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

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Thanks Emela, JForward, Cute Gallifreyan, Lurker, Shrink To Be, Tai Greywing, Scimitarmoon, AscendingWithTyler, T'Kirr and Dagniro Vanaliel!

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5.

The strong scent of disinfectant hit her first, wrapping itself around her senses and somehow calming her, despite their unnatural predicament.

She was in familiar territory here. A trainee doctor, finding peace and solace in a medical centre.

Just what the Doctor ordered.

Martha stepped over the threshold in time to see him –having entered the medical room already - buzzing the Sonic at a rather large Bunsen, tongue between his teeth and the sheet of paper he'd brought in with him stapled to a whiteboard on the wall.

"Right," he murmured, his head vanishing from view as it was momentarily eaten by a cupboard beneath the workbench, his voice muffled slightly. "Where'd I put it?"

"Put what?" Martha asked, contemplating the vastness of the room with nothing short of awestruck admiration.

The entire hospital wing appeared to go on forever, beds and tables standing side by side to the left of her, while the right hand side housed the research laboratory that was currently their preferred destination.

And what a research laboratory it was.

Pretty much the entire floor space gave way to a wild and wonderful array of machinery, equipment and wiring, instruments from Earth jumbled in and amongst apparatus that could only be catalogued as being of alien origin. Scattered around stations of varying sizes, each having its own desk, stool, sink, gas tap and collection of cupboards, were bound bundles of wiring that coalesced near the far wall, multicoloured pipes and tubes disappearing into the plaster as though eaten by it. The soft thrumming hum of the TARDIS was less noticeable in here, and yet existed beneath the pulsing and whirring sounds of the various items of equipment.

Almost like a symphonic melody of machinery and technology.

"It's gotta be here somewhere," Martha heard the Doctor murmur, concealed now by a large, standing wardrobe that, from watch she could make out from her position beside the door, appeared to house a collection of jars and tins with various items stored within them.

"What are you looking for?" Martha asked, ignoring the door as it clicked gently shut behind her.

"Well, an ingredient," the Doctor replied, but Martha was faintly horrified to hear his voice wasn't exactly his own, once again. Biting down on her lip and jamming her eyes shut, curling her hands into fists at her sides, she struggled to ignore the call behind the words and leant hard against the cool metal door handle, making sure it poked her in the back.

As uncomfortable as it was, it kept her mind focussed on something other than his enticing calls. So it was good enough for her.

It served its purpose.

And with those faint and uninformative words, he was gone again, swallowed up by yet another row of cupboards, the soft chinking of moving bottles and jars breaking the humming stillness.

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that," she muttered, restraining an eye roll. "I meant," she continued, raising her voice slightly, "what kind of ingredient?"

The Doctor spared her a glance, frowning heavily, his red eyes gleaming as they swept over her motionless form momentarily before he blinked and turned away.

"Well, I need a blood sample. And unfortunately, while we were running for our lives, it never occurred to me that I might be scratched during our escape such that I'd need one in the first place, so I never bothered to try and get one."

Martha frowned, eyebrows knotting in confusion.

It must have made sense to him though, for he continued without even the slightest of hesitations. Martha sighed but said nothing.

"So, being the genius that I am, I'm going to use one of the TARDIS' stored samples. Problem is, there's only a tiny amount, meaning I've got to get this right first time."

Martha's confusion was growing by the second.

"Um, not to be one to ask the obvious but … how did you come to have a sample when, as you say, you didn't think you'd need one while we were there?"

God, she sounded like him; what with her not-even-remotely-understandable phrases!

But to her surprise, the Doctor shot her a crafty grin. Whatever she'd just said, he'd clearly followed it.

Yet his initial response left rather a lot to be desired.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Martha snorted, unable to restrain her rolling eyes, this time.

"Oh, I think I do," she said, grinning. Trying to pretend she wasn't physically there, the better to fight his hunger, he continued shoving items from one side to another as his impatience grew. Deciding he couldn't ignore her thirst for knowledge though, he answered after a few moments, faintly relieved when his voice came out more or less how he'd remembered it before this entire ordeal.

"Let's just say I'm prepared for every eventuality. It might even make it easier to say the TARDIS knows what she's doing, and therefore has the brains to stock up with just about everything you could ever possibly need. Bless her. Always thinking, y'see. Good thing, too," he added, pausing in his search before shrugging to himself and returning to the frantic attack against the cabinets with renewed vigour.

Martha nodded, smiling at the thrumming walls, surprised but also faintly delighted by the grateful wink of the lights that signalled the TARDIS' gratitude for Martha's appraisal of her quick-thinking skills.

Shaking her head at the absurdity of the whole situation, her worries gradually diminishing as she settled back into the 'doctors and nurses' role that had been so near and yet so out of reach for what felt like years, Martha composed herself and hurried over to the Doctor's side, taking great care to stand on the opposite side of the bench.

Best not make things too easy for the Doctor, should he decide to go all 'manically evil' on her.

"So, what d'ya need help with?" she asked, mock-brightly, clapping her hands together in preparation. The Doctor blinked and looked up, one hand still hidden within the seemingly endless depths of the smallish cupboard beside him.

The chink of movement ceased suddenly, and Martha frowned anxiously, tearing her gaze from his and clearing her throat hurriedly.

The Doctor took the hint, and the sounds of rapid movement resumed almost immediately.

Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Martha wiped a hand across her forehead and glanced skywards.

The TARDIS bleeped her concerns, but otherwise did nothing.

"Um …" came a distracted call from the cupboard. Martha stared at the workbench, so as to keep a close eye on her companion, catching his movements out of the corner of her eye. With a faint 'hah!' of delight, he resurfaced clutching a small phial containing a blood-red liquid that was lapping lazily against the glass.

"That it?" she asked, nodding at it.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement before shaking it a little trying to dispel the ever-growing hunger, and set the phial down into a test-tube rack on the workbench.

With a sharp jab of a quivering thumb, he pointed at a cupboard just behind Martha, housing beakers and measuring cylinders. "Large beaker," he said, knowing full well his tones were beginning to fall out of his control again.

So the less he said, the better.

Biting her tongue, she obeyed, sliding the glass door open and reaching for one of the larger beakers with trembling hands.

Setting it down on the table, she took a tentative step back as his shivering hands came up to grip it, reaching after a second for the Bunsen and pulling it towards him.

Martha noticed, with horrific clarity, the now sharpened, elongated fingernails that were beginning to smoothen themselves into a rather dangerous-looking point. He could barely grip the beaker, and yet his perseverance should surely have been applauded, Martha mused. Deciding that speaking again wouldn't be the best of options, she chose to wait for his instructions, this time.

Minutes passed.

Hisses and pops were soon mingling in with the chorus of apparatus and whirring machinery, as the concoction began to create itself, the Doctor's fervent additions of different ingredients beginning to work their magic inside the large beaker.

Leaves of plants she'd never seen before, liquids of drugs she could faintly remember from her many theory tests back at home and even the odd creature or organism were soon combined within the swirling liquids, spitting and hissing furiously as heat from the Bunsen worked its own magic beneath the beaker. Steam was billowing out in great clouds, shrouding the room in a soft, scarlet mist.

Coughing slightly and fanning at it absentmindedly, Martha was suddenly troubled by the soft gleam that glistened out from the centre of the strange smoke.

The Doctor's eyes were deepening, Martha noticed, their shade strengthening.

As the seconds dragged by, the glowing of his eyes intensified, camouflaged ever so slightly by the encroaching mist.

And with it, the hunger, the pain was becoming more and more pronounced.

Martha's anxieties were growing.

Yet she could do little more than admire his willpower. She certainly wanted to congratulate him on holding out for this long. They must have been at this for hours … or maybe it merely felt like that and in fact he'd only had to face up to his new aching needs for a few minutes.

Hell, it was impossible to tell inside this police box.

Step through those blue doors, and time becomes relative, she'd realised some time ago…

Okay. Rule one of living with a Vampire: never let your guard down.

The cry of pain was the thing that finally snapped Martha out of it, and much to her disguised relief, the strange smog had cleared in her 'absence'.

Yet unfortunately, as with most desires, she soon found herself wishing she could get its comforting cloak back.

For that look …the look that now adorned his once amiable, handsome features … that look was truly terrifying her now.

Martha watched in terror as a quivering hand flew to the Doctor's mouth, his scarlet orbs jammed shut and the Sonic falling from his other hand onto the table with an echoing clatter.

"Doctor?" she whispered, her knees buckling slightly until she was practically crouching beside the workbench, her eyes and fringe the only things easy to see, peaking out at him apprehensively from over the edge of the bench.

The Doctor turned away, his hand slamming against the table-top with enough force to send the test-tube rack – complete with its still-full phial – and the beaker of his newly constructed antidote jumping as if on an invisible wire. Martha stared at it in desperation, silently praying that it wasn't about to go flying … she didn't think he'd survive having to make the whole thing again.

After a couple of seconds, they stilled, the concoction sloshing about inside its container a little, but no real harm done.

But the same couldn't be said for the Doctor as she glanced up at him, heart beating unnaturally fast and a dull, aching throb beginning to pound at her temples.

He was leaning heavily against the counter, breaths short and ragged, sounding painful even to her ears as they rattled about in his chest. His eyes were still closed, but she could make out faint tear-tracks against the pallid tones of his cheeks.

And now, for the first time, glinting out from the corners of his lips, she could just about make out two small points of white, one at either end, their sharpness digging slightly into his lower lip.

God, so he had fangs now.

This most definitely was not a good sign.

Obviously trying unbelievably hard to hide the pain, he straightened up and shook his head fiercely, his sweat-drenched locks flying about around it as he forced his stinging eyes open once again.

Still avoiding Martha's penetrating but terrified gaze for fear his resolve would snap the moment they laid eyes upon each other, the Doctor sank to his knees and began rummaging desperately around within the cupboards again.

But to his dismay, the final ingredient,bar the Haemovamp blood sample, was nowhere to be seen.

So the TARDIS had brought them here for a reason, it seemed.

Suddenly crestfallen, the Doctor straightened up slowly, a look of abject despair breaking out across his worn and strained features. Martha's breath hitched.

"Doctor? What's wrong?" she asked softly, hoping this wasn't a sign he'd given up.

"The last ingredient," he croaked out, shaking his head. Martha's head was fighting against her feet. Much to her silent joy, it won out, and they remained firmly planted to the floor.

This time.

"What about it?"

But then it hit her, and her face fell.

"Doctor … please tell me you have it."

The Doctor spared her the briefest of despairing glances before checking a small scanner on the screen beside him, blinking his eyes into focus as they throbbed achingly in protest to the glare.

"One final ingredient … here on Minuisa," he tried, hoping she'd get it, knowing that if he kept talking, she wouldn't be able to fight him for much longer.

Thankfully, she did get it.

"Oh," she murmured, frowning. "Which is why the TARDIS brought us here, then? Did she know you don't have it?"

The Doctor nodded distractedly, mouth tight shut.

"Right. Well, better go and get it then," she said, sparing the bubbling beaker a small glance before shaking her head a fraction. With a pitying look, she considered the Doctor as she straightened up, trembling from head to foot but ignoring it quite well. "How you doin'?" she asked gently.

A half-shrug was all she received for her concerned efforts.

Sighing, she nodded dumbly.

"Thought as much. Best get this over and done with. The sooner we get this thing, the sooner you're back to normal, yeah?"

The Doctor, unsurprisingly, said nothing.

Fighting with her fears for a few angst-ridden seconds, she battled with her desire to offer comfort against her desire to remain alive.

Her worry and need to help prevailed.

The butterflies in her stomach having a field day as they competed with her racing heart, she hurried around the workbench and nodded apprehensively at the beaker.

"Will that be okay for … however long this is going to take?"

The Doctor nodded, eyes jammed shut so as to avoid her gaze completely.

'Don't look! You can't look! You can't ever look!'

But he couldn't ignore the fact that his hunger was winning now. That the pain, strain and exhaustion was taking its toll.

And as he mutely followed Martha towards the door, forcing his eyes to focus on anything but her, his pain-racked mind delighted in telling him that if he didn't eat, and soon, an exploding half-finished antidote would be the least of their worries.

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Heh, not lookin' so good. Poor guy. I'm feeling rather guilty, at the moment. (Sigh)
Still, where's the fun if he ain't being put through the mill a bit? And ... he'll forgive me, eventually ... right?

Feel free to comment!

Hugs,
xXx MissHaun†ed-MoonLigh† xXx