The Eye of the Storm
by ladysarahii (LJ
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Art by 19sunshine (LJ | comment) and Laura (LJ | e-mail | comment)
CHAPTER ONE
It was a tradition the two young women had shared since Martha had been ten and Tish had been thirteen. It was a special tradition, one that was only to be practiced in the most dire of times Martha usually tried to get Tish to do it when one of them were being pestered by Leo, or if Tish had had a particularly bad day.
Much to Martha's surprise, it was Tish who suggested they do it today. Just like they had always done, the girls packed their lunches, grabbed blankets and a thermos, and headed out to the park, which was only a few streets away from their mother's house. There was one particular oak tree that faced the pond. Martha followed Tish out the door and they took the quick walk to the park.
It was late September and the air was just cold enough that the two women kept a brisk pace. It did not take long before they had found their tree and were facing the pond. Martha leaned up against the rough bark and tried to relax. A few birds flew up when the girls approached the tree. The wind blew, making ripples in the pond. It seemed so very... peaceful.
Tish opened the picnic basket and pulled out the sandwiches she had made for both of them. Not very many people were there so it was very quiet and still. The girls continued to work at making the picnic ready, spreading out blankets and pouring hot chocolate into mugs, in silence.
"Are you okay?" Martha asked. She had often asked that question to her family in the past few days and always got the same answer. But somehow she didn't think her family was being particularly straightforward with her.
"Are you okay?" Tish responded.
It made Martha pause. No one had asked her that before. It was if everyone assumed that her burden had been easier, that she had got through it just fine. Everyone else had been worried about Tish, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and moody lately. So far no one had approached Martha to ask her about her feelings or what she'd done while travelling. "Yeah," Martha said after a moment, and then dug into the picnic basket for her packet of crisps. "You got me prawn flavored? Thanks a lot."
"Sorry! They were the only kind I could find!"
"You stole the good stuff for yourself, I see," Martha said, pointing to Tish's side of the basket. "Cheese and onion."
"You want to swap?"
"No," Martha said, secretly enjoying her role as the whiny younger sister. She didn't often get to whine for fun.
"But seriously. Are you okay?"
Martha was surprised by this question. How to answer? She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. "I watched Japan burn."
"So did I," Tish said, biting into her sandwich. "But you were there."
"Yes."
"How can you talk about it so calmly?"
It was a good question, and one Martha wasn't sure she could answer. Throughout her adventures with the Doctor, she'd seen so many things. She'd been kidnapped by Daleks. She'd almost fallen from a bell tower. She'd seen humanity at its best and then at its worst. She'd been put into a maid's uniform, too. She had genuinely felt second best in comparison to this Rose who she had never met, but had learned a lot about herself in the process. Martha had not liked saying good-bye to the Doctor, but it had been necessary. If she hadn't said good-bye, then she'd still feel second best.
In addition, Martha and Martha alone truly understood what was in the Toclafane. She knew Tish was somewhat aware that the Toclafane were human, but she had not seen them fully alive. She had no idea that these people once had real conversations with each other, had played outside with friends, had jobs, and had families of their own.
She rested her head on her sister's shoulder, the way she used to do a long time ago, when they were both teenagers. But soon afterwards she moved her head -- sitting still for too long reminded her of hiding from the Toclafane and witnessing destruction all around her. Finally, Martha spoke. "I had the Doctor." She winced as soon as she said it. Those words had been said so many times that they had begun to lose their meaning. It was as if she was reciting poetry without understanding the meaning behind it.
"So did I," Tish said. Her voice was barely a whisper. She busied herself with opening her crisps and then dug into the basket for a sandwich. Martha noticed that her sister refused to make eye contact.
"What happened to you?" Martha asked quietly.
"I don't... do you want my cheese and onion?"
Martha knew when to keep her mouth shut. She shook her head and Tish ate the crisps by herself. It was clear that the conversation was officially over. Minutes passed without either of them saying anything, then finally Tish asked if Martha wanted to go. She nodded quickly and the two of them walked back to the house together.
The next bit of excitement happened when she received her first clinic assignment weeks later. She'd been assigned to the same hospital as Dr. Tom Milligan.
Small world, she thought, taking a little extra time in front of the mirror that morning. She still could not get over how fast everything had changed; just three months ago he had been killed before her eyes. And now, he was back from the dead with no memory of her. On top of all that, she had been assigned to the same hospital as him.
Martha focused on looking her best for her first day, making sure her clothes were pressed and that her doctor's coat was crisp and extra clean. She placed three pens in her chest pocket and admired herself in the mirror. She looked like a real doctor now. All she needed was a clipboard.
When she walked inside the hospital, she let the smell wash over her-- this is where she belonged. This was her element. She had often been nervous in front of Dr. Stoker, but Dr. Ericson had told her that if she worked hard she had the potential to go far. This had been encouraging; Dr. Stoker had not often praised them, even on the rare occasions that one of them made the correct diagnosis.
Buried in her thoughts, she did not see where she was going. She ran right into Tom, and could feel her face grow hot. How embarrassing. This was not getting off to a good start. "Sorry!"
"That's all right, no problem. Are you new?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, my first day."
"That's weird. You're wearing an in-training badge but I could have sworn I've met you before. Did I give you a lift somewhere once? Maybe I visited your teaching hospital once and took you home?"
"No, couldn't have been me. I've never seen you before in my life." Yes, I have, her brain screamed. She longed to go into more detail about their encounter to see if he could remember anything. But Martha knew she couldn't. She followed him down the corridor, although they had to separate at the end. She looked back over her shoulder, wondering if he could still be attracted to her in this universe. Nonsense. Obsessing over a crush was the kind of thing that had made her leave the Doctor.
Head held high, she turned a corner and overheard a conversation that intrigued her. "...Barbara Docherty, 65 years old, mad as a hatter. Keeps claiming she has a son who's in critical condition at a hospital. I've looked everywhere. Seems there's no record of him anywhere. I've called out as far as Northern Ireland."
Martha ducked behind a wall, peering out to watch the two doctors. She looked up at the sign that said 'Psychiatry ward' and her heart pounded.
"She just has these vivid memories that don't seem to exist," the doctor continued, clicking his pen and placing it in his chest pocket. "She apparently experiences guilt so strong she can't go on teaching. Guilt about what, I have no idea. The woman keeps muttering something about a large metal ball that flies around in the air. The weird thing is apparently it can speak, or so she says."
"A flying large metal ball that can speak?" the other doctor said, grabbing a clipboard and flipping through the pages. "Certainly sounds out there. How can someone make up such an insane story?"
"The brain can be our own worst enemy," the first doctor responded, and the two of them walked down the hallway together. Martha ducked out of sight and headed into her classroom.
"You're late, Miss Jones," the head doctor said, sounding bored.
Ten or so heads looked in her direction and she could feel her face grow hot. Her mind was racing as she found a seat. Was that Professor Docherty, experiencing guilt weeks after the fact? She really wished Jack had e-mailed her back. This was becoming insane. First the woman on the bus had remembered, then Tom Milligan had said something to her. Then it seemed as if that Docherty woman was remembering, too. She was debating calling the Doctor during her break when she was suddenly aware that those ten heads were looking at her again.
"Miss Jones, when you've decided to pay attention."
Her face grew hot again and she looked at her desk, then back at the professor. "I'm sorry, I missed the question."
"Obviously. I was only asking what could cause extreme stomach pain in a ten-year-old."
"Any number of things," Martha said. "I would start by asking him what he ate the night before, what he did prior to experiencing the pain, and I would take his vitals. Could be anything from the stomach flu to something far more serious. But before I do any of that, I'd check his chart." She smiled back at him.
There was a long pause, and then the professor said, "Well, at least you have a little sense." Then he passed out shadowing assignments. She smiled; hers was right next to paediatrics.
During her break she stepped out to buy flowers. Martha did some quick research as to where she was staying and knocked on Barbara Docherty's door. Her records had been easy to find.
Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She wished for a moment that the Doctor was there to explain what was going on, but Martha knew that would be impossible. She had left him, and she would have to do this on her own.
The woman inside the room was indeed Professor Docherty, looking a bit worse for the wear. She blinked once when Martha stepped in the room.
"Martha Jones," she said in her soft, gravelly voice. "I'm not accustomed to doctors bringing flowers."
Martha looked up in surprise. Not only did Professor Docherty seem to remember the Toclafane, she also seemed to remember her. Martha took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not one of your doctors. I just came to ask you a few questions, is all. You're under no obligation to answer them, though." Martha sat on the stool placed next to the bed.
"I don't know that there's anything to tell. You either already know my story or I'm an elderly woman who's going a bit mad in the head. You're Martha Jones and this is the second time you've brought me flowers since the whole ordeal happened. The first time I didn't know why; now I do."
"You're not mad," Martha said. "Not one bit." Her mouth was dry now. "Everything you remember, it really happened. The flying, talking balls in the sky, you didn't imagine that."
"That's what I was afraid of." Professor Docherty swallowed. "I really am sorry."
"Don't be. It's what I wanted you to do. I hate to admit it, Professor, but you were a little set up. The resistance told me about your son so I knew I would be your bargaining chip. I knew you'd tell the Master where I was in exchange for information about your son."
She told Professor Docherty what the Doctor had told her, that Martha needed to find a weapon and to make everyone believe that she alone could kill the Master. "But the gun wasn't real," Martha continued. "You actually ended up saving a lot of people."
"I wish other people would remember it, too. I'd much rather get out of here. Not that I don't like your stimulating company, but I'd prefer to go home to my garden and potter around a bit, rather than lying here watching the television."
"Understandable. I'll see what I can do," Martha said, standing and stretching. "Well, I'd better go. I only have an hour for lunch and then I've got to go shadow someone."
Martha shut the door behind her and stood against the wall for a moment to catch her breath. So Professor Docherty remembered everything. And this wasn't just a flash of memory, the way it had been with Tom and the woman on the bus. It had been a real, permanent memory. What did it all mean and what should she do next? These thoughts ran over and over in her mind as she walked back into the classroom and the professor started a lecture on the abdomen.
That night she returned home to one of Jack's e-mails. Finally, she thought.
My team can't remember anything. All they know is that they ended up in the Himalayas but they can't figure out why they were there. They said the Prime Minister sent them on a mission, but after he died the government had no record of any such mission taking place. It all makes sense within the timeline; they should remember going to the Himalayas, but the fact they don't remember why is a good sign. I don't know if I ever told you this, but the Toclafane killed a member of my team --his name's Owen Harper, and he's very much alive now. None of them remember him being dead. When are those exams again?
--Jack
Jack,
They're in three weeks.
--Martha
She sat back in her chair and stared at the screen for a moment. So Jack hadn't had any experiences with people remembering the events of the missing year. Was it just her? The idea sent a chill up her spine. Martha had hoped that at least she would not be alone, and now it seemed as if she would have to get down to the bottom of this herself.
She walked down the hallway to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. As she passed Tish's room, she realized that the light was on. How odd. She was fairly certain her sister had gone to bed an hour or so ago; why was the light on? She'd probably just gone out somewhere and had forgotten to turn her light off.
Martha knocked gently on the door and there was no response. She opened the door and caught a glimpse of her bed; Tish was definitely sleeping. She smiled. Her sister must have been exhausted and fallen asleep without turning off the light. Just as she was about to flip the switch, she heard Tish murmur something in her sleep.
It happened a few more times, and at one point it hit a bit of a crescendo. It was starting to become more desperate. Martha wondered if Tish was having a nightmare. She came in and sat down on the bed next to her sister and started stroking her hair gently. "No," Tish murmured. "No."
"It's okay," Martha whispered. "He's gone now. It's all right. You're safe. I promise." She repeated those words over and over again, as if it was a mantra. A chill went up her spine. She was starting to understand how much hell her sister must have been through during the last year, and it made her furious.
At one point, Tish jerked up so violently it made Martha jump. Tish looked genuinely scared. She was sitting straight up in bed, wide awake.
"You scared the living hell out of me," Tish said angrily. "What are you doing there?"
"You were having a nightmare," Martha said defensively. "I was trying to help!"
"I'd rather you let me have my nightmares on my own, thank you very much!" Tish said, standing up and grabbing her dressing down from the floor next to her. Then she sighed. After a long moment she said quietly, "Sorry. Didn't mean to go ballistic on you."
"Didn't mean to be so creepy," Martha said.
"I've got to use the bathroom now. It's all your fault."
"Hey, I've got to brush my teeth!"
"You scared me. I get first dibs."
"No fair!"
But of course, Martha had to let Tish use the bathroom first. It really was only fair.