Chapter Text
‘I should have enough residual awareness to let you in…’
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‘Ahhh!’ the Doctor growled in annoyance, grabbing the console screen to read it. ‘They’re following us.’
‘How can they do that? You’ve got a time machine,’ asked Martha.
‘Stolen technology. They've got a Time Agent’s vortex manipulator. They can follow us wherever we go, right across the universe. They’re never going to stop.’
The Doctor ran a hand agitatedly through his already messy brown hair and stared; an idea coming to him. A risky, dangerous idea, but right now was their only chance of getting out of this alive without bloodshed.
‘Unless…’ he said quietly to himself.
He really didn’t want to put Martha in this situation. He wouldn’t be around to protect her. He wouldn’t be in control over what he might do after he’d undergo the process. It was a lot to ask of her, of anyone in her shoes, but time was against them.
Despite his best efforts to avoid it, he liked Martha Jones. She was brave, clever, compassionate and capable in any situation she was thrown into. From the day they had met when Hope Hospital had been transported to the moon, she had kept a level head and dealt with the problem head-on. She had saved his life so many times.
The Doctor knew if Rose were here right now, she’d have liked her, too. And Donna would’ve approved of his choice of companion after she’d turned him down.
If only she hadn’t fallen in love with him.
Maybe the three months apart will be good for her too. Or would absence just make the heart grow fonder?
‘I’ll have to do it…’ he decided.
The Doctor turned intently to Martha, looking deep into her eyes.
‘Martha, you trust me, don’t you?’
Martha nodded trustingly. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Cos it all depends on you.’
The Doctor dived below the console to retrieve something, Martha watching him in confusion.
‘What does? What am I supposed to do?’ Martha asked.
The Doctor straightened up, holding an ornate pocket watch before her.
‘Take this watch. Cos my life depends on it. This watch, Martha… This watch is –’
John Smith woke with a start. He blinked in confusion, reality returning to him, his heartrate slowing down as he remembered that there was no such thing as time travel, that he was safe in bed in his study and such fantastical monsters most definitely do not exist.
And he was most certainly not a mad man with a box. Just an ordinary schoolteacher.
Once back in his right mind, Mr Smith pushed himself up with a groan and rubbed his eyes. These dreams were becoming more frequent and intense. Like something was coming, getting closer every day.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Mr Smith called even as the door opened.
His maid, Martha, entered carrying a tray, with tea, toast, the newspaper. Upon seeing Mr Smith sitting on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of blue striped pyjamas, her eyes widened and she averted her eyes, turning to walk back out again.
‘Pardon me, Mr Smith, you're not dressed yet. I can come back later –’
‘No, it’s alright, it’s alright. Put it down,’ said Mr Smith, standing up whilst he pulled and tied a dressing gown around himself.
Martha walked over to a table in the middle of the room and set the tray down, keeping her eyes lowered. Mr Smith watched her thoughtfully, still a little befuddled by the lingering after effects of the dream.
‘I was, um...’
He observed Martha; modest, demure, polite. And then he thought of the other Martha; brazen, feisty and strong-willed. He looked at her maid’s uniform and compared her to the version in his dreams wearing such unusual garments, the style of her ebony black hair, jewellery far above a maid’s wage glinting like stars at her throat and from her earlobes. A rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear, as the great playwright had said. Martha was a rare jewel. And the way she looked at him in a way she would never look at him in the waking world. So much so that he preferred sleep in the hopes that he might find her.
Mr Smith shook himself out of his wondering thoughts before they could transgress into realms of impropriety.
‘Sorry, sorry. Sometimes I have these extraordinary dreams.’
Martha crossed to the window and pulled the curtains open, asking casually, ‘What about, sir?’
‘I dream I’m this…’ he searched for the right term as Martha returned to sort out the breakfast tray, ‘Adventurer. This...daredevil, a madman. 'The Doctor', I'm called. And last night I dreamt that you were there, as my... companion.’
Martha met Mr Smith’s eyes at that last comment, whose soft brown eyes had been following her across the room this whole time.
‘A teacher and a housemaid, sir?’ she said faintly, as if he had suggested he could fly to the moon. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Ah no, a man from another world, though...’
‘Well then, it can’t be true because there’s no such thing.’
Mr Smith moved over to the fireplace and notice the fob watch from his dreams sitting on the mantlepiece.
‘And this thing.’ Mr Smith picked it up. ‘The watch... It was...’
He stood lost in thought for a moment, staring at the watch. It had seemed so important in the dream, life and death, but the longer he stared at it, the more he realised it was just an ordinary watch. Nothing extraordinary at all.
Martha watched him, a mixture of trepidation and hope on her face. It was one month too soon. But she couldn’t deny that she really wanted him back.
But after holding it for a second Mr Smith replaced the timepiece back on the mantle with a sigh.
‘No. Funny how dreams slip away.’ He turned back to Martha, who quickly hid her disappointment behind a smile. ‘But I do remember one thing; it all took place in the future. In the year of our Lord 2007.’
Martha smiled. ‘I can prove that wrong for you, sir, here’s the morning paper.’
She took the paper off the tray to show him. Mr Smith took the Examiner and examined the date himself.
‘It’s Monday November the tenth, 1913, and you’re completely human, sir. As human as they come.’
‘Mmm, that’s me,’ Mr Smith agreed. ‘Completely human.’
He smiled in relief.