They're on their way to Martha's flat for a well-earned... whatever they're going to do. ;-) Plus, Colonel Mace is onto Kinsey Mund now... which might just throw a wrench in their plans!

We will also see a retelling of one of the flashbacks we have already seen, but from a different point of view! Enjoy!

CHAPTER 8

They tried to finish the taxi ride strong, and with dignity, hoping to leave the driver with the impression that they were something other than randy teen-agers in old-enough-to-know-better bodies. Martha felt marginally proud of herself for not saying something like, "Don't worry, we've earned this."

They thanked the driver, and walked soberly, hand-in-hand to the front door of her building, and into the lift. They started to giggle as the apparatus moved upwards, because they were both thinking the same thing…

And then, like a bucket of cold water, Martha's phone rang.

She sighed exasperatedly and tried to ignore it.

"Don't you need to get that?" the Doctor asked after the third ring, with Martha merely grimacing.

"No," she said vehemently. "You're more important."

"I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to," he said, then shrugged. "But suit yourself."

Two more loud, blaring rings, and Martha gave a frustrated growl and dug into her bag. "Two minutes – whatever it is, I promise." Then, she found the phone and looked at the display. "It's Colonel Mace."

"So, answer it."

"It'll kill the mood."

"So, we'll bring it back from the dead."

That was when the lift went ping, and it was time to step off into the hallway.

"Hello?" Martha asked the phone, sighing heavily. She handed her purse to the Doctor, and he dug into it, looking for keys.

"Martha? Mace," said the Colonel. "Thank you for your text. I just wanted to let you know that I phoned Ms. Mund to ask her to stand down. However, she remains unchecked."

She resisted the aggravated urge to ask you called me to tell me you accomplished nothing? Instead, she said, "Sorry to hear that. I guess… we keep trying?"

The Doctor had found her flat key by now and had opened the door.

They stepped inside.

"She denied being Bougie Boca, denied knowing who the Doctor is, and grandstanded about being an award-winning journalist with freedom of expression. She said, and I quote…" Mace cleared his throat uncomfortably here. "Do your fucking worst."

Martha now stood in the entryway of her flat, still, whilst the Doctor moved about, feeling for light switches. "Colonel, you aren't doubting me are you? I wouldn't have given you her name unless I was sure."

"I know that, Dr. Jones," he assured her. "I believe that have done your homework. I have faith in you, particularly in matters concerning the Doctor. But the fact is, she fragrantly dismissed my discourse, and remains, as I said, unchecked. In fact, I daresay I might have riled her."

"So what now?"

"I'm going to keep trying," he said. "I will phone her again."

"Will you do me a favour? After you do that, shoot me a text, instead of calling?"

"Unless it's a matter of life and death, I shall do that. I didn't mean to interrupt your banquet. Apologies," he said. "Let's speak again tomorrow."

And then he was gone. She honestly couldn't tell whether she had offended him, whether he was being sarcastically cordial, or whether he was simply being curt and formal as usual.

"Did you hear any of that?" Martha asked.

"Yeah – the blogger's still at large?"

She nodded. "I'm actually rather surprised he went after her tonight. I thought it would take him a day or two."

"Can I see your phone again?" he asked.

She handed it to him. "Shall I put the kettle on?" she asked, one hand on her hip. It was a cheeky way of asking whether their romantic evening had been derailed.

"No, no," he said, reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder as he stared at the blog. Then he looked up at her hastily and said, "Unless, you'd like to. I mean, sit and talk."

"Just do what you need to do," she said, and entered the kitchen, directly across from the front door. She flipped on the light, and pulled down two wine glasses. He followed her in, and she pulled the cork out of a bottle she had opened the previous night, and said, "We'll split the difference," before pouring both glasses half full.

"This is weird," he said.

"What is?"

"Tonight's entry. There's info here – clearly dictated from speech – about meeting you, then wondering who I am. But it doesn't actually go to fruition. I mean, it doesn't say, maybe this guy is the Doctor. Or Subject Blue."

"Yeah, that's the last thing I read, too. I disappeared into the cupboard with you, came out not looking like we'd had a fumble, and she was skirting around you."

"And then it just stops," he pointed out. "She interacted with both of us after that, with no more blogging. And then we'd have disappeared from the banquet, she got a dodgy call from UNIT about taking down her blog… why would she stop? Why wouldn't she keep live-blogging, if she's got the capability… that live-blogging Dictaphone thingie?"

Martha sat down at the table and took a sip of wine. "It's a good question."

That was when the phone rang again.

She knew she shouldn't be annoyed, but she was. The last few minutes had been showing that things were not going to go the way they had intended, not with this Escappa/Bougie Boca/Kinsey Mund thing up in the air. This was par for the course in life with the Doctor, and yet this evening was far from ordinary.

She was annoyed.

The Doctor tossed Martha her phone, which was buzzing on the counter, rotating itself slightly.

"Yes, Colonel?" she said into the phone, this time putting him on speaker so that the Doctor could hear.

"Terribly sorry to bother you, Dr. Jones, but I took another stab at telephoning Kinsey Mund," said the Colonel. His voice was higher than usual, urgent, his breathing quick. "And she did not answer. Or rather, she did. The line opened up, but her voice did not come through… only a growl."

"A growl?" asked Martha. "What does that mean?"

"It was deep like a double bass, but also a growl. Both. And it was almost like it was coming from something wet…"

"No, I mean, where did the sound come from?" Martha asked him.

"I don't know, that's why I phoned you!"

"Colonel," the Doctor said suddenly, sliding into the chair opposite his Companion, to get closer to the phone. "Did it sound like a diesel engine with cogs, about to run out of fuel?"

"Who is that?" Mace asked. "Doctor, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Now tell me – is that what it sounded like? One of those farm machines, sputtering at the end of its cycle…"

"Yes," Colonel Mace said. "I suppose it did. Doctor, where are you? Are you at the banquet with Dr. Jones?"

"The Escappa have her," the Doctor said, panic transforming his face. He buried one hand in his hair.

"The who?" asked Mace.

"The Escappa," Martha said. "Yet another variety of outer space villian, gunning for the Doctor."

"They have… Ms. Mund?"

"Yes!" the Doctor shouted. "You called her phone, and you described something like what the Escappa sound like when they're refueling. Which might be why they didn't chase me round the banquet this evening…"

"They must know she can lead them to you," Martha said, her own panic beginning to mount.

The Doctor got back on his feet. "Colonel, is there any way to know where she was when you rang her?" He was now pacing around the kitchen.

"Yes, her phone was somewhere in Fulham," he answered. "Doctor, you can't just go in on your own!"

"Oh, right, because I never do stuff like that," the Time Lord snapped back.

"It's a trap, can't you see that? Either she will lead them to you, or she is bait!"

"Yes, that had, oddly, occurred to me! What am I supposed to do? Nothing? Just sacrifice some blogger, who has no real idea of what she's got her hands on?"

"At least let us send you backup," Colonel Mace said.

"No, no, come on, now, Mace. You lot are noisy and big and will give us away! Even your covert guys aren't exactly jungle cats on their feet… not to mention they're trigger-happy at times. This is my fight. The Escappa want me, not UNIT. It would just be delaying the inevitable. No, the best thing you can do is try to get a better fix on Mund's phone while Martha and I head toward Fulham."

"Yes, sir," said Mace, reluctantly.

"Uggghh, stop that," the Doctor groaned, as he cut off the call. Then to Martha, "Have you got a car?"

"Yep," she said, heading once again for the door, doing what needed to be done.

But just under the surface, she was thinking I suppose this is what I get for letting go of my vigilance.

Martha and the Doctor had only been in her car a couple of minutes when the phone rang.

The Doctor answered it on speaker. "What've you got, Mace?"

Colonel Mace answered with an address in Fulham, on Fabian Road, where Kinsey Mund's phone had been tracked.

"She's no longer on the move," he told the Doctor. "She seems to be stationary for the moment."

"Thank you, Colonel," said the Doctor. "What's that address? I mean what sort of place is it?"

"It's her home."

"Her home? Kinsey Mund's home?"

"Is on Fabian Road?" Martha asked. "In Fulham? Doesn't her paper serve Victoria Park and Bethnal Green and whatnot?"

"Yes. Doesn't mean she lives there."

Martha sighed heavily, and said, "Seems pretty obvious that it's a trap."

"Yeah, it does," said the Doctor, resigned.

"Anything else?" asked Colonel Mace.

"No, just stand by in case we need you. Score one for invasive tracking technology, eh?"

"Indeed. I'm on-call, Doctor," said the Colonel. "Goodbye for now, and good luck."

"Speaking of invasive tracking technology," Martha said, turning right, and speeding up. "Didn't you say that the Escappa had some sort of souped-up GPS?"

"What about it?."

"Wouldn't it be a shame if someone worked out how to dismantle it?" she asked, smiling a bit.

The Doctor thought about this. Until now, he had been so focused on ducking them and/or finding them before they found him, and then rescuing the blogger, it hadn't yet occurred to him to tackle them at the root. But now, he had a partner! Leave it to Martha to bring him back to himself.

"Ohhh, it would!" he said, practically singing. "And now, there are two of us! Take me to the TARDIS before we go to her flat."

"Where is it?"

"It's in Hyde Park," he said. "Bayswater side."

"Okay, hang on," she said, changing directions. Luckily, there wasn't a lot of traffic just there, where they were. "Wait, I thought the console room was filled with… Time Fog or whatever."

"Vortex steam," he said. "It is, but I don't need the gears to work, and I'm not going to stay in there for very long. I just want to hop in there and grab something. In and out, ten seconds, I promise."

She shrugged, and drove.

They found the TARDIS, its "Police Public Call Box" sign shining amongst the branches just on the other side of a stone barrier, across the road from a Hilton Hotel on Bayswater. They were not exactly in a place where Martha could just stop and wait for him…

"Drive around the park and pick me up – I'll be done by then," he said.

"Okay," she said, stopping, amidst honks and waving arms from motorists behind her. "See you in a few."

And she drove off down Bayswater, in search of a left turn that would allow her to encircle Hyde Park. She reckoned the Doctor was probably underestimating how long it would take to accomplish this, but she did it anyway.

And while she was alone, she allowed herself a bit of adolescent indignation.

This Bougie Boca/Kinsey Mund character had ruined bloody everything. Most of the time, Martha Jones accepted the universe as it was, in that, it was a given that there was evil out there, and she was happy to help vanquish it. She didn't mind trouble-shooting – it was a privilege. It was why she had become a doctor, and then a universe-hopping Companion to a Time Lord, and pseudo-soldier. She knew what was out there, and had felt called to help.

But moments like this were different. She was seething with rage toward the very human Kinsey Mund for being not evil, just thoughtless. Entitled. This sort of rubbish was why people should not just plough in, disseminating information, digging into the existences of others, just because they can. Because there is an unknowable butterfly effect, that can upend people's lives… or at least their plans.

She knew that the worst thing about all of this was that Mund's life might be in direct danger now, and so might the Doctor's… but that was not the first thing on her mind. Because the immature part of her, and/or the part of her that was in love, was screaming more loudly than any other just now. She gave herself this drive around Hyde Park to feel it, be a maniac, and get it under control before the Doctor got back into the car.

Here she was, on a night that had taken a decidedly different turn than the way it had started out. And then it had turned again. She and the Doctor had spent the evening re-finding each other, and re-finding something that they thought lost… or, rather, something that they once thought they would never have. She had gifted herself with the delicious anticipation of being with him at last. She had decided not to be "sensible," not to fight it, not to ask for things to be taken slow, and just enjoy what the night would bring them, because they had paid their dues.

But a blogger of all things, digging relentlessly, and refusing to see the damage she could do, had derailed it all. She had inadvertently crossed wires with a genocidal alien, and now, Martha's night was put on hold. Another turn taken, this time, for the worse.

And she had no idea how and where to channel this anger. Malevolent extraterrestrials, global despots and whatnot, she could deal with. But what the hell do you do when you just want to punch some lady's lights out, and can't? And in fact, have to save their life?

She gave a frustrated, teeth-clenched growl, and slammed her palm into the steering wheel as she thought about how Kinsey Mund had thrown a wrench in the system. And it wasn't just sexual frustration. It wasn't just the maddening false-start, the disappointment of not resolving their two-year-long physical buildup. It was also a renewed uncertainty that now threatened her. With hers and the Doctor's history, there was no telling when they would get this chance again. It felt like the stars had aligned tonight… maybe he would change his mind tomorrow, or the TARDIS would have a space-asthma attack, or some such.

She resolved to give Mund a piece of her mind if the opportunity ever presented itself.

And now, she was turning back onto Bayswater, and she spied a man in a well-fitted suit leaning coolly against the stone wall, across the road from the Hilton. She took a deep breath and told herself to grow the hell up now…

She needed to, and would do whatever she had to, to ensure the journalist's safety. Her rage now had no place in their plans. Shut it down.

…and the Doctor slid into the seat beside her.

And there were honks and flailing arms behind them, but they were on the move quickly enough.

"Did you get what you needed?" she asked. But before he could answer, she asked, "And no offence, but what is that smell?"

The Doctor turned his nose to his shoulder, and sniffed. "Ah, that would be the Vortex steam. Gets into everything."

"Seriously? I'm smelling the Vortex right now?"

"The Vortex having been scraped and ground into steam. It's not a healthy scent, I know. Sorry."

"No, it's just… it's not that unpleasant, just… strong. Smells like these sugared persimmon things my gran used to have in her pantry, just before they went off."

"It was super thick in the console room," he said. "Even thicker than I would have thought – couldn't see six inches in front of me. Took me longer than I planned to find this lovely trinket." And he showed her something that looked like an ancient sonic screwdriver nailed to a piece of wood, with a tiny screen on one end, and hundreds of wires connecting different parts and circuits.

"That's going to disable their souped-up GPS?"

"If we play our cards right."

"Right, back to Fabian Road now?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "Now that I've got this baby, we can take them down at their roots – or at least at the trunk. Stop a block or two away and I'll show you how to use it. I can get you into their navigation room if the ship is parked nearby…"

"Why me? That's more your thing."

"Because if they realise what we've done, they might do something drastic, and we can't risk Kinsey's life. And if we get her out first, then they'll go on guard and the ship won't be vulnerable any longer."

"So, you do the clever computer bit, and I'll do the resucing bit," she said. "Simple as that. I'm good at rescuing, as you know. I've got no shot at the clever computer bit."

"No, out of the question," he said.

"I wasn't asking permission, Doctor," she said. "I'm going in to get Kinsey, and you're going to do the nerdy computer-y bit."

"Martha…"

"We're not in the TARDIS, you're not the captain here," she pointed out. "Actually, this is my turf. My car, my city."

"Martha, they want me. As Colonel Mace so astutely pointed out, either they've finally worked out that Kinsey knows a hell of a lot about me, and might be able to lead them to me, or that someone in distress is my Achilles heel. Either way, you're toast if you go in there! You know far more about me than she does, and… blimey, Martha, they're going to work out that you're far more important to me than she is! One way or another, there's going to be a showdown, and I'd rather not have you tied up or dead when it happens!"

"I'm not denying that you're probably going to have to go in there and face them or fight them or talk their ears off, and do your Doctor thing eventually," she said. "I'm just saying, if I'm blustering at them and/or trying to rescue Kinsey at the same time that you're dismantling their technology, we've got a better chance of getting further with one or the other, or partially accomplishing both. If we take it step by step, we'll be sitting ducks. It's got to be an ambush, and can pull it off with two of us!"

He thought about how earlier in the evening, dealing with the Escappa, he had been sorely wishing he had a another person – a decoy, a second set of eyes and hands, someone to strategise with. And he had been wishing for her. Martha Jones. He had been wistfully remembering their days together, how she rescued him, how much easier these adventures could be, with her about.

But before he could stop himself, he spat, "I don't want you going in there on your own."

He cursed inwardly – where the hell had that come from?

Well, he knew. Of course he did. But he couldn't quite help it.

"I don't want me going in there on my own either, frankly, but it's the best shot we've got."

He was quiet for a few moments, mind racing with possibilities, strategies… feelings.

Then, "Martha, you don't always have to be the hero."

She shot back, "Neither do you!"

"I'm just saying, you've done enough for me. You don't have to risk your life again. I couldn't bear it if…"

"Oh, not this again," she whined. "Just stop right there. This is what we do. And what do you mean I've done enough for you? It will never be enough – that's how this works. It's how a partnership works. And by the way, mister, I could say the same thing to you, so belt up because you know I'm right!"

His forehead rested against Martha's wrists, and the inside soles of his trainers were pressed against the outsides of her boots. He had long-since finished telling his story, but his hands were still shaking. She was not going to move a muscle until he was ready.

"I lied to you. Because I liked it," he had said, nigh on an hour ago, from thirty feet away. "I could pretend… just for a bit, I could imagine that they were still alive." And from there, under the stinking smoke and oppressive humidity of New New York, sometime around five billion years into Martha's future, he had launched into a description of his home planet, and what had caused its eventual destruction. She had moved her chair knees-to-knees with him, taken his hands, and he had folded himself in half.

It was devastating to know that he had facilitated it, but she wouldn't trade this experience for anything. She regretted only the way she had handled it, which is to say, by crossing her arms like a child, and demanding to be told. She had wondered why he never spoke to her properly, why he always seemed to be looking through her, instead of at her. But she should have known that the answer could be crushing.

But now she had the opportunity to be here for him. The story, and his pain, were too big to fix, everything about him too old and deep to fully grasp, but she could sit here and listen, and be steadfast until the tears stopped flowing.

And after what could have been two minutes or three hours, he finally sat up, let go, and said, "Well, that was bracing," and he pulled one hand down over his face, as though putting on a new one.

What was truly bracing was this. His voice had come out with a curious timbre to it… it was not quite as though nothing had happened. Rather, it was as though he was trying to make it seem as though nothing had happened, but couldn't quite manage.

And with that, he had grabbed her hand and led her back into the TARDIS, ready to take the lead again. Looking back, she wondered, was this the moment when he began to feel that he had lost something? Even though he had the potential to gain so much by telling his story?

Perhaps so. Because when he had reached the top of the ramp, faced the console, something in him seemed to change.

He turned to face her, and few seconds of stillness passed – only a few. But in those seconds, a whole world seemed to pass behind his eyes.

"Martha," he said, coming back down the ramp toward her. If he were playing things cool, he would saunter, put his hands in his pockets, and look at his feet, rather than her eyes. He did none of those things. "I almost lost you today."

His intensity sometimes took her aback, but she was getting used to it.

"Oh," she said, swallowing hard. "Well, I'm fine. See?"

"You should've seen me out there. I car-hopped, risked being eaten by Macra. Almost suffocated in the smog," he said, now standing close enough to touch. "I moved a whole city to get you back. And you need to know that I have never opened up to anyone about… what I just told you. The war… my planet. I was alone when it happened, and I've kept it all inside," he said.

"I'm glad you told me."

He talked about keeping feelings under wraps, hiding his real self, and emphasising how few have been able to crack that shell. And before she knew it, he took her face in his hands, which caused her stomach to flutter and her heart to race. He talked about her rescuing him from himself, from his secrets, and how differently he now felt.

"It's all wrapped up in you," he had said, and for the second time, he took a chance, and kissed her. Rather similarly to the first time, it was brief, but intense. She felt electricity brewing in both of them. He pulled away, and, "You're the only person in the universe who knows my darkest secret. You've claimed it as your own, and I've let you. In a way, you've claimed me. Something in me wanted to possess you today. You were taken from me and I wanted you back, come hell or high water. And now that you're here, and you've claimed a part of me…"

She now completely understood where this was headed, but she was surprised to find herself uneasy about it.

"You're about to tell me that you feel like claiming a part of me as your own, as well, because some part of you has been demanding it all day. Maybe even since from before that. And now that we're alone, and things are still, and we've got all the time in the world…" and she smiled, with sadness and fatigue in her eyes.

"Wow. You're maybe even cleverer than I thought. Don't know why I'm surprised."

"You're in shock, Doctor," she said. "You've just had a traumatic day, followed by reliving a traumatic part of your life. You are seeking healing, and the healing has got my face on it just now, but it's nothing to do with me. You're reeling. You're vulnerable. And I am not in the business of making vulnerable people even more so."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Neither am I. I just need…"

"You need comfort. Love. I can give you those things. As much as you need, for as long as you need. But you don't need to lay claim on me."

"Okay," he whispered. Then, "I feel… at-sea."

"In a way, you are. But I'll help you get anchored. It's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

"Again, she rescues me," he chuckled.

"There's another reason why I can't be with you that way, Doctor," she said.

"Yeah?"

"For me, it couldn't be just tonight," she told him. "It would have to be tomorrow and next week, and next month, and next year. If we go there, I'm going to need both hearts, and all of the truth."

Even though she knew that he didn't view her as an easy shag, and he might (or might not) have had some vague notion of being with her beyond tonight, she could see him begin to panic.

He took a step back. He hadn't meant for that one step to be a huge statement, but it was. He knew it the moment he did it. "I can't… I couldn't," he said.

"I know. So, let's go have some tea."

He nodded. "Okay," he said, suddenly utterly exhausted.

There was safety in the kitchen – at least there should be. Hard surfaces, things too hot and volatile to take one's attention away from. It should have been a relatively baggage-free place for them, though things did not ultimately turn out that way after the Lazarus debacle.

After New New York, they had, indeed, gone to the kitchen and had a cup of tea, and Martha had asked to hear the story of how he had pulled out all the stops to get her back. He had (somewhat reluctantly) recounted it – the smog, the sonicking into people's cars, the hanging, dropping, enlisting the help of the Brannigans, and the old couple who kept tabs on all the vehicles.

It was the story of a single-minded quest not to let her be taken away, to gain back control of this game of chance he played all over the universe.

It did not sound like it was about her, and yet she knew that he was as much heart as he was mind, when it came right down to it – his desire for control and to prove he could do anything, it was ultimately about saving people. Rescuing.

After the kitchen became dangerous ground for them post-Lazarus, when they'd sat at the breakfast bar in formalwear and had Ice Wine, and almost a game-changing grope on the barstools, they had gone to bed alone and had their breakfast in the game room. There, again, surfaces were hard, and they could distract themselves with pinball.

"By the way," she had said, though. "With everything that happened last… with everything that happened, I never had a chance to thank you for the work you did yesterday. To save me. To save us all."

"Don't mention it. It's what I do," he had mumbled, starting another game. He was rubbish at pinball, but it was fun to press the buttons and watch the flaps move, and satisfying to hear the punchy sound they made when they did.

"I know, but someone needs to say thanks."

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do. I do. You have made such a big thing of me 'rescuing' you, but you…"

He looked at her with fatigue in his eyes. "You and Tish had a much harder go of it with Lazarus than I did. All I did was play the organ."

"And save a roomful of people from radiation. And run from explosions, lend out your sonic to release the doors…"

"Get slapped by your mum," he chuckled.

"That alone should win you a prize!" she smiled.

"Meh, it wasn't the first time."

"Point is, you do so much for me, Doctor. For all of us – every being in the universe. And how many times have you died?"

"It doesn't matter."

"A lot, let's say. You pull out all the stops. You value every life except your own, for some reason… and thus, the universe continues to exist. So, on behalf of the universe, for once, thanks. Okay? That's all. Just thanks."

He smiled wearily. "Okay. You're welcome. You and the universe."

Thanks very much to those of you letting me know you're out there! I could use a review here... it would be the highlight of my week, guaranteed!

One way or another, thanks for reading - hope you're having fun! :-)