Happy For Deep People

Chapter 4

 

The cell was dark and dingy, barely any bigger than her bathroom back at the flat. It exuded a noxious sense of dread. Only a tiny bed built into one wall directly opposite the door gave the otherwise empty space the brief illusion of a welcoming air. Sally huddled in the corner, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them tightly. She embraced herself, rocking back and forth gently as she shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to enclose her mind within her personal space.

It was no use; her headache made it almost impossible to focus, and not since her encounter with the Angels had she felt more frightened and alone. She had regained consciousness in the cell, though how long ago she couldn't tell, nor how long she had been out. There had been three soldiers in the cell with her, two of them armed and the other apparently tending to her. She remembered the soldier advancing on her and the sharp, shocking pain of the blow from his rifle. After that, she struggled to recall... The blow to her head couldn't have been enough to knock her out, so she reasoned that it had been the impact of her head upon the ground that had done so.

The room seemed to spin as she opened her eyes, and a wave of nausea washed over her. She closed them again quickly, doing her best to suppress the sensation. She remembered a breathing exercise from her school drama lessons – a slow deep breath lasting six seconds, followed by holding the breath for another six, and finally releasing it over a final six. She performed the exercise a couple of times, trying through her half-open eyes to focus her attention on a specific point in the room – the opposite corner by the door. There was a slight ringing in her ears, and she found it increasingly difficult to think straight. As if she hadn't felt rotten enough before her arrival at this place – she now felt ten times worse.

In the midst of the jumble of images, stray thoughts and feelings in her head, there was one constant. Hannah's face filled her mind's eye; once smiling, happy, and ever the loyal sibling. She saw the tiny baby staring up at her new big sister, could feel her tiny fragile body in her arms. She saw the bouncy toddler and the little girl laughing as Sally pushed her on the swings. She saw the difficult teenager struggling to be her own person, trying her best to be one of the in-crowd but never really fitting in, and looking to her sister for advice and support, even if she didn't realise it. She saw the whore fucking her loving sister's boyfriend.

Sally barely had the energy to lift a finger, but inside she screamed.

The heavy iron cell door was suddenly unlocked with a loud clank, making Sally jump. The door opened slowly, filling the cell with a bright light that hit her with full force, making her squint involuntarily as her eyes began to water.

She heard footsteps as a female figure, small in stature, entered the room. Then the door was closed behind her and locked once again. The figure was that of a young woman, dark-skinned with an impressive figure constrained in a business suit, yet Sally was unable to make her out too clearly as her eyes readjusted to the darkness. She squinted several times, and felt the tears roll down her cheeks – an all-too familiar sensation today. She forced herself to look the new arrival in the eyes; satisfied, as the woman came into focus, to finally put a face to the organisation that had first kidnapped her sister, and now her.

“Hello Sally,” the woman said.

Sally flinched in surprise at hearing her name, a split-second before she suddenly recognised the woman. It couldn't be...

“How...?” Sally began, and stared at her visitor for a long moment. “My God, it's you,” she said finally and matter-of-factly.

Martha frowned. Sally's voice was tiny and, frankly, she looked like death; her face was pale and languid, and her eyes swollen from crying. “It's me,” Martha replied, kneeling down to Sally's eye level. “Do you know my name?”

Of course I do, Sally thought, but try as she might, she could not think of the woman's name. She stared straight at her for a good few seconds, a feeling of panic building within her.

“It's alright,” Martha assured her, soothingly. “Just take your time.” She wasn't certain that Sally had ever learned her name, but then she remembered the Doctor addressing her with it when she had interrupted the recording of his half of his conversation with Sally. Her pupils were dilated, Martha noted worriedly.

Sally continued to stare at her visitor until suddenly, like a bolt of lightening, it came to her. “Martha...”

Martha smiled with relief. “Yes,” she beamed. “Good.”

Sally smiled too, just for a second, then the haunted stare returned.

“OK, Sally, I want you to follow my finger,” Martha said, holding up her right index finger a few inches from Sally's face and moving it slowly to the left... then back to the centre... and to the right. Sally's gaze followed lazily.

Martha forced a smile. “Have you experienced any headaches or dizziness?” she asked, as if she didn't already know the answer. “Any aversion to bright lights? Double vision?”

Sally looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “I have a concussion,” she stated.

Martha smiled faintly and nodded. “Just a mild one I think, but at least you know that, so that's a good sign,” she commented wryly.

“What are you doing here?” Sally asked suddenly, seemingly giving no further thought to her wellbeing.

Martha tensed slightly, despite her best efforts. “Right now, I'm here to see you,” she replied. “Looks like you've been in the wars lately.”

Sally's expression was hard to read. Clearly she was surprised to see her, but she seemed to Martha to be sizing her up.

“Are you a doctor?” Sally asked. “Or a nurse?”

“I'm a doctor,” Martha confirmed.

“Like the Doctor?” Sally asked, wryly.

Martha chuckled softly. “No, just the medical kind. Although a time machine would be great when you've got a lot of patients to see to in A&E on a Saturday night.”

Sally didn't smile. “Is he here?”

I wish, Martha thought, holding Sally's gaze. “No,” she replied, “I'm afraid not.”

Sally appeared to deflate slightly, and looked at the floor. “You're not with him anymore?”

I was never with him, Martha thought, regretfully. “No I'm not,” she said aloud. “That all got a bit... complicated.”

“Why are you here?” Sally asked again.

Martha sensed that she wasn't going to get out of this one. She would have to pull status. Damn. “I'm afraid I need you to answer a few questions first, Sally,” she said, her tone serious.

Sally looked up at her then.

“Like,” Martha continued, “why are you here?”

“You've got my sister,” Sally replied without missing a beat.

So that's it, Martha thought. “Your sister?” she asked. One of the teenage victims in the infirmary was Sally's sister? Given that she had seen the size of the universe, it was surprising how much it still shocked her to be reminded how small this world really was. Perhaps not that surprising, she corrected her thoughts, given that she'd travelled the world largely on foot. It certainly hadn't seemed small then.

Sally nodded. “I want to see her,” she demanded.

Martha shook her head sadly. “I'm sorry,” she said, “not yet.” As Sally opened her mouth to protest she cut her off, continuing; “but I can promise you that she's safe. We're keeping an eye on her, and her friends.”

Sally regarded her sceptically. “She's not well,” she said.

Martha nodded. “I know, but she's in the best possible place.”

“I'd have thought that would be in hospital?” Sally said, knowing the truth of Martha's statement, but trying to get a rise out of her – to make her say something that would give away more about exactly what was going on.

Martha shook her head. She knew Sally was playing with her, and decided to call her bluff. “You knew the location of this base,” Martha stated flatly, “and that your sister had been taken here. How?”

“I can't say,” Sally replied.

Martha exhaled slowly. “OK...” she replied, looking away from her and wondering how best to approach this.

“You work for UNIT?” Sally asked.

Martha turned to her abruptly. “You know about UNIT?” Although it stood to reason that if she had known where the base was, she would know exactly who it belonged to, it was still a surprise to hear Sally tackle the question so directly.

Sally nodded. “The United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. They deal with the odd and the unexplained...”

Martha looked her up and down, her mind whirring. Sally's knowledge was anachronistic, for she referred to the old name for the organisation, before it had incorporated several smaller institutions such as the Preternatural Research Bureau, while still remaining under the general control of the UN. “You're out of date,” she said after a moment. “It's now the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.”

Sally stared at her once again. “Then, shouldn't it be a small 'n'?” she asked sardonically.

Martha smiled, rising to the bait. “Well, technically, but that would've changed all the stationary...”

Sally revealed the merest hint of a smile, just for a second. “So you do work for them.”

Martha had to hand that one to her, but this game of verbal cat and mouse was going nowhere, at least not for her. She was supposed to be pumping Sally for information, not the other way around.

“OK,” Martha said, deciding to try a different tack. “Yes. I work for an organisation called UNIT. We investigate the strange and the alien, and deal with extra-terrestrial threats.” Remembering that Sally had dealt with aliens before, and that if it hadn't been for her she would now be stuck in the early '70s wearing hot pants and crop tops and listening to ABBA and T-Rex, she decided that honesty would be the best policy. “Why don't you tell me everything you can, and we'll go from there?”

Sally thought for moment, and nodded. She then spent the next twenty minutes relaying to Martha everything that had happened in the past few hours, omitting only Liz Shaw's name. Sally surprised herself by pouring out what had happened between Larry and Hannah, despite having intended to leave it out.

Martha listened intently, and when Sally had finished her story, Martha sat quietly with tears in her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said softly, feeling the other woman's pain.

Sally nodded. “Yeah,” she replied, coldly.

Instinctively, Martha reached out and placed her hand on Sally's, squeezing it gently. “I'm going to get you out of here,” she said resolutely, “and I promise I'm going to help your sister, and her friends, and it's all going to be OK.”

Sally's eyes filled with tears. While a part of her wasn't sure she could take that promise at face value, she had to admit that she felt oddly comforted. “Thank you,” she replied.

Martha nodded, giving her a warm smile, though in truth she wasn't sure her apparent optimism was entirely justified. “As soon as I can get you out of here I will,” she said, “but for now, I want you to lie down and get some rest.”

Sally looked as if she were about to protest, but then nodded, all energy apparently drained from her being.

“Come on,” Martha said, placing her hands gently on Sally's upper arms and encouraging her to lie down. Sally did so, and immediately felt awash with dizziness. “No so fast,” Martha warned, “gently...” She helped ease Sally onto her back. “I'll try and get you some paracetamol, but I'm afraid I can't promise anything.” Somehow she didn't hold out much hope for there being a sufficient cache of medical supplies on this base.

Sally nodded again. “Thanks.” Martha placed a hand on her forehead and felt her temperature, and she felt as if she were being tucked into bed like a sick child.

“I'll be keeping an eye on you,” Martha said, “and I'll be back. Hopefully we'll have you moved to the infirmary before then.” She smiled at Sally one last time, then retreated towards the door as Sally closed her eyes. Sneaking one last look at the woman as she left, Martha sighed with regret that her old acquaintance had found herself in this situation.

* * * *

“We don't need to hold her!” Martha protested vehemently.

With a sigh, Colonel Oduya held her gaze. “Doctor Jones, if we let her go, she'll talk. That's a hassle we can't afford right now.”

“You mean you're protecting your own interests,” Martha shot back. She berated herself as her words hung in the air.

“Our interests, Doctor Jones,” Oduya replied, tensing visibly. “What happened was unfortunate. It shouldn't have happened, but regrettably one of my officers acted in the heat of the moment.”

Martha knew she had overstepped the mark, but having come this far she knew she couldn't back down. “Colonel, who would she talk to? No one in the real world will believe her, and if you're worried about her making some complaint to the authorities, the only authority she could take it up with would be UNIT itself, and you've made things worse by kidnapping her!”

“The “real world” has become a fantasy, Doctor Jones,” the Colonel affirmed, raising his voice slightly to silence her. “I'm not worried about her going to the police or whoever about this. What does worry me is that other, shall we say, more impressionable and agitable people may be alarmed by her story. With the increase in alien sightings in the past few years, many members of the public are much more inclined to believe this sort of thing these days.”

Martha deflated slightly, conceding his point. Nevertheless, she still objected to holding an innocent young woman in a military base against her will.

“I know this isn't the ideal solution,” Oduya continued. “I don't like it any more than you do, but right now it's the only one that makes any sense. If she's here, she can't alert anyone else to the situation.”

“Her disappearance should do that,” Martha pointed out.

“True,” he conceded, “but it's the lesser of two evils; as long as she's here she can't run the risk of telling anyone about what's going on, and if we're lucky, and you're as good as they say, then hopefully we can get to the bottom of all this before she's even missed.”

Martha stood up straight, suddenly feeling a great deal of pressure. “I'll do my best, Sir.”

“Good,” the Colonel said, “and we'll do our best to make Ms. Sparrow comfortable during her stay.”

“You make her sound like a hotel guest,” Martha spat. “Guests aren't usually knocked unconscious and confined to a cell.”

“We can't afford to let her roam freely about the base, of course, and she's undoubtedly going to want to see her sister. We can't afford that either. We'll try to limit contact to as few people as possible. Those teens are to be kept under observation in quarantine without any contact with anyone except the medical staff.”

“You mean me?” Martha challenged.

The Colonel looked faintly embarrassed. “For now, yes, but we've got some back-up for you on the way. Private Packer will show you to the infirmary.”

Martha nodded, still feeling a little uneasy about the Colonel's reasoning. Given that it was being deemed necessary to minimise contact with their guests, she felt nervous about being the only one being asked to have extensive contact with them; she felt like a canary being sent down a mineshaft.

As Oduya stepped aside, Packer, who had been waiting patiently and no doubt listening intently, moved to escort her in the direction of the infirmary. “This way, ma'am,” he said, indicating the direction in which to follow him.

Casting one final glance at the Colonel, Martha slowly moved to join the Private and together they walked briskly toward the infirmary.

Packer watched Martha out of the corner of his eye as she walked intently, her mind clearly still on her brusque discussion with the Colonel. It was a fairly long walk, and as they neared the infirmary, Martha stopped in her tracks suddenly, her shoes squeaking as she did so. Taken by surprise, Scott came to a halt and took half a step back from her as she fixed him with an inquisitive glare.

“What?” she asked.

“Sorry?”

“You were staring at me. What is it?”

Taken aback, though impressed by her forthrightness, he was momentarily lost for words. She had seemed so deep in thought that he hadn't been expecting her to notice him looking at her. “Sorry,” he said simply.

She raised an eyebrow. “Everything OK?” she asked.

He looked her in the eye for a moment, then nodded. “I was just wondering if you fancied a drink sometime?”

Martha blinked in surprise. “Oh,” she said, flattered yet shocked. Where had that come from? “Um, thank you... That's a bit unexpected.” She chuckled in disbelief.

“Is it?” he said.

“Just a bit,” she replied. She had had her fair share of male attention in the past, both wanted and unwanted, and this wasn't the first time she had had to turn someone down, but that didn't make it any easier. “Thanks, but I'm not really looking for anything like that right now. I've just come out of a relationship and...” she stopped, her words trailing off. “This isn't really the time or the place.”

“That's a shame,” he replied, his demeanour becoming more assertive. “You know, I wasn't necessarily thinking about anything... serious. I mean...” he looked her up and down admiringly. “Damn.”

“I'm sorry?” she asked, mildly incredulous at how forward he was being.

“You. Me. Fancy it? I'd show you a good time...” he winked at her slyly.

Martha couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Is this professional behaviour, Private?” she asked tersely, emphasising his rank.

“Just paying you a compliment, ma'am,” he replied.

“Well, thank you,” she said, “but I think we should keep this strictly professional, don't you?”

She spoke like a teacher admonishing a pupil, and he felt exhilarated; it felt like the rush he used to get by winding up his teachers at school, pushing them to see how far he could go. "Probably, but where's the fun in that?” he asked.

Martha was speechless.

“You're a bit of a legend,” he continued. “I didn't expect you to be so hot. Thought you'd be taller too...” That wasn't exactly true of course, but he wasn't ready to show his hand just yet. “How about it?”

“Excuse me?” she said, deadly serious now.

“Come on; you and me. How about it?” he clarified without a hint of irony or shame.

Martha turned sharply and strode away from him, her anger rising. What the hell was he playing at? She had a good mind to report him to the Colonel. Even putting aside his arrogant forthrightness, was he really so dumb and blind that he couldn't see that she just wasn't interested?

He caught up with her, quickening his step to keep up.

“You can stroll on if you want but you don't know where you're going,” he pointed out with a smirk.

“I'll find it,” she replied abruptly, despite the fact that he was under orders to escort her to the infirmary and she was well within her rights to order him to just shut up and do so. Suddenly, she couldn't bring herself to spend another minute in his company.

“Suit yourself,” he said, “we're almost there. I wasn't trying to wind you up, I just wanted...”

She stopped once again and turned sharply to face him.

He skidded to a halt once more as Martha squared up to him, not letting his height intimidate her in the slightest. “I'm only going to tell you this once,” she said softly, and dropped rank. “In. Your. Dreams.”

He smiled at her, admiring her strength of character; her confident posture, the way she kept her voice low and vaguely threatening without needing to raise her voice.

She looked him up and down, and scoffed at him in disgust, before turning and continuing in the direction in which they had been walking, leaving him standing in the corridor watching her retreat. 

Probably checking out my arse, she thought, with a roll of her eyes. She had recently come out of a painful break-up. The last thing she needed now was any male attention, let alone a lechy, arrogant pig. She had resisted Mickey's advances – not that he'd given up just yet – and she wasn't about to give up her stance now, and certainly not for Private Packer.

She seethed, letting out an exasperated vocalised breath that channelled her rage. She was proud of her restraint in not blowing up at him; she had always found the Doctor's quiet, calm anger to be far more effective at unnerving his adversaries – and her – than when he raised his voice, and it was something she'd since learned to emulate. She was beginning to cool off, and she exhaled deeply as she came to a sign marked “Infirmary”, with an arrow pointing left toward a door.

She thought of Mickey as she reached out to open the door. He had made his feelings clear, but she was not ready just yet; she had put her heart on the line one too many times. Another thought had occurred to her also; What is it with me and Rose Tyler's seconds?

She chuckled softly and shook her head dismissively as she entered the room. The infirmary was divided into two sections; this was the smaller portion accommodating an office area – a desk with several items set on it including a PC and microscope, and a bookcase displaying several medical tomes – plus a single gurney behind a lime green curtain and several shelves and cabinets containing various medicines and pieces of equipment. In fact, it could have been the office of any small-town GP.

In the far right corner as one entered the room was a door leading into the other section which, Martha knew, more closely resembled a hospital ward. That was where their 'guests' were being held. Her attention was drawn by the sight of her lightweight duffel bag sitting on the brown leather seat, which had been pulled out from the desk. It contained a few changes of clothes and her overnight things – for she didn't know how long she was going to be here – and she had left it in the boot of her car and completely forgotten about it. A note from her driver was affixed to the drawstring closure at the top, and Martha crossed the room and read it, just making out the handwriting; You left this. All the best. M.

She had no idea what the M stood for, having not learned the man's name. Mike? Martin? Malcolm? Whatever, she was grateful to him, for she would have hated to be stuck in this place for several days with nothing but the clothes she was wearing.

Like Sally, she considered with a sigh.

She would make it her business to ensure that Sally was fed properly while she was here, and that the correct level of care would be taken. She would even see about a change of clothes for her if she got the time.

Right now though, she had another priority. Making her way over to the door that led to the ward section, Martha opened it and crossed into a white-walled room with several beds lined up along the walls, four of them occupied.

The teenage victims of the alien attack currently lay sleeping peacefully, under heavy sedation. Their chests rose and fell in steady rhythm. The two young men lay nearest to her, yet Martha wandered first to the young women – if any of them could yet be called men and women – lying furthest from the door. She wondered momentarily which one was young Miss Sparrow, but her question was answered simply by looking at the girl lying on the bed furthest from the door, for the familial resemblance was immediately obvious and striking. Martha stepped closer and stood over her. She looked so peaceful, and so young, as she breathed softly. Sleeping beauty, Martha thought. It was hard to believe she had caused so much pain and distress.

Martha placed a hand on Hannah's forehead, feeling her temperature, which was notably high.

It angered her that the quartet had been left alone – while it was true that there was a camera located somewhere in the room, she doubted that whoever was on the other end was actually paying much attention. What if someone's vital signs had changed?

Under observation, she thought. Yeah, right.

The patients' vital signs were at least being monitored, if not to Martha's satisfaction, or to basic monitoring guidelines. Whoever had brought them here had enough basic medical knowledge and presence of mind to hook each of the four up to a sphygmomanometer, and multiple EEG electrodes adorned each patient's scalp, but Martha also hooked up a pulse oximeter and ECG electrodes. They were under sedation, for heavens' sake; heart rate, blood pressure, inspired and expired gases, oxygen saturation of the blood and temperature should all have been monitored from the get-go.

She exhaled sharply, eager to get out of this place as soon as possible. She decided to review the notes from 1991, as well as the patients' notes, to see if any patterns or differences emerged. Perhaps there was something new, that hadn't been there before, or something that others had overlooked.

She returned to the office section, retrieved the notes and sat down at the desk. Nothing immediately leapt out at her, so she decided to research online the specific areas of the brain that had been affected by the virus, feeling the need to brush up, for she was hardly a brain surgeon. Oxytocin was often referred to as “the love hormone,” due to its role in various behaviours relating, but not limited, to the state of being in love, such as pair bonding, maternal behaviours and even orgasm. She searched for a link between the neuromodulator and hypersexuality – nymphomania in women and satyriasis in men – the cause of which, surprisingly, was still largely unknown. The lowering of sexual inhibitions could be caused by such things as alcohol and various drugs, and was also linked in some cases to bipolar disorder, but none of those factors were at work here. Still, she reasoned, it couldn't hurt to look into exactly how drugs and alcohol affected certain areas of the brain, for she hoped that the approach might lead her to deducing how the virus took hold also. There was nothing so far to say that the effects of both the virus and conventional causes weren't chemically similar – quite the opposite in fact.

It seemed clear also that other brain chemicals affected included dopamine and serotonin. The former was a catecholamine neurotransmitter, and while the effects of its reduced activity, caused by afflictions such as Parkinson's Disease, were well-known, Martha wasn't too familiar with the effects of its hyper-stimulation. The main function of dopamine as a neurohormone, released by the hypothalamus, was to inhibit the release of prolactin from the anterior lobe of the pituitary.

Aha... Martha thought.

Prolactin, she knew, provided the body with gratification after sexual acts – it was essentially responsible for triggering a climax. While dopamine was responsible for sexual arousal, prolactin counteracted its effects; unusually high amounts were thought to be responsible for impotence and loss of libido. Martha considered that an unusually low amount would doubtless have the opposite effect; in this case, it was the abnormally high concentration of dopamine in the victims that was cancelling out the effects of prolactin, which would make it difficult for anyone under the influence to achieve orgasm.

Bingo.

Serotonin, a monoamine neurotransmitter, was largely responsible for controlling infatuation – if controlling was the right word. Martha knew all about that. Its effects had a similar chemical appearance to obsessive-compulsive disorder, which explained why those experiencing infatuation were unable to think of anyone else. She knew all about that too. If production of serotonin were to be hyper-stimulated, the effect would likely lead to anxiety and, when coupled with the other effects of the virus, a desperate need to achieve sexual gratification.

Damn.

Martha sat back in her chair. She now thought she knew what this virus was doing, if not how it was doing it. Maybe the how wasn't important, she realised. Maybe what was important was simply to know enough to work out a way to nullify the effects.

* * * *

Packer stared at the young woman on the monitor. She was cute, he observed; petite and sweet-looking with the loveliest little dimples – he was willing to bet she had the prettiest smile. She was the kind of girl he liked to pick up in bars; fit, who looked like she could handle herself, but not too much.

He felt bad for injuring her.

The Colonel had made it clear that although he had felt Packer's action to be slightly unwarranted with the benefit of hindsight, he conceded that the Private had felt sufficiently threatened in the heat of the moment to justify what he had done. Well, justify was perhaps not quite the right term. He had received a verbal reprimand, but no further action was being taken.

He had breathed a sigh of relief.

There was no way he was going to be done for assaulting some posh snob who shouldn't have been snooping around in the first place, no matter how attractive she was.

In fact, if it hadn't been for the presence of a certain Doctor Jones on the premises, the prisoner might just have become the main object of his affections. Neither of them knew what they were missing.

Prisoner, he chided himself. They weren't supposed to call her that.

His thoughts returned to Martha Jones, as they had been repeatedly in the few hours since she had arrived. When he thought about her, he couldn't explain what it did to him. It wasn't anything like any kind of infatuation he had ever experienced; she just... did something to him.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see the doctor herself striding confidently down the corridor towards the cell. Speak of the devil... As if she were the devil here.

She had changed into a pair of tight-fitting stylish-yet-professional black trousers and shoes, and a red v-necked jumper over which she wore her white doctor's coat with her ID pass affixed to the bottom-right pocket. She wore her hair long now, and he registered a faint look that spoke of distrust – or was it disgust? – in her eyes as she approached him, her shoulders sagging.

Oh no, Martha thought wearily.

She hadn't expected to find him here. What was he doing?

Forcing a smile, she attempted to be polite. “Private,” she said, by way of acknowledgement.

He nodded to her. “Doctor.”

That was a title that sadly didn't hold the prestige for her that she once hoped it would.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“If I said I was waiting for you, would you tell me where to go?” he replied without missing a beat.

She rolled her eyes. “Probably,” she said flatly.

He smiled thinly. “Sorry about earlier,” he said.

Martha was a little taken by surprise. She eyed him cautiously, attempting to gauge his sincerity. “Thanks,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt but not wishing to concede to telling him not to worry about it. He genuinely had offended her, and it was no use denying it for he would never learn.

“Don't mention it,” he said dryly, somewhat negating the apology with his flippancy.

Martha exhaled exasperatedly.

He noticed that she was carrying what looked like Paracetamol in her hand, no doubt for the girl in the cell... Sally, was it?

“I'm here to see our guest,” she said, with dry emphasis on the word guest .

He nodded and stepped aside to allow her to pass. As Martha moved to open the door, he addressed her without looking her in the eyes.

“You know, you and me...” he began, causing her to look at him, “I think we have a connection.”

She blinked, and huffed, looking more confused than ever. “How do you work that out?” she asked incredulously.

“Ask me again another time,” he replied, and started to walk away.

“Look, what is this all about?” she called after him, running out of patience.

“Like I said,” he replied without turning back, “later.”

Martha took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and let it out sharply. Dismissing him with a hand wave to thin air, she turned and slotted the key into the cell door, then turned it clockwise.

The door unlocked, and Martha opened it slowly, afraid to startle Sally.

The woman was sitting on the bed as she had been before, with her knees drawn to her chest, hugging her shins tightly as if cocooning herself in her own private bubble.

“Sally?” Martha whispered.

Sally turned her head slowly to regard the new arrival.

“How are you feeling?”

Sally waited a beat before answering. “Better.”

“Good,” Martha replied with a smile. “I brought you some Paracetamol.” She held it up for Sally to inspect. “How's your head?”

“Better,” Sally said again, curtly. Which is more than I can say for the accommodation.

Martha nodded. “I'm sorry about all this, I know it's not exactly a five-star hotel,” she said as if reading Sally's mind. It struck Martha as soon as the words had escaped her lips that a trite apology was the last thing Sally wanted or needed to hear.

“How's Hannah?” she asked suddenly.

Martha was glad to see some improvement in her demeanour, although she still looked pallid and exhausted. “Stable,” she replied.

Sally turned away, her expression unreadable.

“I'm doing everything I can to help her and the others,” Martha continued. “I've run some tests, and I'm waiting for the results, but there's nothing else I can do for the moment. I thought I'd come and see how you're doing.”

“That's nice of you,” Sally said lifelessly.

Martha sighed. Look, this really isn't my fault, she wanted to say, although she understood how Sally must be feeling. She glanced at the half-eaten food in the plastic container on the floor by the bed. She had made sure that Sally was fed properly, although it didn't look as though she had had much of an appetite. Who could blame her?

“I won't ask how you're feeling,” Martha stated.

“Like shit,” Sally replied. She turned her head to face her. “Like my insides have been ripped out.”

She had obviously been crying, and Martha's heart broke for her. What could she say? “I'll bet,” was what came out.

Sally looked down, averting her gaze from Martha, who turned away also. Sally's mind kept wandering back to the scene in the flat; to Larry's face as he pleaded with her for forgiveness; to Hannah...

“What is love?” Martha asked suddenly, turning back toward her.

Sally jumped, and held her gaze for a moment. Now, there was a question, and interestingly it didn't sound rhetorical. “One of the oldest philosophical questions,” she remarked unemotionally.

“Not really,” Martha replied flatly. “I mean, physically, chemically, biologically, what is it?” She had been searching for the right thing to say to Sally and now, bizarrely, she thought that her recent investigations might have provided it.

Sally thought for a moment. She vaguely recalled having once heard an explanation for the chemical basis of the emotion, but she didn't want to embarrass herself by getting it wrong. “Tell me?” she said.

Martha looked her straight in the eye. “When we meet someone we're attracted to, the brain produces high quantities of various chemicals like oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin. So, love is simply a chemical reaction in the brain to facilitate our biological imperative to reproduce.”

Sally nodded, a little taken aback but intrigued by Martha's cold-yet-eloquent description.

“Oh, you can be as romantic and philosophical as you like,” Martha continued, “and don't get me wrong, I'm as romantic as the next person,” hopelessly at times, she thought, “and from there it's whatever you make it but that's the bottom line.” Her tone grew serious and thoughtful. “That's why when our love gets tested – when we're dumped or cheated on, or if our love is simply unrequited,” she paused for a moment, her gaze wandering for just a moment, “then the brain stops producing those chemicals in the same quantity, and we suffer withdrawal symptoms, like a drug addict suddenly going cold turkey. It's often a physical chest pain – it can actually lead to something called stress cardiomyopathy. That's why they call it a broken heart; it literally, physically hurts.”

Sally hugged herself. What Martha was saying made perfect sense, yet she had never given it too much thought. Still, she wasn't sure what Martha was actually trying to say. “What's your point?” she asked, a bit more curtly than she intended.

Martha breathed deeply. “What you're feeling now is a palpable, definable emotion with a medical basis,” she said, stating the obvious but feeling it necessary. “Everyone's going to tell you that it'll get better, and you're not going to believe them. But I'm a doctor, and believe me when I tell you that it will.”

Sally looked long and hard at Martha's face, seeing the painful memory so nearly – but not quite – masked beneath the cold logic. “Something tells me you speak from experience,” she observed with a faint smile.

Martha returned the smile. “You could say that.”

Sally nodded, and dared to ask. “Was it him?”

Martha looked at her, gauging whether to choose the best policy or defend her dignity. What the hell, that ship had sailed. “Yeah,” she answered.

“He didn't feel the same way?” Sally asked, the question tumbling from her mouth before her brain engaged, chastising her for being insensitive.

If Martha took offence, she didn't show it. Simply, she nodded and sighed deeply. “I was in love with him,” she confided, surprised at how much she trusted Sally with that admission.

Sally said nothing, just sat, listening.

“I was out of my head,” Martha continued. “Not so much 'head over heels' as 'arse over tit',” she chuckled. “He was... the most amazing man I'd ever met. A man who saved the world... who took me to the farthest reaches of the universe, who showed me the past and the future – introduced me to Shakespeare...”

“You'd never read Shakespeare?” Sally said.

Martha looked mildly amused. “No, literally, I met him.”

Sally's eyes widened. “Seriously?!” She had forgotten momentarily that they were talking about a time traveller.

Martha nodded. “Yep. I was his Dark Lady,” she smiled widely, emphasising the words with pride.

“You're joking?” Sally said incredulously.

“No, straight up,” Martha replied. “I went all sorts of places, saw the wonders of the universe... how could I not fall for a man like that?” That was not to even mention the Doctor's looks, charm and charisma.

Sally smiled and nodded. “I don't blame you,” she said. “He seemed like a pretty amazing guy.”

“He is, but...” Martha faltered, her expression falling once again. “I had to get out. He just... I told him about my friend Vickie; she lived with this bloke, Sean – student housing, there were five of them all crammed into this tiny place – and she was mad about him. Thing was, he never looked at her twice.”

Sally allowed herself a faint smile of recognition. How many times had she heard that story?

“She wasted so much time pining for him. Eventually I told her to do the smart thing; get out.”

Sally understood. “And you decided to take your own advice.”

“I had to,” Martha nodded. “If I hadn't, I'd have spent God-knows-how-long feeling like crap, wondering what was wrong with me – why he didn't love me.”

Sally shook her head. “I guess that's why they call it falling in love,” she mused sadly.

“Sounds like a blues song,” Martha said, wryly.

The merest hint of a smile played across Sally's features. “I'd have gone for Country and Western.”

Martha grinned. They were quiet for a few moments before Sally asked the obvious question; something that had been plaguing her since she had first stepped inside that Police Box. “So, who is he?”

Martha looked at her quizzically, before remembering that Sally was one of millions of people who had only encountered the Doctor fleetingly, and had never learned who or what he was. “He's... an alien from another world.”

I knew it, Sally thought.

“He comes from a planet called Gallifrey,” Martha continued, sadness creeping into her expression. “It's gone now – destroyed in a terrible war. He's the last of his kind.”

Sally felt a sudden wave of shock and sadness as she considered this; how lonely the Doctor must be, how terribly sad.

“He travels in time and space in that Police Box,” Martha went on. “Only it's not really a Police Box of course, it's just stuck like that; it's supposed to be able to change shape to look like anything, so it can blend in wherever, and whenever, it lands. It's called the TARDIS, and it can go anywhere in time and space!”

She spoke quickly, her voice taking on an almost childlike quality of excitement as she imparted the overwhelming information. Sally listened as Martha went on to explain about the Doctor in detail – as much as she herself had ever learned at any rate. She talked of how they had met – Sally remembered the story of the Royal Hope Hospital apparently being swept off to the moon – and of their adventures together, before Martha's tone grew more weary and... sad, as she neared the end of her story.

She trailed off, and was quiet for a few moments before breaking the silence with another admission, her smile having faded. “There was someone else,” she confessed, apparently changing the subject, “after the Doctor.”

Sally looked mildly interested, though in truth she was disappointed to have moved off the subject of the Doctor. “Who?”

Martha hesitated. “His name was Tom. We were engaged.”

Sally's eyebrows raised. “Wow,” she said. The fact that Martha, when questioned, had mentioned her love for the Doctor before a fiancé spoke volumes about her feelings – or lack of them – for this Tom guy.

Martha nodded. “He was a great guy,” she affirmed, “He was a doctor as well. In fact, he saved my life, although he didn't remember it.”

Sally looked puzzled, although she considered that she really shouldn't be surprised by anything else Martha came out with. Almost wearily she asked; “Sorry?”

Martha sighed. “Remember Harold Saxon?”

Um... yes. “Who doesn't?” Sally replied, politely.

“Well, he wasn't... all he appeared to be.”

You don't say. “OK... who was he?”

“What was he, is the question,” Martha replied. As Sally's puzzled expression deepened, she continued; “his name was the Master – he was a Time Lord, like the Doctor.”

“No?!” Now Martha had her full attention.

“Yep,” Martha said, nodding. “He was also a complete psychopath and all-round evil bastard.”

“Wow,” Sally breathed. “That explains a lot...”

“He enslaved the human race, wiped out out one-tenth of the population on the first day and kept the Doctor prisoner for a year.”

Sally's jaw dropped slightly. OK, really cracking up now, she thought. “Um...” she began, holding up her hand, “I'm almost afraid to ask, but if that had happened I think I'd...” she trailed off, remembering what Martha had said about Tom, “remember...” she finished.

Martha shook her head. “No, you wouldn't. That year was erased from history; the Doctor turned back time so that it never happened. The entire world forgot, except for those who were at the eye of the storm.”

Sally shuddered. “So...” she began, her voice tiny. “I've lived through an entire year I can't remember?” If that were true, then presumably anything could have happened to her in that year, if she even had lived through it; the sobering thought occurred that she might have been one of the one-tenth. In which case, it would seem that once again she might owe her life to the Doctor.

Martha nodded. “Well, technically you didn't live through it, since it never happened. Only a handful of people still remember; me, the Doctor, my family, a few UNIT personnel – anyone who was aboard a ship called the Valiant. We were safe aboard with the Doctor while time reversed around us.” She paused for a moment. “I just wish I could forget...”

The Year That Never Was, Jack had called it. The Year Of Hell, more like.

“My God,” Sally said. “Sounds like the end of the world...”

“It nearly was,” Martha agreed, “or at least it felt like it. I was the only one who got off the Valiant. Everyone else – the Doctor, my mum, my dad, my sister – they were imprisoned and tortured for a year.”

Sally gasped.

“It wasn't the Doctor's fault,” Martha said quickly, holding up her hand and echoing her exact words to Donna Noble upon her last recounting of this story. “But these things happen when you spend time with him. He's like fire; stand too close and you get burned.” Quickly, she amended that statement. “Or worse; people around you get burned. People you love.”

Sally was quiet for a moment before daring to ask the obvious question. “What happened to you?”

Martha inhaled deeply. “I went on a mission for the Doctor. I travelled the world, spreading the word – and the word was Doctor.” She smiled at that. “He made me walk the Earth, for a whole year, armed only with a story – about him; the man who turns up out of nowhere and saves the day, never asking to be thanked – and I told it to everyone I met, and I made them pass it on. His name became a legend...” she appeared to look inwardly for a moment, as if gazing into her own soul. “So did mine.”

One could have heard a pin drop, and Sally had to remind herself to breathe.

Martha told her the whole story, of how she had empowered the people to channel their hope into the legend of the Doctor at one specific point, and how the Doctor had then reversed time to just after the Toclafane had killed the President, but before their descent from the heavens. She was vague on exactly what the Toclafane were, for she deemed that detail too horrific to repeat needlessly. She explained how she had met Thomas Milligan, and how he had sacrificed himself for her.

When she had finished, Sally looked at her with a look that spoke of incredulity and hero worship. “So... you saved the world.”

“I helped.”

“No,” Sally protested. “From what you've told me it sounds like he couldn't have done it without you!” That was certainly an understatement.

Martha smiled, remembering her own words to the Doctor when she had announced her intention to leave him. “I spent a lot of time with you, thinking I was second best, but you know what? I am good.” “Not too shabby,” she replied, proudly. In truth though, despite having accomplished so much, a part of her felt... empty.

“So,” Sally began, seemingly a little confused. “How did you and Tom get together after that year?” Surely Tom wouldn't have remembered her after time had reversed.

Martha looked at the floor, seeming to consciously muster the courage to continue. From the look on her face, Sally wondered whether she should have asked.

“I kind of... stalked him a bit,” Martha replied sheepishly.

“Stalked him a bit?” Sally repeated.

“I sort of accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him,” Martha admitted. “Literally. I just had to get him to notice me again – I knew he fancied me, so I concocted this excuse to go the hospital where he worked... bit of a long story, really. Anyway, we ended up going for a drink; he asked me. It all went from there, really.”

Sally's eyebrows raised. “Pretty normal, average sort of love story then,” she commented with a wry smile. “The old 'girl meets boy, boy forgets all about girl, girl stalks boy and they end up engaged'; I mean, how many times have we heard that?”

"Girl uses boy shamelessly and they end up blowing apart,” Martha blurted out.

“Ooh...” Sally replied, surprised at the admission.

Martha looked at the floor. “I didn't mean to, of course,” she said in her defence, “but I realised that I was transferring my feelings for the Doctor onto Tom, and that wasn't fair to him. I was on the rebound,” she held up her hand to forestall any comment from Sally, “and before you judge me too harshly can I just say that I'm not proud of the way I behaved.”

“I'm not judging you,” Sally said, shaking her head.

Martha thanked her with a slight nod that she hoped Sally wouldn't perceive as being too dismissive of her actions; she felt culpable, no matter how much she might have tried to defend herself to her parents, and to Leo and Tish, in the past. Nevertheless she found herself doing so once again. “And anyway,” she said in a perhaps too flippant tone, “he was off in Africa for months working in paediatrics, and I was off in New York with UNIT, so that was as much a part of it as anything else.”

Sally nodded, understanding.

Martha went quiet.

Sally hated long, awkward silences, and found herself saying the first thing that came to mind in an effort to nip this one in the bud. “So there's no one else on the horizon?”

Martha met her gaze again. “No,” she said quickly, then amended her statement. “Well... there is someone who's interested, but...” She didn't finish the sentence. She thought of Mickey, with whom she had kept in touch after the Dalek incident, and wondered why she had pushed him away so quickly after he had recently expressed an interest in her. Sally finished the thought for her.

“You don't want to go there again?”

Martha smiled. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don't have time, for a start. I've got my family to look after; they saw half the world slaughtered and no one else understands what they went through. I've got to juggle my duties here on top of that...” she trailed off again. “Sometimes I wish I'd never taken this bloody job.”

“Why did you?” Sally asked.

Martha sighed, and hesitated before replying. “I didn't have much choice. When the Master was Prime Minister, he had me, the Doctor and this other friend of ours, Jack, named as terror suspects on the evening news. They were trying to track us down and he turned the entire country against us.”

“I remember,” Sally said. “I saw it.”

Martha nodded. “Everyone saw it,” she replied. “The thing is; sod's law – when time reversed, it didn't quite go back far enough. I could kiss my medical degree goodbye! After that, I had no future, at least not that I could see. I'd decided to take some time out before deciding what I wanted to do, so I could look after my family.” She took a deep breath. “The Doctor had some dealings with UNIT a while back, and he put in a good word for me. All of a sudden, out of the blue, this woman from UNIT rings me up and says I'm just what they're looking for, and that I came “highly recommended.””

“Probably felt he owed you a favour after you saved the world,” Sally reasoned.

“I guess so,” Martha replied, having given up any attempt at false modesty. “I couldn't say no; I needed the money, and what else was there? They snapped me up – fast-tracked my training, paid off all my student debts... Now I'm a soldier.”

There was a wistfulness to Martha's last statement that communicated her unhappiness clearly. Sally felt sorry for her, but frankly not as sorry as she felt for herself right now.

“I always wanted to be a doctor,” Martha continued, “ever since I was little. My brother, Leo, pushed me too hard on a swing once and I went flying and broke my arm.” She smiled at the memory, despite its apparent unpleasantness. “I remember going in the ambulance, having my arm plastered, and going to the hospital. I decided right there and then that I wanted to be a doctor – I wanted to save lives, I wanted to help people... and look at me now; I'm working for a shady organisation that kidnaps young women and imprisons them for no good reason.”

Sally had been listening intently, sympathising, pleased to have her mind taken off her predicament for a short time, but the stark reminder of her situation shook her to the core. Suddenly she was back in her cold, dark cell, serving penance for a non-existent crime. Her face fell.

“Sorry,” Martha said quietly, biting her lip after the fact.

Sally stared at her intently, suddenly confident that Martha was on her side. “Get me out of here,” she commanded with a force that surprised even her. If anyone could do it, and help her sister and get to the bottom of all this, Sally was willing to bet Martha could.

Martha returned her stare for a moment, as if sizing up an opponent, then broke into a faint smile. “I will.” She rose to her feet. “I'd better go now though, those results should be ready any time.” Somehow Sally's apparent confidence in her made her feel reinvigorated. “Just hang in there; I'll sort this out soon.”

She placed a reassuring hand on Sally's shoulder, and then knocked on the door to signal that she was ready to leave. The door was opened, and with one last perfunctory glance at her new friend, she left. She couldn't look back, for it felt a bit like having to leave your child at school on their first day; just one good long look at the woman would break her heart.

Sally was a little taken aback by Martha's swift retreat, but she thought she understood. Nevertheless, she felt her eyes well up as she sat in the darkness, alone once again.

* * * *