about the red and white paint?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I think it's true," she said.

"I guess I could see that. Maybe."

"Besides, I think we both know that the writing was on the wall anyway," she sighed.

"We do?"

"Come on, Tom. Once we get Sylvie out of your life for good, are you sure I'm the one you really want?"

That was when they heard the TARDIS gears, which forced his eyes wide open. The blue box appeared as it does, seemingly out of nowhere, less than ten feet from where they were. Tom looked at it as though he wanted to run screaming from it.

Martha helped him get to his feet, since both of his hands were occupied with keeping his sheet in place, and depressing his wound. When the Doctor emerged, he tried to help as well.

"I'm fine, thanks," Tom said, refusing his assistance. Then he looked the Doctor over, and asked, "Okay… who the hell are you?"

"Let's just get you bandaged up, yeah?" the Doctor practically whispered, ushering Tom in to the TARDIS.

The mild-mannered, tragically flawed paediatrician stepped inside, and did what everyone else does (gaped at it, asking a series of disjointed questions), and said what everyone else says (it's bigger on the inside).

Martha and the Doctor stepped in after him, and shut the door, locking it behind them.

"Dr. Jones, please tend to the patient, and I will get us out of this neighborbood so you-know-who doesn't find us before we're ready."

Martha led a further shell-shocked Tom past the console and down the hallway toward the infirmary. There, she gave him a healthy dose of ibuprofen to slow the bleeding, cleaned the site and injected a local anaesthetic. They then waited for Tom's throat to become numb, and then Martha carefully administered seven stitches to the crooked, jagged wound.

During this time, Tom just let her work; he made no suggestions, nor did he ask any questions about where the hell they were.

As Martha finished up, the Doctor came in.

"I plugged her energy signature into the TARDIS' data banks. I think we can find the nest."

"Nest," Tom echoed. "There's a nest?"

"Yes, she and her kind… they'll have a nest somewhere. Probably more than one. There will be some sort of heart, or generator… a power centre, something that networks them, and helps them to store all of the energy they leech from people. The TARDIS had some info on her species, the illustrious Cervovore, and I've seen similar things before."

"Sounds daft."

"Well, after what you've seen tonight…" the Doctor began.

"Nothing will ever sound daft again," Tom finished.

"How do you feel?" the Doctor asked him.

"Fine, considering," Tom said. "Because I've got an excellent physician tending to me."

The Doctor looked a bit more closely at Tom's wound, and then said, "There were no arterial spurts… should've known he'd be all right. Nice job, Dr. Jones."

"Thanks," she said, cleaning up the room.

"Now, Dr. Milligan, do you feel up to helping us take down your ex-girlfriend, who also happens to be a Cervovore?"

"Sure," shrugged Tom. "What else have I got to do tonight?"

"Good, because I'm going to need you."

"What do I need to do?"

"Not much," the Doctor said. "Just do what I tell you, when things get hairy."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Yeah. I didn't particularly like saying it," the Doctor replied, a bit surprised.

"Er… what do I call you?" asked Tom.

"Just Doctor," answered the Doctor.

"Just… Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Not John?"

"No, that's not my name at all. It's an alias."

"An alias for what?"

"For when I need it. Like when I'm having dinner with people who don't know me."

"Did Martha know that all along, when you were together?"

"Yes."

"Doctor… surname?"

"Er, I don't really have one."

"Why not?"

"You really want to go into this now?"

"Are you… like Sylvie?" Tom asked, sheepishly, like a child.

"I'm not a Cervovore," the Doctor confessed. "But I'm not human either."

"Did Martha know that?"

"Yes."

"So, what are you?"

"Tom…" Martha began, intending to discourage this conversational path.

"Actually, you know what? Tell me later. I've had enough for now," Tom said to the Doctor.

"Good man," the Doctor said, patting Tom's shoulder.

"Er, I hate to ask this," Tom then said uncomfortably. "But have you got anything I can wear?"

"Yeah, I'll get you something," the Doctor answered, moving toward the door. "Been doing that a lot tonight. Be right back."'

As she cleaned up her work, Martha was reminded of Alain, sitting in the hotel lobby in Nîmes, wearing the Doctor's clothing. "Doctor? If you care about me at all, you will find something other than pieces of pin-striped suit for him, yeah?"

The Doctor smiled very, very slightly, and saluted her before leaving the room.


Martha and the Doctor waited for about five minutes in the console room for Tom to emerge wearing actual clothes.

Eventually, he came through the archway in a pair of black jeans and a green v-neck jumper, with heavy black boots on his feet. The white sheet from the hotel room was folded up, and he carried it against his hip.

"That's a bit better," he said. "Thanks for the duds, mate."

The Doctor looked him over. "No problem. Just keep them. They no longer suit me."

"So, what now?" Martha asked.

The Doctor pointed to the sonic screwdriver, which was currently plugged into the controls. "We use this to track down Sylvie and the rest of the wacky gang of Cervovores."

"And what? Kill them?" asked Tom, a bit afraid of the answer.

"No," the Doctor said. "Ideally, we force them to go back to their own planet and regroup, then I can intervene there, minimise the risk to humanity."

Tom nodded, and swallowed hard, even though it hurt him to do so. Martha could read relief on his face. Even though Sylvie was literally a carnivorous fiend, he still didn't want to see her killed.

"You do have a plan, right?" Martha asked.

"Yes," the Doctor said. "These creatures are a bit abstract, and energy is what gives them their oomph. I'm hoping I can use that against them. Which reminds me, "Tom, it might be the last thing you want to do right now – or, I don't know, maybe not. But I'm going to need you to let Sylvie… engage you, a bit more."

"Engage me?"

"I think she's going to make a last-ditch attempt to get you worked up. Aroused. I need you to let her."

"Jesus," Tom groaned. "Why?"

"Because it might be the key to her undoing," the Doctor answered. "If I'd been thinking, I would have done things differently in your hotel room, but as it stands, we're going to need you to build up a bit of… energy."

"How far do I let her get?"

"I'll let you know. I won't let her take your head, don't worry."

"There's a sentence I hoped I'd never hear anyone say to me in earnest," Tom muttered.

"What do I do?" Martha asked.

"I'm not sure yet," the Doctor told her. "I don't know what they'll do when you step out of the TARDIS. I don't know if they'll come after you or not. Tom sure, but you… I wish I had a better answer for you."

"I'll improvise," she agreed.

"Good, because I'm going to need to stay inside the TARDIS. At least at the beginning, sorry," he said. Then he sighed heavily, and asked, "Okay, kids, ready?" Not waiting for an answer, he threw the gears into place, and the TARDIS did its thing.

When it stopped, Tom asked, "What just happened?"

"Well, if all went to plan, we should have found the nest," the Doctor said, pulling the computer screen round to where he could see it. "Oh. Oh! Wow."

"What?" Martha asked.

The Doctor switched over to camera view, and pointed at the screen and invited her to look. They had materialised about a hundred yards from the arena in Nîmes, on a different part of the promenade that ran in front of the hotel where Gregoire had died. They could see the hotel in the distance, and could also plainly see that police and other emergency personnel were gathered there.

"Oh. Wow," Martha said, echoing the Doctor's sentiments. "This explains a lot."

"It does," Tom mused, recognising exactly where they were. This town had been Tom's home base during his residency, during which he'd lived with Sylvie. "So their… nest is right here on the promenade?"

"Actually, the nest is underground," the Doctor answered. "What you're seeing is the view on the surface, right above us."

"So, you've brought us right into the nest?" Martha asked, looking at the Doctor with a deadpan expression.

"Yep."

"Fantastic."


Two human doctors stepped out of a blue box, parked under a promenade in Nîmes. Around them, they saw myriad electrical equipment, and a quick glance about told them two things: 1) they were in the electrical room that ran the carpark below the promenade, and 2) at least for now, they did not have to deal with a whole swarm of Cervovores.

There were only three. Two Martha recognised, not to mention their hostage.

"Alain!" Martha cried out, upon seeing him. She'd spied the Doctor's blue pinstriped trousers first, then realised that a very distressed man, whom she knew, was wearing them.

Martha then looked at the handsome, shirtless man who had Alain by the throat.

"Hello, Jean-Marc," she said.

Jean-Marc bowed slightly, and said, "Hello again."

"Sylvie," Martha said to the attractive humanoid standing before her in what she recognised as the crisp blue dress shirt Tom had worn to dinner tonight, over bare legs. "Always a pleasure."

"Indeed," said Sylvie.

"And who might you be?" she asked the third Cervovore in the room, who was approximately five feet tall, bulbous like a frog, and had a head like a giant fish.

It spoke with its enormous mouth, and turned itself so that it could scrutinise the newcomers with its large, dead eye. Its voice was raspy, and it had a juicy lisp. "I haven't decided yet. I'm thinking François," it said.

"Good choice," Martha said. "Classic, unpretentious, very, very French."

"François is our newest arrival on this planet,"Sylvie said. "As if you couldn't tell that by looking at him. Jean-Marc and I have had so much success, the High Senate on our home planet decided to send another emissary to this part of Earth."

"What about India?" Martha asked.

"India?" Tom wondered.

Sylvie smiled. "Ah, she's clever, Tom. Though, I think in this case, it is borrowed cleverness, yes? That's something your Time Lord would have told you. You're a mere doctor. He's the universe-hopper, the trouble-shooter…"

"Yes, that's true, I did find out from him," Martha said, with no compunction. "Now, are you going to answer the question?"

"We have small cells of emissaries all over this planet," Sylvie said, matter-of-factly. "India and France have had the most success, though India has brought some attention to itself of late, has had to pull out. They've relocated."

"To where?" Martha asked.

"Nice try, Dr. Jones," Sylvie said, with a laugh.

"Sylvie, what is this?" Tom asked. "What have you been doing to me for the past… how-ever-many years?"

"Giving you mind-blowing, eye-crossing pleasure, my love, and don't try to deny it," she replied.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," he said, quite earnestly.

She continued, "And your fervent energy, over time, has helped me hold this form. Just as Gregoire's fervent energy has helped Jean-Marc hold his form. Though now that Gregoire is dead, and Jean-Marc has failed to make a harvest…"

"A harvest. Does that mean taking his head?" Tom asked, raising his voice. "Like what you were planning on doing to me?"

She stuck out her formidable bottom lip. "I might've known that infernal Time Lord would've told you everything."

"What the hell for?" Tom shouted at her. "All that time, you pretended to be in love with me, infatuated with me, but you were planning on decapitating me?"

"Yes," she said. "If you've got another way for me to hold this humanoid form forever, please let me know."

"Hold… forever? But… why?" he asked.

"You wouldn't understand," she dismissed. "Something tells me that Martha might, but… well, really, we'll just have to wait for the Time Lord, won't we?"

"Jesus, Sylvie!"

"I don't know what you're complaining about, Tom," she said. "You're lucky! You and Gregoire both! There is certainly more than one way to gather energy signatures from humans!"

"There is?"

"Yes," she answered, laughing. "The other ways are… unpleasant. And violent. And they attract attention while they are happening, even before the final harvest. Sex is… well, fun, and ironically, nice and clean, in the long-run."

"Wow."

"Of course there are other ways," Sylvie exclaimed, still laughing. "How do you think François is going to get his first dose of humanity? Certainly he won't have any sexual magnetism until he's done a bit of a transformation…"

"Which reminds me…" the being now known as 'François' said.

"Ah, yes," interjected Jean-Marc. "We haven't forgotten, friend. Just wait until she's done toying with them."

"Oh, I'm done," Sylvie said. "Jean-Marc, are you good?"

"I'm good," he answered, licking Alain's neck sensually. Alain shivered and shuddered a bit, in disgust and probably, Martha reckoned, some conflicted lust.

"François, Dr. Jones is yours," Sylvie declared. "And you, Tom, my love… what do you say? What more go, for old time's sake? After all, we never got to finish our little tryst earlier. You must be bursting with energy by now."

Tom said nothing, but he didn't resist as she moved toward him predatorially, and shoved him up against the TARDIS. Immediately, she began stroking the front of his trousers, and his head went back against the wooden surface behind him, in a head-swimming reverie, almost against his will. He was aware that he could stop her, but the Doctor had predicted this, and had asked him to let her do it, and for some reason, he was inclined to listen.

Martha thought fast. What were the other methods of energy-transfer the Doctor had mentioned? Something about transferring to a different planet for interface? Oh, and some sort of advanced energy converter that would attract the attention of CERN if it ever were to show itself on Earth, and of course…

That was when she heard the loud crackling sound, and the piercing scream. Mercifully, they both only lasted about three seconds.

Successive electrocution. That was the other method.

Alain had been struck to the floor by a prod from Jean-Marc with a long, wand-like apparatus, and was lying on the floor in pain.

"You're no Gregoire," the Cervovore snarled at the unfortunate man. "In fact, in some ways, I think I might like you better. It's a pity that you and I won't have the opportunity to cultivate a relationship, isn't it?"

"Alain!" Martha called out, and instinctively, she began to move toward him to help.

But François' webby hands closed round Martha's arm and dragged her sideways. She was surprised enough to have been pulled off her feet. He threw her to the ground beside Alain, and she braced for what was coming.

This time, when the loud crackling shock shot across the space, she could feel it through her bones, all of her cells, and hear it inside her head, along with her own scream.

She also heard Tom's harried voice cut across the noise, calling her name in a panic.

Again, mercifully, the electrical pulse only lasted about three seconds, but that was enough to let her know that she didn't care to ever feel it again. Though she knew she couldn't be that lucky, because the Doctor had made it clear that Tom was the one who was needed first, and something about the current state of affairs, with Sylvie's hand down his trousers, was the key to her undoing.

And indeed, the last thing Martha saw before the next shockwave hit her was Sylvie sinking to her knees, ready to perform for Tom one last time, and a brown pinstriped arm reaching out through the TARDIS' door, grabbing the front of Tom's jumper in its fist, and yanking him into the blue box, before the silky Cervovore could do any more damage.

Sylvie was left kneeling, rather nonplussed at first, and then she began screaming in anger. She banged on the TARDIS door, but it was locked, and its occupants were already engaged in her ruin.


A lot is happening. Drop me a line, let me know what you think of these "happenings!" (Most of you have been oddly silent of late... why not take this opportunity to get chatty again? It would make my week!)