I watched 42 a couple nights ago…one of the best Doctor Who episodes in my opinion…right up there with Midnight.

Anyhoo, I got this idea for a "what-if" scenario for 42. Basically an excuse for some Doctor!Whump. I tried to keep it as in-character as possible, just with a slightly different outcome. Hope you guys enjoy!

God bless and have a great day (or night)!
ThePro-LifeCatholic

Jesuslovesmarina: No one gives Jack a break. Not like he deserves it. ;)

ErinKenobi2893: Jack probably jumped in later, after the Doctors dragged all the companions off to try and fix the problem. He probably didn't even take his clothes off. Later on, other people come in and give him odd looks, wondering whether or not he fell in or not.

AliceinHyrule: Welcome to the story!

Yeah, for future reference, feel free to submit requests in your review. Speaking of requests, I will get to yours soon!

Chicascoming: I also extend a greeting to you! I hope you stick around. And your request is amazing. I'm really looking forward to writing it.

Lalalala: I'm glad I did your prompt justice! If you want to ever request more in the future, feel free to do so. I'm not limiting it to one prompt per reader. XD

Writing Prompt #34: Forced to Fight Teammate

Characters: 10th Doctor, Martha Jones, mentions of Riley and Scannell

Shippings: None

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Angst

Rating: K+ - mild T

Note: This is a "what-if" scenario. I took some elements from 42 and changed it. I looked to two elements in particular: what if the sun particles got more control over the Doctor than what happened in the episode, and what if Martha went back to him instead of helping Riley and Scannell dump the fuel?

What if?

Burning, hurting. They took the light. They took our heart. Give it back. Give it back.

The Doctor can hear the words pounding against his skull. The screaming doesn't stop; it grows in intensity. He drags himself across the floor, scrabbling to hold onto whatever sanity still remains within his mind.

Give back what they took. Share the light. Share my-our-pain. The pain is ours. Make them feel it.

Burn with me.

"Martha!"

Martha Jones freezes. Her breath comes in deep gasps. Perspiration is sliding down her face and neck and back. Her clothing is soaked through and she stinks. But despite the present moment, despite the imminent doom that's facing her and the remaining survivors of the crew, she hones in on the Doctor's voice. It crackles over the intercom. She can hear his pain, although she can't see his face.

"What're you doing?!" she nearly screams. He should be lying in the Medcenter, resting, fighting the sun.

"I can't control it." It's a simple, cold-hard fact. He wretches, spitting the words out one by one. The sun is burning through him, and his singed brain is crumbling. Everything he is, his thoughts, his emotions, his identity is being burnt to crisp.

"Give it back," he heaves, his voice echoing in his ears. "Give it back or…" he pauses, cracking open his eyes. Chocolate-brown irises are completely replaced by intense light.

Burn with me.

"Burn with me, Martha." The words hiss like steam.

For a moment, Martha is petrified. Go to Riley and Scannell; that's what the Doctor wants her to do. But what if he needed her? She remembered him on the floor of the Medcenter, groping wildly for her arm.

"Where are you Martha?!" The child-like plea, the terror of being stranded alone with the sun inside him, he needed her. Having something he cared for close…it had seemed to help slow the process, at the least.

As the intercom shuts off, she catches the start of an agonized scream. Her heart stops, and her breath catches in her throat. It takes her less than a second to make her decision. She wheels around, leaving the main deck behind her.

Riley and Scannell had each other. The Doctor needed her now.

Slowly, the Doctor's scream tapered into a groan. He had no strength left to cry out, let alone fight the searing heat.

White light shrouded his vision, but it was giving way to spots of red and yellow. Heat signatures. Without his eyes, he could still "see" in a sense; he was now intensely aware of the heat radiating off any object nearby.

Rage, pain, and terror continue to pump through him, replacing his other emotions, clouding his memories. Every gasp burns his throat and nose.

Inch by inch, he drags his beaten-and-bruised body across the filthy metal floor. Using nearby pipes for support, he struggles to his feet.

Make them feel my pain.

The Doctor turns in a circle, taking into account everything that was near him. Nothing living, not that he could sense.

If they don't give it back, then they must burn.

They must burn with me.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor tilted his head, trying to locate the sound of the voice. It's a voice that he recognizes. It's the voice of his companion, his traveler, his…friend.

But if she is not trying to return the heart of the sun, then she is no friend.

No friend of the sun's.

The Doctor moves toward the voice with sore, disjointed limbs.

When Martha saw the Doctor approaching her with eyes still shut tightly, she paused.

"You shouldn't be up and walking around!" she reprimands in a shaking voice. He didn't respond. Instead, he continued to come closer, hands feeling along the walls.

"Martha…" he said.

"What?" Martha asked. She wasn't prepared for the phrase that followed her name.

"Burn with me." The Doctor let go of the wall, staggering towards her.

"Doctor…" Martha stepped backwards, panic replacing her initial concern. "Doctor, snap out of it. You hear me?"

"You will not give it back," the Doctor growled, his voice deep…different, changed. "You will not dump the fuel. The sun is dying. It's screaming! And you're standing here, letting the torment continue!" The last words ended in a shout, and the Doctor banged his black-gloved fist against the wall. The pound echoed around the hallway.

"We're trying to," Martha tried to assure him…or rather, what was currently occupying his body and mind. "We just need a little more time. Just let him go!"

"Can't you hear it? The screaming?"

Martha glanced past the Doctor, towards the empty doorway. She tried to dash past him, but his arm shot out just as she moved. She struggled against his burning grip, but it was like iron. He turned his head towards her, and she felt suddenly cold.

His eyes were still shut.

"Don't you want to hear it?" he queried, stepping forward. Martha backed up until her back brushed against the metal wall of the ship.

"You don't want to hear the screams?" Was the sun mocking her? She couldn't tell.

"Doctor, listen!" she begged. "It's me, Martha. Your friend. Please, you don't want to do this. You'll never be able to live with this!"

"None of us will," The Doctor/sun stated.

"The fuel!" Martha screamed at the top of her lungs. "DUMP THE FUEL!" She hoped that Riley and Scannell could hear her. It was up to them now.

"Burn with me," the Doctor commanded.

Martha Jones forced herself to look right into the Doctor's face.

"It's not your fault," she chocked. "Just…know that, OK? None of this was your fault." Wet, salty streaks lined her cheeks; whether they were sweat or tears, she couldn't tell.

The Doctor stepped closer, forcing her up against the wall. One hand still held her arm securely. He opened his eyes. It wasn't the soft, sparking brown. Martha was staring into intense whiteness. But she didn't shy away, even when the heat grew more and more unbearable. Even when she was certain that she was going blind. She needed to look at him, to let him know that she didn't hold this against him.

She needed him to know that he was completely, absolutely forgiven.

At that moment, the ship lurched.

"Crisis averted. Crisis averted," an automated voice declared. Martha caught the words, and for a moment, she felt happy.

At least Scannell and Riley might make it out alive.

Suddenly, the Doctor buckled. He folded nearly in half. His mouth opened, and a scream was torn from his throat. The white in his eyes grew stronger, stronger…and vanished completely.

He gasped for breath, leaning all of his weight forward, nearly crushing Martha's arm in the process. His grip loosened, and he glanced up at her. He blinked, trying to clear his foggy vision. His poor singed mind was struggling to regulate his body temperature and put together the memories of most recent events. Thank goodness Martha was there with him to support…

He froze. Despite the fact that he was still burning up inside, he felt his body turn to ice. His eyes widened, and the weight of what he had just done...what he had been about to do, crashed down on him. With a shaky breath, he lurched away from Martha, onto the floor. Without another word, without a look in her direction, he curled himself into a ball.

Martha herself was still registering the fact that she wasn't dead. It took her a moment to hear the muffled heaving of the Doctor, to see his shaking form.

Then she was at his side, grabbing him up and leaning him against her arm. And he sobbed into her soaked shirt. Hot tears burned her shoulder as she rocked him back and forth, whispering consolingly.

"It's alright…shhh…it wasn't your fault."

He opened his mouth, wanted to apologize. But his throat was too parched, too dry. He wanted to push her away. The irrational side of him, still consumed by mind-numbing panic, shuddered to think that he could threaten her again. But he could only cry, clinging to her, reassuring himself over and over and over again that she was still alive. She was alive. He was alive. They would be fine.

It took a long time before he finally stopped sobbing.

"Guess we didn't need you in the end, did we?" Martha asked playfully once they were back on the TARDIS. One look from him was enough to sober her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, berating herself internally for her stupidity. If she could go back in time, she would've bitten back those words for sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by something shiny dangling in front of her. A key. A TARDIS key.

"Thank you," the Doctor was saying, She took it in her hands, examining it. Then she smiled fondly, glancing up at the Time Lord.

"Don't mention it," she responded.

He grinned, then turned to the TARDIS controls. A new adventure, a new danger. They would never speak of this again. All was forgiven, but it would never be forgotten.

Seared in their minds forever, like the burning heart of a sun…

But best not to dwell on that.

Onwards and upwards. Allons-y.

They would be fine.

He would learn to forgive himself. He always did.

Or at least, he could pretend quite convincingly that he had.