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

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Thanks to Shrink To Be, Emela, Tai Greywing, Dagniro Vanaliel, JForward, Guitarist, Cute Gallifreyan and Blaidd Drwg!

Sorry, would have been up earlier but I got called away - well ... when I say 'got called away' what I really mean is Dad decided to part with his cash (I know, mega gasp) and took me and the midget to see Pirates 3. And if you haven't seen it yet ... GO! It's absolutely sensational!

Um ... as you were ... (Grins)

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3.

Doing her best to keep well out of the Doctor's way, Martha leant hard against the internal door - having spotted a weak point and sprinted towards it while the Doctor wasn't looking - and closely considered him through apprehensive orbs.

He wasn't looking so good.

There was a distinctive film of sweat glistening against the shock-white skin at his neck, and his usually strong, healthy looking hair was now hanging limp against his bowed head. He was leaning forwards slightly, trembling hands splayed out against the console as he leaned as close as he could to the monitor, obviously having serious difficulties with reading it.

'It's because of his eyes,' she thought glumly, shaking her head a fraction and wrapping her arms protectively around her chest. A gentle sigh escaped her parted lips and she let her eyes slide closed for a moment, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

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'Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look!'

The words had become a constant mantra now in his head.

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor strained his burning eyes against the glare from the monitor and watched as Gallifreyan symbols glided onto and off of the page, trying to warn him about his condition.

Too bad he could hardly understand a word of it.

Something about scratches being easier to cure than full on vampire bites … something about scratches meaning the conversion is only half successful until the first kill is made … something about an antidote … something about … what the Hell did that mean?!

Exhaustion was clawing relentlessly at his soul. Weakness was chipping away at his mental barriers and the hunger was growing by the second.

He could smell her now. Smell the blood pulsing through her veins like poison, intoxicating and inviting. So, so inviting …

'No!' he snapped mentally, shaking his head as a dog would to rid its ears of water, only to regret the movement a moment later as nausea and dizziness hit home with a vengeance.

Rassilon, he was so hungry!

His strength, both physical and mental, trickled away from him like water from a leaking tap.

And as his will to fight diminished, bit by bit, second by second, Martha Jones' blood was beginning to smell more and more inviting.

He was running out of time.

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She couldn't help it.

She'd only intended to close them for a second. Just to rest them.

But no, she couldn't even do that properly!

Much to her own despair, as the soothing thrum of the TARDIS fluttered around her, the winking lights dimming ever so slightly as though she could sense Martha's fatigue, consciousness was ripped from her before she could pull it back…

--

… And in its place was a nightmarish equivalent of the TARDIS.

She could still hear the same steady, humming beats, but they weren't soothing anymore.

Quite on the contrary, in fact; they were menacing.

Fear freezing her heart, Martha jumped to her feet as though scolded and shot desperately for the doors.

But as she collided with them, tugging fruitlessly at the handle and willing them open, begging them to let her out, she soon realized that they weren't going to budge an inch.

Throwing her entire weight against them, she let out a hysterical cry and turned on the spot, pressing herself into the very fabric of the beating wood in the hopes she could fall straight through it.

Didn't work, though.

Not like she'd expected it to.

And as her leaking eyes caught sight of the ship's owner, she couldn't restrain the shiver of dread that flew straight up her spine.

Vampire.

One hundred per cent vampire, one hundred per cent hungry. And one hundred per cent out for her blood.

With a strangled scream, she bolted, weaving her way around the console and sprinting for the internal doors once again, moving so fast anyone would have assumed her life depended on it.

Which … of course … it did.

But unfortunately for her, fast though her small frame may have been, she had not counted on the wings that could suddenly sprout straight from his back as he transformed, swooping after her with unimaginable speed.

One blink later, and he was standing right in front of her, cloak as black as the blackest night fluttering about his shoulders, rustling ever so slightly as though on a makeshift wind.

Standing motionless between her and the door.

Between her and her last chance of escape.

He was staring out at her through her Doctor's handsome face. But the eyes … the eyes weren't his. The eyes could never be his.

They were red. Blood red.

Blood red and gleaming with an untameable hunger amidst an eerie backdrop created by the dimmed alien lights of the TARDIS.

Two elongated fangs protruded from the corners of his once smooth, flawless mouth, and the lips twitched into a half-smile as he raised a long, bony finger towards her, clinging onto a stray lock of hair that had fluttered into her face and tucking it delicately behind her ear.

But he didn't release it.

She could feel his smooth, nimble fingers curling it around and then unravelling it, before doing it again, all the while his gaze never lifting from hers.

His lust-filled stare was sickening, and as her fearful brown eyes met his ravenous scarlet ones, Martha suddenly realized she couldn't move a muscle.

She simply stood there, hypnotized by his dancing, flame-engulfed orbs.

There was a soft beep from the TARDIS console, an anxious, concerned bleep that sounded unnatural amidst the threatening hum of her engines.

But Martha barely noticed it.

With a tentative movement so reminiscent of the Doctor that her breath caught in her throat, he retracted his finger, letting the curl of auburn hair drift lazily back over her face.

Dropping his hand slightly, his smile widened, the Doctor's usually jovial features seeming completely out of place, all of a sudden. So similar to the familiar smile she'd thought she'd known so well … and yet so impossibly different at the same time.

Eyes twinkling malevolently, he motioned for her to move closer using the same pallid finger.

"Come," he murmured, using the Doctor's warm, calming voice for his own purpose as it interlinked with the enrapturing vampiric undertones.

Martha obeyed.

One foot shuffling forwards after another, she was soon standing so close to him that their noses were mere millimetres apart.

And that was when she saw it.

Saw it enough to cast away the denial and accept it as truth.

The insatiable hunger … the staring scarlet orbs … the fangs … the wings! … no, this wasn't the Doctor.

Not anymore.

And that knowledge must have given her strength, because a moment later she blinked ferociously and shoved him forcefully backwards, inching herself passed him and tugging at the door handle in pointless desperation.

It had been a miniscule hope, but she was devastated nonetheless when the door stood firm against her mental wishes.

With a gentle moan, she let her legs give out beneath her and slid, defeated, down the door instead, drawing her knees despairingly up into her chest and shaking her head.

"P-please," she whimpered hoarsely, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "Please, Doctor … don't!"

But she'd accepted it already herself.

This wasn't the Doctor.

And she was wasting her breath.

After a moment, his smile stretched wide enough for his sharply pointed teeth to glint threateningly in front of her, and he crouched down, licking his lips teasingly. There was a small, bleeding cut on his cheek, oozing ruby droplets that ran slowly from the open wound, radiant against their bed of whiteness.

He must have gained it when she'd sent him flying.

Almost literally.

But it didn't seem to hinder his movements.

In fact, his 'gesturing' finger was soon rising up to run softly against it, soaking itself in the sticky substance before sliding towards his lips.

Eyes bright with pleasure, he gently licked it clean, leaving Martha's stomach twisting itself into all sorts of unearthly shapes beneath her trembling body.

And as his fingers finally clasped around the neck of her shirt, slowly sliding it over her shoulder and exposing the skin beneath it, his warm smile stretched to his eyes, leaving them dancing with delight.

Tones hypnotic, intentions clear, he leaned towards her, gently cupping her face away from his -the better to reach her neck – and whispered so softly she almost missed it, "sorry, Martha. But even vampires must eat."

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Now, before you peeps shoot me for going all evil!Doctor on Martha, there is a reason why I used this dream, which shall be important later on. But to feed your thirst for knowledge now before it parches you dry, it also shows just how knackered she is. It ain't just the Doctor suffering, yeah?
But, suffice it to say I need to give her that li'l underlying fear. 'Cause she's gonna need it ... Might even save her life in the end ...(Grins)

AnyWho, thanks for reading! Next chapter shall be up tomorrow, dudes!
And … like or no like? Please do let me know!

Blessed Be!

Hugs,
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx