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Entry tags:
fic: newskool Who, Always on the Run
disclaimer: not mine.
fandom: Doctor Who, newskool
rating: PG, language, violence
characters: Martha Jones, Jack Harkness, the Doctor, a wee bit of OT3. If you squint.
length: 1100+
spoilers: er. I don't know, Utopia, except not? This is in Lyssie's personal canon where the end of Utopia didn't suck monkey ass through a straw.
notes: I've got this habit. Of making notes when I have a fic idea. I get a lot of fic ideas and I make a lot of notes on paper. The difficulty is in moving them from paper to computer. This was a drabble, now it isn't. Oops.
Always on the Run
by ALC Punk!
It always felt as though they were running, Martha reflected as she and Jack dashed through another corridor. There was always good reason to run, of course. Mostly always.
"Fine time for him to decide to have a good sulk!" She shouted over the baying of their pursuers.
"He probably hasn't had one in centuries!" Jack called back.
Martha doubted that. Given the Doctor's nature, he probably had one every two months. She didn't bother contradicting Jack, though. Saving her breath for running seemed like a better plan.
Another corner and Martha skidded into the second room on the left, remembering this from their earlier exploration.
"Why here?" Jack asked as he slammed the door, grabbing the nearest chair and shoving it under the knob, "That won't hold long."
"I know," she snapped, distracted as she scanned the shelves, finally finding the locked cabinet she'd noticed earlier. Grabbing up the nearest paperweight, she smashed the glass, dodging the rain of shards. "We need some sort of delivery system." The vials she needed were almost too hard to get to, and she sliced her finger on a piece of glass and yelped.
"Delivery?"
"There's needles, syringes. And these--" she dumped the stack on the counter, the liquid in the bottles wiggling.
"You are brilliant, Martha Jones," Jack informed her, kissing her finger and incidentally licking the blood off.
"I know." She yanked her hand free, "Careful, that's not sanitary!"
He shrugged, gave her a charming grin and went to pull a box of syringes from the nearby drawer.
The door shuddered as their attackers slammed into it, barking and snarling.
"I think it's almost time to put Fido down."
"Jack!" Martha objected, filling syringes as fast as she could.
"Sorry," he grinned again and started looking for a way to deliver the syringes without having to be close enough to touch. He found nothing and sighed, "Martha, it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."
"I didn't think there was an easy way," she pointed out, shoving the remaining bottles in her pockets and grabbing a handful of syringes in one hand. "Real simple, jab, push the plunger. Got it?"
"Oh, I got it." The door rattled again and the chair scraped across the floor, "I just hope you do."
"There's only four," noted Martha before the door burst inwards and the four snarling dogs ran into the room.
Jack laughed. The first dog went down before it could blink and Jack kicked at the second. The third dodged him and came for Martha. She let out a yelp backing towards the wall. At the last instant, she dodged, then came back, jabbing the needle into its side. It whipped its head around, trying to bite her and she pressed the plunger down before jerking away.
It fell an instant later and she switched a new syringe into her hand and turned to find Jack on the floor, one of the dogs trying to strip the flesh from his arm.
"A little help here?" he called, his voice full of pain.
The fourth was already out, its head at an odd angle.
Martha ran forward, bringing her syringe around and plunging it into the dog's back. It slumped, jaw still locked around Jack's arm.
"It's the muscle spasms," she explained when he couldn't free himself. "Give it a minute, I'll find something to pry the jaw open with."
"What a fantastic idea, Martha Jones," Jack agreed, his eyes wide with pain.
"I'm full of 'em," she informed him, finding heavy duty gloves and a crowbar. With the gloves on, she felt marginally safer about getting near the sharp teeth of the dog. "This might hurt," she warned him.
"That's--" he shrieked, the sound odd from a grown man.
Martha clenched her teeth and ignored him and the sound of the dog's jaw popping free of its sockets. She pulled up and back, and the teeth slid free of Jack's arm. "Move," she ordered him.
"Don't have to," he gasped, wriggling backwards, "tell me twice."
In the weeks she'd been traveling with Jack Harkness, Martha had picked up that he could heal pretty quick. Still, she moved and started inspecting his arm, "This could take a while to fix," she warned him. "These were to the bone and worse."
"Yeah." He seemed paler.
"And you've lost a lot of blood. If there were a blood bank..."
"It wouldn't matter, anyway." He winced and clenched his fist. "Give me a hand up?"
Martha studied him a moment, then nodded and stood before holding a glove-clad hand out to him. He was a lot bigger than her, but she stepped back, leveraging him to his feet and then slid in under his shoulder, her arm going around his waist. "Careful."
"I know," he laughed, squeezing her against his side, "Not the way I planned our first date without the Doctor to go."
"You're being ridiculous," Martha informed him, matching her stride to his careful steps. One foot in front of the other, and they'd be back to the TARDIS and far more proper medical facilities in no time. Even if Jack would heal from this without a scratch, she needed to do something to help.
"Thank you."
"Martha? Jack?" The Doctor came barreling around the corridor, his glasses practically falling off his nose, "I heard--oh dear."
"Get his other side, he's about to faint from bloodloss," Martha instructed, her tone crisp.
"Oh, I am not, I'm perfectly--" Jack's legs gave out for a moment, and the Doctor sprang forward, barely bracing him up in time. "Ok, so maybe..."
"Shut up." suggested Martha, nodding to the Doctor and trying to ignore the strain of taking Jack's weight, "Let's get him to the TARDIS now?"
"Right."
They were most of the way back when Jack gave a sigh and shifted, straightening, "That's a bit better, I think."
"Could you just pretend to be injured a little longer?" demanded Martha, her professional pride a little stung.
"Keep my arms around you both? I don't see why not."
"Stop that," directed the Doctor, but his tone was mild. Either Jack's constant flirting had finally worn him down, or he was getting tired of trying to stop it.
The Doctor unlocked the TARDIS and ushered them in, Martha muttering about the state of her shirt. She could feel Jack's blood down one side, not to mention dog slobber and there was the distinct smell of wet dog everywhere. One thing no one had ever warned her about: travel with the Doctor was murder on the dry-cleaning bill.
-f-
fandom: Doctor Who, newskool
rating: PG, language, violence
characters: Martha Jones, Jack Harkness, the Doctor, a wee bit of OT3. If you squint.
length: 1100+
spoilers: er. I don't know, Utopia, except not? This is in Lyssie's personal canon where the end of Utopia didn't suck monkey ass through a straw.
notes: I've got this habit. Of making notes when I have a fic idea. I get a lot of fic ideas and I make a lot of notes on paper. The difficulty is in moving them from paper to computer. This was a drabble, now it isn't. Oops.
Always on the Run
by ALC Punk!
It always felt as though they were running, Martha reflected as she and Jack dashed through another corridor. There was always good reason to run, of course. Mostly always.
"Fine time for him to decide to have a good sulk!" She shouted over the baying of their pursuers.
"He probably hasn't had one in centuries!" Jack called back.
Martha doubted that. Given the Doctor's nature, he probably had one every two months. She didn't bother contradicting Jack, though. Saving her breath for running seemed like a better plan.
Another corner and Martha skidded into the second room on the left, remembering this from their earlier exploration.
"Why here?" Jack asked as he slammed the door, grabbing the nearest chair and shoving it under the knob, "That won't hold long."
"I know," she snapped, distracted as she scanned the shelves, finally finding the locked cabinet she'd noticed earlier. Grabbing up the nearest paperweight, she smashed the glass, dodging the rain of shards. "We need some sort of delivery system." The vials she needed were almost too hard to get to, and she sliced her finger on a piece of glass and yelped.
"Delivery?"
"There's needles, syringes. And these--" she dumped the stack on the counter, the liquid in the bottles wiggling.
"You are brilliant, Martha Jones," Jack informed her, kissing her finger and incidentally licking the blood off.
"I know." She yanked her hand free, "Careful, that's not sanitary!"
He shrugged, gave her a charming grin and went to pull a box of syringes from the nearby drawer.
The door shuddered as their attackers slammed into it, barking and snarling.
"I think it's almost time to put Fido down."
"Jack!" Martha objected, filling syringes as fast as she could.
"Sorry," he grinned again and started looking for a way to deliver the syringes without having to be close enough to touch. He found nothing and sighed, "Martha, it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way."
"I didn't think there was an easy way," she pointed out, shoving the remaining bottles in her pockets and grabbing a handful of syringes in one hand. "Real simple, jab, push the plunger. Got it?"
"Oh, I got it." The door rattled again and the chair scraped across the floor, "I just hope you do."
"There's only four," noted Martha before the door burst inwards and the four snarling dogs ran into the room.
Jack laughed. The first dog went down before it could blink and Jack kicked at the second. The third dodged him and came for Martha. She let out a yelp backing towards the wall. At the last instant, she dodged, then came back, jabbing the needle into its side. It whipped its head around, trying to bite her and she pressed the plunger down before jerking away.
It fell an instant later and she switched a new syringe into her hand and turned to find Jack on the floor, one of the dogs trying to strip the flesh from his arm.
"A little help here?" he called, his voice full of pain.
The fourth was already out, its head at an odd angle.
Martha ran forward, bringing her syringe around and plunging it into the dog's back. It slumped, jaw still locked around Jack's arm.
"It's the muscle spasms," she explained when he couldn't free himself. "Give it a minute, I'll find something to pry the jaw open with."
"What a fantastic idea, Martha Jones," Jack agreed, his eyes wide with pain.
"I'm full of 'em," she informed him, finding heavy duty gloves and a crowbar. With the gloves on, she felt marginally safer about getting near the sharp teeth of the dog. "This might hurt," she warned him.
"That's--" he shrieked, the sound odd from a grown man.
Martha clenched her teeth and ignored him and the sound of the dog's jaw popping free of its sockets. She pulled up and back, and the teeth slid free of Jack's arm. "Move," she ordered him.
"Don't have to," he gasped, wriggling backwards, "tell me twice."
In the weeks she'd been traveling with Jack Harkness, Martha had picked up that he could heal pretty quick. Still, she moved and started inspecting his arm, "This could take a while to fix," she warned him. "These were to the bone and worse."
"Yeah." He seemed paler.
"And you've lost a lot of blood. If there were a blood bank..."
"It wouldn't matter, anyway." He winced and clenched his fist. "Give me a hand up?"
Martha studied him a moment, then nodded and stood before holding a glove-clad hand out to him. He was a lot bigger than her, but she stepped back, leveraging him to his feet and then slid in under his shoulder, her arm going around his waist. "Careful."
"I know," he laughed, squeezing her against his side, "Not the way I planned our first date without the Doctor to go."
"You're being ridiculous," Martha informed him, matching her stride to his careful steps. One foot in front of the other, and they'd be back to the TARDIS and far more proper medical facilities in no time. Even if Jack would heal from this without a scratch, she needed to do something to help.
"Thank you."
"Martha? Jack?" The Doctor came barreling around the corridor, his glasses practically falling off his nose, "I heard--oh dear."
"Get his other side, he's about to faint from bloodloss," Martha instructed, her tone crisp.
"Oh, I am not, I'm perfectly--" Jack's legs gave out for a moment, and the Doctor sprang forward, barely bracing him up in time. "Ok, so maybe..."
"Shut up." suggested Martha, nodding to the Doctor and trying to ignore the strain of taking Jack's weight, "Let's get him to the TARDIS now?"
"Right."
They were most of the way back when Jack gave a sigh and shifted, straightening, "That's a bit better, I think."
"Could you just pretend to be injured a little longer?" demanded Martha, her professional pride a little stung.
"Keep my arms around you both? I don't see why not."
"Stop that," directed the Doctor, but his tone was mild. Either Jack's constant flirting had finally worn him down, or he was getting tired of trying to stop it.
The Doctor unlocked the TARDIS and ushered them in, Martha muttering about the state of her shirt. She could feel Jack's blood down one side, not to mention dog slobber and there was the distinct smell of wet dog everywhere. One thing no one had ever warned her about: travel with the Doctor was murder on the dry-cleaning bill.
-f-