It's Just a Scratch
by
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx

OoOoOoOoOoO

Thank you AscendingWithTyler, Laby Anne Boleyn, AvitarGirl, Cute Gallifreyan, Freakk66, Shrink To Be, Syreene, Emela, JForward, Tai Greywing, Dagniro Vanaliel, forestwife, bluemagykdragon and Tenth-Doctor-Fan!

(Begs forgiveness)

Sorry! Really, really sorry!

I've been having major issues with Writer's Block (can't quite believe that when I'd actually finished this one up until it went and vanished from existence, but what can you do?).

Unfortunately, that's on all of my stories. But anyway, I've managed to finish this again, so updates should be back to normal, now. And it's nearly done. And it's late, so if this is hard to follow, that's why. And now I'm just making up excuses that really aren't helping my cause.

So I'll just be going.

(Runs and hides)

OoOoOoOoOoO

9.

Martha's mind was reeling.

She hardly paid any notice at all to their journey back over the wall, though to her frantically overworked brain, it still seemed to take hours before their feet were gently cushioned by the soft, damp grass on the other side.

Much to both their surprise and delight, the Doctor had managed to keep his mind focussed without once giving in, although rattled as she was, Martha wasn't entirely sure she'd have noticed if he had ripped out her throat mid-flight, anyway.

Ankle crumpling from beneath her, she hit the floor with a soft moan and shook her head forcefully, trying to rid it of the haziness.

It worked, though barely.

Struggling upright, she stared around and was faintly despaired to see the darkness leaking towards them from all sides.

There were no comforting patches of moonlight to be found down here.

Nothing but complete and utter blackness. It was everywhere.

Struggling quickly to her feet and glancing behind her in search of the Doctor's vaguely prominent outline, she sighed with relief when she found him already dragging himself upright not too far away.

But her ease was short lived.

For his scarlet eyes were wide and urgent, staring straight at her as though they could see through to her very core.

As though he was reading her, reading her life, her loves, her everything with just one look.

She blinked anxiously and turned away, rubbing a hand over her eyes and trying to ignore the incessant whispers that were growing in strength again.

But when a hand gripped her shoulder, a hand with claws long and sharp as needles sinking into the skin, she bit back a cry and bolted forwards away from it, turning on her damaged heel and staring at the Doctor in horror.

His eyes …

They weren't his. Not anymore.

Those eyes could never be his.

With an enormous effort of will, he jammed them shut and reached out with a trembling hand, the small but spiky leaf resting on his palm as he nodded firmly, indicating that she should take it.

Take it and run.

There was a shuffle from somewhere behind them, and suddenly Martha needed no more persuasion. Sparing the Doctor an anxious glance, her body protesting to the need for movement, she snatched the plant from his slackened grasp and turned on the spot, belting through the undergrowth with speed and agility she'd thought way beyond her.

And all the while, her head couldn't shake off that tiny, almost insignificant doubt.

That doubt that she had absolutely no idea as to where she was actually going.

Naturally, she ignored it, picking up the pace until she was practically flying through the darkness, her breaths harsh, her ankle so painful she could no longer feel it, a stitch piercing her side and her eyes leaking tears that were freezing to her cheeks as the harsh winds whipped at her face.

There was a loud, piercing cry – an inhuman cry – from somewhere behind her, though whether or not it was the Doctor she couldn't be sure.

And not remotely interested in finding out, she bit down hard on her tongue to keep her mind focussed and hurried on through the trees, nothing but the blackness to accompany her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

He was slipping. He could feel it, ever present, always there, just behind his thoughts, banging away at the back of his head, trying to overthrow him.

And it was winning, now.

Forced to his knees, clawed fingers tearing at his hair and eyes tight shut in abject desperation, the Doctor shuddered violently and hoped to whatever Gods were watching over them he'd given Martha enough time.

His last coherent thought was a frantic, misplaced 'good luck!' that never even escaped his chapped, bloodless lips. Then his eyes flickered open again, and with a starved hiss, teeth bared and face set in hungry determination, he jumped quite calmly to his feet and forced his neck back, staring into the darkness above him.

The Doctor was lost, but the Vampire had known he'd fall sooner or later.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, a screech fluttering away on the winds as he flew skywards, bat-wings spread wide as he swooped low, skimming over the lower leaves of the trees around him.

The smell of blood was close, now.

Her blood.

Strong, dripping, enticing.

Silent save for the gentle rustle of his wings, the Doctor flew on through the blackness, keen eyes fixed on Martha's retreating form, a greedy, unearthly smile illuminating his features for a moment before fading into the darkness that consumed him.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Millie didn't know if she'd always been 'Millie'. Perhaps she'd had a different name, a long time ago. But she didn't mind her name as much these days, not one bit when there wasn't even anybody else around to comment on her simple, pronounceable title.

She'd settled with it, and grown into it, and now Millie was perfectly happy with what she had become.

Minuisa's Guardian.

But the problem was … she wasn't the only creature around, anymore. Two new people had arrived, two people and a blue box. She'd watched them emerge from the police box and travel through the planet's biggest forest with uncomfortable urgency.

Travel through her territory without her permission.

And they'd damaged an Elivré plant, – one of Minuisa's finest and rarest species - chopped one of its food stocks clean away and vanished off, way off into the night.

And Millie couldn't stand for that.

Smiling, she pulled herself out from the tangling thorns of an endangered, English rose bush – one that had been given a new home on Minuisa just short of a decade ago after dying out on Earth.

Her claws scrabbling at stray brambles, Millie stared eagerly up into the sky.

The vampire was up, up in the air, soaring high and silent and majestic amidst the low-hanging branches. Millie hissed her delight and skittered across the leafy floor, scarlet eyes blazing with burning orange flames.

The Sun had always been alive within all her kind's hearts, its power being their life-blood, and this Kianga was especially hungry. Vampires didn't like sunlight, or so she had been told. And starving as she was, after so very many years of silence, the planet having been uninhabitable for the best part of a century, Millie was hungry.

Impossibly hungry.

Fox-like face glittering delightedly, scarlet but ever-changing eyes seemingly fluorescent in the darkness around her, flaming tendrils of sunlight dancing a merry dance amidst the redness, Millie the Kianga, Minuisa's Guardian, skipped on after the swooping, hunting vampire.

Oh how she would feast after so many years of solitude.

The strangers would pay.

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'We're free, Martha. Running isn't going to do you any good now.'

Martha almost dropped the plant in shock as the lustful, ecstatic voice echoed annoyingly around her head. Biting back a scream, she pressed on, a hand almost rising to her head before she could pull it back, relying on little more than blind faith to guide her through the blackness.

And it worked.

Her feet skidded to a halt as they met solid ground at last, the firm support of a pathway bouncing up from beneath them as opposed to the uneven, varied and frenzied heights of the bushes she'd fast come to expect to crunch underfoot as she walked.

She'd reached the path again.

So she was nearly there.

Light-headed with giddy relief, she stumbled ever onwards, no longer capable of hearing the reassuring, humming song of the planet through the jeering voices in her head.

Scowling in sheer determination, she picked up the pace and ran blindly on through the blackness, eyes straining for even the faintest of flashes of blue. Reaching anxiously for the key dangling around her neck, it's metal body numbingly cold against her skin, she spared a nervous glance behind her, feeling incredibly anxious but without a clue as to why she should be. There was no sign of the Doctor.

Yet.

With a laugh of delight, Martha ground to a sudden halt, hands outstretched to the majestic wood that was standing tall, fingertips from her face. She'd almost walked straight into the TARDIS in her haste.

Smiling exhaustedly, she slammed the silver key home and twisted it carefully, practically flying through the Console Room, leaving the door to slam itself shut behind her.

Never before had she been so relieved to hear the gentle hums of the alien machine. Never before had she been so comforted by the eerie, emerald glow that emanated out in welcome from the central column.

"Hello again," she whispered, voice hoarse as she jumped up the steps and charged through the internal door towards the lab, once again.

Hoping the TARDIS was in a generous mood, she hurried through the network of corridors, not entirely certain on her direction but praying the ship would lend a hand if she took a wrong turning.

'Dear me, Martha. I thought we told you not to run?'

Heart skipping a beat, Martha muffled a scream and skidded to an awkward stop, sliding forwards a few feet before securing a hand to the wall for support.

"No," she whispered shaking her head and pressing on. "You're not real, you're not real, you're not real," she told herself, over and over again, mind and heart alike racing.

But the voice just laughed.

'Oh, am I not?' it asked jovially, tones light-hearted but intentions all too freakily clear. 'It's such a shame that you think that.'

Martha ignored it, her legs seconds from giving out beneath her but her determination strong enough to rival even the Doctor's.

Pushing the lab door wide, she laughed out in joyous relief as she spotted the cooled concoction, exactly as they'd left it, standing beside the now dead Bunsen and the phial of dark blood.

Dashing to the workbench, she ran a hand over her eyes to dispel the tiredness and forced in deep, oxygenated breaths, trying and failing to quench the stitch that was playing murder against her chest.

Hands shaking, she blinked her eyes into focus again and reached out for the thin slip of paper that the Doctor had been following before their detour.

But as she raised it to eye level, her heart sank and her mind drew a complete blank.

The instructions were written in Gallifreyan. As they had been since he'd first printed them out, all those hours before.

Nothing had changed.

And she had absolutely no clue as to what she was supposed to do with the final ingredients.

Chop them? Cook them? Crush them? Melt them? Drain them?

'Oh, and you were doing so well,' the vampire mocked, sending a shiver dancing along her spine as she closed her eyes in frustration.

"Right," she whispered cautiously, staring up at the ceiling. "A little help would be nice!" she shouted, eyes wide in expectation.

'Why should I help you prepare my downfall, Martha? That would be illogical, would it not?'

Martha bit down hard on her tongue to calm her nerves but otherwise remained silent, blanking as best she could the taunting leers.

Instead, she waited patiently and was rewarded a moment later when the screen on the desk flared into life, an image of the leaf floating into view, hanging tip down, small droplets of its produced liquid sliding downwards and falling off screen.

Grinning, Martha wasted no time and gripped the leaf with both hands, wincing a little as a particularly angry spike met with her cut palm.

'You're tired, Martha.'

Martha jumped and shook her head vigorously.

'Yes you are. But you need not worry, we'll be there soon. We'll be there to help you.'

"I don't need your help!" Martha shouted back, momentarily forgetting her assumption that the voice wasn't real. Gritting her teeth and forcefully calming her nerves, the pounding in her head growing as the seconds passed by, Martha grabbed for a small beaker and carefully placed it beneath the oozing tip of the plant in her hands.

Droplet by droplet, the minutes ticking by, a small layer of a crystal-clear liquid slowly started to coat the bottom of the beaker.

Not having the energy to worry about how much she needed, Martha took a gamble and waited until a quarter of the beaker was filled – by which time most of the leaf had become a dry and wrinkled mess, anyway, clearly signifying that there wasn't a right lot left inside it.

'Don't look now, Martha, but you've got company.'

Almost dropping the beaker in shock, Martha's face paled alarmingly and she hesitated.

"No," she murmured, placing the beaker delicately down onto the work surface and rushing for the scanner again. Staring at the image of the draining leaf almost wilfully, she tapped unknowingly at the keyboard, trying to figure out how to see beyond the TARDIS' four walls.

With a frustrated groan, she slammed her hand down onto the keypad and turned away, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the empty doorway. But a bleep from the scanner made her turn back and almost fall backwards in shock as the cameras flared into life and a fuzzy, static image of Minuisa's woods misted into view.

And there, against the black backdrop, barely noticeable save for the two scarlet pinpricks, stood the Doctor, fangs bared and wings spread wide, perched precariously on one of a tall tree's thicker branches, legs dangling calmly over the edge and swinging gently back and forth.

Staring intently at the TARDIS.

Martha dearly hoped he wouldn't remember that he had a key. From the looks of things, he wasn't the Doctor anymore.

And her time was almost up.

A desperate cry escaping her parched lips, she stared at the concoction prepared earlier, and then at the liquid she'd just procured from the strange plant.

And needing no further persuasion, she upended the smaller beaker over the larger one and threw it sideways, the glass smashing on the floor as it rolled straight off the counter.

The mixture hissed and spat, and not a moment too soon, Martha threw herself down onto the floor, hands over her ears and her eyes jammed shut as a loud and echoing bang! exploded from the beaker's contents.

Eyes opening a crack, she coughed and stumbled to her feet again, wafting away the clouds of scarlet smoke that were unfurling from the now ruby-shaded liquid.

"Hold on, Doctor," she whispered, glancing anxiously at the scanner in time to see him flutter down rather elegantly from his lofty perch.

'Hold on to what?'

Martha's blood ran cold and her hand paused, extended towards the blood sample but not quite grasping it.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, eyes unfocussed, staring straight ahead as the pounding in her head suddenly paused. As though the voices were waiting.

Dragging out the moment.

'He's not the Doctor, anymore.'

Martha shook her head weakly, breathing no longer a necessity as she lowered her hand.

'There's nothing to hold on to. He's gone. There's only me, now. And if you're a good girl, I might just consider making your death relatively painless.'

Hands trembling, she tore despairingly at her hair, her knees buckling as she fell against the counter, the hammering in her head growing as the voice laughed softly in her ear.

Dropping her hands, she paused, barely breathing, then shook her head and straightened up, reaching out mutely for the phial and popping out the cork carefully, sending it arching up into the air before hitting the floor with a muffled thump.

'Dear, you should be congratulated on your persistence.'

The voice sounded quite delighted, and the throbbing in her mind diminished slightly for a few relief-stricken seconds.

For a few painstakingly tempting silent seconds, Martha thought she was safe.

And then the agony flared up again and sent her crashing to her knees, the phial secured between thumb and forefinger but teetering dangerously as she grabbed her head in outright despair.

'But you should know that your time's up.'

Biting hard on her lip, the strong, irony taste of blood coating her throat as she forced herself to focus again, she dragged herself upright yet again and willed the pain to ease, sluggish arms flying out towards the beaker. Hooking a finger around the rim, moaning with pain, she tugged it towards her and tilted the lip of the phial over its edge.

But this time she was unprepared for the result, and as the second miniature explosion in the space of two minutes rocked the laboratory's very foundations, she was thrown clean backwards, the shockwaves incredibly powerful and her pain-racked mind unable to take the hit.

Slamming hard into a back wall, the world spinning nauseatingly as she fell to the floor, Martha faintly heard a delighted chuckle ringing a knelling warning around her head.

Then the blackness consumed her.

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Head tilted to one side, a low, rhythmic hiss escaping his half-parted lips, the Doctor smiled calmly, red eyes glittering malevolently in the darkness, and reached into a trouser pocket. Retracting his hand, his smile widened as his frozen fingers secured around a strange, silver key.

He didn't recognise it, but he knew what it must have been.

The key to this peculiar blue box.

A … TARDIS, was it?

Not that it mattered. The blood was drumming in his ears, his two hearts beating their sluggish funeral call as the moments dragged by, his hunger fast becoming insatiable as his patience began to wear thin.

Clawed fingers reaching forwards, key outstretched, the Doctor was momentarily distracted by a bright flare of light shining out from somewhere behind him. Dropping his hand in surprise, the light suddenly became unbearably painful and he quickly replaced the key into a pocket for fear he'd lose it completely.

Hissing in pain and jumping skywards, wings outstretched defensively, he turned on the spot and had to raise a hand to his eyes to shield them from the intensity of the light creeping out towards him.

Sunlight.

Burning, scorching sunlight.

Screeching, he dropped down behind a rose bush and glared out at the creature that was slowly padding into the clearing, bright eyes blazing and foxish face snarling in contempt.

And as it turned to glare right at him, sunlight bright and piercing within its reproachful gaze, the Doctor became all too aware that without the blood he was yet to take, without the food that he'd been denied since turning, without Martha … he didn't stand a chance against it.

His energy was all but spent, his hearts minutes from packing in completely.

And the creature was now positioned between him and the TARDIS, sitting quite casually on its back legs, head twisting from side to side, eyes wide as it carefully searched the darkness for him. Biting back a loud cry of frustration, the Doctor shrunk ever so slightly backwards, retreating into the enveloping darkness that was comfortingly shrouding him, feeling the creature's blazing heat skating across his ashen skin as its eyes flickered over in his direction.

Oh dear.

This was going to be a problem.

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There we go. Next should be up either tomorrow or Saturday. And sorry again!

Blessed Be!

Hugs,
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx