Martha and the Doctor are in captivity... ugh, here we go again, right? Escape is going to be super dicey, since they can't get their heartrates up! Aaagh!

Enjoy!

CHARGES

Martha and the Doctor slept on their hard "shelves" that night – cold, damp, and worlds apart.

More accurately, they lay there, most of the night, thinking, pulling their coats tighter against themselves against the cold.

The Doctor's thoughts tended toward strategy and escape, of course. However, when his mind didn't go there, it went to the past… the sins (as well as the good deeds) of the Time Lords, and how his people had caused havoc in the last couple of months of his life… posthumously. And it looked like it was far from over. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Martha that they wouldn't just want him dead, but they'd want to make a big deal of it, put on a show of ridding the universe of the Time Lord stain.

Martha simply couldn't get her mind off the fact that they were imprisoned… again… and these people, unlike the last group who locked them up, wanted to kill them. And unless the two doctors could work out how to keep their heartrates down whilst running for their lives, it looked like the Sercatonians would get their execution.

She slept a total of about two hours, intermittently, and when the sun came up, she did not feel rested in the least – though she did feel warmer. The Doctor hadn't slept a wink, but she knew, it would be a few more days of not-sleeping before he'd really feel the effects… by then, who knew if they'd even be alive?

The temperature had climbed to a bearable level, so they decided to get up, shed their coats for the day, and leave them on their sleeping shelves. Shortly thereafter, two bowls of some sort of cold, grey mush were held out to them through the bars on their cell door – it turned out to be basically rice, in a bland gravy.

"Leftovers from the staff's dinner last night," the Doctor said, shrugging. "At least it's not moving."

When the guard came to collect the bowls, Martha called out, "Er, I don't suppose you'd let us use the toilet?"

The guard pointed to his left, their right, and grunted, "Just there."

"What? This?" the Doctor asked, noticing a metal protrusion coming from the wall for the first time.

"Mm," the guard said, before walking away.

The Doctor tugged at the protrusion, which turned out to be a lumpy, dirty doorknob. Part of the wall opened into a cupboard, very tight, but private, and a hole in the floor.

The two of them decided to play word games for the next hour or so, until they heard a booming, terrifying voice tear through the cell.

"Time Lord!" it hurled.

"Oi! Blimey!" the Doctor shouted back, covering his ears reflexively. "I can hear you fine, there's no need for that bloody racket!"

"You will come!"

"Okay," he responded. "All you had to do was ask!

"Human!" the voice thundered.

"Yes?" Martha asked meekly, also covering her ears

"You will come as well!"

"Okay."

With that, the cell door opened and three guards walked inside. One of them made directly for the Doctor and manhandled him over to the door. A second guard did the same with Martha. He squeezed her arm and pulled so hard, she was sure she would have a bruise.

"Oh, my God," she couldn't help but whine. Tears came to her eyes – she thought the worst.

"Don't be upset," the Doctor advised her, knowing she'd fear they were being marched to their deaths. "It's just as likely we're going to trial now."

"Shut up," admonished one of the guards. "Just walk."

They were marched down the hall, kept apart from one another by the third guard, their arms kept bound by sheer brute strength.

It's just as likely we're going to trial now. Just relax. Relax.

She tried to resign. She tried to breathe normally, tried to be okay…

They were brought to an innocuous-looking grey door that was labelled in the local language. One of the guards knocked on the door, then all three walked away, in three different directions. Each one of them took up a post at the end of a hallway, where they could still observe their captives.

Nothing happened for a long few moments, and the Doctor took this opportunity to grab her hand.

Martha took the opportunity to ask, "What does the sign say?"

"It says Judge Rabic," he told her. "Told you… trial."

"Oh," she said, nodding, trying to pretend to herself, and to him, that meeting another bad-guy-in-charge was in any way reassuring.

"Wait, you can't read that sign?"

"No!" she said, suddenly worried about yet another thing. It hadn't registered until just now that none of the signage around them had been translated for her, since they arrived.

"But you can understand these guys when they speak to you?"

"Yes!"

He sighed, and stared at the door in front of them, saying nothing.

"So? What does that mean?" she asked, impatiently.

"Nothing we didn't already know," he said. "The TARDIS is in a coma, and her imprint upon your brain is fading. Sometime soon, you'll probably lose the ability to understand the spoken language as well."

"Bloody fantastic," she sighed. "As if this experience weren't disturbing enough. Well, will I be able to understand you?"

"Of course. I speak English, remember? I'm speaking English now. See? Cricket. Fog. Crumpet. Harry Potter," he said with exaggerated enunciation. "How much more English could it get?"

"Oh. I guess I've never really known whether it was just the TARDIS translating for me, even with you."

"Nope," he said. "What you're hearing is the genuine Queen's English, love."

"That's actually quite reassuring," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

A guard loudly cleared his throat, and she quickly pulled away.

After a few beats, she asked, "So, the TARDIS leaves an imprint upon my brain? Even when she's dormant?"

"Yes, just like you leave on hers," he said. "Only you can lose her, over time, if the connection gets severed, as it has been. She can never lose you. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless she never wakes up," he said, swallowing hard.

That was when the door opened harshly, and there stood another Sercatonian – rubber helmet, dark, round goggles, sharp grill, tall, thin, terrifying.

"Enter," he said, moving aside for them.

The Doctor stepped forward first, bringing Martha in by the hand behind him.

They found themselves inside of an office, what they assumed to be the Judge's "chambers," and it actually looked somewhat cosy.

The Judge kept one eye on them as he rounded his desk and sat down. He folded his skeletal hands in front of him and looked them both over.

"So. Doctor."

"So. Judge," the Doctor replied, not knowing quite what else to say.

"And Martha, is it?"

"Yes," she said, nodding slightly.

"We're so glad you're here on Sercaton," the Judge said.

"I'll just bet you are," the Doctor muttered.

"I, as you may know, am Judge Lof Rabic. I am in charge of this little stronghold of the Sercatonian Empire," said the being behind the desk. "And I am, therefore, in charge of you."

"Brilliant," said the Doctor, flippantly. "Then perhaps you can direct us to the nearest Starbucks. I could use a bit of a pick-me-up."

"Silence, Time Lord scum," Rabic said, though not with much expression. "You will stand there in reverence and obedience while I interrogate you as I see fit, then recite the charges against you."

The Judge seemed then to wait for the Doctor or Martha to say something, to defy him, but neither of them did.

"The blue box in which you were found, is this a type-40 TARDIS? Or an older model?" asked the Judge.

The Doctor did not answer. He returned a long-range stare to Rabic, that he hoped would let the man know that he was not about to disclose anything regarding his trusted vessel.

"Why have you chosen the shape of a blue box for the exterior camouflage? It doesn't seem very practical," the Judge continued.

"Yeah, well, I like blue," the Doctor shrugged.

"According to my men, there was a faint bit of light in the main room," Judge Rabic continued. "Why not full light? Come to that, why not pitch dark?"

"A swarm of greenish fireflies installed itself in the console," the Doctor said. "I rather like it – gives the place a romantic air."

"Impertinent Time Lord," the Judge spat, under his breath. A long pause, then, "Now, about the dimensional compression technology. Does this also mean that the TARDIS has mass de-compression?"

The Doctor remained silent.

"Tell me!" the Judge shouted, standing up suddenly.

"Come on, Judge," the Doctor said, calmly. "Am I really going to give you the tools and information you need to steal my vessel? It's the only thing in this whole universe that I own, and even at that, I'm using the term own very loosely, so…I'm keeping my lips zipped for once."

Martha couldn't actually see the Judge's eyes, as they were behind the round goggles of his rubber helmet. But his silence indicated that he was a bit nonplussed. Martha reckoned that the man hadn't counted on the Doctor knowing why he was asking those questions… she'd seen plenty a villain fall suddenly silent that way, when they were surprised by his quick thinking.

"Why not answer my questions, Doctor? You'll not be leaving this planet alive," Rabic said. "The thing will become our property one way or another. If I were you, I'd give me the required info, so that my mechanical team doesn't have to dismantle it. But, it's up to you."

"I'll take my chances," the Doctor muttered.

The Judge gestured with his hands, as if to say as you like, then sat down again. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, and began to read.

"Doctor, Martha, you are being charged with three counts of warlike invasion of airspace," he began.

"Warlike?" the Doctor shouted. "What the hell are you on about? And how is it three counts?"

"Silence!"

"Oh boy," the Time Lord sighed, annoyed.

"Three counts of reckless flying. Three counts of violent incursion upon Sercatonian soil," he continued. "Three counts of extended trespassing upon Sercatonian soil."

At that, the Judge took a pause.

"Is that it?" asked the Doctor.

"Hardly. Those are just the charges against the two of you," he said. "You, Time Lord, have a much more interesting litany of transgressions on your own."

"Do tell, then. Don't reckon I can stop you."

"Twenty-seven counts of invasion of airspace, reckless flying, violent incursion and trespassing of Sercatonian soil," the Judge read.

"Twenty-seven?" asked the Doctor. "Blimey, I've been busy."

"Interfering with government order, tampering with proprietary technology, inciting violence, inciting mass hysteria, inciting plague…"

"Plague?"

"Interference with law-enforcement, assaulting law-enforcement officers, murder of law-enforcement officers, unlawful sharing of planetary coordinates, the wrongful death of a prophet, and littering."

"Now, hold on! I never litter! I pride myself on that!" the Doctor protested.

"How could he have done all that stuff?" Martha asked. "He's either been in his ship, or in your custody since we landed here!"

"They're charging me with all of the crimes of the Time Lords, both real and imagined" the Doctor said. "A crew of twenty-seven came here and wanted to stop their barbaric way of keeping their thumb on the people… well, I told you the story."

"Are you seriously holding him responsible for something he had no part of?" Martha shouted.

The Judge held his hand for both of them to be silent. "The Time Lords perpetrated great injustices upon the Sercatonians. They shall pay."

"They," the Doctor scoffed. "Well, sir, we are not amused."

"Ordinarily, a criminal of your magnitude would stand trial this very day, so as to expedite the execution. But we've been authorised to delay your trial and execution for two more days, at least."

"You're presuming both trial and execution will occur at the same time?" Martha asked, incredulous. "You can't do that."

"We can, and we will. The Doctor will be found guilty of egregious crimes against Sercaton, and will be dead before sundown. But not today."

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other, the former seeming fretful in spite of herself, the latter simply annoyed.

"Why delay?" the Doctor asked. "Why not get it over with?"

"Because your trial and execution are to be public," said the Judge. "We are poised to rid the universe of the stain of the Time Lords…"

"Told you," the Doctor sang to Martha, under his breath.

"…and we want the universe to know about it. We have invited both allies and foes from galaxies around, to come and witness the disgrace and demise of the last of the Time Lords – and it will take a bit of time to get them here. They will see us in our glory! A new era of Sercatonian rule and peace will rash through this sector of the cosmos, just in the simple death of you, Doctor, and your Companion."

"Wait, her too?" the Doctor asked. "What's she done that's punishable by death?"

"Technically nothing," the Judge shrugged. "But we can sell it to the spectators as stopping her from furthering the Time Lord cause. Idiots will accept anything."

He tried to be sensible, and tried to control his panic and increasing heartbeat. But, in his mind, this whole situation had just got a hell of a lot more urgent.

"Technically nothing, but you can sell it?" the Doctor asked, angrily. "That's the most barbaric thing I've ever heard!"

"Very like a Time Lord – passing judgement. That's how your people got into this predicament, Doctor. Your behaviour lets me know that we are making the right decision by destroying you."

"Now, come on! You can't execute a woman just for sport! Just for your bloody spectators!"

"We can, and we will," the Judge repeated.

"What are you going to do when your crowed gets all excited seeing our heads roll?" the Doctor asked. "Thought about that? What, are you going to have paramedics with a hundred thousand defibrilators on standby?"

"What worry is it of yours?" asked Judge Rabic. "Guests of the Sercatonian Regime are treated well. If I were you, I would worry about the reckoning you'll make with your gods before your deaths."

"Yeah, we'll get right on that," the Doctor muttered.

Soon after that, the Judge grew very tired of the Doctor's tedious, presumptuous, impertinent questions, and called for the guards to put the two condemned prisoners back in their cold, dank cell.

"Okay, so… execution," Martha said, as soon as the door was shut. She stood with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot angrily.

"Yeah."

"What do we do?" Martha asked, still tapping.

He didn't say anything, but rather, just sighed, and began to pace.

She didn't push, she just followed suit. For a long while, they both just thought – contemplated their predicament, their scant options and why those options wouldn't work.

Eventually, Martha asked, darkly, "What method of execution will they use?"

"Martha."

"What? If I'm going to die on some distant planet, then don't I deserve to know how?"

"I don't know how," he confessed. "But… well, I hate to say it, but it'll be some way that's spectacular to watch."

"Which means bloody."

"Maybe."

"Or slow. Or causes convulsions."

"Easy, Dr. Jones," he said. "Don't go there, okay? Just… have a little faith."

"In you?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

She smiled. "Okay. But, part of that is my assurance that you have all the info… right now I'm not assured. And don't you think that if we knew the method of execution, we might have a better chance at making a plan to escape?"

"True," he said. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Well, maybe job-one can be figuring that bit out," she said. "How are they planning to kill us? Which might also answer the question, what equipment will we have on-hand when the moment of truth arrives?"

"Okay… maybe I can get the guard back here somehow, and I can find ways to pick his brain…"

And then a high-pitched noise jolted them out of their stupor, their conversation, their dark state of mind.

"Oh! Oh, my God, I forgot! I have my phone!" Martha chirped, as she pulled the ringing Razor from her back pocket, where she had had to shove it when the rubber-helmet squad handcuffed her. "Hello?"

"Martha, it's me," said her cousin's voice through the phone. "Are you guys okay?"

"Not really," she said. "But if I tell you about it, we'll both have a heart attack, so perhaps it's best not. How about you two?"

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but Donna seems to have fallen ill," he said. "I know you two have got stuff on your plate, but…"

"Damn it! The prescription! I can still call Royal Hope. They can still…" she said, trying to calm. "What's going on? What are the symptoms?"

"She's lethargic… seems weak, and she's clutching her head and crying off and on," Colin told her.

"It could be just a migraine," Martha said. "But given that she hasn't had her meds in a couple of days, and her condition is bizarre, at best, she could be going into hypertensive crisis."

"What does that mean?"

"High blood pressure to the max… danger of stroke."

"Well, shit! What do I do for her?"

"For now, see if you can get the headache to abate with something over-the-counter," Martha suggested. "If that doesn't do it, ring me back. I'm going to try and get one of my mates at work to intervene."

"Okay. Now, why aren't you two doing too well? And don't forget who you're talking to," Colin insisted. "Don't tell me to go away."

"We're being held prisoner, and, well… they're planning our executions a couple of days out," Martha said, calmly, because she had no other choice.

"What the fuck?" Colin shouted through the phone, causing Martha to pull the apparatus away from her ear momentarily.

"You knew we'd been kidnapped, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but… okay, so, you can't raise your heartbeat over one hundred beats per minute, and now you're facing execution?"

"Yes. It's rubbish."

"Rubbish? That's the understatement of the millennium!"

"Well, when I overstate things, my heart… wait a minute," Martha said, interrupting her own thought. "One hundred BPM? What makes you say that?"

"After you were arrested, Donna and I called the TARDIS a couple more times, just to hear the pulse," he explained.

Suddenly the Doctor's eyes shifted to Martha's, and he approached her and leaned his head in to hear Colin better. She didn't know he'd been listening, and could detect Colin's side of the conversation.

"And?" she asked.

"Well, I timed it at one hundred beats, but you know, I'm not a medic, so I wasn't sure," he said.

"What made you do that?" asked the Doctor.

"I dunno," he said. "Heartbeats, your heart attacks, the pulse… it all made me feel like there was some truth I was missing, like it was all connected, and then Donna told me I wasn't daft, so I pursued it."

"Not daft at all," the Doctor said. "Good man. Clever man."

"Thanks," Colin said, uncomfortably. "Anyway, the second time we called it, the two of us just sat there, listening to the pulse for a while… Donna seemed to think the TARDIS might know we were there, and appreciate us checking in or something."

"She might not be wrong," the Doctor commented.

"But while we were doing that, Stayin' Alive came on the radio, and it was in perfect sync with the pulse. I Googled it – it's one hundred beats per minute," Colin announced. "But enough about that. How are you going to get not-executed?"

"We haven't worked that out yet," Martha confessed, as the Doctor began to pace again. "We were just discussing that when you rang."

"Okay, I'll tell you what," Colin said. "I'm going to put my energy into getting rid of Donna's headache, to see if she perks up, and doesn't go into high-blood-pressure-panic, or whatever…"

"Hypertensive crisis," Martha corrected.

"I'm going to assume she'll be back to normal then, and the two of us can put our heads together and help you work out a way to get your arses back on this planet," he said.

"Good plan," Martha said. "Meanwhile, I'm going to ring up my friend Julia. I'll have her ring you when the prescription has been called in."

"Thank you," he said, quietly. "Martha, this is mental."

"I know. This is the life you signed up for," she counselled.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't know if I'm cut out for it. And all I'm doing is talking to you on the phone – you two are the ones in true peril, and Donna here, well…"

"We're going to be okay. We just need to pool our wits."

"Why do they want you dead?"

"They want the Doctor dead," Martha told him. "I'm a bonus."

"Why do they want the Doctor dead?"

"A lot of species in the universe want the Doctor dead, Colin," she said. "And it's always a long story. Take care of Donna. Keep in touch."

"Okay," he said. "Take care of yourselves."

Martha then dialled the number of Royal Hope hospital, worlds away in London. She left a message for her friend and colleague, Julia Swayles, explaining that she was trying to get a script for Propranolol HCL to a friend currently staying at a resort in Portugal, but couldn't, because of a problem with her credentials.

Martha then cut off the call, and commented, "I dunno. She's scrupulous almost to a fault. She might not want to write a script for someone she hasn't examined herself. Maybe Julia is too much of a longshot."

She sighed, shut her phone and shoved it into her front right pocket…

…where it squished a plastic packet of something.

"Oh, my God," Martha said, freezing in her tracks.

"What?" the Doctor asked.

She pulled the five-dose envelope of Donna's medication from her pocket, and looked at the Doctor with wide eyes. "I forgot I still had them."

He looked back at her with equally wide eyes. "Oh, Martha Jones…" he breathed. "This is one of the most exciting things I've ever seen you do, and mind you, that is saying something."

She chuckled. "Easy, now. We still have to get out of here."

He reached out and took them from her. "Did I hear you say Propranolol HCL?"

"Yes."

"Is that what these are?"

"Yes."

"That's a beta blocker. Heavy duty stuff."

"I know. I chose it for Dona because it controls heartrate and migraines…"

The Doctor's eyes were wide. "Things just got a lot easier. What we need now is a plan."

So... almost crickets again! If you're following and/or reading, please review! Just let me know you're out there! Only fair. ;-)