Notes: Sorry that this update had taken a few days, it's the end of my final year at university so my week has been a blur of parties and going to see one of my favourite bands at Wembley Stadium. I know people say this all the time but I honestly didn't expect people to read and like this story. I was wary that the crossover element may be a bit off putting! Thank you ever so much to those who left reviews, I genuinely touched by your comments because I haven't let anyone see any of my creative writing for quite a while now!
It might interest you to know that I did consider setting this story during Rose's time with the Tenth Doctor, but I didn't think she would be able to cope as well as Martha with the situation about to arise in this chapter. I did like Rose overall but sometimes Martha needs some attention! My plans for this story gives Martha the opporunity to show that she can be independent, something that I feel doesn't happen often enough in series 3. She does need The Doctor sometimes, but I like the idea that she can get by without him too.
Chapter Three:
The Doctor could only watch helplessly as his companion was dragged onto the main deck. She was still wearing his coat, but this was quickly stripped from her as its length on her significantly shorter body was causing crewmen to trip. The shark-headed creature, named Maccus, forced Martha's arms above her head and tied her wrists together, tugging sharply and instantly creating visible red marks. Martha's protests of "get your slimy hands off me!" unsurprisingly fell on deaf ears. At the same time, other members of the crew were lowering the TARDIS back into the cargo hold, and the grate fell back into place with an unsettling clang. Clanker partially climbed the rigging and fetched down a single pulley, which he then attached to the length of rope trailing from the knot around Martha's wrists. The snorts and taunts of the crew were stirring a primeval rage within The Doctor's core, but he reluctantly had to let it wash over him without action. He knew that one false move could mean the end for Martha a lot sooner; there would be no room for bargaining.
Martha's guttural scream as she was hoisted to the position previously occupied by the TARDIS was probably going to haunt The Doctor for the rest of his life. He shut his eyes tightly, wracked with guilt in the knowledge that this was indirectly his fault. Worse still was the fact that the crew had tied Martha's ankles together. Fastened to the ropes coiled around her lower legs was a bunch of three small cannon balls, ready to cruelly pull her to the ocean bed as soon as she hit the water. Unable to think of a plan that would actually work, The Doctor's only hope was that Martha would be sent quickly into the water, with the slim possibility that he could jump in afterwards and save her. Unfortunately, he knew very well that Davy Jones was not the sort to show mercy, his ability to tease his victims was famously documented.
"Down a notch!" Jones commanded. Oh this was heartless, The Doctor almost couldn't bear to watch. Martha screamed again, not so much from the drop but more from the pain of the ropes gnawing into her flesh. She stopped with a jolt, about ten feet from her starting point and was certain that her shoulders were about to dislocate. Still, she mentally chanted to herself that she wasn't going to cry a single tear, which would give the crew too much satisfaction. She wished that she were still hanging over the deck; maybe she could kick one of them in the face with the weights before they tore her legs away from her body, if she had to die horribly she wanted to make damned sure she took someone else with her.
"Doctor! Do something!" she yelled, patience wearing thin. This earned her another drop, and she still wasn't level with the boat! By her calculations she was going to be dropped another two or three times before the pulley would release her.
"You can't do this!" The Doctor had finally snapped. Martha would have been relieved had she not been expecting something a bit more heroic.
"Oh you're bloody useless," she hissed under her breath as she temporarily stopped twisting from side to side.
"And who are ye tae keep tellin' me what I can nae do on my ship?" snapped Jones, giving The Doctor another jolt before releasing him.
"I'm The Doctor," the reply came laced with confident authority, but Jones was not threatened. He simply laughed.
"Fancy titles don't scare me, Doctor!"
"Oh for goodness sake now would be a good time!" Martha groaned, a little more audible this time. The Doctor, aware that time was running out, pinched his nose with a sigh.
"Down a notch!"
"Alright!" The Doctor declared, holding up his hands with his fingers splayed "I give you my word Jones, I'll get your heart back," sincerity swimming across his brown eyes as he turned to Jones "just don't hurt Martha, please," the corners of Jones's mouth curled into another unpleasant smirk.
"One condition…" Jones purred, The Doctor nodded in defeat "yer blue box stays here…" Jones then looked towards Martha, who was wriggling against her bonds in a last-gasp attempt to fall out of them. "As does she…"
"What? No! That's two conditions!"
"The terms stand, she can go tae the depths or she can swear an oath tae the Dutchman, ye think I'd let y'both leave? Yer needin' some good incentive tae come back!"
"You're clever, I'll give you that, grudgingly," The Doctor replied, dropping his shoulders and feeling somewhat deflated. "Just promise me one thing…" The Doctor paused, already accepting that Davy Jones would never make a promise "don't let any harm come to her, and let her go when I come back…"
"Now ye have my word, yer thinkin' I'm not a man of honour Doctor but appearances can be quite deceptive!" The Doctor's mouth gaped in surprise. "Bring her in!" Jones barked, and the crew obeyed, pulling Martha back onto the main deck and ridding her of the rope and chains around her limbs. As soon as she was free, The Doctor rushed down the stairs from the upper deck to be at her side. Martha, who had been plopped roughly on the floor, was trembling as she rose to her feet. She managed to gather enough strength to run towards The Doctor and threw her arms around him, crushing herself against his chest. She frowned, his body was rigid and he didn't return the hug. Slowly, she leaned back, relaxing her hold on him until their only contact was through the fingers on one hand. She scowled at him.
"I'm sorry Martha," she gasped in surprise as The Doctor launched himself at her, this time throwing his arms around her and hugging her tightly. "I'm so sorry…" thud…pause Jones was on the move to the main deck, and soon appeared at The Doctor's side.
"Do we have a deal?" Jones asked. The Doctor gulped, Martha was going to hate him forever after this…
"Yes," he nodded, loosening his grip on Martha and stepping back, keeping his hands on her upper arms. "Yes, I go and she stays. I get back your heart and you let her go…" his eyes began to glisten as though he were about to cry.
"What? No! I ain't staying here!" Martha screeched, pushing The Doctor's hands off her and folding her arms "Doctor, you can't make me stay here!"
"I have to!" hissed The Doctor through his teeth. "You either stay here or you drown. Don't make me choose your death!" he pleaded. Martha briefly turned her attention to Jones, who looked callously amused.
"Swear an oath tae the Dutchman lass, and yer life will be spared…"
"I'll come back for you…" whispered The Doctor, touching a palm to her cheek and catching the single tear she cried as she bowed her head. "I promise, I won't leave you,"
"I swear," she said, her voice trembling. The Doctor embraced her again and pressed their foreheads together. He broke away, leaving her feeling quite cold and exposed.
"My terms are fulfilled," The Doctor directed at Jones, holding out his right hand. Jones gripped The Doctor's hand and curled his tentacled index finger around their handshake, partially wrapping the very end about The Doctor's wrist. It was the vilest handshake The Doctor had ever experienced, he could feel sucker pads nipping the skin on his palm and a viscous slime oozing against his fingers. It reminded him of impending death, that sensation before the world became black and his cells burst open at the seams.
"Done!" Jones released The Doctor's hand, and turned to walk away. The Doctor gawped at his hand and wriggled his fingers, desperately trying to stay composed. With a shudder accompanied by "urrgh", he wiped his hand on the top of his trouser leg, no longer concerned with something as insignificant as vanity. Before he could gather his thoughts, he felt something jab between his shoulder blades.
"Follow!" snarled Maccus. The Doctor looked at Martha and shrugged. Reluctantly, they both followed Jones to the boat deck, The Doctor managing to snatch back his coat along the way. He slipped it on, lamenting the partially wet sleeves and ascended the small run of steps to where Jones was impatiently waiting. It wasn't much of a boat deck, apart from the usual plague of decay and bits of crustacean, it only had one boat and even that did not appear to be in a good condition.
"Yer lucky we were able tae recover this after Bootstrap's bothersome issue borrowed it…" said Jones "which reminds me…" he turned to Maccus "send that treacherous sea slime back tae the brig, he's served his purpose!" Maccus disappeared and Martha was quite glad, of all the crewmen she had decided she liked him the least. There was something sinister about him having one eye on the side of his head, it meant that he could watch from two directions at once. Martha never did like the feeling of being watched, especially when it could be done so craftily.
"I assume, and forgive me for being so astute, that this boat is for me?" The Doctor enquired, feeling bold enough to let a minor strain of cockiness return.
"Aye, the Company be in these waters somewhere," Jones replied, ignoring The Doctor's relapse in attitude and leaning so that his mouth was mere millimetres away from The Doctor's ear "and yer better looking the part…"
"Shipwrecked," The Doctor muttered, glancing sideways and observing a wicked glint in Jones's eyes. "Well, away I go then!" he beamed with a slight sense of adventure. He clambered into the boat and was handed a lit lantern, an odd choice considering it would be daylight for a while but it would hopefully continue to serve him once visibility became poorer. He noted that the boat was quite small, barely able to fit more than three people within it, which was probably related to the fact that the Dutchman was inescapable. Most people who ended up on board were there to serve out a sentence and it was impossible to leave. The Doctor shifted to get comfortable between the oars, which were currently laid flat against the boat. He was gradually lowered into the water, wincing slightly at the sound created by the rusted equipment. It was going through him like nails on a blackboard and one look at Martha's face told a similar story. He was quite relieved to feel the rock of the boat as it finally made contact with the water. As he removed the ropes from the boat, he sighed and readied the oars, pushing off from the side of the ship and turning ninety degrees.
"I'll come back Martha, I promise," The Doctor repeated, feeling slightly ridiculous as he began to row. Over 900 years of time travel and he was reduced to this. It was moments like these that made him wonder if there was such a thing as karma after all, though this incarnation had surely suffered enough? First he lost Rose, now he was potentially losing Martha, and all he could do was watch her staring at him in silence, getting smaller as he created more distance between his boat and the Dutchman.
"You better…" Martha muttered to herself, temporarily forgetting that Jones was still standing next to her.
"What's yer full title lass?" he demanded suddenly. Martha huffed, she was certainly not in the mood to talk to anyone and just wanted to sit somewhere on her own, even if it meant a return trip to the brig.
"Martha Jones," she replied coldly "and don't think we're related or anything, s'far as I know there ain't any squids in my family tree!" Jones narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to one side.
"I weren't about tae suggest such nonsense!" he snapped "tis a pity such a name be wasted on something so pathetic!" Martha fell forward, catching her weight on the railings in front of her, she dug her fingers into the wood caring little if any splinters pushed under her fingernails. "Well Miss Jones, yer welcome to go anywhere on this ship, except my quarters," sneered the captain "now get out of my sight!". Martha waited until The Doctor was an anonymous dot on the horizon and then faced Jones with an annoyed pout.
"Gladly!" she spat, storming off in the direction of the main deck.
The Doctor had no idea how much time had passed since he left Martha to an unfavourable fate. The first part of his journey had been uneventful, the sea had been kind and so he was able to row at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, the weather was as unpredictable as his temper and as night began to fall, the waves became noticeably more violent. The Doctor decided to pick up the pace, both hearts pumping wildly as he rowed like a man possessed. Adding insult to injury, a rumble of thunder roared across the sky, quickly followed by bullets of rain that hammered against The Doctor's lean form, stinging him and soaking him through. Smoky clouds rolled across the sky, shielding the emerging stars and increasing the force of the rain. As he rowed, The Doctor had to constantly check behind him, riding over the ever increasing waves that threatened to capsize him and toss him around like a piece of paper in the wind.
Although Time Lords could withstand low temperatures, the nip of cold rainwater was still rather irritating. The Doctor's arms were aching and he was sure that the feeling in his fingers had long since left him but he persevered. Every now and again, a huge wave would crash over him, matting his hair against his eyelids and saturating his clothes. He would spit a jet of relatively warm salt water and groan in frustration as he attempted to clear stray droplets from his nose. Suddenly, the brig of the Flying Dutchman seemed like a five star hotel.
The Doctor had no idea where he was going and the shrouded stars meant it was impossible to navigate anyway. The Caribbean Sea was famously large and this was an age in which it was only just being explored. Had it not been for his promise to Martha, The Doctor would have given up hope. The thought of Martha spurred him on, he gritted his teeth and roared in determination as a flash of lightning ripped through the clouds.
"I'll save you Martha! I promise!" he cried out, bracing himself as another wave rose up behind him, it crested and fell quickly, the boat no longer visible as it was completely enveloped by water.
Meanwhile, Martha had spent most of the day quite unsure what to do, she had not been given any orders or told what was expected of her. She had taken up residence on the port side of the main deck, resting her elbows against the railing and propping her head up with her hands under her chin. She did not know how long she had been slouching against the side of the ship, it was clearly an extended length of time for her senses were not operating at an efficient capacity. Her eyes were blurred from crying and any sounds around her registered as muffled, even the blood swilling in her ears was very faint now and she felt that any attempt to speak would come out as a broken squeak. She heard various crewmen shout "down!" and thought nothing of it, perhaps they were moving something such as the TARDIS or a cannon. It wasn't until she felt the deck beneath her tilt at a slight angle that she realised something was very wrong.
Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she noticed that the bow of the ship was rapidly disappearing under water, followed by the front section of the main deck. She glanced up to the bridge deck, panicking. Davy Jones was up there, standing next to a so far un-named crewmember that was at the helm. Jones noticed Martha's anxious expression and an amused grin flickered across his face. Martha turned away, not wishing to witness Jones's malicious satisfaction. She decided to face the water head on, at least that way she would see it coming. In her head this all happened very slowly, but common sense told her that in real time only a few seconds past between noticing the water rushing forth and it reaching her ankles. She cursed The Doctor, annoyed that he'd saved her from drowning only to condemn her to death…by drowning. She inhaled a large lung full of air and stood tall as the water claimed her.
On the way down, Martha had closed her eyes. Although she could not see, she knew that she was definitely under water. There was a surprisingly warm sensation against her skin, and she could feel her top rippling next to her bellybutton. The pressure in her head had changed, causing her ears to pop. She couldn't hear anything, just the rush of water trying to push into her ear canals. She swept a hand in front of her face and the swish of disturbed water followed, with some hesitation she finally opened her eyes.
Unexpectedly, she could see quite clearly through the deep blue waters surrounding her. The sight before her was somewhat surreal, the crew were continuing their duties, unimpeded by their relocation under the water. By now Martha's lungs were beginning to throb, her stomach muscles clenched and she felt as though she'd surely burst. When it occurred to her that Jones had no intention of resurfacing any time soon, Martha accepted her fate and attempted to breathe, willing the water to fill her lungs quickly so that she might drift off into an endless sleep.
In yet another twist, Martha discovered that the water was indeed forcing itself into her lungs but it wasn't affecting her. She frowned and exhaled hard, concentrating on the stream of large bubbles that left her mouth and burst with a slowed plop in front of her eyes. This didn't make any sense, she didn't even need a degree in medicine to know that this was impossible. She was breathing. Her first instinct was to touch her throat, expecting that she had suddenly sprouted gills. When she discovered that the skin on her throat remained perfectly smooth, she grew increasingly alarmed, vanity seizing her. "I better still have a nose!" she thought, tentatively walking her fingertips up her face, dreading the discovery of siphon sprouting from her nostrils, or worse her cheek. Her nose too remained intact, and she stopped worrying about her appearance and instead pondered the effect this strange sensation must be having on her lungs.
It was both wonderful and terrifying to feel seawater slipping down her throat through her nostrils and mouth. The most uncomfortable aspect was the temperature and taste of salt, the steady rhythm of water moving up and down her windpipe was actually quite therapeutic, it forced her to breathe calmly. She decided to go for a stroll about the deck, stopping every now and again to look over the side of the ship. She was mesmerised by the beautiful patterns created as the last light of the day breached the water's surface and filtered down to the Dutchman. Members of the crew occasionally paused to observe her, disappointment colouring them once they realised she was no longer panicking. She eventually guessed that in swearing an oath to the Dutchman, she had effectively become immortal, and she smiled. Now she was immortal, The Doctor had no excuse, she knew he didn't abandon her in hope that she would soon die, even if it took one hundred years she was sure he would come back.
The sea was still again and the sky cloudless. The Doctor had survived an onslaught of waves but was, unusually for him, exhausted as a result. He had given up rowing and allowed the boat to drift gently. Feeling somewhat delusional, he decided to rest and lay down in the base of the boat, staring up at the sky. He always had such a clinical approach to stars and space. For him, they were scientific fact and any natural beauty was always over emphasised by silly humans. However, tonight he began to believe that he was the silly one, the stars looked like fireflies, twinkling across a spread of rich black cloth. He didn't see constellations and distant suns whose light was hundreds of years old, he saw gemstones and precious silver. He was overcome with loneliness and wished that there were someone with him to revel in the beauty of the night sky. The lantern had burnt out hours ago, all that was left was darkness.
It took The Doctor a long time to realise that the voice he could hear was his own. Subconsciously he had begun singing to himself, a song with a name he couldn't remember but it had significant sentimental value. Rose had played it from her room whenever The Doctor had annoyed her. She would often retreat into her own sanctuary, bemoaning his lack of understanding her and then she would play this song. At first she had done it as a means of calming herself down, but once she discovered that it actually really irritated The Doctor she would play it just to spite him. Naturally, he thought of Rose and believed this to be karma for taunting Jones about solitude. However, his thoughts were not fixed upon Rose, he thought of Martha too and it pained him to know she was alone on the Dutchman, surrounded by creatures that cared very little for her well-being. He knew that Martha had a complex, believing that she would never live up to Rose but that was utterly untrue. He did care about Martha deeply, but the hurt caused by losing Rose was one companion too far, and had hardened him up. He was wary of being affectionate, and Donna's refusal to accompany him had dented his ego.
First light was emerging by the time The Doctor stopped singing, and he turned his head to one side with a sigh. He was certain that he spotted a ship in the distance but his vision was failing him. The Doctor didn't feel like being super human anymore, and gave up fighting the urge to sleep. With another sigh, he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness.