Chapter 23: Smiths and Jones
[Chancellor Street]
The Doctor and the Alchemist stroll up to Martha, stopping before her.
"Like so," the Time Lord instructs.
With a grin, the Doctor slips off his tie, swinging it from side to side while turning his head, watching his Bondmate with clear amusement.
The Alchemist, not to be outdone, reaches up and undoes her pigtail braids. She shakes her hair out wildly, whipping it around like a headbanger at a metal concert. To complete the effect, she throws up devil horns and flips her hair back with a playful wink.
"See?" the now wild-haired Time Lady grins.
Martha gapes at them, confusion etched across her face as they casually walk away.
"Weird," she mouths before shaking her head and continuing on her path.
By the time she reaches the Royal Hope Hospital, a man in full motorcycle gear stomps past her, shoving her aside.
"Oi!" she snaps, steadying herself, "Watch it, mate."
The figure halts for a moment, turning to stare at her before walking on without a word.
[Locker Room]
Later, in the locker room, Martha pulls on her white coat, but as she reaches to shut her locker door, a sudden jolt of static electricity shocks her fingers. She hisses at the sting before brushing it off and heading for her shift.x
[Orthopedic Ward]
Dr. Stoker pushes back the curtain around a hospital bed, nodding politely at the occupants.
"Now then, Mister Smith, a very good morning to you. And to you, Mrs. Smith. How are you both today?"
"Oh, not so bad. Still a bit, you know, blah," the Doctor quips, sticking his tongue out for emphasis.
"I'm wonderful," the Alchemist counters cheerfully, "Him, though? He's getting antsy and has been complaining all morning about his tum," she reaches over, smoothing back his hair in a gentle stroke, earning a contented smile from him.
Stoker turns to the students gathered nearby, "John Smith: admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains. Jones, why don't you see what you can find? Amaze me."
Martha steps forward, slipping on her stethoscope as she leans in, "That wasn't very clever, running around outside, was it?" she whispers.
"Sorry?" the Doctor asks, blinking up at her.
She raises an eyebrow, "On Chancellor Street this morning? You came up to me and took your tie off, and your... your wife was... headbanging?"
The two Time Lords exchange a puzzled glance.
"Really?" the Doctor tilts his head, "What did we do that for?"
Martha frowns, "I don't know, you just did."
"Not me. I was here, in bed. Ask the wife. Ask the nurses even."
"Yeah, we've been here two days. I had to braid my hair and haven't undone it yet," the Alchemist adds, brow arched in intrigue.
"Well, that's weird," Martha mutters, "'Cause it looked like you. Have you got a brother or sister?"
"No, not anymore. Just me," the Doctor says simply.
"I only had a brother, but he's long gone," the Alchemist adds.
Stoker sighs, rubbing his temple, "As time passes and I grow ever more infirm and weary, Miss Jones."
Martha winces, "Sorry. Right."
She presses the stethoscope to the Doctor's chest, but as she listens, her eyes go wide. Shifting the instrument, her expression grows even more stunned. She stares at him in shock.
The Doctor merely winks.
Beside him, the Alchemist smirks, scratching the center of her cupid's bow—an unspoken signal for Martha to stay quiet.
Stoker sighs, rolling his eyes, "I weep for future generations. Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?"
"Uhm…" Martha hesitates, "I don't know. Stomach cramps?"
"That is a symptom, not a diagnosis," Stoker chastises, "And you rather failed basic techniques by not consulting the patient's chart first."
Reaching for the chart, he touches the metal clip—only to drop it with a startled jolt.
Martha blinks, "That happened to me this morning."
Morgenstern nods, "I had the same thing on the door handle."
"And me, on the lift," Swales adds.
Stoker exhales through his nose. "That's only to be expected. There's a thunderstorm moving in, and lightning is a form of static electricity, as was first proven by… Anyone?"
"Benjamin Franklin," the Doctor answers at once.
The Alchemist frowns slightly—he's wrong.
"Correct," Stoker affirms.
'Wrong,' the Alchemist thinks, directing it toward the Doctor, but he ignores her.
Instead, he seems oddly intrigued.
She huffs inwardly, waiting for her chance to set the record straight.
The Doctor nods, reminiscing, "My mate, Ben. That was a day and a half. I got rope burns off that kite, and then I got soaked…"
Stoker's lips thin, "...Quite."
"And then I got electrocuted," the Doctor grins.
The Alchemist takes that as her cue, folding her hands neatly, "I'm afraid the meds you have him on are confusing him greatly. You see, Benjamin Franklin only published the idea for the original experiment in 1750, but it was actually first proven by Dalibard and Delor in May 1752. They each conducted their own experiments and are both credited. Ben should be applauded for his theory, though," she smiles sweetly, "Anywho! Perhaps some water will help clear his system, Doctor Stoker?"
Stoker blinks, momentarily taken aback by the impromptu history lesso,. "Grand... Grand idea, Mrs. Smith. Moving on," he mutters, walking away, "...I think perhaps a visit from psychiatric as well."
He clears his throat, regaining composure, "And next, we have…"
Martha barely suppresses her grin as she moves away, rejoining the group.
The Alchemist bites her lip, shaking her head fondly at the Doctor.
"What did I do?" he asks, feigning innocence.
She smiles, eyes warm, "Nothing, love. You're just perfect."
The Doctor beams, "And you corrected me! Ugh, I love it when you do that. Can we go explore now?"
The Alchemist chuckles, nodding as she helps him into his dressing gown. With a final glance at each other, the two Time Lords make their way out of the ward.
[Doctor's Kitchenette]
Martha speaks quietly into her phone, her voice hushed.
"...Yeah, but listen, I'll tell you what we'll do..."
She glances up just in time to see the Doctor stroll past in a dressing gown, the Alchemist skipping beside him, hand in hand.
"...We tell Dad and Annalise to get there early, about seven-thirty. We tell Leo the same, so we can do all the birthday stuff. Then we tell Mum to get there around eight-thirty, nine—that gives me time to have a word with Annalise, and..."
A sudden, urgent touch on her arm makes her jolt. Swales stares at her, alarmed.
"What?" Martha asks, brow furrowing.
"The rain," Swales says, voice tight.
Martha shrugs, "It's only rain."
Over the line, Tish's voice sharpens, "Martha, have you seen the rain?"
Martha sighs, "Why's everyone fussing about rain?"
Swales grips her arm tighter, "It's going up."
From the phone, Tish practically shouts, "The rain is going up!"
Before Martha can respond, a deafening thunderclap splits the air. A blinding flash of lightning floods the hospital with white-hot light.
The entire building lurches, swaying violently from side to side. The shockwave knocks Martha and Swales off their feet. They crash to the floor as the world bucks around them.
"What the hell was that!?" Martha shouts, bracing herself.
Swales groans, pushing herself up, "Are you all right?"
Martha nods, heart hammering, "I think so, yeah. It felt like an earthquake, or..."
She trails off as they turn toward the windows. Outside, the world has changed.
Darkness.
Swales' breath catches, "Martha... It's night. Look. It was lunchtime."
Martha shakes her head, "It's not night."
"But it's got to be," Swales insists, voice trembling, "It's dark."
Martha steps closer to the glass, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We're on the moon."
Suspended in the endless black sky, a brilliant half-Earth glows over the jagged lunar surface. It hangs there, impossibly vast, impossibly distant.
Swales violently shakes her head, "We can't be."
Martha's chest tightens, "We're on the moon. We're on the bloody moon!"
The hospital falls into eerie silence as staff and patients stare, transfixed, at the impossible sight beyond the windows. The people switch on lights, the electricity surprisingly constant as people struggle to comprehend the unfolding disaster. Then—like a dam bursting—the panic begins.
[Orthopedic ward]
Martha takes a shaky breath, trying to steady herself amid the chaos. Patients and staff scream in fear, clutching their phones in desperate attempts to call for help. The hospital is a whirlwind of panic.
"All right now!" Martha calls out, raising her voice above the din, "Everyone back to bed! We've got an emergency, but we'll sort it out. Don't worry."
The Alchemist pulls the curtain around the hospital bed as Martha and Swales move back to the window, peering out at the impossible sight beyond.
Behind the curtain, the Doctor eyes the suit in his Bondmate's hands.
"Blue?" he asks, intrigued.
The Alchemist grins, "Blue! Thought you could use a little change. Plus, we'll match… I've got my blue leggings on today."
He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before getting dressed. She sits on the bed, watching him with a satisfied smile.
"You're staring again," he mutters as he buttons up his shirt.
She shrugs and smirks, quoting herself, "You're giving me a show, and it's hot."
The Doctor laughs softly, shaking his head as she swiftly knots his tie. Their lighthearted moment contrasts starkly with the tension outside, her ears tuned to the hushed conversation at the window.
"It's real. It's really real. Hold on," Martha breathes as she reaches for the window latch.
Swales gasps and grabs her arm, "Don't! We'll lose all the air!"
The Alchemist signals for the Doctor to listen closely. He buttons his jacket, focused on Martha's reasoning.
"But these windows aren't exactly airtight," she points out, "If the air was going to get sucked out, it would've happened straight away—but it didn't. So how come?"
The Alchemist tilts her head, impressed, "She's pretty good," she murmurs.
The Doctor nods in agreement before yanking open the curtain. He and the Alchemist step forward, joining Martha and Swales at the window.
"Very good point," the Doctor grins, "Brilliant, in fact! What's your name?"
"Martha."
"And it was Jones, wasn't it?" the Alchemist adds, watching her closely.
Martha nods.
"Well then, Martha Jones—whose name means noble lady—the question is, how are we still breathing on the moon?"
Swales shakes his head violently, voice trembling, "We can't be."
"Obviously, we are," the Doctor sighs, rolling his eyes, "So don't waste my time," he shifts his attention back to Martha, "What have we got? Is there a balcony on this floor? A veranda, maybe?"
She nods, "By the patients' lounge, yeah."
"Fancy going out?" he asks casually.
Martha shrugs, "Okay."
"We might die," the Alchemist and the Doctor say, focused on her reaction.
"We might not," Martha counters.
The Time Lords exchange a glance, nodding in silent agreement.
"Good. Come on," the Doctor says, striding toward the door—then points at Swales, "Not her, she'd hold us up."
[Patients' lounge balcony]
Martha leads the way up to the patients' lounge, the Doctor and the Alchemist close behind. The Time Lords exchange a look before pushing the doors open, stepping out onto the balcony. They each draw in a deep breath.
"We've got air! How does that work?" Martha asks, baffled.
The Doctor shrugs, "Just be glad it does."
The Alchemist tilts her head, eyes scanning the surrounding area. Something catches her attention—a faint glint at the edge of her vision.
"I've got a party tonight," Martha murmurs, her voice distant, "It's my brother's twenty-first. My mum's going to be really, really..."
The Time Lady looks over at her, "You okay?"
Martha exhales, "Yeah."
The Doctor studies her as well, "Sure?"
"Yeah."
"Want to go back in?" the Alchemist offers.
Martha shakes her head wildly, "No way. I mean, we could die any minute, but at the same time… it's beautiful."
"Do you think?" the Doctor muses, eyes locked on the Earth hanging above them.
She smiles, "How many people want to go to the moon? And here we are."
The Alchemist nods, "Standing in the Earthlight."
Martha gazes out over the lunar landscape, "What do you think happened?"
The Doctor hums, "What do you think?"
"Extraterrestrial," she declares without hesitation, "It's got to be. A few years ago, that would've sounded mad, but these days? That spaceship flying into Big Ben, Christmas, those Cybermen things..." she sighs, "I had a cousin. Adeola. She worked at Canary Wharf. She never came home."
The Doctor turns to her, his voice gentle, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
The Alchemist shifts her gaze to Martha,"We were there, in the battle… Did she go by Addy?"
Martha glances at her, surprised, "Yeah."
"I remember her," the Time Lady says softly, "You look a lot like her."
Martha frowns, "We… got that a lot," she shakes it off, setting her jaw, "I promise you, Mister Smith, Mrs. Smith—we'll find a way out. If we can travel to the moon, then we can travel back. There's got to be a way."
"It's not Smith," the Doctor corrects with a shrug, "Those aren't our real names."
"Who are you, then?" Martha asks.
"I'm the Doctor."
"I'm the Alchemist—just call me Ally," the Time Lady adds with a nod.
Martha grins, "Doctor? Me too, if I can pass my exams," then she gestures between them, "What is it then, Doctor Smith and Mrs. Ally Smith?"
"Just the Doctor," he corrects.
"And it's not Smith," the Alchemist adds with a casual shrug, "but I am the missus."
Martha eyes them both suspiciously, "How do you mean, just the Doctor? And Ally? No last name?"
The Doctor grins, "Just the Doctor. And no, she doesn't have a last name. Ally's a nickname for Alchemist."
Martha deadpans, "What, people actually call you 'the Doctor'?"
"Yeah," he replies easily.
"I do it all the time," the Alchemist chimes in.
She scoffs, "Well, I'm not. As far as I'm concerned, you've got to earn that title."
"Well, I'd better make a start, then," the Doctor remarks; he claps his hands together, "Let's have a look. There must be some sort of..."
The Alchemist reaches into her pocket, pulls out a loose pence, and flicks it into the air. It hits an invisible barrier, bouncing back and landing back in her outstretched palm.
"There's a forcefield keeping the air in," she confirms, "Spotted it when we walked out."
'Nice catch,' the Doctor silently comments.
'That you are,' the Alchemist quips back, earning her a poke to the ribs.
Martha gapes, "But if that's like a bubble sealing us in, that means this is the only air we've got. What happens when it runs out?"
The Alchemist studies her appraisingly.
'She's very good,' she notes privately to the Doctor.
'Amara, no,' he warns, already seeing where her thoughts are going.
He regrets how hastily they invited Donna aboard after losing Rose—it had been too soon, too raw. He wanted to bandage that festering wound.
At first, they had only intended to drop her off, encourage her to seek help. But the battle had exposed just how deep Rose's obsession had run, how twisted her attachment had become. Now, the fear lingers in the back of his mind—that history could repeat itself if they're not careful.
"How many people are in this hospital?" he asks aloud.
"I don't know," Martha shrugs, "A thousand?"
The Alchemist presses her lips together, "One thousand people… suffocating."
Martha swallows hard, "Why would anyone do that?"
"Head's up!" the Doctor shouts, pointing to the sky, "Ask them yourself."
Inside the hospital, people press themselves to the windows, staring as three massive, black, column-shaped spaceships pass overhead and land just beyond the forcefield. Rows of aliens in identical black armor march out, heading directly for the hospital.
The trio ducks.
"Aliens," Martha breathes, "That's aliens. Real, proper aliens."
The Doctor groans, "Judoon."
The Alchemist throws her head back with an exasperated sigh, "Ugh, not Judoon."
The Doctor pats her shoulder in commiseration—then bolts inside.
She rolls her eyes but follows, Martha right behind her.
[Hospital reception]
From their vantage point on the second-floor mezzanine behind a potted plant, the Time Lords and Martha watch as the Judoon march through the forcefield and into the hospital. Below them, chaos erupts. Patients, visitors, and staff scream in fear, scrambling for cover behind chairs and counters in the waiting area. The heavy, rhythmic clomping of the Judoon's boots echoes through the atrium.
The Judoon commander steps forward and removes his helmet, revealing a massive, leathery face. Martha stares in disbelief. A standing rhinoceros.
"Bo sco fo do no cro blo co sho ro!" they order and their compatriots ready their weapons.
Martha instinctively moves to call out as Morgenstern steps toward them, but the Alchemist swiftly presses a finger to her lips and gives a sharp shake of her head. Martha swallows her protest.
"Uh—w-we are citizens of planet Earth!" Morgenstern stammers, hands raised in a feeble gesture of peace, "We welcome you in peace!"
Without hesitation, a Judoon shoves him against the wall, pressing a blue scanning device to his mouth.
"Please don't hurt me!" he pleads, his voice trembling, "I was just trying to help! I'm sorry, don't hurt me—please don't hurt me!"
The Judoon pulls back, checks the data on his device, then inserts it into his armored collar.
"Language assimilated. Designation: Earth English," the Judoon announces, "You will be cataloged."
The scanner flicks on again, shining over Morgenstern's face before the Judoon marks a black cross on the back of his hand.
"Category: human. Catalog all suspects."
At once, the Judoon troops spread out, moving methodically through the hospital. Each person they scan is marked in turn—one by one, cataloging every last human in sight.
[Mezzanine level]
"Oh, look down there, you've got a little shop," the Doctor says excitedly, "I like a little shop."
"I already got you a teddy," the Alchemist reminds him.
He nods in recollection, patting his pocket where it's hidden—a Doctor Teddy, complete with a striped shirt, tie, lab coat, and tiny stethoscope.
"Never mind that," Martha whisper-shouts, "What are Judoon!?"
"They're like police," the Alchemist explains.
"Well, police for hire," the Doctor corrects, "They're more like interplanetary thugs."
Martha frowns, "And they brought us to the moon?"
"The Moon is neutral territory, Martha," the Time Lady explains quickly, "According to galactic law, they've got no jurisdiction over the Earth. They can't interfere with Level Five planets so they isolated it. That upside-down rain and the lightning? That was them, using an H2O scoop."
"What are you on about, galactic law?" Martha shakes her head, "Where'd you get that from? If they're police, are we under arrest? Are we trespassing on the moon or something?"
Both Time Lords burst into laughter.
"No, but I like that! Good thinking," the Doctor grins, "I wish it were that simple."
The Alchemist exhales, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"They're making a catalog," she says grimly, "That means they're hunting something non-human—which is very bad news for us."
"Me mostly," the Doctor says pointedly, "Still no idea why they like you, Ally."
The Alchemist nods in reluctant agreement.
"Why?" Martha asks and they stare at her blandly, "Oh, you're kidding me. Don't be ridiculous. Stop looking at me like that."
The Doctor grins, "Come on, then."
He offers the Alchemist a hand, helping her up. Without another word, they head off, leaving Martha scrambling after them.
[Admin office]
The Alchemist frowns at the unmistakable sound of a ray gun firing downstairs—another loss to add to the growing list.
The Doctor is hunched over a computer, frantically working to pull up information while using his sonic screwdriver. The Alchemist leans against the desk, watching him work.
Martha arrives, breathless, "They've reached the third floor... What's that thing?" she asks, pointing at the tool in his hand.
"Sonic screwdriver," he replies distractedly.
Martha scowls, "Well, if you're not going to answer me properly…"
"No, really, it is. It's a screwdriver, and it's sonic," the Doctor insists.
The Alchemist pulls out her own and flicks it on, letting the light flash, "Look, I have one too. Listen to the buzz."
Martha scoffs, "What else have you got, a laser spanner?"
The Time Lady sighs, "He did, but Emily Pankhurst stole it."
"Cheeky woman," the Doctor mutters, "Almost as much as this one," he gestures toward the Alchemist before hitting the monitor in frustration, "Oh, this computer! The Judoon must have locked it down," he turns to his wife, "Ally, you like hacking. You try."
She switches places with him and begins typing rapidly, only to roll her eyes when she has to slow down for the sluggish system.
"I hate slow tech," she mutters irritably.
The Doctor sighs, watching her work, "Judoon platoon upon the moon... And all because we were just traveling past. I swear, we were just wandering."
His wife nods, "We weren't looking for trouble. Honest, we weren't. But I noticed plasma coils around the hospital… and that lightning? That was from a plasma coil. It's been building up for two days now, so we checked in. Wasn't kidding about those braids."
The Doctor continues, "We thought something was going on inside. Turns out, the plasma coils were the Judoon, setting up shop above us."
"But what are they looking for?" Martha asks.
The Doctor replies, "Something that looks human, but isn't."
"Like you lot, apparently."
"Like us. But not us," the Doctor clarifies.
"Haven't they got a photo?"
"Could be a shape-changer," the Alchemist says, "And I can't exactly scan every potential human in this hospital to find them, so we need info."
Martha glances between the two of them, "Whatever it is, can't you just let the Judoon find it?"
The Doctor exhales heavily, "If they decide the hospital is guilty of harboring a fugitive, they'll sentence it to execution."
"All of us?"
"Oh yes. If we don't find this thing first."
The Alchemist hums thoughtfully, "I might be able to stop them, but I don't know how much they respect me, honestly. Never bothered to ask... which is odd."
"So you can stop this whole thing, maybe?" Martha asks hopefully.
Both Time Lords shrug and nod in unison, leaving Martha baffled.
"Oh, you see, they're thick!" the Alchemist exclaims, pointing at the screen, "Judoon are thick! Completely thick! They wiped the records."
"Oh, that's clever," the Doctor mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. Try any patient admitted in the past week with unusual symptoms," he suggests before glancing at his wife, "Maybe there's a backup, Ally?"
Silent, she nods and starts digging deeper into the system. The Doctor moves behind her, rubbing her shoulders as she works.
"Just keep going. I'll go ask Mister Stoker. He might know something," Martha says before rushing out.
"Carefully, please!" the Alchemist calls after her.
Martha waves in acknowledgment as she disappears down the hall.
[Outside the office]
Martha sprints out the door and slams straight into the Alchemist, who catches her before she falls.
"Whoa there, Martha," the Time Lady steadies her, "It's alright, I've restored the backup."
Martha clutches her arms, fear in her eyes, "I found her."
"You what?" the Doctor asks, before spotting him.
A man in a full leather outfit strides toward them, following Martha.
"Run!" the Doctor shouts, grabbing the Alchemist's hand.
The trio take off, Martha leading them toward the alien's last known location. Footsteps thunder behind them—the man in black getting closer.
Ahead, the staircase looms, but just as they prepare to descend, a new threat emerges—Judoon, stomping their way up from below.
Thinking fast, the Alchemist spots a doorway and slams it open, "This way!"
They dart into the fourth-floor corridor, twisting through the halls. The man pursues relentlessly, but they round a corner just as the Doctor yanks open a door.
"In here!"
The three of them pile into the radiology lab, slamming the door shut behind them.
[Radiology]
They rush in and the Alchemist sonics the door locked.
The Time Lords take a moment to get their bearings.
'Radiation turns off slabs!' the Alchemist recalls.
The Doctor nods and they start working on the X-ray machine. Martha follows them to the radiation screen.
"When I say now, press the button," the Time Lord informs her.
Martha flounders as she looks over the buttons, "But I don't know which one."
"Then find out!" he shouts.
"It's the blue one, Martha!" the Alchemist exclaims and the woman nods.
The Doctor and the Alchemist exchange a quick glance before he thrusts his sonic screwdriver into the machine, cranking up the radiation.
From outside, the relentless pounding of the Slab reverberates through the room. With a final, forceful blow, the door crashes off its hinges.
As the Slab charges in, the Doctor swiftly swings the machine toward it. At the same moment, the Alchemist dives behind the protective screen, landing beside Martha.
"Now!" the Time Lord shouts.
Without hesitation, Martha slams her hand down on the button. The machine flares to life at full blast, flooding the room with radiation. Both the Slab and the Doctor are caught in the surge.
The Slab seizes up, then collapses face-first to the floor—completely deactivated.
Inside the screening room, an alarm blares, flashing a warning about metal detection. Martha quickly powers down the machine, and the Alchemist rushes out to check on the Doctor.
"What did you do?" Martha asks, staring at them both in alarm.
The Alchemist shrugs, "He increased the radiation by five thousand percent."
"Killed him dead," the Doctor adds.
"Not exactly dead," the Time Lady clarifies, "Slabs aren't really alive to begin with."
Martha shakes her head, still reeling, "But isn't that going to kill you?"
"Nah, it's only roentgen radiation," the Doctor waves off her concern, "We used to play with roentgen bricks in the nursery. It's safe for you to come out. I've absorbed it all. Now I just need to expel it."
He starts hopping in place on one foot as Martha steps out, watching in confusion.
"If I concentrate, I can shake the radiation out of my body and into one spot. It's in my left shoe," he continues bouncing, wobbling slightly, "Here we go, here we go. Easy does it. Out, out, out, out, out. Ah, ah, ah, ah! It is—ooh, it is hot. Hold on."
He yanks off his shoe, tosses it into the bin, and grins, "Done!"
Martha gapes at him, "You're completely mad."
"And you look ridiculous," the Alchemist sighs.
"Right. I look daft with one shoe," he shrugs and promptly pulls off the other, chucking it into the bin as well, "Barefoot on the moon."
Wiggling his toes, he admires the teal-and-yellow banana-printed socks Dita had gifted him last week.
The Alchemist shakes her head, "We'll need another pair of red sandshoes for you."
"Converse!" he corrects, huffing, "And I know… I didn't copy these."
Martha, still eyeing him, gestures toward the collapsed Slab, "So what is that thing? Where's it from—the planet Zovirax?"
The Alchemist blinks, "No… that's a herpes antiviral."
Martha blinks back before bursting into unexpected laughter. She hadn't expected the woman to know that.
The Doctor rolls his eyes, "It's just a Slab. Basic slave drone. Solid leather, all the way through."
The Alchemist smirks, "Someone's got one hell of a fetish."
'Shush,' the Doctor telepathically nudges her, keeping her from laughing outright.
Martha, still processing, shakes her head, "But it was that woman—Miss Finnegan. It was working for her, like a servant."
"Finnegan, Finnegan…" the Alchemist mutters, before realization dawns, "Salt deficiency lady? I heard you lot discussing her case earlier."
Martha stares at her, "You… heard that?"
The Time Lady simply shrugs.
Meanwhile, the Doctor retrieves his sonic screwdriver from the X-ray machine. It's burned beyond recognition. He cradles it in his hands, his expression falling.
"My sonic screwdriver…"
"Yeah, she was one of the patients, but…"
"Oh, no. My sonic screwdriver," he mourns.
Martha frowns. "She had a straw, like some kind of vampire…"
"I loved my sonic screwdriver," he glances at the Alchemist, "Ally designs my sonic screwdrivers!"
She pats his shoulder, "It's fine, I'll have the TARDIS make another."
Martha huffs in frustration, "Doctor! Ally!"
Snapping back to focus, he tosses the ruined sonic into the bin with his shoes, "Sorry!"
"You called me Doctor," he notes, grinning.
Martha rolls her eyes, "Anyway, Miss Finnegan is the alien. She was drinking Mister Stoker's blood."
The Doctor frowns, "Funny time for a snack. You'd think she'd be hiding. Unless—no. Yes! That's it. Wait a minute. Yes! Shape-changer. Internal shape-changer…"
The Alchemist nods in realization, "She wasn't drinking blood—she was assimilating it. Might be a plasmavore."
"If she assimilates Mister Stoker's blood, mimicking his biology, she'll register as human," the Doctor says, urgency returning, "We've got to find her and show the Judoon."
Without hesitation, he bolts from the room, dragging the Alchemist with him by the hand.
"Come on!"
[Outside Pathology]
The Alchemist spots the other Slab approaching and swiftly pulls the Doctor and Martha into an alcove, crouching behind a water dispenser as it strides past down the corridor.
The Doctor exhales sharply, "That's the thing about Slabs. They always travel in pairs."
Martha, still trying to make sense of everything, glances between them, "What about you two?"
The Time Lord gives her a quick look, "What about us what?"
"Are you partners or something? Do you have backup on the way?"
Both Time Lords roll their eyes before the Doctor replies, "Oh, humans. We're stuck on the moon, running out of air, with Judoon and a bloodsucking criminal, and you're asking personal questions? ...Come on."
"I like that. 'Humans.' I'm still not convinced you're aliens," Martha mutters as the Doctor gestures for them to move.
They slip out of the alcove, turn the corner—and walk straight into a Judoon.
The Alchemist barely reacts as the scanner sweeps over her.
"Non-human," the Judoon states.
She sighs, unimpressed, "Lady Ally Starlight-Smith."
"Report: Starlight-Smith in building," the Judoon announces into its wrist comm.
The Doctor shifts slightly, instinctively reaching for his wife, but the Judoon immediately scans him as well.
"Non-human."
Martha's eyes widen, "Oh my God, you really are. You're both…!"
"And again!" the Doctor calls out, cutting her off as they bolt.
The Judoon fires a shot, barely missing the Doctor as the trio ducks around the corner. With the chase officially underway, they sprint toward the stairs.
[Upper Corridor]
Reaching the next floor, they slow as a concerning sight greets them—patients, staff, and visitors slumped against the walls, gasping for air. The weight of the situation settles on them as they carefully weave through the exhausted crowd.
The Doctor takes note of the marked hands and mutters, "They've done this floor. Come on. The Judoon are logical—and just a little bit thick. They won't double-check a floor they've already cleared... If we're lucky."
The Alchemist frowns, "Air levels are dropping fast."
Martha pauses beside Swales, who is holding an oxygen mask to a patient's face.
"How much oxygen is left?" she asks.
"Not enough for all these people," Swales replies grimly, "We're going to run out."
The Alchemist turns to Martha as she stands, "Are you all right?"
"I'm running on adrenaline."
"Welcome to our world," the Doctor quips.
"What about the Judoon?" Martha presses.
"Nah, great big lung reserves. It won't slow them down."
The Time Lady refocuses, "Where's Mister Stoker's office?"
Martha nods, determination settling in, "This way."
Without hesitation, they follow her lead.
[Stoker's Office]
"She's gone. She was here," Martha remarks as they step into the office.
They walk around the desk to find Stoker's body, nearly paper white. The Alchemist quickly flicks on her preceptors, scanning his lifeless form.
"Plasmavore," the Time Lady announces softly, kneeling at his side.
"Drained him dry. Every last drop," the Doctor adds with a nod, "We were right."
Martha glances around, puzzled, "What's she doing on Earth?"
"Hiding. On the run. Like Ronald Biggs in Rio de Janeiro," the Doctor mutters, eyes narrowing, "What's she doing now? She's still not safe. The Judoon could execute us all," he says, a hint of urgency in his voice, "Come on."
"Wait a minute..." Martha calls to him, but as she turns back, she smiles softly.
The Alchemist is still kneeling, closing Stoker's eyes gently.
"Alright, let's go," the Time Lady says, swiftly rising and grabbing her husband's hand, leading them out of the room.
[Corridor]
They step out into the hallway, and the Doctor begins pacing, his mind working quickly.
"Think, think, think. If I was a Plasmavore surrounded by police, what would I do?"
The sign to the MRI room catches their attention, and the Alchemist tilts her head, focusing.
"Yeah, she's in there. I hear her," the Time Lady says with a nod.
The Doctor grins, "Ah. She's as clever as me..." he pauses, "Almost," he adds, then winks at his wife, "Not a cent on you, though."
'Think she's still thirsty?' he asks.
The Alchemist rolls her eyes, catching on, 'She's a Plasmavore, she's always thirsty. Can't be me though.'
The Doctor grimaces. They hear a loud crash followed by screams from down the hall. The Judoon's heavy footsteps grow louder as it continues its search.
"Find the non-human," a voice calls out, "Execute... Protect Starlight-Smith."
The Doctor turns to Martha, urgency in his eyes, "Martha, stay here. We need time. You've got to hold them up."
"How do I do that?" she asks, clearly unsure.
He sighs heavily and turns to his Bondmate, grabbing her hand and glancing between her and Martha.
"Just forgive me for this. Alchemist, forgive me. Martha, this is... It could save a thousand lives. It means nothing. Honestly, I'm married. Happily. It's nothing. We're married. More than married. I mean it, nothing..." The Doctor rambles, his voice growing more frantic.
His words are cut off when his mouth is covered by a freckled hand.
"Oh, for goodness' sake! Martha, are you attracted to women?" the Alchemist asks, exasperated.
"Uh, no? Why?" Martha replies, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
The Alchemist shrugs, dropping the Doctor's hand and pulling her other away from his mouth, "This is why."
Without further warning, the Alchemist kisses Martha Jones, pressing her lips tightly against the human's, ignoring the Doctor's audible growl of protest.
She pulls away after a brief moment, grimacing as she grabs the Doctor by his tie and drags him off.
Martha stands frozen, blinking in disbelief, "…Weird. Awkward and weird."
[Outside MRI Room]
The Doctor stops short and turns to his wife, pulling her in close and kissing her deeply. His hands find the back of her head, holding her against him. He nips at her lip, pulling it slightly as he steps back, slightly out of breath.
She blinks rapidly, her eyes wide, "If that's your reaction every time I kiss someone else but you... I may just utilize it."
"Never do that again," he growls, his voice low and rumbling from his chest.
She smirks, tugging on his tie before tucking it back in place, "Promise... only if we play later."
"Deal."
The Doctor quickly pulls off his socks and shoves them into his pockets, then nods to her, signaling he's ready.
In perfect unison, they turn and begin their act, stumbling into the room.
[MRI room]
The Doctor bursts in, dragging the Alchemist behind him, both of them appearing shocked and out of breath. The Plasmavore is behind the controls, raising the MRI's levels to a lethal percentage.
The Time Lady feels the mono-magnetic energy intensify, a spike that causes her nerves to flare, making the small peach hairs on her arms stand on end, like needles pricking her skin. She fights to keep her reaction in check.
"Have you seen them?" the Doctor gasps, his words tumbling out, "There are these things! Great big space rhino things! I mean, rhinos from space. And we're on the moon! Space rhinos with guns on the moon. And I only came in for my bunions," he says, nodding to his feet and lifting one to wiggle his toes, "Look! All fixed now. Perfectly good treatment. The nurses were lovely," he turns to the Alchemist with enthusiasm, "I said to my wife, I said, 'I'd recommend this place to anyone!' But then we end up on the moon. Did I mention the rhinos?"
"He did," the Alchemist chimes in dryly, "He's always on his feet, you see, it..."
"Hold him, knock out the woman!" Florence orders, cutting them off.
A Slab emerges from behind the door and swings at the Alchemist. She reacts just in time, dodging enough that it only grazes her jaw and the braid in her hair. She collapses to the floor, her eyelids fluttering closed in annoyance. She stays still, waiting for the Slab to grab the Doctor's arms.
'I hate this plan,' the Alchemist sends to him silently.
She does. She really, really does. The moment his body shuts down, hers will begin to as well. She can't let him know that.
"Oh, Ally!" the Doctor exclaims, looking frantic, "Why did you do that?"
"Needed to keep her quiet," Florence says with a grin, clearly pleased with herself.
The Doctor stutters, glancing between his wife and Florence, "Erm, that... that big... uh... machine thing. Is it supposed to be making that noise?"
"You wouldn't understand," Florence dismisses him with a wave.
"But isn't that a magnetic resonance imaging thing? Like a ginormous sort of magnet? I did magnetics for my GCSEs. Well, I failed, but still..."
"The magnetic setting has now been increased to fifty thousand Tesla."
"Ooh, that's a bit strong, isn't it?" The Doctor winces, raising an eyebrow.
"It'll send out a magnetic pulse that'll fry the brain stems of every living thing within two hundred and fifty thousand miles. Except for me, safe in this room," Florence grins.
"But... uh, hold on, hold on," the Doctor waves his hands, his expression twisting in feigned confusion,"I did geography GCSE. I passed that one. Doesn't that distance include the Earth?"
"Only the side facing the moon. The other half will survive. Call it my little gift."
He nods slowly, his brows knitting together, "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me, I'm a little out of my depth. I've spent the past fifteen years working as a postman. Hence the bunions. Why would you do that?"
"With everyone dead, the Judoon ships will be mine to make my escape."
The Doctor gasps, taking a dramatic step back, "No, that's weird! You're talking like you're some sort of alien."
"Quite so," Florence smirks, her confidence unwavering.
"No!" he exclaims, his eyes going wide.
"Oh, yes."
"You're joshing me."
"I am not."
"I'm talking to an alien? In a hospital? What, has the place got an ET department?" He drops his jaw in exaggerated shock.
Florence chuckles, "It's the perfect hiding place. Blood banks downstairs for a midnight feast, and all this equipment ready to arm myself with should the police come looking."
"So, those rhinos... they're looking for you?"
"Yes. But I'm hidden."
"Right," he nods thoughtfully, rocking on his heels, "Maybe that's why they're increasing their scans."
"They're doing what?" she asks, alarmed.
"Big chief rhino boy, he said, 'no sign of a non-human, we must increase our scans up to setting two?'"
"Then I must assimilate again."
The Doctor tilts his head, "What does that mean?"
"I must appear to be human."
"Well, you're welcome to come home with me and the wife," he offers, grinning, "She'd be honored. When she wakes up. We can have cake. Great baker, the wife. Banana cupcakes. Makes them with edible ball bearings on top. You ever have those? She'd have told you herself—very proud of..."
"Why should I have cake? I've got my little straw..." Florence interrupts, pulling a straw from her purse with a sinister smile.
The Doctor stumbles back a little, eyeing the straw with feigned delight, "Oh, that's nice. Milkshake? I like banana. My wife is fond of chocolate, though. I suppose they go great together!"
"You're quite the funny man," she muses, "And yet, I think you laugh on purpose at the darkness. I think it's time you found some peace. Steady him!"
"What are you doing?" the Doctor demands as the Slab forces him to his knees and tilts his head.
Florence smirks, "I'm afraid this is going to hurt. But if it's any consolation, the dead don't tend to remember."
She plunges the straw into his jugular and begins to drink.
'Yeah, bad plan,' the Doctor mutters in the Alchemist's mind.
She groans silently in response, deeply unimpressed.
Florence is still feeding when the Judoon burst into the room. The Slab drops the Doctor's lifeless body as she hurriedly tucks her straw back into her purse.
She gasps, her expression shifting into mock distress, "Now see what you've done. This poor man just died of fright!"
The Alchemist's body remains hidden behind her, motionless.
"Scan him," the lead Judoon orders.
A pause.
"Confirmation: deceased."
Martha sprints in, having overheard the Judoon's verdict from the corridor. Her eyes go wide as she sees the Doctor's still form on the floor.
"No," she breathes, her voice trembling, "He can't be. Let me through. Let me see him!"
"Stop. Case closed," the Judoon declares.
She shakes her head fiercely, "But it was her! She killed him. She did it. She murdered him!"
"Judoon have no authority over human crime."
"But she's not human!" Martha shouts.
Florence simpers, holding out her marked hand with a smug smile, "Oh, but I am. I've been cataloged."
"But she's not!" Martha protests, her eyes narrowing as realization dawns, "She assimi... Wait a minute. You drank his blood? The Doctor's blood?"
Desperation fuels her as she lunges for the Judoon's scanner, but they pull away, unmoved by her urgency.
"You have to scan her!" she shouts.
Behind her, the Alchemist pushes herself up unsteadily, her limbs sluggish, her balance wavering.
She turns to the Judoon, her voice strained yet firm, "By order of Lady Ally Starlight-Smith, I demand you hand that human woman the scanner."
The Judoon barely hesitates before responding, "We comply."
Martha turns, startled by the Alchemist's wavering stance and the pallor overtaking her face.
"Ally..." she breathes, taking in the labored breaths, the sickly sheen of sweat on her skin.
The Judoon drops the scanner into Martha's hands. The Alchemist blinks groggily at the swift obedience, her mind sluggishly processing it.
Florence smirks, utterly unfazed, "Oh, I don't mind," she purrs, "Scan all you like."
Martha wastes no time, pointing the scanner at Florence and holding it up for the Judoon to see.
"Non-human," the scanner states.
The Plasmavore's smirk falters, her expression twisting in disbelief, "But... what?"
"Confirm analysis," the Judoon intones.
One of them takes a scanner, double-checking the readings as Florence flounders.
"Oh, but it's a mistake, surely," she insists, her voice pitching higher, "I'm human. I'm as human as they come!"
Martha's eyes well with tears as she grips the scanner tighter, "He gave his life so they'd find you..."
Beside her, the Alchemist exhales shakily, her body betraying her as she feels her kidneys begin to fail.
"Confirm," the Judoon announces, "Plasmavore, charged with the crime of murdering the child princess of Patrival Regency Nine."
Florence's panic shifts to venomous rage.
"Well, she deserved it!" she shrieks, her composure snapping, "Those pink cheeks and those blonde curls and that simpering voice! She was begging for the bite of a Plasmavore!"
"Do you confess?"
"Confess? I'm proud of it!" Florence sneers—then her eyes dart to the Slab, "Slab! Stop them!"
The Slab barely lifts its weapon before the Judoon react, disintegrating the drone in a single coordinated blast.
"Verdict: guilty. Sentence: execution."
A flicker of fear crosses Florence's face, but she masks it with a manic grin. In one swift motion, she ducks behind the MRI screen, activating the scanner.
Red warning text flares on the display: Magnetic Overload.
"Enjoy your victory, Judoon," she screeches, laughter bubbling between her words, "Because you're going to burn with me! Burn in hell!"
The Judoon don't hesitate. Four weapons fire simultaneously, incinerating Florence mid-laugh. Her cackle twists into a scream before cutting off abruptly, leaving only smoldering remains.
"Case closed."
Martha turns sharply, her gut twisting with unease, "But what did she mean, 'burn with me'?" she gasps. Her eyes dart to the scanner, its readings flashing erratically, "The scanner shouldn't be doing that. She's done something!"
A Judoon analyzes the data before reporting in its monotone voice, "Scans detect lethal acceleration of mono-magnetic pulse."
[MRI Room]
"Well, do something! Stop it!" Martha shouts, panic rising in her voice.
"Our jurisdiction has ended," the lead Judoon states flatly, "Judoon will evacuate."
"What?" she gasps, disbelief hitting her like a blow to the chest, "You can't just leave it. What's it going to do?"
"I've got it, Martha," the Time Lady whispers, her voice weak, her body failing.
Her knees buckle, and she collapses again, her hearts struggling against the strain.
"All units withdraw at once; maximal survival brought by Starlight-Smith. Return," the Judoon orders.
Without hesitation, the troops turn, their heavy boots stomping in unison as they march out of the MRI room.
The Alchemist watches through hazy vision, her breathing shallow.
"So thick," she breathes out as one heart shudders to a stop, the other slowing dangerously.
Her eyelids flutter shut, too heavy to keep open.
Martha doesn't hesitate. She sprints after them, desperation in every step.
[Corridor]
"You can't go!" she shouts after the retreating figures. "That thing's going to explode, and it's your fault!"
The Judoon ignore her protests, continuing their exodus from the hospital, heading back to their ships.
[MRI Room]
In the depths of unconsciousness, the Alchemist's mind reaches out, with a silent plea: 'Please, Teacher, I can't lose him yet.'
A voice—ancient, powerful, woven from the threads of Time itself—answers, 'Death begets Life, our Chosen.'
A sharp inhale.
The Alchemist's eyes snap open, energy surging through her body as her systems repair themselves in an instant. Strength floods her limbs.
"Martha, get back in here!" she calls, her voice still rough but commanding, "I need you to start CPR. Come on, Doctor in training!"
As the Alchemist rushes over to the scanner, Martha stumbles back inside, dropping to her knees beside the Doctor's unmoving form. She places her hands on his chest and starts compressions.
"One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five," she counts, pushing with all her strength.
Then it hits her, "Two hearts!"
Her hands shift, dividing her efforts between the left and right sides of his chest.
"One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two... three..." Her arms begin to shake; the room spins as oxygen deprivation catches up with her.
She gasps, her vision blurring, and slumps back, her breath ragged.
"I'll take over, Martha. Hold on," the Alchemist whispers, dragging herself forward after pocketing her sonic again.
She drops to her knees and places her hands over his left heart, "One, two, three, four, five."
She takes a deep breath and presses her lips to his, forcing air into his lungs.
The Doctor jerks awake with a ragged gasp, his skin ashen, his eyes bloodshot. He coughs violently, struggling to breathe. Then he sees her. Relief softens his expression.
"The scanner," Martha wheezes from the floor, "She did something."
The Doctor pats his pockets sluggishly, whispering, "Oh, the sonic..."
"I've got mine, love," the Alchemist murmurs, still dazed, "It's taken care of."
But the oxygen levels are dropping fast. The Alchemist feels the weight pressing against her lungs, and the Doctor isn't faring much better.
Pushing through the suffocating haze, she reaches down, hauling Martha up as best as she can. The Doctor grips her shoulder, steadying them both as they stumble toward the door.
Outside, the Judoon ships take off, their engines roaring. Inside, the oxygen levels plummet to zero.
[Hospital Ward]
The Alchemist carries Martha down the corridor, her steps steady despite the weight of exhaustion. The Doctor leans against her for support, his breath uneven but his spirit unshaken.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on, please," the Doctor mutters under his breath, eyes locked on the sky beyond the window, "Come on, Judoon, reverse it."
Then, as if answering his plea, the first raindrop falls. And another. A gentle drizzle turns into a shower, misting against the glass.
The couple shares a bright, knowing grin.
"It's raining, Martha," the Alchemist whispers, wonder lacing her voice, "It's raining on the moon."
The Doctor presses a kiss to her cheek, warmth lingering in the touch.
With a sudden clap of thunder and a brilliant white flash of lightning, the world shifts around them—gravity returns, the air hums differently, and just like that, they are back on Earth.
[Outside the hospital]
The aftermath unfolds in a blur. Patients are transferred to alternative hospitals, the wounded receiving urgent care. Martha, drained and sitting in the back of an ambulance, listens as Morgenstern gives his statement to the police.
"...I told them I represented the human race. I told them, you can't do that. I said, we have rights..."
Before she can react, Tish comes running, her face etched with worry. She grabs Martha's arms, gripping them as if to anchor herself in relief.
"Martha! Oh, God! I thought you were dead! What happened? It was so weird, because the police wouldn't say. They didn't have a clue. And I tried phoning. Mum's on her way, but she can't get through. They've closed off all the roads..."
Martha offers her sister a soft, tired smile, the weight of the day's events pressing down on her.
But then, something catches her eye. The Time Lords.
She watches as the Doctor walks with his arm wrapped firmly around the Alchemist's waist, supporting each other in their exhaustion toward a tall, blue wooden box. Then, as if hearing her thoughts, the Alchemist whispers something to him, and they both turn. Together, they wave.
Martha lifts a hand in return.
An ambulance rolls past, obscuring her view for just a moment. When it moves on, the blue police box and the couple standing beside it are gone.
Tish keeps talking, oblivious to Martha's distraction.
"...There's thousands of people trying to get in. The whole city's come to a halt. And Dad phoned, because it's on the news and everything. He was crying... Oh, what a mess. What happened? I mean, what really happened? Where were you?"
Martha doesn't answer. She can't.
Her gaze remains fixed on the empty space where the TARDIS had stood, her mind racing.
[Martha's home]
Steam curls from the bathroom as Martha finishes getting ready for Leo's party, the weight of the day still settling over her.
The news plays softly over the radio, "Eyewitness reports from the Royal Hope Hospital continue to pour in, and it all seems to be remarkably consistent. This from medical student Oliver Morgenstern..."
"I was there," the recording of her fellow student says, "I saw it happen. And I feel uniquely privileged. I looked out at the surface of the moon. I saw the Earth, suspended in space, and it all just proves Mister Saxon right. We're not alone in the universe. There's life out there. Wild and extraordinary life."
Martha exhales slowly, lost in thought.
If only they knew.
[TARDIS Private Library]
"Her grades are phenomenal," the Alchemist notes, eyes scanning over her tablet as she leans back into the plush leather of her chair.
The private library is one of the most treasured spaces in the TARDIS—a sanctuary of ancient knowledge, filled with books they salvaged from Gallifrey. Many volumes had been carefully relocated from the Great House's storage area, now lining the walls in towering shelves that glow softly under the warm light.
The Doctor reclines on the Chesterfield couch, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed in a rare moment of peace. The Alchemist had injected him with a blood cell replicator the moment they'd had the chance, and now all he needed to do was rest while it did its work.
He hums in response, "Family life?"
She scrolls further, "Eh, a bit complicated. Her parents are divorced—doesn't seem like it was amicable. Mother is still single. Father's in a new relationship, but it's all fairly recent—one year since the divorce, a year and a half into the relationship. She has a younger brother with a partner and a child. Her older sister jumps jobs a lot, but from Martha's call records, they seem close. Loves her family. Nearly top of her class in medical school. No priors or anything and dating history is average," she tilts her head, considering. "What do you think, Theta?"
He exhales slowly, "I think I don't want a companion right now."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"I do," she concedes, watching him carefully, "But I don't see that as being an issue."
The Doctor cracks one eye open and looks at her. She's lounging sideways across a matching leather chair, lazily kicking one leg over the armrest, gazing at him with quiet insistence.
He frowns, "She did help us… and she was very good."
"What about… a few trips? Nice ones," she suggests, tone light but knowing.
It's a pattern they've settled into recently—choosing their destinations instead of leaving it to the whim of the TARDIS. Even their ship has been respecting the arrangement. Their relationship has found its balance again, their bond strengthening with each shared memory and conversation.
Lately, they've been talking more about their time on Gallifrey before the war. Remembering that not everything was horrific, that there were moments of laughter and light, seems to help in ways neither of them say aloud.
Since she showed him her memory, the Doctor has been more open to change—more determined to help her undo the mental block their children and Brode placed in her mind. They both know they'll find them. It's not a question of if anymore, only when.
The Doctor's gaze flicks upward to the golden globe of Gallifrey that hangs above them, its soft glow a reminder of everything they lost—and everything they still carry. He sighs.
"One trip," he declares.
The Alchemist nods knowingly. This will be more than just one trip.
Martha Jones is an extraordinary young woman.
"One trip," the Time Lady agrees.
[Outside the Market Tavern]
Annalise storms out of the party in a huff, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.
"I am not staying in there to be insulted!"
Clive hurries after her, placating, "She didn't mean it, sweetheart. She was just saying you look healthy."
From just inside the doorway, Francine crosses her arms with a smirk.
"No, I did not. I said orange," she corrects snidely.
Annalise whirls, eyes flashing, "Clive, that woman is disrespecting me! She's never liked me."
"Oh, I can't think why," Francine scoffs, "After you stole my husband."
"I was seduced," Annalise shrieks, blonde curls bouncing as she gestures wildly, "I'm entirely innocent. Tell her, babe..."
Francine's glare sharpens, "And then she has a go at Martha, practically accused her of making the whole thing up."
Martha sighs as she approaches, shoulders sagging, "Mum, I don't mind. Just leave it."
"'Oh, I've been to the moon!'" Annalise mocks, voice dripping with disbelief, "As if. They were drugged. It said so on the news."
Francine snorts, "Since when did you watch the news? You can't handle Quiz Mania!"
Tish steps in with a firm nod, "Annalise started it. She did. I heard her."
Leo groans, rubbing a hand over his face, "Tish, don't make it worse."
"Oh, come off it, Leo," she deadpans, "What did she buy you? Soap. A seventy-five pence soap."
Annalise gasps, her face twisting in outrage before she screeches and stomps off, "Oh, I'm never talking to your family again!"
Francine smirks, "Oh, stay. Have a night out with Clive."
"Don't you dare," Clive warns, glaring, "I'm putting my foot down."
"You coming?" Annalise shouts over her shoulder.
Clive exhales, shifting on his feet.
"This is me, putting my foot down," he declares—before hesitating, then scurrying after her.
Francine scoffs, rolling her eyes, "Doing it for the last twenty-five years!"
"Please," Clive calls.
"Clive, stop, now!" Francine snaps, already storming after him.
"Mum, don't. I..." Tish starts, but then sighs, trailing after her mother.
Leo mutters something under his breath before jogging after Clive and Annalise as well.
Martha exhales, rubbing her temple—until something catches her eye.
At the far end of the street, just on the edge of the shadows, the Doctor and the Alchemist stand watching. Their gazes meet hers, and they exchange small, knowing smiles before silently backing away into the alley.
Martha's breath hitches. She doesn't hesitate. She runs.
[Alleyway]
The Time Lords stand beside the TARDIS, the Alchemist casually leaning against the familiar blue doors, arms crossed.
"I went to the moon today," Martha muses, still marveling at the sheer impossibility of it.
"A bit more peaceful than down here, huh?" the Time Lady remarks knowingly, tilting her head.
Martha huffs a soft laugh, then shakes her head, "You never even told me who you are."
"The Doctor," he introduces smoothly.
"The Alchemist," his Bondmate follows, her lips quirking in amusement.
Martha raises an eyebrow, "What sort of species?" she blinks and adds with a grin, "It's not every day I get to ask that."
"I'm a Time Lord, and she's a Time Lady," the Doctor answers simply.
She giggles, shaking her head, "Right! Not pompous at all, then."
The Alchemist shrugs, unfazed, "Well, we just thought—since you helped save my husband's life..."
"...And I've got a brand-new sonic screwdriver that needs road testing," the Doctor interjects with a grin, waggling the device in his fingers, "You might fancy a trip."
Martha's jaw drops, "What, into space?"
"Well..." The Doctor trails off, leaving the invitation open.
She hesitates, shaking her head, "But I can't. I've got exams. I've got things to do. I have to go into town first thing and pay the rent, I've got my family going mad…"
"If it helps, we can travel in time as well," the Time Lady offers, her eyes twinkling.
Martha scoffs, "Get out of here."
The Doctor nods seriously, "We can."
"Come on now, that's going too far."
"I suppose we'll just have to prove it then," the Alchemist smirks.
With a playful glance at each other, the Time Lords step into the TARDIS. A heartbeat later, the ship dematerializes with its signature wheezing groan, leaving Martha standing alone, staring at the empty space where it had been.
She exhales sharply, then tentatively reaches into the air as if to confirm it's really gone.
And then—just as suddenly—it returns.
The doors swing open, and the Doctor steps out, looking slightly more rumpled than before, his tie now missing, held casually in one hand. The Alchemist follows, her hair undone, cascading in wild crimped waves down her back.
"Told you!" the Time Lady grins.
Martha gapes at them, eyes wide with awe, "No, but—that was this morning! Did you…? Oh my God. You can travel in time," she frowns, "But hold on. If you could see me this morning, why didn't you tell me not to go into work?"
The Alchemist lifts one shoulder in an easy shrug, "Crossing into established events is strictly forbidden."
"Except for cheap tricks," the Doctor adds with a mischievous grin.
The Alchemist shrugs again, not denying it, "Not wrong."
Martha's gaze flickers between them before settling on the TARDIS.
"And that's your spaceship?" she asks, suddenly skeptical.
The Doctor grins brightly as the Alchemist steps forward to deftly retie his tie for him, "It's called the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space."
Martha eyes the wooden police box dubiously, "Your spaceship's made of wood. There's not much room. We'd be a bit... intimate."
The Doctor merely grins, stepping aside and pushing open the door, "Take a look."
With growing curiosity, Martha steps forward, hesitantly crossing the threshold.
The Time Lords follow her inside, leaning casually against a Y-beam, watching patiently as she takes her first steps into a world far bigger than she ever imagined.
[TARDIS]
"No, no, no..." Martha mutters, shaking her head as she runs back outside.
[Alleyway]
"But it's just a box... But it's huge," she says, running around the outside of the box.
Martha sprints in again.
[TARDIS]
"How does it do that?"
[Alleyway]
"It's wood!" she exclaims, knocking on it before heading back inside.
[TARDIS - Console Room]
"It's like a box with that room just rammed in..." Martha gapes from the doorway, eyes wide as she takes in the impossible dimensions of the TARDIS.
The Time Lords share a knowing look, grinning before mouthing along, "...It's bigger on the inside."
"I'm so close to that lolly, Doctor," the Time Lady mutters under her breath.
Just like the Doctor with Jelly Babies, the Alchemist has had a long-standing obsession with massive rainbow lollipops ever since their Academy days. During one particularly rebellious escapade, they'd "borrowed" her father's TARDIS and ended up in an Earth sweet shop.
The fascination never faded, though it did become a bit ridiculous when an accidental aging incident left her looking eighty but still clutching lollies the size of her face. Their companions used to laugh whenever she pulled one out, which only fueled her frustration.
To make it fair, the Doctor had invented a game: every tenth time someone said "bigger on the inside," she won a lollipop.
"Is it?" the Doctor quips, feigning ignorance, "We hadn't noticed."
He shrugs off his coat and effortlessly tosses it over a Y-beam as he shuts the doors.
"Right then, let's get going," he declares, striding toward the console with a smirk.
"But is there a crew? Like a navigator and stuff?" Martha asks, removing her own jacket and glancing around, "Where is everyone?"
"Just us," the Doctor explains, already inputting surprise coordinates as he waits for the Alchemist to join him at the controls.
The Alchemist sighs, "Well, sometimes we have guests. I mean, friends—traveling alongside. We had... there was... recently, a friend of ours," her tone turns cold, "Ex-friend now. Rose, her name was."
"Where is she now?"
"With her family," the Doctor answers tightly, barely containing his irritation at the thought, "Happy. She's fine. She's..." he exhales sharply, shaking off the thought, "Not that you're replacing her."
Martha narrows her eyes, "Never said I was."
"Just one trip to say thanks," he reminds her, pointing at her, "You get one trip, then back home. We'd rather be on our own."
Martha smirks, tilting her head, "Your wife? She's the one that kissed me."
"That was a genetic transfer," the Alchemist rolls her eyes, exasperated, "And yes, wife—bit more than that, though. We'll explain."
"And if you will wear a tight suit and short dress..." Martha teases, arching a brow.
The Doctor frowns, "Now, don't!"
"And then travel all the way across the universe just to ask me on a date..."
"Martha, please stop it," the Alchemist cuts in, her voice clearly distressed.
Martha pauses, picking up on the shift in tone.
Her teasing expression softens, and she nods, "For the record? I'm not remotely interested. I only go for humans, and I'd never get between a married couple," she smirks, teasingly, "One question, though—is this a kissing booth for Time Lords?"
The Time Lady throws her head back and laughs heartily, "Only sometimes, Martha."
"Good," the Doctor nods, relieved, "Well, then! Close down the gravitic anomaliser, fire up the helmic regulator. And finally..." he looks up at his Bondmate expectantly.
"The hand brake," the Alchemist finishes, grinning toward Martha, "Ready?"
Martha shakes her head, eyes still wide, "No."
"Off we go!" the Doctor shouts as his wife pulls the lever.
The TARDIS lurches, instantly knocking him off his feet.
The Alchemist catches his arm and helps him up as the ship continues to shake wildly, the engines roaring as they plunge into the Time Vortex. The two Time Lords grip the console, adjusting controls as the Alchemist moves fluidly around it, ensuring the flight remains steady.
"Blimey, it's a bit bumpy!" Martha exclaims, gripping the console edge for support.
"Welcome aboard, Miss Jones," the Time Lords say in perfect unison.
Martha laughs, breathless from the turbulence, "It's my pleasure, Mister Smith, Mrs. Smith."
The TARDIS bucks once more as they surge through time and space, on course for the Doctor's chosen destination.