Chapter Text
Martha is the one that finds him.
She’s not even supposed to be there, she was supposed to be at her mum’s for a birthday party, but the moment she caught wind of what was going on she demanded to help. Jack wasn’t going to turn down capable hands in any context, so she joined the search party immediately.
It’s a damn good thing, too, since she’s the only medical professional they’ve brought along, and only upon landing in what was more or less an active warzone did Jack realize how necessary that would be.
(Jack doesn’t like thinking about injuries. After all, he can’t sustain any - not for very long, anyway. The thought that there are other immortal beings out there without the same comforts honestly just didn’t occur to him.)
“If you find him, call me with your radio,” he says, holding up the small black device. “And teleport back here as soon as you can.”
“And if there’s no teleport stations nearby, then stay put until your reinforcements come. I know the plan, Jack. There’s nothing to worry about.”
They both know that’s not true, but it’s easier to act like this will be a piece of cake instead of a light jog through hell.
And they’ve both lived a life with the Doctor, and they both know that’s what it’s like. It’s easy to pretend, after all that practice.
It takes almost half an hour of running around the alien base to find him. She has to take out a lot of big red soldiers on the way, but she doesn’t much mind. They were shooting at her first, after all.
She doesn’t think about the fact that the Doctor would disapprove of this. Maybe that’s why she’s being so destructive - she’s not sure she isn’t still angry at him for getting into trouble again, and this time trouble that he can’t get himself out of on his own.
He’s in the center building, right at the end of the first hallway. She knows this because of all the locks. Every other door she sees is equipped with a simple keycard, whereas this door is much more fortified, with three different locks and at least an inch of steel protecting whatever is inside.
(Or really, protecting everyone else from what’s inside. Such precaution for their prisoner, and yet how easily they fell to her…)
It’s no match for her new square gun, though. She slips inside and seals up the hole before any more soldiers can arrive.
But there are already aliens waiting for her inside. It takes them a moment to notice her though, being preoccupied with someone else. It takes until she shoots one of them cold dead for the other three to look up.
They hit the floor in quick succession, and Martha tucks her gun away.
“Doctor?”
The aliens were all standing around a long metal table, drenched in light.
It’s an operating table, she realizes. An operating table that the Doctor is tied to, thick straps wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His hands are curled into fists, but otherwise, he is completely still, asleep.
Well, this’ll be easier with him unconscious anyway - if he were awake, no doubt he would complain the whole way back, and attract unwanted attention while doing so. Martha takes a deep breath and steps forward to assess the damages.
He’s got several incisions along his ribcage, and one on his lower leg that goes down to the bone. There’s a needle stuck in the crook of his elbow, probably feeding him some sort of anesthesia.
She’ll have to close those wounds before she moves him.
“I’ve found him,” she says into her radio. “It looks like they were doing some sort of surgery on him, I’ll have to patch him up before we can go anywhere.”
“Alright, we’re about a mile from your location. Any teleports nearby?”
“Yeah, one right outside the building we’re in. I’ll be waiting for you at the TARDIS.”
Martha takes a deep, shaky breath and puts the radio away. A survey of the available medical supplies tells her very little - the TARDIS is too far away to translate any of the written words, and she doesn’t know what language they’re in.
Luckily, some things are pretty easy to figure out. She grabs some gauze and some cloth, and begins to wrap his leg.
She stops when he twitches.
“Oi, are you waking up?” she tried keeping the panic from her voice. His face is barely visible under the oxygen mask they’ve put on him, but she can see his eyes are clenched shut. “Doctor, can you hear me?”
He doesn’t move. Wearily, she turns back to his leg and finishes bandaging it, moving on quickly to his torso.
“I really hope you’re not awake right now,” she mutters mostly to herself. “I can’t imagine this is a pleasant way to wake up.”
His fists tremble against the table. She wipes away the last traces of blood with the cloth, and uses a scalpel to start cutting through his restraints. The straps are thick, but not particularly sturdy against the sharp blade.
Her fears are confirmed when, the moment his hand is freed, he uncurls his fist, flexing his fingers apprehensively. She puts her hand on his and he tears it from her, jerking away from her with his entire body.
“Doctor, can you hear me?”
He doesn’t move, except for his hand curling back into a fist. She hardens herself, moving back to cutting off his restraints. He doesn’t move for the rest of the process, but that isn’t as comforting as she thought it would be.
It’s when she moves to take off the oxygen mask that things go wrong. She isn’t expecting him to flinch away from her again, but she isn’t surprised by it. What does surprise her is that as soon as she has the mask off, he pushes himself off the table and crashes to the floor, needle ripping out of his arm with the force of the fall.
Then he opens his eyes.
“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re going to do,” he slurs, pushing himself to his feet, “but jus’ don’t.”
“Doctor, it’s me,” she says. His eyes are wide, darting around the room without settling on anything. He doesn’t acknowledge her words at all. “Doctor, can you hear me?”
With one hand, he’s leaning on the table, and with the other, he’s now holding a scalpel, though Martha isn’t sure where he picked it up in all the confusion. He waves it at her and she jumps back, holding up her arms in surrender.
“Martha, I sent some agents to the TARDIS, can you let them in?” Jack’s voice crackles from her radio, which she slowly pulls out of her pocket.
“I’m not quite there yet, still at their main base. Something’s wrong with the Doctor, Jack, he’s acting weird and he won’t let me get close to him.”
“Alright, sit tight, we’re just a few minutes away.”
She hears an explosion over the radio just as the ground shakes under her. “Yeah, I can tell. Just hurry, alright?”
She turns her attention back to the Doctor, who’s still holding the scalpel out in front of him, eyes blown wide open and staring at the wall behind her.
“Doctor, I’m going to step closer now, yeah?”
No response.
“Doctor, can you hear me?”
No response.
“Doctor, what have they done to you?”
No response.
“Doctor, please-”
The door flies open before she can finish, and in rush Jack and several agents.
“Doctor, thank God you- Woah!” he leaps away from the incoming scalpel, having just placed a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “What the hell?”
“I don’t think he can hear us,” Martha says, swallowing. She looks into the Doctor’s eyes, which are flying around the room again. “Or see us.”
“We need to get him back to the TARDIS and scan him, see if we can reverse whatever they’ve done to him.”
“I’ll take the scalpel, and you pick him up?”
“Works for me.”
The plan, of course, is easier said than done. Martha doesn’t have any trouble with her half of the action, quickly slapping the surgical tool out of his hands and onto the floor. As soon as he’s disarmed, the Doctor stumbles backwards, raising his shaking fists.
“Easy, tiger,” Jack gingerly wraps his arms around the Doctor’s torso, mindful of the bandages, grunting as the wounded Time Lord thrashes away from the touch. “Easy!”
Suddenly, the Doctor slumps in Jack’s arms, finally going limp and still.
“Is he asleep?”
“Unconscious might be a better term for it, but yeah. Knocked him right out.”
“Great,” Martha says, a sour taste in her mouth. “Now let’s get him somewhere safe.”