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dani_the_girlTitle: Appearances can be deceptive: Four people Martha Jones didn't kill, and one she did
Fandom: Dr Who/Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: Gen. Contains OC and canon character deaths
Summary: Around the world in a year and a day takes a lot out of you and teaches you a lot about yourself, Martha finds.
Authors note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caladria for the beta and the encouragement.
"You don't look like a killer to me," Professor Docherty says as they're leaving. Martha turns to look back at her and she wants to reply, "You don't know the half of it," but there's no time if they're to get to Bexley before nightfall. She turns away again and walks out.
London
The first one is on that very first evening. She's just wandering the streets in a daze, unable to think about what had been asked of her. Perhaps that absence of mind helps the perception filter to function or perhaps the horror of what's happening is just pre-occupying everyone but no-one seems to see her, human or Toclafane, until him. He's lying on the corner of the street, partly in a doorway, blood welling out from a wound in his stomach. He calls out to her, desperate for anyone to see him, help him. Her mind shifts into diagnosis mode, thinking of all the treatments he needs, drugs, transfusions, all her training. Useless.
She casts about, looking for some kind of miracle. A hospital on the horizon, a pharmacy, an abandoned ambulance, anything. Nothing materializes. She's on her own, she thinks with a sob, as she kneels down next to the man, trying to staunch the bleeding.
It's too much. She knows it, even though she fights against it. All her instincts are telling her to run, to hide, but she can't leave him like this. "Hang on," she says, "I'm going to find some bandages." He grabs her arm, grip weak but arresting. "No, I just..." He has to stop talking for a moment, face creasing up with the pain. "Finish it off."
She stares at him, at the look on his face. Part of her wants to, knows it would be the humane thing to do, knows that she might well have asked for it in such a situation, but she can't. Every part of her training and herself say No. He sees it in her face, drops his hand, his breathing ragged.
She breaks into a nearby house, takes the curtains to use for bandages, pain killers, alcohol. She doesn't even use the gin to sterilize the wound in the end, just feeds it to him in sips, hoping to make him more comfortable. She stays there holding his hand until it grows cold.
Japan
"God, I hate boats," she thinks as they pound down the streets towards the Yonago harbour, smoke choking their lungs. Still she's had enough experience by now to swing herself into the small motorboat after Aoki and cast off from the quay. At least she won't have to hide away on this one, flitting between the engine rooms and the kitchens trying to keep out of the way of anyone with enough official clearance to actually recognise her just in case a bump in the tight corridors is enough to make them look at her. Just thinking about the Lady Lucy makes her want to scrub her hands; it took weeks to get clean when they finally made it to New York.
The engine starts up and they begin to make headway out into the lake. Trying to keep out of sight as much as possible, she moves towards the stern, trying to see if their pursuers have given up the chase. No such luck; off to the right and some way behind, she can make out the spheres still dogging their trail. Damn.
"I thought they couldn't go out far over the water," she half whispers to Aoki. She wants to scream, as if that would somehow release the fear, the frustration; she stamps on the urge. "It slows their progress; some confusion of the sensors, perhaps? In any event, we are some way from the sea yet, Jones," Aoki replied quietly. "We must sail out across the Lake Nakaumi and through the narrow straits before we reach the open water."
The frustration wells up again; surely there must have been a better route. But she knows they'd made it overland as far as they could and only taken this boat because the pursuit was too close for any other option. The fire too hot. She closes her eyes, trying not to think of the people who were in the safe house still when the lasers eviscerated it. "How did you know?" she asked quietly. "How did you know we had to move?"
Aoki is silent for a long time, steering doggedly, focusing on his compass and the horizon not her face. Eventually, he acknowledges the question, flicking a look at her and then away again, down at the deck. "My brother," he whispers. "He has bought a place in the Boston yards for this work, his own crew, none of the heavy work. He always wanted to see America. He invited me to join him. He believed they would take you alone if they knew how to find you."
She too looks away, into the water. So, this is a punishment. A punishment and an example. In the back of her head, she starts screaming. All these people dead for her, to keep her hope alive. She stamps on it, shuts the thought away. At least the fact that they've decided to make an example shows that her message is having an impact. Just perhaps, she is starting to make the Master nervous. She hopes he'll have a few sleepless nights on her account. And that he isn't yet nervous enough to actually focus on her. She'll have to start being more careful again, relying on the network to spread the story more, making fewer of her own appearances.
Trying to distract herself from her thoughts, she applies herself to keeping watch on the trailing Toclafane. It’s hard to judge over the water but she thinks they might be dropping away. After ten minutes she’s sure of it, the spheres little more than dots behind them. "We made it!" she exults, turning to share the excitement with Aoki but her hands and heart fall when she sees his face. "Do not celebrate yet, Jones. Remember, there is still the straits. We must draw very close in before we reach the safety of the open water."
"How close," she asks, subdued by his flat tones. "The straits are less than a kilometre wide. We will take precautions but I do not hold out much optimism," he replies, quietly. She falls silent, the fear that's been pounding through her ever since the safe house rising again as the counterweight of her relief sinks. "When we come close we will conceal ourselves and hope that those guarding the passage do not detect our presence on board," Aoki decrees.
It's another twenty minutes of tense sailing before they draw close to the straits. She's trying to be optimistic but they can both see the spheres hovering on either side. They'd usually have lost interest by now - the order must have gone out; nothing gets out alive. Aoki sets the course and locks it and then they both conceal themselves, she down the hatch, applying her eye to a knot-hole, he under the tarps on deck so that he can correct the course if he absolutely has to.
For a minute, she thinks the bluff is going to work. They chug past the main group of spheres who seem to show no reaction, more interested in starting fires in the harbour front properties. But then one of the spheres on the outer edge of the group starts to move in their direction and soon all the others are heading their way too. A sob sticks in the back of her throat and she wonders what the Doctor will do when he hears, or even if he will hear. Maybe he'll go on hoping; is that worse? She doesn't know.
Aoki stands up suddenly, shedding his tarpaulin shroud. Yes, she thinks, better to die in the air, and makes to open the hatch but his boot slams down on it before she can. "Jones-san," he says, sounding formal and distant. "You have your key, yes?" She doesn't reply, but the question is rhetorical anyway - he knows she hasn't taken it off since she left the Valiant. "I believe it is my life-signs they are detecting here. I will leave the boat and try to swim for the shore; it may distract them from you. Stay below. You must carry the word of our sacrifice to the Doctor when you return to him."
Her cry to call him back dies on her tongue and when he steps off the hatch, she doesn't push it up. She hears the sound of him hitting the water and moments later of the lasers shooting from the spheres. She stays below until the lessening heat tells her that she has left the flames behind, and therefore the Toclafane. She wants to cry but her tears have all dried up.
Dispatches
The first time she meets someone from the Valiant, she's thrilled. News, at last! He had been on the maintenance detail, managed to get onto one of the ships heading down for supplies, gone AWOL as soon as possible.
When he tells her the Doctor is still alive her heart leaps. She questions closely but it doesn't seem like the Master has done anything to him since she left; maybe he was right and the Master won't be able to do anything final to him after all.
Her family are precarious but still the news seems to be good. They're managing, staying out of the Master's way. When she asks about Jack, he falls silent though. Bad sign, she thinks, but how bad can it be? After all, nothing seems to stick, with Jack.
He tells her in as few words as possible.
Oh god. She left him there for that. There was no-one between them. She could have stepped back, grabbed his hand, taken them both off. But the Doctor had told her what she had to do. Just her. And that was all she'd thought of. The Doctor had a plan, she had to carry it out. She thinks of Jack at the end of the Universe, talking about how seeing humanity still there, still hoping, had made him think maybe he didn't want to die after all. She bets she knows what he wants now.
Nepal
She nearly misses the dark haired woman waiting for her on the path, nearly takes the fork heading up before she catches the movement in the shadow of the tree further along the plateau. She shudders; she really ought to take the key off up here. There's no Toclafane and the risks of getting stuck above the snow line with no help are ever present but she doesn't quite dare. Doesn't want to risk it. Stupid to get herself killed unremarked on a mountain path, after all. It's become like a safety blanket - even the way the woman's eyes slide away from her even after she's introduced herself now feels comforting, not mistrustful. There's not many people can focus on her, even after she's made the contact. It takes an effort, a strength of will that most people either don't have or keep in reserve.
They walk along the path together, the slope gentle, and the woman, Gwen, rambles on about how she misses her home, how her companions drive her crazy and so on. It's just nice to hear a voice in English again, with no more accent to it than the Welsh lilt. Relaxing not to have to focus on picking out the words. Not for the first time she thinks that the Tardis translation functions would have made this a lot easier. Going through interpreters is difficult - it's slow and some of the impact goes. She has to read the faces, the movements in the crowd, judge when her message has made its mark.
They finally reach their destination for the night, an abandoned telecoms facility, after another hour or so of hiking. Gwen lets them in, guides Martha around the maze of corridors, through the various trip wires set up to warn of any unexpected approaches until they reach a lit and heated room deep inside. Finally, Martha thinks, stripping off her gloves, a chance to be warm.
Despite the defences, the other two in the room reach towards their holsters when they hear the door, whipping their heads around. When they see Gwen, they relax again. The man, wiry and practically vibrating with tension, turns back to what he's working on but the woman, a petite Asian, moves towards them, hands held out. "Toshiko Sato," she introduces herself. "Glad you made it here all right. I tried to track you on the satellite images but we couldn't seem to pick you up." Martha smiles to herself. "Well," she says, deprecatingly, "I keep my head down, you know."
"Pretty impressive," Sato smiles back, "No wonder you've managed to travel so far."
"Yes, we're all very pleased you made it," the man breaks in, striding over, "now please tell me you made it with the data."
"Nice to meet you too," she responds, trying to keep her tone under control, not let his brusque manner get to her. "Martha Jones." She sticks out her hand and waits. He rolls his eyes, but takes her hand and shakes it once. "Dr Owen Harper. Data stick?" She sighs internally, but unstraps the watch Shen Xue had given her and passes it over. Harper gives a hiss of satisfaction and immediately grabs Sato and hurries over to the consoles near the centre of the space, popping the USB connector out of the strap as he moves.
Gwen smiled apologetically. "Sorry about them, they've just been working really hard on this project. I'm sure they'll have time to talk about your next move when they've sorted this out." She looked around distractedly. "Do you want a drink? I might go see if I can find Ianto, get him to rustle you something up."
"Maybe in a bit," she temporises. "What is it they're working on?"
"Oh, I didn't really follow it myself, I'm not very technical, but I think the idea is to take out parts of the Archangel network so that the Master won't be able to communicate with the spheres properly which will give us a chance to get on the Valiant." Oblivious to Martha's stare of horror, Gwen smiles, watching the other two working away. "Then we can retrieve Jack and your Doctor and sort this whole thing out. That data should get Tosh the rest of the way into the missile system, we hope."
"But," Martha starts softly and then stops again, not sure what on earth she can say. "We need Archangel," she tries.
Harper turns towards her, a grin on his face. "Archangel's what keeping them all quiet. Herd of bleeding sheep. Once we switch it off, most of it'll sort itself out anyway."
"No, but you can't do it like this," she says, her voice rising, finding her anger. "You'll ruin everything. The spheres will just start killing people and the Doctor won't be able to do anything! Thousands of people will die!"
"The Doctor isn't bloody well doing anything now, is he?" Dr Harper snaps back, eyes on Toshiko where she's working furiously. "People are dying anyway and I'm not waiting around to see if it sorts itself out on its own."
"Got it," Toshiko breathes triumphantly.
"Yes!" Harper cries, and lunges over towards the other terminals where Martha can just make out a map tracking the current position of the satellites.
"No!" Martha cries desperately and grabs for Gwen's gun, pushing her away with the other hand as it comes out of the holster. Hands trembling around the unfamiliar metal, she points it at Harper. "Keep away from that computer!" Gwen scrambles up, face suddenly focused and intent, and tries to move towards Martha, while Sato gives a short shout of surprise and tries to reach around for her own weapon but before she can get out of her chair, Martha swings the pistol her way threateningly. "You all just keep out of it. The Doctor has a plan and he needs those satellites! You know that - surely they told you."
"Yeah, and while we wait for him to fix things, how much worse is it going to get! It's just another excuse for UNIT and all those bastards to sit on their hands because they can't think what the hell to do." Harper shouts. "Look, there are people on that ship who need our help and we're not going to hold off giving it because the Doctor has something up his sleeve! For all you know, that won't work and Jack'll just be stuck there with that maniac forever! He trusts us to help him!" He starts to move towards the console again. "Now, given that you don't seem to know enough about guns to take the bloody safety off, just keep out of the way."
Gwen makes a lunge and grabs her from behind, takes back the weapon, and a feeling of despair sweeps over her. She's failed. But then there is a click from the darkness at the other side of the room and a new voice: "Jack trusts the Doctor, Owen." Harper spins around and freezes. "Bloody hell! Look, I thought you of all people would want him back." The others look towards the newcomer, who is hidden from Martha by the shadows at the back of the room and by Dr Harper, standing between them. There’s anger, shock on their faces, but not fear and Martha assumes they must recognise him; the accent is another Welsh one.
"Oh I do, but I want him to speak to me when he does make it back to us. The Doctor has a plan, we should trust him. That's what Jack would say."
"Oh for Gods sake! It's practically in the operations manual for Torchwood; don't trust the Doctor!" Harper snorts. "Even when he does turn up to save the day, the collateral damage is pretty high, or had you forgotten how helpful he was at your previous employment? "
Gwen gives a little gasp at this and Martha wonders where they could have encountered the Doctor before to be talking like this. "I’ve not forgotten, " the voice says steadily after a pause. "If we’d listened from the start we’d have done better. Perhaps we should learn from our mistakes. You know I'm right, Owen."
"Like hell I do!" Harper retorts and lunges for the console, crossing the final gap. There's a crack which echoes deafeningly around the high-roofed space and he drops to the floor.
For a second, everyone is too shocked to react. Martha stares over the fallen body of Dr Harper at her rescuer. He moves forward out of the shadows, lowering the gun and matching her look for look. The tension breaks as Gwen and Toshiko both rush for the body and try to staunch the bleeding. Martha doesn't bother; she knows enough to know a lost cause when she sees one and the man's aim is good; a single shot direct to the heart.
Toshiko is clearly devastated; as she and Gwen abandon their efforts, she begins to weep, holding the cooling hand of her colleague. Gwen on the other hand is furious; she surges upright and starts to make for the terminal herself but stops when the shooter raises his gun again and moves forward. "Don't, Gwen," he says quietly.
"Ianto!" she cries passionately and then stops, looking at a loss. "He was just trying to help Jack! You didn't have to kill him," she says after a second.
"Learning from our mistakes, remember," the man, Ianto, says distantly. He sits himself down at the console and Martha wonders if she should say something, but she doesn’t dare. This man has just shot someone he must have known and cared about in the name of her plan, of the Doctor, and now he is calmly addressing himself to the disputed computer terminal. She reaches her hand to grip her Tardis key tight and keeps her mouth shut. He works away for a minute, no longer bothering to cover Gwen, seeming sure that she won't have a response and sure enough after staring at him for a few seconds, she turns away, reaches down to try to comfort Toshiko.
Once he's finished, he turns towards her again, finally holstering his gun. She fights off the urge to back away as he meets her eyes. "I've introduced some errors into the system that will prevent anyone else who gets this idea from actually targeting the satellites," he tells her, "and locked us out. This plan had better work."
"It will," she promises, and hopes like hell she's right.
Syria
Even tired as she is after having spent the day sneaking around the work camp talking to groups of people in the damn heat she still comes alert at the sound of footsteps outside the cool stone room she's resting in. The curtain is swept aside and she relaxes again as she recognises Faruq, her local guide. He places the tray he is carrying down on the table and moves around the room drawing the shutters closed. She mutters a protest as the air quickly begins to feel stuffy and close again, even in here, but he just smiles at her. "Better safe than sorry, no? It will be dark soon; you will be glad of the warmth then."
She sighs but it's true. In an hour or so, she will be trying to get as close to the fire as possible and thinking longingly of the dry rich heat of the evening. Bloody deserts. Way back at the beginning of the year, she'd been compiling a mental list of all the interesting places and times she was going to make the Doctor take her to when they got out of this to make up for the places she was slogging through right now but these days all she wants is to be at home. Somewhere it rains but not too hard and it gets cold but not freezing, sunny but not blazing. Where she can visit her nephew and speak the language. It's probably for the best; the list would be too long to remember by now anyway.
She lifts her head out of her hands to find that Faruq has settled himself down on the other side of the table and is contemplating her with a carefully blank expression. Eyes turning to the table she sees that he has bought food and drink for two, and has to remind herself to smile politely. It's been a long day and she's really not in the mood. She pushes herself up from the cushions she'd been resting on and moves over to the table. Faruq pours them both a glass of wine from the pitcher and raises his for a toast. She sits and does the same.
"To the prophet," he says with a smile. He touches their glasses and takes a draft from his own. She looks at him, momentarily non-plussed and takes a small sip before replacing the glass on the table. "Which prophet? I thought you weren't religious." she asks.
"Why your good self, Miss Martha Jones," he says, amusement in his voice. "For do you not speak for a God?"
"No," she says carefully, restraining herself from snapping at him. "You heard me this afternoon. The Doctor isn't a God, he just wants to help us."
"Indeed, I did," he says, still smiling. He seems to be waiting for her to say something more but she's not sure where this conversation is going so she picks up her wine glass and idly twists it in her hand. She thinks she sees something flash through his expression for a moment before he gets up and turns away, starting to lay the fire.
"You spoke of a powerful being whose presence has in the past protected this planet from terrible harms. Unknown to most but revealed to a chosen few and ultimately to you. You told us how you had been sent to spread the word of this being and to ask for the belief of mankind, for their prayer to give it the power to save us. You told us that even now as you travel his power gives you protection. I think I have named you correctly."
As he turns back towards her, she drinks a deep draught from the glass she's holding before setting it down and starting to eat the stew. He smiles at her and moves over to the table to join her. They sit companionably to eat, talking of little; the people they met today, her onward journey plans, his family back in Baghdad.
She can't quite leave it alone though and as they take their glasses over to light the fire and finish their wine in comfort she says "He's not like that, you know. The Doctor, I mean?"
"Not like what?" He asks, seriously. "How have I described him that is incorrect?"
"That's just all a way of twisting words," she says, struggling to articulate it. "Like this thing, this moment, it's not a prayer. It's just using the Master's power against him."
He looks amused. "It is asking the people to turn to the heavens at a specific time and call out his name while they give him their belief. How does it differ?"
"Because it does! It's not just worship! It's for a purpose, and when it's done, people can go back to doing whatever it is they do!" she exclaims, exasperated.
"Martha," he says, sadly. "Look around you. Too many people have stood in this land and proclaimed that God spoke to them, instructed them. It has bought us nothing but grief. Either God does not speak or he should have stayed silent."
She tries to think of a way to explain it that will make it clear, but nothing comes. He is sure, fixed in his belief that her hope is worth nothing to him and there is nothing she can say to prove her case. She thinks back to the people she's spoken to in this region, trying to gauge whether he will persuade others. Some, but not many perhaps; the people want to hope so much that they latch onto her message with a passion.
"I am truly sorry, Martha," he says, turning to look at her again. "I feel sure that you truly believe what it is that you have told the people but while they believe in your Doctor, they will never save themselves."
"It's the only way they can save themselves," she counters, "but you don't see that. And you've done something about it," she says, finishing her wine. A statement, not a question; she'd been sure since the conversation started where this was going. He gestures vaguely towards the empty glass, draining his own.
"I will tell them that you died of a fever bought on by the heat and your exhaustion after your travels, or perhaps a reaction to something new in the food we ate this evening," he says, his speech beginning to slur. She shrugs. "And then what?" He looks surprised and tries to raise himself up on the cushions to stare at her but seems to lose balance part way through the movement and slumps back. "And then I will encourage the people to free themselves. We cannot wait for a protector to do it for us."
"Not much of a plan," she says, critically. "I've certainly heard better." She crouches in front of him as he lies slumped on the cushions and tries to feel guilty as he stares up at her but it won't come. She's come too far, worked too hard, done too much to abandon the Doctor now. He must see it in her face; he closes his eyes. "You changed the glasses," he whispers.
"The old ones are the best," she replies sadly.
"How did you know? The taste?" he asks, sounding drowsy now.
"You looked me in the eye and held the contact," she admits. "First time you have since we met." She turns away and goes to ask another of the workers to help her escort her intoxicated companion out of her quarters. In the morning, she shows all the appropriate shock and upset on hearing that he must have had a reaction to something in his dinner last night because he has passed away in his sleep.
Fandom: Dr Who/Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: Gen. Contains OC and canon character deaths
Summary: Around the world in a year and a day takes a lot out of you and teaches you a lot about yourself, Martha finds.
Authors note: Thanks to
caladria for the beta and the encouragement."You don't look like a killer to me," Professor Docherty says as they're leaving. Martha turns to look back at her and she wants to reply, "You don't know the half of it," but there's no time if they're to get to Bexley before nightfall. She turns away again and walks out.
The first one is on that very first evening. She's just wandering the streets in a daze, unable to think about what had been asked of her. Perhaps that absence of mind helps the perception filter to function or perhaps the horror of what's happening is just pre-occupying everyone but no-one seems to see her, human or Toclafane, until him. He's lying on the corner of the street, partly in a doorway, blood welling out from a wound in his stomach. He calls out to her, desperate for anyone to see him, help him. Her mind shifts into diagnosis mode, thinking of all the treatments he needs, drugs, transfusions, all her training. Useless.
She casts about, looking for some kind of miracle. A hospital on the horizon, a pharmacy, an abandoned ambulance, anything. Nothing materializes. She's on her own, she thinks with a sob, as she kneels down next to the man, trying to staunch the bleeding.
It's too much. She knows it, even though she fights against it. All her instincts are telling her to run, to hide, but she can't leave him like this. "Hang on," she says, "I'm going to find some bandages." He grabs her arm, grip weak but arresting. "No, I just..." He has to stop talking for a moment, face creasing up with the pain. "Finish it off."
She stares at him, at the look on his face. Part of her wants to, knows it would be the humane thing to do, knows that she might well have asked for it in such a situation, but she can't. Every part of her training and herself say No. He sees it in her face, drops his hand, his breathing ragged.
She breaks into a nearby house, takes the curtains to use for bandages, pain killers, alcohol. She doesn't even use the gin to sterilize the wound in the end, just feeds it to him in sips, hoping to make him more comfortable. She stays there holding his hand until it grows cold.
"God, I hate boats," she thinks as they pound down the streets towards the Yonago harbour, smoke choking their lungs. Still she's had enough experience by now to swing herself into the small motorboat after Aoki and cast off from the quay. At least she won't have to hide away on this one, flitting between the engine rooms and the kitchens trying to keep out of the way of anyone with enough official clearance to actually recognise her just in case a bump in the tight corridors is enough to make them look at her. Just thinking about the Lady Lucy makes her want to scrub her hands; it took weeks to get clean when they finally made it to New York.
The engine starts up and they begin to make headway out into the lake. Trying to keep out of sight as much as possible, she moves towards the stern, trying to see if their pursuers have given up the chase. No such luck; off to the right and some way behind, she can make out the spheres still dogging their trail. Damn.
"I thought they couldn't go out far over the water," she half whispers to Aoki. She wants to scream, as if that would somehow release the fear, the frustration; she stamps on the urge. "It slows their progress; some confusion of the sensors, perhaps? In any event, we are some way from the sea yet, Jones," Aoki replied quietly. "We must sail out across the Lake Nakaumi and through the narrow straits before we reach the open water."
The frustration wells up again; surely there must have been a better route. But she knows they'd made it overland as far as they could and only taken this boat because the pursuit was too close for any other option. The fire too hot. She closes her eyes, trying not to think of the people who were in the safe house still when the lasers eviscerated it. "How did you know?" she asked quietly. "How did you know we had to move?"
Aoki is silent for a long time, steering doggedly, focusing on his compass and the horizon not her face. Eventually, he acknowledges the question, flicking a look at her and then away again, down at the deck. "My brother," he whispers. "He has bought a place in the Boston yards for this work, his own crew, none of the heavy work. He always wanted to see America. He invited me to join him. He believed they would take you alone if they knew how to find you."
She too looks away, into the water. So, this is a punishment. A punishment and an example. In the back of her head, she starts screaming. All these people dead for her, to keep her hope alive. She stamps on it, shuts the thought away. At least the fact that they've decided to make an example shows that her message is having an impact. Just perhaps, she is starting to make the Master nervous. She hopes he'll have a few sleepless nights on her account. And that he isn't yet nervous enough to actually focus on her. She'll have to start being more careful again, relying on the network to spread the story more, making fewer of her own appearances.
Trying to distract herself from her thoughts, she applies herself to keeping watch on the trailing Toclafane. It’s hard to judge over the water but she thinks they might be dropping away. After ten minutes she’s sure of it, the spheres little more than dots behind them. "We made it!" she exults, turning to share the excitement with Aoki but her hands and heart fall when she sees his face. "Do not celebrate yet, Jones. Remember, there is still the straits. We must draw very close in before we reach the safety of the open water."
"How close," she asks, subdued by his flat tones. "The straits are less than a kilometre wide. We will take precautions but I do not hold out much optimism," he replies, quietly. She falls silent, the fear that's been pounding through her ever since the safe house rising again as the counterweight of her relief sinks. "When we come close we will conceal ourselves and hope that those guarding the passage do not detect our presence on board," Aoki decrees.
It's another twenty minutes of tense sailing before they draw close to the straits. She's trying to be optimistic but they can both see the spheres hovering on either side. They'd usually have lost interest by now - the order must have gone out; nothing gets out alive. Aoki sets the course and locks it and then they both conceal themselves, she down the hatch, applying her eye to a knot-hole, he under the tarps on deck so that he can correct the course if he absolutely has to.
For a minute, she thinks the bluff is going to work. They chug past the main group of spheres who seem to show no reaction, more interested in starting fires in the harbour front properties. But then one of the spheres on the outer edge of the group starts to move in their direction and soon all the others are heading their way too. A sob sticks in the back of her throat and she wonders what the Doctor will do when he hears, or even if he will hear. Maybe he'll go on hoping; is that worse? She doesn't know.
Aoki stands up suddenly, shedding his tarpaulin shroud. Yes, she thinks, better to die in the air, and makes to open the hatch but his boot slams down on it before she can. "Jones-san," he says, sounding formal and distant. "You have your key, yes?" She doesn't reply, but the question is rhetorical anyway - he knows she hasn't taken it off since she left the Valiant. "I believe it is my life-signs they are detecting here. I will leave the boat and try to swim for the shore; it may distract them from you. Stay below. You must carry the word of our sacrifice to the Doctor when you return to him."
Her cry to call him back dies on her tongue and when he steps off the hatch, she doesn't push it up. She hears the sound of him hitting the water and moments later of the lasers shooting from the spheres. She stays below until the lessening heat tells her that she has left the flames behind, and therefore the Toclafane. She wants to cry but her tears have all dried up.
The first time she meets someone from the Valiant, she's thrilled. News, at last! He had been on the maintenance detail, managed to get onto one of the ships heading down for supplies, gone AWOL as soon as possible.
When he tells her the Doctor is still alive her heart leaps. She questions closely but it doesn't seem like the Master has done anything to him since she left; maybe he was right and the Master won't be able to do anything final to him after all.
Her family are precarious but still the news seems to be good. They're managing, staying out of the Master's way. When she asks about Jack, he falls silent though. Bad sign, she thinks, but how bad can it be? After all, nothing seems to stick, with Jack.
He tells her in as few words as possible.
Oh god. She left him there for that. There was no-one between them. She could have stepped back, grabbed his hand, taken them both off. But the Doctor had told her what she had to do. Just her. And that was all she'd thought of. The Doctor had a plan, she had to carry it out. She thinks of Jack at the end of the Universe, talking about how seeing humanity still there, still hoping, had made him think maybe he didn't want to die after all. She bets she knows what he wants now.
She nearly misses the dark haired woman waiting for her on the path, nearly takes the fork heading up before she catches the movement in the shadow of the tree further along the plateau. She shudders; she really ought to take the key off up here. There's no Toclafane and the risks of getting stuck above the snow line with no help are ever present but she doesn't quite dare. Doesn't want to risk it. Stupid to get herself killed unremarked on a mountain path, after all. It's become like a safety blanket - even the way the woman's eyes slide away from her even after she's introduced herself now feels comforting, not mistrustful. There's not many people can focus on her, even after she's made the contact. It takes an effort, a strength of will that most people either don't have or keep in reserve.
They walk along the path together, the slope gentle, and the woman, Gwen, rambles on about how she misses her home, how her companions drive her crazy and so on. It's just nice to hear a voice in English again, with no more accent to it than the Welsh lilt. Relaxing not to have to focus on picking out the words. Not for the first time she thinks that the Tardis translation functions would have made this a lot easier. Going through interpreters is difficult - it's slow and some of the impact goes. She has to read the faces, the movements in the crowd, judge when her message has made its mark.
They finally reach their destination for the night, an abandoned telecoms facility, after another hour or so of hiking. Gwen lets them in, guides Martha around the maze of corridors, through the various trip wires set up to warn of any unexpected approaches until they reach a lit and heated room deep inside. Finally, Martha thinks, stripping off her gloves, a chance to be warm.
Despite the defences, the other two in the room reach towards their holsters when they hear the door, whipping their heads around. When they see Gwen, they relax again. The man, wiry and practically vibrating with tension, turns back to what he's working on but the woman, a petite Asian, moves towards them, hands held out. "Toshiko Sato," she introduces herself. "Glad you made it here all right. I tried to track you on the satellite images but we couldn't seem to pick you up." Martha smiles to herself. "Well," she says, deprecatingly, "I keep my head down, you know."
"Pretty impressive," Sato smiles back, "No wonder you've managed to travel so far."
"Yes, we're all very pleased you made it," the man breaks in, striding over, "now please tell me you made it with the data."
"Nice to meet you too," she responds, trying to keep her tone under control, not let his brusque manner get to her. "Martha Jones." She sticks out her hand and waits. He rolls his eyes, but takes her hand and shakes it once. "Dr Owen Harper. Data stick?" She sighs internally, but unstraps the watch Shen Xue had given her and passes it over. Harper gives a hiss of satisfaction and immediately grabs Sato and hurries over to the consoles near the centre of the space, popping the USB connector out of the strap as he moves.
Gwen smiled apologetically. "Sorry about them, they've just been working really hard on this project. I'm sure they'll have time to talk about your next move when they've sorted this out." She looked around distractedly. "Do you want a drink? I might go see if I can find Ianto, get him to rustle you something up."
"Maybe in a bit," she temporises. "What is it they're working on?"
"Oh, I didn't really follow it myself, I'm not very technical, but I think the idea is to take out parts of the Archangel network so that the Master won't be able to communicate with the spheres properly which will give us a chance to get on the Valiant." Oblivious to Martha's stare of horror, Gwen smiles, watching the other two working away. "Then we can retrieve Jack and your Doctor and sort this whole thing out. That data should get Tosh the rest of the way into the missile system, we hope."
"But," Martha starts softly and then stops again, not sure what on earth she can say. "We need Archangel," she tries.
Harper turns towards her, a grin on his face. "Archangel's what keeping them all quiet. Herd of bleeding sheep. Once we switch it off, most of it'll sort itself out anyway."
"No, but you can't do it like this," she says, her voice rising, finding her anger. "You'll ruin everything. The spheres will just start killing people and the Doctor won't be able to do anything! Thousands of people will die!"
"The Doctor isn't bloody well doing anything now, is he?" Dr Harper snaps back, eyes on Toshiko where she's working furiously. "People are dying anyway and I'm not waiting around to see if it sorts itself out on its own."
"Got it," Toshiko breathes triumphantly.
"Yes!" Harper cries, and lunges over towards the other terminals where Martha can just make out a map tracking the current position of the satellites.
"No!" Martha cries desperately and grabs for Gwen's gun, pushing her away with the other hand as it comes out of the holster. Hands trembling around the unfamiliar metal, she points it at Harper. "Keep away from that computer!" Gwen scrambles up, face suddenly focused and intent, and tries to move towards Martha, while Sato gives a short shout of surprise and tries to reach around for her own weapon but before she can get out of her chair, Martha swings the pistol her way threateningly. "You all just keep out of it. The Doctor has a plan and he needs those satellites! You know that - surely they told you."
"Yeah, and while we wait for him to fix things, how much worse is it going to get! It's just another excuse for UNIT and all those bastards to sit on their hands because they can't think what the hell to do." Harper shouts. "Look, there are people on that ship who need our help and we're not going to hold off giving it because the Doctor has something up his sleeve! For all you know, that won't work and Jack'll just be stuck there with that maniac forever! He trusts us to help him!" He starts to move towards the console again. "Now, given that you don't seem to know enough about guns to take the bloody safety off, just keep out of the way."
Gwen makes a lunge and grabs her from behind, takes back the weapon, and a feeling of despair sweeps over her. She's failed. But then there is a click from the darkness at the other side of the room and a new voice: "Jack trusts the Doctor, Owen." Harper spins around and freezes. "Bloody hell! Look, I thought you of all people would want him back." The others look towards the newcomer, who is hidden from Martha by the shadows at the back of the room and by Dr Harper, standing between them. There’s anger, shock on their faces, but not fear and Martha assumes they must recognise him; the accent is another Welsh one.
"Oh I do, but I want him to speak to me when he does make it back to us. The Doctor has a plan, we should trust him. That's what Jack would say."
"Oh for Gods sake! It's practically in the operations manual for Torchwood; don't trust the Doctor!" Harper snorts. "Even when he does turn up to save the day, the collateral damage is pretty high, or had you forgotten how helpful he was at your previous employment? "
Gwen gives a little gasp at this and Martha wonders where they could have encountered the Doctor before to be talking like this. "I’ve not forgotten, " the voice says steadily after a pause. "If we’d listened from the start we’d have done better. Perhaps we should learn from our mistakes. You know I'm right, Owen."
"Like hell I do!" Harper retorts and lunges for the console, crossing the final gap. There's a crack which echoes deafeningly around the high-roofed space and he drops to the floor.
For a second, everyone is too shocked to react. Martha stares over the fallen body of Dr Harper at her rescuer. He moves forward out of the shadows, lowering the gun and matching her look for look. The tension breaks as Gwen and Toshiko both rush for the body and try to staunch the bleeding. Martha doesn't bother; she knows enough to know a lost cause when she sees one and the man's aim is good; a single shot direct to the heart.
Toshiko is clearly devastated; as she and Gwen abandon their efforts, she begins to weep, holding the cooling hand of her colleague. Gwen on the other hand is furious; she surges upright and starts to make for the terminal herself but stops when the shooter raises his gun again and moves forward. "Don't, Gwen," he says quietly.
"Ianto!" she cries passionately and then stops, looking at a loss. "He was just trying to help Jack! You didn't have to kill him," she says after a second.
"Learning from our mistakes, remember," the man, Ianto, says distantly. He sits himself down at the console and Martha wonders if she should say something, but she doesn’t dare. This man has just shot someone he must have known and cared about in the name of her plan, of the Doctor, and now he is calmly addressing himself to the disputed computer terminal. She reaches her hand to grip her Tardis key tight and keeps her mouth shut. He works away for a minute, no longer bothering to cover Gwen, seeming sure that she won't have a response and sure enough after staring at him for a few seconds, she turns away, reaches down to try to comfort Toshiko.
Once he's finished, he turns towards her again, finally holstering his gun. She fights off the urge to back away as he meets her eyes. "I've introduced some errors into the system that will prevent anyone else who gets this idea from actually targeting the satellites," he tells her, "and locked us out. This plan had better work."
"It will," she promises, and hopes like hell she's right.
Even tired as she is after having spent the day sneaking around the work camp talking to groups of people in the damn heat she still comes alert at the sound of footsteps outside the cool stone room she's resting in. The curtain is swept aside and she relaxes again as she recognises Faruq, her local guide. He places the tray he is carrying down on the table and moves around the room drawing the shutters closed. She mutters a protest as the air quickly begins to feel stuffy and close again, even in here, but he just smiles at her. "Better safe than sorry, no? It will be dark soon; you will be glad of the warmth then."
She sighs but it's true. In an hour or so, she will be trying to get as close to the fire as possible and thinking longingly of the dry rich heat of the evening. Bloody deserts. Way back at the beginning of the year, she'd been compiling a mental list of all the interesting places and times she was going to make the Doctor take her to when they got out of this to make up for the places she was slogging through right now but these days all she wants is to be at home. Somewhere it rains but not too hard and it gets cold but not freezing, sunny but not blazing. Where she can visit her nephew and speak the language. It's probably for the best; the list would be too long to remember by now anyway.
She lifts her head out of her hands to find that Faruq has settled himself down on the other side of the table and is contemplating her with a carefully blank expression. Eyes turning to the table she sees that he has bought food and drink for two, and has to remind herself to smile politely. It's been a long day and she's really not in the mood. She pushes herself up from the cushions she'd been resting on and moves over to the table. Faruq pours them both a glass of wine from the pitcher and raises his for a toast. She sits and does the same.
"To the prophet," he says with a smile. He touches their glasses and takes a draft from his own. She looks at him, momentarily non-plussed and takes a small sip before replacing the glass on the table. "Which prophet? I thought you weren't religious." she asks.
"Why your good self, Miss Martha Jones," he says, amusement in his voice. "For do you not speak for a God?"
"No," she says carefully, restraining herself from snapping at him. "You heard me this afternoon. The Doctor isn't a God, he just wants to help us."
"Indeed, I did," he says, still smiling. He seems to be waiting for her to say something more but she's not sure where this conversation is going so she picks up her wine glass and idly twists it in her hand. She thinks she sees something flash through his expression for a moment before he gets up and turns away, starting to lay the fire.
"You spoke of a powerful being whose presence has in the past protected this planet from terrible harms. Unknown to most but revealed to a chosen few and ultimately to you. You told us how you had been sent to spread the word of this being and to ask for the belief of mankind, for their prayer to give it the power to save us. You told us that even now as you travel his power gives you protection. I think I have named you correctly."
As he turns back towards her, she drinks a deep draught from the glass she's holding before setting it down and starting to eat the stew. He smiles at her and moves over to the table to join her. They sit companionably to eat, talking of little; the people they met today, her onward journey plans, his family back in Baghdad.
She can't quite leave it alone though and as they take their glasses over to light the fire and finish their wine in comfort she says "He's not like that, you know. The Doctor, I mean?"
"Not like what?" He asks, seriously. "How have I described him that is incorrect?"
"That's just all a way of twisting words," she says, struggling to articulate it. "Like this thing, this moment, it's not a prayer. It's just using the Master's power against him."
He looks amused. "It is asking the people to turn to the heavens at a specific time and call out his name while they give him their belief. How does it differ?"
"Because it does! It's not just worship! It's for a purpose, and when it's done, people can go back to doing whatever it is they do!" she exclaims, exasperated.
"Martha," he says, sadly. "Look around you. Too many people have stood in this land and proclaimed that God spoke to them, instructed them. It has bought us nothing but grief. Either God does not speak or he should have stayed silent."
She tries to think of a way to explain it that will make it clear, but nothing comes. He is sure, fixed in his belief that her hope is worth nothing to him and there is nothing she can say to prove her case. She thinks back to the people she's spoken to in this region, trying to gauge whether he will persuade others. Some, but not many perhaps; the people want to hope so much that they latch onto her message with a passion.
"I am truly sorry, Martha," he says, turning to look at her again. "I feel sure that you truly believe what it is that you have told the people but while they believe in your Doctor, they will never save themselves."
"It's the only way they can save themselves," she counters, "but you don't see that. And you've done something about it," she says, finishing her wine. A statement, not a question; she'd been sure since the conversation started where this was going. He gestures vaguely towards the empty glass, draining his own.
"I will tell them that you died of a fever bought on by the heat and your exhaustion after your travels, or perhaps a reaction to something new in the food we ate this evening," he says, his speech beginning to slur. She shrugs. "And then what?" He looks surprised and tries to raise himself up on the cushions to stare at her but seems to lose balance part way through the movement and slumps back. "And then I will encourage the people to free themselves. We cannot wait for a protector to do it for us."
"Not much of a plan," she says, critically. "I've certainly heard better." She crouches in front of him as he lies slumped on the cushions and tries to feel guilty as he stares up at her but it won't come. She's come too far, worked too hard, done too much to abandon the Doctor now. He must see it in her face; he closes his eyes. "You changed the glasses," he whispers.
"The old ones are the best," she replies sadly.
"How did you know? The taste?" he asks, sounding drowsy now.
"You looked me in the eye and held the contact," she admits. "First time you have since we met." She turns away and goes to ask another of the workers to help her escort her intoxicated companion out of her quarters. In the morning, she shows all the appropriate shock and upset on hearing that he must have had a reaction to something in his dinner last night because he has passed away in his sleep.
