Part 2

Once sated by a blueberry tart, Martha returned to the TARDIS, parked in the lovely and historic Luxembourg Gardens, with the Doctor right behind.

"So, head in the game?" he asked her, with no judgment.

"Yes!" she responded with a clap. "Absolutely. Hit me with your best shot."

"Okay, so..." he said, pulling the computer monitor into position. He punched up the schematic, and stood back with his arms crossed and his feet apart. "The complex where the children are being held is laid out in a honeycomb pattern, which does not make things easy."

"Do you have some kind of portable, localised Sat-Nav device to take in with you?"

He looked at her with eyebrows raised. "Actually, yes. That's brilliant. Why didn't I think of it?"

"Well... I don't know," she said. "I just know that if we had something like that we wouldn't have to worry about all that memorisation rubbish. Do you have a bluetooth or something?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Come with me!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall. They ended up in a small room, the inside of which was packed with electronic equipment. There were shelves, but they were not used efficiently, and the entire effect of the space was that of having had lots of things simply thrown inside. Probably over a period of centuries. As a result, the floor was covered, and finding anything in there would be difficult and slightly treacherous.

"Whoa," Martha said as the Doctor switched on the light. "Are we supposed to find something in here?"

"Well, yeah," he said. "An SSLE. A Small-Structure Location Evaluator..."

"So, something that pinpoints your location inside of a building, rather than on a planet."

"Right. It looks like an old-fashioned walkie-talkie. It's not extremely high-tech, but it will do the trick."

"Here goes nothing," she said, stepping over a chrome engine to get properly into the room. She nearly stumbled against a pile of batteries as she did so.

"I'll look over here," he told her, himself stepping over something large, black and square, that had wires and metal guts spilling out one side.

She struggled on one foot for a moment, and finally kicked clear bit of floor-space to put her other foot. She bent down and began moving devices out of the way, looking for something resembling a walkie-talkie.

Along the wall of one side of the room, she realised, there were chiefly a bunch of obtuse S-shaped metal apparatuses that seemed to be in various states of disrepair. "It looks like it's not going to be over here," she said. She picked up one of the S-shaped things. "It's just loads of these. What are these, anyway?"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks to look. "Oh, I'd forgotten about those. Those are some laser weapons that I confiscated a long, long time ago. They are illegal in practically every galaxy, and I found them on some school children in the Chet Vire Sector. Little weasels."

"Okay... so, does that mean, since this whole wall is lined with them, and I almost toppled a mound of batteries, that there's some kind of organisation going on in here?"

"Maybe," he muttered, taking a few unsure steps forward. He went to the wall opposite, and examined what was strewn nearby. "Ah, yes, this is a whole section of keys."

"Keys?"

"Yeah." He picked up a round green pod the size of his palm, with a few black buttons, and said, "Like this one. It's probably been centuries since I've tossed anything in here, but I do now vaguely remember some kind of ordered chaos... piles of things winding up together. On your side, there are weapons, this side has keys. Communications devices are really what we're looking for. Let's move more toward the centre."

"Okay," she said, nervously. She backed up by about three steps, moving a few items of debris out of the way as she did so, and attempted to turn around. Her calf banged against something unmovable, which she hadn't previously noticed was there. She lost her balance and shrieked a little, toppling to her left.

The Doctor, as it turned out, was closer to her than she'd thought. As she completely lost control, she felt his arm against her left side, catching the dull brunt of her fall. As he found his own awkward footing, his other arm curled around her waist on the right, and slowly, ungracefully, the two of them kicked the rubbish on the floor out of the way, and got Martha back to a standing position.

And of course, along with the little rush of adrenaline that comes from a near-fall, there was the much more complicated rush of having him touch her. She felt his hand curl around her oblique muscles and his body pressing closer and closer, little by little, over just a few seconds as he moved in her direction to gain leverage. She heard the hint of breath in her ear, and all of it remained with her well after she had got her feet under her, and he had let go. Her heart pounded for all the wrong reasons, and her body buzzed in spite of the inappropriateness of the situation. She blushed, yet again, and when she turned to say thanks, she smiled timidly and wouldn't make eye-contact.

And he noticed. He always noticed.

With the SSLE in-hand, and the wireless headset that went with it, the Doctor now stood at the console, calibrating the settings to be compatible with the TARDIS, and to read out in English for Martha's benefit.

She stood behind him, and just to the left, in a position where he couldn't see her, but he could hear and feel her. He could sense her tension, and had heard her open her mouth and take in air a few times, in a way that indicated she was trying to say something, but kept losing her nerve.

"What?" he asked her.

She was surprised. "What, what?"

He turned and faced her. "You clearly want to tell me something - what is it?"

"Well... I just don't like the idea of you going in to do this alone," she said. "I mean, I know you have the SSLE, and I'll be in contact with you, but what if..."

He sighed. "I know, Martha, but our lives are full of what ifs."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "It's just dangerous. They're threatening to kill these kids if they don't get their ransom."

"I know what you're thinking, and normally, you'd be right," he told her. "But please trust me when I tell you: in spite of what they say, they are a non-violent species."

"Doctor, have the Ampys People ever made even a threat like this before? To murder innocent children?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I can't think of a specific example, but..."

"How many times have you been to this planet?"

"Twice, why?"

"Only twice? So your so-called expertise comes from...?"

He cleared his throat uneasily, folded his arms defensively. "Well, mostly from hearsay. Other Time Lords and the like."

"So, history. Doctor, you know as well as I do that history is written by the winners. History is skewed."

"Martha..."

"You could be walking into a trap!"

"Then, I will deal with that if it happens! Like I always do!"

"Alone?"

"No, with backup on the outside. That would be you."

"I don't want to be your backup on the outside. I want to be with you."

She regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth, and it brought the argument to a screeching halt, momentarily. She was getting tired of blushing. She had done her share today.

He tensed as well. These little emotional, unguarded moments of hers...

Almost immediately, she tried to cover her tracks. "Because... you need looking-after. Because we're a team. Because I'm your companion, not your passenger!"

He stared at her with a scowl for a few seconds, then turned away. With that, he flipped a switch on the console, and they heard the gears of the TARDIS grinding, moving them to a different locale.

"Martha, this whole thing will be over in about ten minutes," he said, moving down the ramp toward the door. "Remember? Expedience's sake? The more people that go in, the more potential there is for complication. I just don't want complication this time."

"What about what I want?" she asked, following him down the ramp.

"Really?" he whined, one hand on the door knob, body turned to face her.

"Yes, really! Did you even hear me before? A team? Companion? Hello?"

"I heard you," he insisted. "What part of me going in, and you doing the Sat-Nav work to guide me through a labyrinth of a complex isn't team-work?"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do if you're captured? You insist they won't kill you, but you did say they might put you in jail."

"How exactly would it be better if they captured us both?"

"Because then we could talk to each other. Make plans together. You wouldn't be alone in it, and neither would I."

He sighed, yet again. "Martha, you saw it. The complex is like a honeycomb. It's ridiculous. How do we get through it if there's no-one in communication, looking at the schematic?"

"You use the TARDIS, and a mobile phone," she blurted out. She actually hadn't thought about it before, but the prospect sounded reasonable to her. When he didn't respond with even so much as an eyebrow twitch, she turned slightly, and folded her arms. "Okay, look, I'm sorry. It's just, you've never purposely left me alone before, and... I just couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He took her by the shoulders to turn her, and look her in the eye. "Martha: read my lips. Non-violent. It's going to be fine."

He pulled open the door, and a fiery blast of something flew past his head and exploded the upper part of the TARDIS' doorjamb in a rain of wooden shards, and glass from the "Police Box" sign.

The fiery something soared, and came to land in the base of the console, sending green sparks flying in all directions, and starting a blaze.

Instinctively, the Doctor slammed the door shut and ran back up the ramp. He activated an emergency shift, and the gears ground again, moving them somewhere else.

Martha ran for the fire extinguisher hidden in one of the wall panels. She acted quickly, and the fire was out within seconds. The Doctor came round the console to inspect the damage, and assessed that the "wound" was just superficial, and that it would take the TARDIS only a day or so to repair the damage to the console's base, and the doorjamb. It would mean waiting at least another day before trying to go back in to rescue the royal Deloux children from the Ampys People.

Martha got to her feet. "Now, what were you saying about non-violent?"

He stood up and faced her squarely and prepared to say something vaguely contrite. And it was only then that she noticed blood flowing down the side of his face.

He did not protest as Martha gently soaked up the blood from the side of his face, while more firmly applying pressure to the wound.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'll be fine. The thing just grazed me."

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly. He could hear that her breathing was quicker and more shallow than usual. He knew that part of it was adrenaline, but some of it was the proximity.

"It doesn't feel good," he told her, just as softly. He shifted his eyes to hers. "Thanks for cleaning me up."

She met his eyes, but only for a second, before shifting again. The intensity and sincerity was pulling her in, and it would have been too much, if she had let it take her. She was unaccustomed. She wouldn't know how to throw it off again, if it got its hooks into her.

And of course, he sensed her pulling away, and he sensed why. He wanted to say, For God's sake Martha, I'm just saying thanks! But he refrained from saying anything, as always. For them, this particular brand of tension was the status quo.

"No problem," she croaked out. "It's kind of my job."

She then picked up a piece of gauze with a pair of tongs and dipped it in a strong-smelling alcohol-based solution, which she had mixed herself.

"Are you sure you don't have any rubber gloves?" she asked, looking with distaste at the tongs.

"If I do, I would have no idea where to find them," he told her. "I've had no occasion for them in... well, I don't know how long."

"Okay then. Hold still," she said, taking his cheek in her left hand and pressing the gauze to the cut at his temple on the other side of his head.

He flinched. It stung more than he had anticipated.

"Sorry," she whispered, pulling back a little, letting him get his bearings.

"It's okay," he whispered back. He held still once more and closed his eyes, bracing for the sting.

Once more, she placed one hand on his cheek and the gauze on the cut. He sucked in a wisp of air through his teeth, and tightened his eyelids, but he was able to keep still for the moment.

People close their eyes to brace themselves for something unpleasant, because they want a means of escape. But there, in this room, there were all sorts of other sensory experiences to be had, and they would not allow him to escape. The smell of the alcohol, the sharp, throbbing/subsiding pain at his temple, the sound of the air-purifier running to keep the infirmary clean.

But to his surprise, the pleasant, womanly smell of her actually overwhelmed the disinfectant. The feel of her nearby - her warmth, her love, the buzzing and tension she was exuding now - was stronger than the pain in his head. And the sound of her breathing, and the occasional subtle squish as she licked her lips, was more pronounced than the air-purifier.

She pulled away, then dabbed at the excess alcohol that now ran down his cheek.

He opened his eyes to find her studying him, like she wanted to memorise his face.

For a few moments, even though she knew that he could see her now, she didn't want to stop. Her eyes roved over the contours of his lips, then scrutinised his chin and cheeks, as if to commit to mind the exact shade of his persistent five-o'clock-shadow. She inspected his eyes. She had known they were brown and beautiful, but she had never given herself a chance to really see them, to go deep and seek the pain behind them. Her gaze wandered to the sides of his eyes, and she noted the subtle crinkles there, the ones that highlighted his face as he smiled and laughed. They made her happy. They lit him up and lent some extra character. She couldn't help but smile then, and only then was the spell broken.

She remembered herself and took a step back. And suddenly, she was embarrassed.

"Uh... wow. God, I'm sorry," she fumbled, gathering up the wrappers from the gauze swabs, the swabs themselves, and the little dish of alcohol solution. She crossed the room and dumped them all into a bin. "Sorry."

"It's all right," he muttered, now just as flustered as she was.

She turned back round to look at him. "Oh, there's some blood on your collar."

"Thanks," he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket as she searched through some drawers for small bandages.

When she turned back round again, with the bandage in-hand, the jacket was lying beside him on the exam table.

"It's on your shirt collar too," she said meekly. "I guess I missed it. Maybe you can change your shirt later."

"Yeah," he agreed, but still, he loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He pulled the fabric away from his skin, and Martha, without being asked, used another wet washcloth to dab at the last few drops of blood on the Doctor's neck.

The cold cloth on a sensitive area of skin gave him a frisson, but it wasn't unpleasant.

When done, she took up the bandage and peeled back the protective white pieces, exposing the adhesive. With one hand she pushed back his hair, and with the other, she covered the cut with the bandage.

Then, she fluffed his hair again, which also gave him a not-unpleasant frisson. Her fingers tugged at only a section, but it felt unexpectedly amazing, like a mini-massage. For just a few moments, he wished she would lose her mind, throw caution to the wind and bury both hands in his thick locks and just pull. But she didn't. She kept her wits about her, and smiled a cute, slightly crooked smile that suggested she didn't really want to smile.

"If you comb your hair just right, it won't even show," she said.

Back in the console room an hour later, after a little breather, Martha bounded in, finding the Doctor in a fresh shirt and suit jacket, once again sitting at the computer. She said, "So, about these totally non-violent Ampys People who gave you a head-wound..."

"All right, all right," he sighed. "Don't gloat. Smugness is not attractive on you."

This comment struck her in the gut, though she knew he was just being glib.

"So... what gives?" She walked up and stood awkwardly beside him.

"Near as I can tell, somehow, the Ampys people have either been overtaken by, or they've assimilated with, a tribe from a neighbouring galaxy, the Valan-Millets, who pretty much make a habit out of kidnapping, extortion, prostitution, mafia-type activity... rubbish like that."

"I see."

"But I swear to you, five decades ago, I could have walked into that complex naked and emerged with no scratches. So, to be fair, I wasn't wrong, just out-of-date."

"So it looks like those kids are in some real danger now."

"Yes, it looks like. But we still have forty-eight hours. The TARDIS will only need about eighteen to twenty to recupe."

"And it also looks like you won't be able to go in alone now."

"No, that I am still planning on doing. We just won't be able to park the TARDIS quite so close, and I'll have to sneak in through the back or something."

"Excuse me? Did you not see the fireball that nearly took off your head?"

"Again, not attractive, Martha," he dismissed.

She wanted to scream. This time, the anger and rejection, both real and imagined, both rational and irrational, just bubbled to the surface with no slow boil.

"You know what? I don't care!" she shouted, stepping back by three steps.

He was clearly startled by the outburst.

She did not lower her voice. "Being attractive gets me nowhere, so I might as well try for sensible!"

He knew that that statement had been brewing for a long, long while. Here we go, he thought.

"What about you?" she continued.

Heat rose in his cheeks as he got to his feet. "What about me? How is wanting to protect you not sensible?"

"Pssh!" she spat. "You don't care about protecting me, you just don't want to deal with me!" She knew on some level that what she was saying wasn't entirely true, but that's how it seemed just now. Besides, even if it didn't apply to this moment, she felt it applied to their general rapport.

"That's insane."

"Is it? Since this whole thing started, you've done nothing but dismiss me!"

"That is not true! I have engaged you at every step. You have been useful at every step! You helped me find the SSLE device. I rigged the TARDIS to give you a live readout that you could actually decipher, so you could help me. You were right about the Ampys, and even patched up my wound."

"That's not engaging me, that's..."

"You're just pissed off because I haven't given you everything you've wanted!"

Her jaw dropped. They had both been aware of the mounting tension since this morning when they stopped in Paris for fruit tarts. She had felt that oscillating desire blowing back in her direction ever since they left the pastry shop, and had been hyper-aware of his presence, his face, his words and his insensitivity all day.

But the truth was, he was not insensitive. He had been aware of the shift too. He had felt each averted gaze, each rejected withdrawal. He had felt it when he'd caught her around the waist in the storage room as she fell, and certainly as she touched his face in the infirmary, inspected his features and tugged at his hair. He was also not deaf to the undertones of her argument before and now: she wanted to be by his side.

And so, of course he was not unaware of the huge misstep he had made when he accused her of just being angry because he hadn't given her what she'd been wanting.

"I just mean," he corrected, breaking eye-contact, rubbing the back of his neck. "You wanted to come into the complex with me and I said no, and I would not relent. So you got angry."

"That is not what you meant," she accused, her voice disturbingly calm.

"Yes, it is! What else could I have meant?"

But the mere asking of the question demonstrated the fact that he knew the answer.

Martha had retreated to the media room, not wanting to give the Doctor the satisfaction of knowing he'd driven her to hole up in her room, behind closed doors. But she still needed to be alone, so she sat like a zombie in front of the television for about thirty minutes, before he darkened the doorway.

"What do you want?" she groaned, not looking at him.

"To talk."

"Why? It has done us no good so far," she responded, unconsciously changing the channel in front of her.

"Exactly," he agreed, sitting down beside her.

She looked at him for the first time, annoyed. "What?"

"Martha, the lives of two children are at stake. I admit, I was stubborn not to realise the severity of the situation, to make assumptions and whatnot, but if we could just get beyond my horrible wrongness for a few moments, we could look at the fact that we still have a job to do."

"I know that, Doctor."

"Right, but there's something standing in our way. We need to start operating at maximum efficiency, and we will never be able to do that as long as either one of us is distracted, worried about other things. It's time to get Buddhist," he said with a little finality and flourish.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, rid ourselves of all desires so we can get our heads where they need to be."

"What are you on about?"

"Please. You know exactly what I'm on about. It's the elephant in the room. It's always the bloody elephant in the room, has been since the moment we met."

She stared at him with wide eyes. Her brain was refusing to process with its usual quickness, so he gave her time.

At last, she said, "Until half an hour ago, I wasn't even sure if you knew."

He frowned. "Of course I know. For someone who loves me, you must not think much of me."

"And you propose we talk it through? You, who have always been the biggest avoidy-pants in the universe?"

"No. As you said, talking has got us nowhere. And we'd need more time than we actually have, in order to hash it all out. We're on a schedule, Martha. I'm willing to admit, we still don't have an entirely viable battle-plan, now that we know the Valan-Millets are involved."

"So, what, then? Just how are we supposed to get Buddhist in a hurry?"

He smiled a bit wickedly. "Just think of me as a blueberry tart," he said, then stopped to think. "Or am I the pastry shop?"