Notes: Sorry for another gap between updates! I'm not getting on my computer much lately, and when I do get on, I'm mostly writing this! Just didn't want anyone to think I'm losing interest, I very much intend to finish this :).Again, thank you to all those who have left reviews or indeed made this story a favourite. Anyway, enough blabbering!
Chapter Seven:
The Doctor had worn many faces and exhibited numerous quirks and personal preferences. Yet his ten lives could be linked by one common thread; he was only truly happy when he lived by his own rules. In spite of Beckett's reassurance, the Endeavour was beginning to feel like a cage. The Doctor was constantly checking his behaviour, making sure that he stayed in a character that robbed him of his ability to do what he wanted and convince his "colleagues" that it was what they also wanted. Sneaking around in the middle of the night would be hard to explain, but The Doctor didn't care. It gave him the adrenaline rush he craved and reminded him that he wasn't loyal to the East India Company. He grinned from ear to ear as he tiptoed across the main deck, using moonlight and mast as cover. Finally, he was in his element and playing rivalries against each other. His opponents were clever, he knew that very well, but the information he sought would give him the advantage of foresight. If only he could be sure that this was going to work!
As he descended the stairway into the thankfully unguarded brig, The Doctor felt unusually cold. He didn't believe in divine beings and regardless of everything that had happened to him so far, he still had faith in a rational explanation. However, he could not explain the reason why his hearts were thumping so erratically, as though he had something to fear. His personal mantra for the past few hours was to remind himself that Tia Dalma was only a woman, but her actions on deck earlier had thrown The Doctor's logic into disarray. Worse still, as soon as one boot touched the floor, Tia Dalma looked over her shoulder and gave a blackened grin. She was crouched upon the floor, with her back turned and the single candle allowed angular shadows to fall across her menacing features. She rose up to her full height and turned, swaying her hips as she approached the immaculately polished bars of her prison. Her grin widened and The Doctor swallowed hard.
"Dokta…" she purred.
"I expected you to be expecting someone else…" The Doctor replied, moving closer.
"Not dis time," said Tia Dalma, curling her fingers around the bars. "I know you, Dokta, I know t'ings aboot you dat you don't even know about yoursel', an' I know dat you come for information,"
"Well," said The Doctor, one hand brushing against a single bar that was a comfortable distance away from Tia Dalma "you get right down to business, like so many others in this messed up world of warped mythology…" he trailed off, noticing a predatory look in Tia Dalma's eyes and shuddered.
"An' dat's de problem Dokta," she said, moving her right hand and fluttering her fingers over his knuckles "you t'ink you know it all, an' everyt'ing is wrong. Who are you Dokta, dictatin' to destiny what it can't do?"
"Stories are stories, but they still follow a specific path. Just because this is history now doesn't mean it's right that events are not following…"
"Perhaps it is you dat cause all dis," Tia Dalma interrupted, stroking his fingers and leaning close enough for her nose to brush against The Doctor's cheek. He pulled back from the bars and raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. "Your race," she said "you al'ways say you jus' observe, but you…you make yoursel' part of t'ings. An' now, you be dealin' with de consequence,"
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked The Doctor, leaning forward again. Tia Dalma's mouth widened and she exhaled sensuously, reaching through the bars to caress his face.
"Nev'a underestimate sympathy for de devil!" she removed her hand from his face and stepped back from the bars, obviously amused by The Doctor's confusion.
"If you know me, then you'll know that the devil is no longer an issue," he whispered.
"Demons come in many forms," she said dismissively "an' I know your demons, Dokta, you nev'a stop runnin', even when der be nobody left. Runnin' an' losin' those who love you. You prepared to lose another?" she gave another hideous grin.
"I'm not going to lose her, I promised!" The Doctor hissed, slamming his hand into the bars and gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white. Tia Dalma chuckled as she returned to a sitting position, thumbing the chain around her neck.
"How much more can her take? Her rules not al'ways followin' yours Dokta. Her goin' to choose differently an' den you realise, sometimes de cruel path lead to de kinder fate," she said, her expression serious and commanding.
"I've no time for cryptic riddles," The Doctor replied, stepping away from the bars with the intention of leaving but something made him come to an abrupt halt. He sucked in a breath as curiosity seized him. "One thing I don't understand, if you are indeed Calypso, you wouldn't let Jack Sparrow transport you here with such ease…unless," he faced her again "there's more than one way to free a goddess," Tia Dalma gave the vilest, widest grin that The Doctor had ever seen, answering his question without the need for words. "But that might not work, I know how you were bound. Death might be final. That's the problem with loopholes," he said quietly "they're not guaranteed to work,"
"An' yet, dey won't be expecting it if it not final!"
"You should still be scared," The Doctor replied with unsettling smile of his own. Tia Dalma looked away from him and her lips curled into a snarl. The Doctor began to climb the steps, satisfied that Tia Dalma's own fear had fuelled her attempts to spook him.
"Dokta!" he turned around and she leapt up, rushing over to the bars. Her tone of voice had completely changed to one of desperation and she was clearly shaking. "Please…" she stretched her arm through the bars, flattening out her palm and offering a small object attached to the chain that had previously been around her neck. "Give dis to him, please" The Doctor arched a brow again and shuffled closer, snatching the object from her hand before returning to the bottom step. It appeared to be a locket, heart-shaped with a face carved into it. "Jus' in case…" she said, bottom lip trembling as she dropped her gaze. The Doctor wordlessly reached out again to stroke his fingers along her palm, reassuring her that he knew exactly what she was asking. Tia Dalma pulled her hand away and skulked towards the back of the cell. The Doctor resumed sneaking, hoping for a swift return to his borrowed room before sunrise.
In her sleep, Martha fell forward. As her head connected with the keys, the pipe organ let out a thunderous roar that firmly rooted her back in the waking world. She blinked and sat up, feeling a little disorientated. Her neck ached, giving a good indication that she had been in the same slumped position all night. The Dutchman was usually gloomy regardless of the time of day, but stray beams of light were stinging Martha's eyes. She guessed it was morning, and silently cursed the absent Davy Jones for not even having the decency to move her during the night. Perhaps he had suddenly developed a conscience and decided to leave her in peace, but failing to just put her in a more comfortable position was quite insulting.
"Just because he's captain…" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. It was then that she noticed something new draped across the bench next to her. At first she thought it was cloth but as she reached out to grab the unfamiliar object, she discovered it vaguely resembled a dress. The skirt was mostly knee-length and dull brown, slightly tattered at the bottom with odd strips that revealed it was once a much longer dress. The bodice was black and tied at the front, covering the dirty white upper-dress, which ended in short sleeves. Martha frowned, if a worn out second-hand dress was Jones's idea of a peace offering, she had officially found someone with less tact than The Doctor. She flew out of the cabin, dress in hand and sought out Jones, beyond caring that she was probably going to get the flogging of her life for this. She didn't have to go very far, Jones was out on the quarterdeck watching over his crew.
"What's this?" Martha demanded, shaking the dress in Jones's general direction until he finally noticed she was standing beside him. Jones stuck out his bottom lip in a bemused fashion.
"I would've thought that were obvious!" he snorted, accompanied by loud sniggers from any crew who were in earshot.
"Ok, I said a change of clothes would be nice, but this," she shook the dress again "is this supposed to make up for the way you've been speaking to me most of the time and the fact that you tried to kill me!" she hissed. A deep crease appeared across Jones's forehead, and Martha was sure that had he possessed eyebrows they would knitted together in a scowl. He loomed over her, tangling a single tentacle around a strip of seaweed in Martha's hair and giving it a sharp tug.
"In case ye have nae noticed lass," he pulled harder and Martha winced "I'm captain of this ship, I can do what I like, and yer lucky that I decided to treat ye a little better!" Jones let her go and Martha shrank back against the wall, still clutching the dress.
"Am I supposed to be grateful?" she snapped. Jones glared at her and bared his teeth as he took one hard stomp towards her.
"Yer about two syllables away from an actual flogging lass! If I were in yer position, I'd gentle meself down some," he spat, slamming his right hand against the wood next to her. Martha bowed her head and Jones chuckled "not so brave now, are ye? Now, get back tae your chores lass, else I'll satisfy the bos'sun's craving fer some blood!"
"Forgive me Captain," Martha reluctantly hissed through her teeth, slipping under Jones's arm without looking at him. She returned to the cabin and gently closed the door behind her, desperately trying to keep her temper at bay. She wanted to scream but such a racket would probably disadvantage her situation. Instead, she shuffled towards the pipe organ, scraping her heels against the floor and as she was half way across the room she flung the dress towards the bench. It fluttered through the air and fell roughly in its original position, with one sleeve dangling over the edge of the bench. Martha remained rooted to the spot, breathing heavily.
After a moment staring at the offending garment, Martha's attitude began to change. Sure, the dress had been a tasteless peace offering but she was fed up of wearing the same clothes for the best part of a week now. She had also noticed that the dress was surprisingly dry. Her own clothes barely had time to dry out between the times that the Dutchman had been submerged, and even when she did dry off her jeans had a faint damp odour. At least the dress would temporarily remind her what it was like to wear dry clothes. She stepped forward and picked it up, fingering the coarse fabric.
"Not very well made," she said "and it's going to itch like hell. At least I'll fit in with the scenery a bit better…" she draped the dress back over the bench and removed her jacket. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, paranoid that the captain would return at any moment. Satisfied that she was quite safe for now, Martha swiftly removed her top and gathered the dress up in her hands, slipping her upper body through the skirt and smoothing the dress down over her jeans. The bodice was not yet tied properly and so the upper dress was quite loose, but Martha soon rectified that little problem by pulling the cord at the front tightly into a bow. The sleeves would not rest upon her shoulders properly, confirming that the woman who had previously owned this dress was perhaps a little larger than Martha, but at least she could bend down now without exposing herself.
Martha glanced towards the door again and bunched her skirt up at her waist so that she could unzip her jeans. She rolled her eyes once she realised that her boots would need to be removed first and let the skirt fall back down. After her boots landed on the floor beside her with a single thud, Martha repeated her earlier action and began to wriggle out of her jeans. The repeated dampening of the fabric had made a normally simple action quite frustrating. It felt as though the jeans were threatening to peel her flesh from her bones and she struggled to get one leg out, having to do a silly dance to kick her crumpled jeans away. She slipped back into her boots and then crouched down to gather up her modern clothing, checking the pockets in her jeans and gasping as her fingers curled around a cold, rectangular object.
"Oh no!" she wailed, removing her mobile phone in full knowledge that it had been in and out of the sea several times. She turned it over in her palm, her heart sinking as she saw the waterlogged screen. Of course she hadn't expected it to work still, but considering that The Doctor had turned it into a "super phone" she had falsely hoped that it was water resistant. For now, she was truly on her own. "I'm sure he'll be able to fix it. What would I say to my mum anyway? Hi Mum, just ringing to let you know I'm enslaved to a mythical ghost ship but I'm fine really!" said Martha, returning the phone to her jeans pocket. She then tore part of a longer strip from the skirt of the dress and wrapped it around her own clothes before shoving the bundle behind a large freestanding pipe close to the organ. In spite of Jones seeing the sonic screwdriver, he had yet to ask any questions about The Doctor or Martha's origins but Martha wasn't taking any chances. She concealed the phone in the hope that she could retrieve it when The Doctor finally rescued her. She rose to her feet and returned to the pipe organ to resume scrubbing.
"See, that was nae so hard was it?" Jones's voice startled Martha so much that she dropped her brush. She faced him with a disapproving look colouring her eyes. "Do nae worry lass, I only just got here, was nae watching y'dress or nothin'," said Jones.
"I never said you were!" Martha replied, bending her legs underneath her so that she could sit up on the bench.
"Yer expression said enough Miss Jones, yer very easy to read sometimes, ye know that?" asked Jones, walking towards her and stopping a giant stride away from the bench.
"I only did it because I'm cold," said Martha, resting her hands against her thighs.
"Better get used to that lass,"
"I don't need to,"
"Ha!" Jones scoffed, cocking his head "still think yer gettin' outta this? I admire yer determination, and grudgingly yer spirit,"
"Thought you said it was broken?" Martha smiled, adjusting her legs so that she could swing them over the bench and stand. Even from a slight distance Jones dwarfed her, but she felt more comfortable this way.
"Tis," he replied with a wicked grin "but yer still testin' me, I like my crew to fight back some, much more interestin',"
"By that you mean you can punish them!"
"Maybe," he smirked, leaning towards her "but here ye are, still relatively unpunished!"
"I don't understand that," Martha said quietly.
"Y'think that I am cruel, and dishonourable Miss Jones, I can tell, but ye'd be surprised, I still have some morals,"
"Meaning?" Martha arched an inquisitive brow.
"Could've said some cruel things last night lass, but ye did nae do so, one good turn deserves another so yer little indiscretion just now can be ignored. Again," he emphasised the last word with another laugh.
"What if I hadn't backed down?" asked Martha.
"Then ye would be tastin' the cat right now, no doubt about that,"
"You are so bloody schizophrenic Captain," said Martha playfully. "Makes me wonder what she did to you…" Jones's expression harshly changed, his mouth drooped at the corners and he narrowed his eyes. He turned away from Martha with an annoyed snort.
"There be nae need to discuss that," he growled.
"Why not?" Jones spun back again and glared at Martha, the flailing of his tentacles suggesting that his temper was about to become critical.
"Because ye be crew, and I owe ye nothin', not fer all the sympathy in the ocean!" snapped Jones.
"But I do sympathise Captain!" Martha replied "I know what it's like, I know what it's like to do everything for someone you love and get very little in return," Jones's expression softened "believe me, I've risked my life so many times…"
"And yet, ye continue to do so!" snapped Jones, the snarl returning.
"Well, I don't see you getting over your broken heart, do you?" Martha replied, knowingly overstepping the mark. Jones stomped so close to Martha that she could feel his short, angry bursts of breath beating against her skin.
"That…" he growled "is a comment I refuse to ignore!" and Martha closed her eyes, preparing to be dragged by the hair onto deck and lashed until her back was red raw. Thank heavens for miraculous coincidences; she was saved by a shout outside from Maccus for "all hands" and Jones was soon tearing through the cabin door to investigate. Martha followed, assuming that she was not immune from the call. She stopped behind Jones and waited.
"Mr Maccus, what be the meaning of this?" Jones bellowed. Maccus was next to the main mast, busily sending crewmen off to various duties and ordering several down to the gun deck. He paused and looked toward his captain.
"Sorry sir, but we think there's a ship in the distance, might want to ready for engaging them…"
"Hmm…" Jones walked up to the helm and produced a telescope from his coat pocket. He wrapped the tentacle of his right hand over the top and raised the telescope to his eye, looking through it for a few seconds before returning it to his pocket. Martha had stayed in place and so did not see what transpired at the helm but from the look on Jones's face when he returned to her side, she guessed that the news wasn't good. He gave her a dismissive glance and turned to address his crew.
"Whatever it is, it's a way off…take us down then!"
"You can't!" Martha suddenly piped up, "The Doctor might be on that ship!"
"And if he is…" snarled Jones "he should be doin' his part and retrieving the chest, now kindly follow orders for a change and be quiet!" and with that, he stormed back up to the helm.
Martha desperately searched for something to cling onto before the ship was submerged and sighed. As the water began to rush forth, she had just about enough time to contemplate the luxury of ten minutes in dry clothes.
"How do you know they're here?" The Doctor asked in-between glances out over the starboard side.
"They're here," grunted Mercer, his voice laced with contempt "they were here mere moments ago, this is simply the scum of the earth playing hard to get," he said, looking The Doctor up and down and twisting his lips. He walked away and The Doctor sighed. He really didn't like that man.
"Don't worry Doctor," chirped Norrington, leaning against the railing "they can hide but they can't run, therefore they won't be hiding for very long!"
"Ooh I hate humourless clichés, especially muddled humourless clichés," The Doctor mused to himself
"Pardon?" asked Norrington. The Doctor smiled cheekily.
"Oh nothing, anyway…when's this ship going to surface?"
At that moment there was an explosive rush of water rising up to the levels of a tidal wave. The familiar bowsprit of the Dutchman burst through the surface in an array of foam and spray, splashing water in every compass direction imaginable. As the ship levelled, the wave crashed back down towards the water, showering most Endeavour crewmen as it fell. Magnificent waterfalls poured from every cannon port as the Dutchman turned so that it was parallel with the other ship and The Doctor hurriedly scanned the deck for Martha. He wasn't disappointed; she was not too far away from the main mast, shivering with her arms folded across her chest. She didn't appear to notice The Doctor but he grinned nonetheless.
"Never mind!" The Doctor exclaimed. "Permission to go aboard Admiral?" he asked, resisting the urge to jump around on the spot.
"Permission already granted Doctor!" laughed Norrington "we're readying a rope as we speak!"
At first, Martha cared very little for this new ship. She had noticed that the men on deck were wearing over-elaborated uniforms that had to be too hot to wear in this climate and assumed that the Dutchman was dealing with a ship full of stuck up eighteenth-century Brits. However, as soon as a rope had been secured to the lip of the main deck railing, Martha realised that the method of boarding was a little too unconventional for a bunch of stuck up Brits. Her heart fluttered and she leaned on her tiptoes with anticipation.
A hand grasped the wood of the Dutchman and was followed by a groan as its owner hauled himself up onto the railing. He briefly balanced upon it with his feet before leaping down onto the deck of the Dutchman. Martha's smile dissolved into a frown as she saw that the man was wearing uniform but then he looked up. The new attire may have made him seem unrecognisable but she knew those brown eyes, and she definitely knew that grin!
"Is there a Martha Jones on board by any chance?" The Doctor announced. Martha rushed toward him and threw her arms around him in a bone-crunching embrace. The Doctor gasped in surprise but soon returned the favour, wrapping his arms over Martha's shoulder and squeezing her hard.
"Doctor," she sighed with content against his chest. He loosened his hold upon her and stepped back, leaving his hands on her upper arms.
"Martha Jones," he smiled "blimey…you look," he paused trying to put this delicately "different" Martha laughed, tucking one piece of seaweed behind her ear and choosing to ignore the two that had sprung up on the other side of her head.
"And you just look really silly, sorry!" she moved in for another hug, rubbing his back this time. The Doctor pulled back, breaking the embrace. He looked really serious now.
"To business I'm afraid," he whispered, "where is your glorious leader?"
"He is here," said Jones, appearing from who knows where. The Doctor stepped away from Martha and confidently squared up to Jones.
"Ah just the sea devil I wanted to see!" quipped The Doctor "I come bearing gifts,"
"I have nae time fer yer bothersome games Doctor!" snapped Jones.
"Oh alright, you want to be no fun as usual…" said The Doctor "Lord Beckett," The Doctor titled his head "wants you to start destroying pirate ships,"
"Out of the question!" spat Jones.
"He has your heart," said The Doctor, one eyebrow raised "that means it is one hundred percent in the question,"
"The heart that ye were supposed to retrieve!"
"And I was going to retrieve, and I still am…but if you want this to work you're going to have to stay calm and play nicely. I'd do as he says for now Jones, really because you're no longer the highest authority in this world. You're officially a pawn Jones, a little soldier in Lord Beckett's quest to rid this world of a plague," The Doctor raised his nose to the air, looking Jones directly in the eyes.
"Will that be all that the land-lover desires?" hissed Jones.
"Nope," The Doctor replied bluntly "you've got to kill the Kraken as well,"
"I will not!"
"You will," said The Doctor "because if you don't," he stood so close that he could whisper into the area where he guessed Jones possessed an ear "he'll destroy the heart. And you'll die," Jones raised his clawed hand in a rage but The Doctor had already leapt backwards, avoiding such a strike.
"Destroying it would require taking my place and therefore my curse. I do nae believe that he would be prepared tae pay such a price!" snapped Jones. The Doctor chuckled.
"I've been aboard that ship," he gestured in the direction of the Endeavour "believe me when I say, he has plenty of candidates lined up who would be prepared to stab your heart. You're about to become extinct Jones…an endangered species. I really would follow orders," Jones snorted and whipped his head from side to side, tormented by the severity of the situation.
"Will that be all?" he asked with another hiss.
"No actually, I'm not quite finished," replied The Doctor "congratulations," he fished in one of his pockets and threw something at Jones. Jones caught the small object in his right hand and coiled his tentacled finger around a chain. He opened the rest of his fingers, exposing a heart-shaped locket resting against his palm. "Your girlfriend is dead," The Doctor teased. Jones's lips quivered as he gazed at the object before crushing it against his palm again. His fiery stare then returned to The Doctor whose smug expression was soon wiped from his face.
"Put this whelp back in the brig where he belongs!" yelled Jones, grabbing The Doctor with his clawed hand and flinging him towards Clanker. Martha ran towards Jones, grabbing one of his arms.
"You can't! He's done nothing wrong, please don't do this!" she pleaded, squeezing Jones's arm. He cruelly tore his arm out of her grip and growled.
"He has nae fulfilled his part of our agreement lass, he stays here!"
"It's alright Martha!" The Doctor yelled, struggling against the attention of Clanker, Hadras and the puffer fish-man named Koleniko. "He's making a mistake Martha, I'll be fine!" Even after several adventures, Martha was still amazed at The Doctor's cheery disposition in the face of adversity. He continued to babble as he was pushed below deck but Martha didn't catch any of what he was shouting, instead she was looking at Jones, the hurt evident.
"He treats ye bad and yer still mourning fer his plight?" Jones asked.
"Sometimes, getting hurt is worth it!" snapped Martha, pushing past Jones and storming back toward the cabin. Jones was rendered speechless but also acquired a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't quite place it, but he refused to accept that it might possible be jealousy.
P.S. Can anyone advise me on a subtle custom line-break that won't get erased by the document manager? I actually don't like this default one very much, it's too chunky/long for my liking, but everything I try disappears!