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CHANGING DIRECTIONS



Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the Beeb, all I have is my Microsoft Word and an overactive imagination...


Martha Jones.

In the surgery.

With the cleaver, and the body.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Pity she couldn’t share it with the London Metropolitan police force.

“Hi guys,” she said, as they filed in, guns up, and surrounded her. “Must be …oh, what? A whole three weeks…” she recognised a familiar face. “How’s the hip, Joe?”

“Oh, you know how it is, Mart—”

“Sergeant Wilkins, stop fraternising with the suspect!” Detective Inspector Hodges was in a bad mood. Detective Inspective Hodges was always in a bad mood, but he seemed to be especially cranky today. “So, Doctor Jones,” he eventually sighed, as the silence dragged on, seemingly for an age. “Care to explain this – and put down that cleaver, would you?” he added, exasperated.

Martha smiled her most winning smile, as she slowly lowered the blade to the ground. “You’ll never believe what happened.”

“Oh, that is the one statement out of your mouth that I’m willing to take on faith,” he said dryly, as he waved the guns down.

She smiled, embarrassed. “Ah, right, about that…"

The detective sergeant sighed. "Lets just skip the half truths this time, shall we?” he said. “Not that it isn’t entertaining, but I’ve better things to waste my time with.”

Martha’s grin faltered. “What is you want to know?” she asked.

The Inspector looked at the creature on the floor uneasily. “How about we start with that?” he asked.

“Doesn’t exist,” Martha said promptly.

The Inspector gave her a dirty look. “It seems fairly real to me,” he said, prodding the carcass with the toe of his foot.

Martha took a hasty step back. “Don’t do—”

The creature exploded, splattering everyone with a pink, gelatinous goo.

“That,” Martha finished, a beat later, as she scooped some of the goo from her hair.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That.” His eyes blazed from the chewing gum coloured coating on his face.

“A construct,” Martha said shortly, as she felt the goo soak through her white doctor’s coat, and through her halter-top.

“A what?”

“A construct,” she repeated softly, as she felt her temper fray. “A fairy construct, as in made by fairies, as in there’s bloody fairies here, in this hospital, in this children’s wing…clear enough for you, now?”

His face darkened. “Right, that’s it, down to the station with you.”

“I’m calling my solicitor,” she said flatly, taking out her mobile and powering it up.

The Inspector rolled his eyes. “We both know you’re not calling a solicitor, Doctor Jones,” he said. “Tell Captain Harkness to meet us down at the station, this time.”

“Oh, trust me, I will,” she said grimly.



~~~*~*~*~~~



Jack was leaning against the door when she eventually climbed out of the shower. “They’re homing in on your temporal signature,” he said softly, as he handed her a towel.

“There must be some way of making it less noticeable.” She wrapped herself in the towel, pulled her hair back with a band, and examined her reflection; she was goo free, go her.

“If there is a way of dampening the signal, I haven’t figured it out,” Jack said, “Perhaps the Doctor…?”

She looked up sharply, glaring at him through her reflection. “Perhaps the Doctor what?” she said.

“Just sayin’, he’s your best bet,” he said. “And I can’t keep coming down here, smoothing things out, every time the local constabulary decide to arrest you because you’re always at the scene of something weird and wild.”

“You used the manipulator’s transmat beam to get here, Jack,” Martha said dryly. “It’s not as if I took you hours out of your way.”

Jack sighed. “You should come work—”

“No.”

“But you haven’t—”

“No.”

“Martha—”

“I said no, Jack,” she said flatly. “I’m not working for Torchwood.”

He gave her a worried look, but backed off. “Not Torchwood, then,” he said eventually said. “But you have to do something, Martha; working at the hospital isn’t working out for you. You know that.”

Martha leaned against the sink. “Sometimes, it feels like I put more lives in danger, than I save… I mean, fairies, Jack. Those kids were at serious risk.”

“You stopped it, though,” Jack said quietly. “The kids are safe.”

“Those kids wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place, if I hadn’t been there.” She felt her eyes grow hot with tears. “Damn it” she cursed, as she wiped her face with a cloth. “I don’t suppose you put the kettle on, did you?”



~~~*~*~*~~~



“Give him 12CCs of morphine, and send him up to ICU,” Martha said, checking the patient’s eyes. “We don’t have a bed for him, here, and—” Her beeper went off and she glanced impatiently down at the screen. “Oh bugger,” she said, under her breath, as she recognised Jack’s number.

“Doctor Jones, something wrong?” Martha looked at the intern. What was his name again Jim? Jack? Sam…ah.

“It’s nothing, Sam, just get this guy up to the third floor, will you?” she said, as she hurried away.

“But I’m supposed to be going on my break now!” he protested.

“You’re an intern, Sam, interns don’t have breaks!”

He grinned reluctantly, shaking his head, and she smiled back at him before she turned the corner. There was a payphone by the elevator…

Martha, glad I caught you!

“What happened,” she asked urgently. “Is anybody hurt? Do you need a Doct—”

Hold your horses, ” he said, laughing down the line. “What makes you think there’s something wrong?

Martha felt her panic ease, only to be replaced by anger. “Oh, I don’t know, Jack,” she drawled. “Maybe because you beeped me in the middle of my shift?

“Shit, I wasn’t thinking—”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack. I though you’d been injured or something.”

She heard his sigh through the phone. “I just wanted to get a hold of you, before he hijacked you in the corridor, or something,” he said. “Just remember, don’t be fooled by his appearance. He’s one sharp cookie.”

Who is one sharp cookie?” Martha asked, puzzled, but the line only gave her a dial tone. “Jack? Jack?”

A hand fell on her shoulder. “Excuse me, young Miss, would you be Doctor Jones?”

Martha looked over her shoulder, and up. He was wearing a suit, but everything about him screamed military, from his grey, short cropped hair, to his erect carriage. She swallowed a gulp. “Yeah, I’m Doctor Jones, “ she said. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Brigadier, actually,” he said. “Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, and yes, I think you can help me, Doctor Jones. Tell me, have you ever heard of an organisation called UNIT?”

~~~FINIS~~~



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