moragmacpherson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-26 11:26 am
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-26 11:26 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Impossible Things (13/15)
Title: Impossible Things (13/15)
Author: MoragMacPherson
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Set during Human Nature/Family of Blood for DW, sometime in the Season Eight comics for BtVS
Disclaimer: Oddly enough, characters = not mine. Note for attorneys: if I file for bankruptcy, the only creditor who will still be able to get me is the student loan guys.
Archive: Here, TtH, & Teaspoon. If you'd like it, let me know.
Beta: The incomparable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
booster17.
Author's Note: So I saw a piece of fanart by BuffyCharmed over at TtH and got all inspired here. Then she saw the story I wrote and made me some genuinely terrific fanart here and there (my favorite is there).
Summary: John Smith and Martha hide from the Family of Blood at the Farringham School, where Martha meets a new friend from the 21st century.
The sun had risen, and Buffy and the Doctor weren’t back yet. Martha looked down on Tim, whose sleeping head rested on her shoulder. Her slight movement prompted him to snap back to alertness, raising the shovel that had been slipping out of his fingers. “Ah-ah – no worries, there aren’t any scarecrows at the gates,” she reassured him.
Tim sank back against the wall. “Oh, good.”
There had been scarecrows on the road back to the school. The knife prescribed by Buffy saw good use when Martha used it to slash apart one that had tried to strangle Tim. She eyed the marks on his neck. They would fade in time, impermanent, the welts already devoid of any sign that something extraordinary had acted as the ligature. Only she and Tim would know.
Still, she pulled his scarf over them. It wasn’t like he could explain them away as razor burn at his age. But he’d shown courage and resolve beyond his years, staying here with her in the courtyard. Together they watched the gates long after the Headmaster returned, stating that the “brigands who’d burned the community hall had obviously fled into the moors.” The townspeople would dismiss those who claimed to have seen scarecrows walking around as a student prank, or the panicked imaginings of people fleeing from the community hall fire. If there was one thing she’d learned from her travels with the Doctor, it was that anything could be explained away like that.
It also meant that the Headmaster would be expecting breakfast promptly, rejecting her excuses as the, “irrational fears of a foolish woman from an inferior stock.” Martha sighed as she stood. She’d been hoping the Doctor would arrive in time to save her from one last breakfast service. Then she shook her head. She’d been wishing for the Doctor to come save her a little too often lately. It was time for her to start taking matters into her own hands again.
This didn’t mean that she said no when Tim offered to help out in the kitchen. It was important to accept help when you needed it. And with neither Buffy nor Jenny liable to show up for work, ever again, she could use an extra, willing set of hands. So Tim stirred the vat of porridge while she set the tables in the dining hall. When she returned, he asked, “So are you going to keep traveling with the Doctor?”
“I don’t know.” She set a rack of bread slices over the fire to toast. “I enjoy the exploration. But I don’t know if it’s making me a better person.”
Tim tilted his head. “But you do such great things. You saved my life. You’ve saved lots of peoples’ lives.”
“You know so much about me, you should know that in my home, I’m studying to be a doctor myself.” She waited a few more beats, then flipped the toast. “There’s plenty of lives to save doing that.”
“Oh.” Tim rocked from side to side. “Right.”
Martha regarded him honestly. “At home I hardly ever ask for help from anyone. I’m the one who raises my hand first and gives the answer. Sometimes I’m wrong, but I always try to figure it out on my own. I’m smart, and I’m good at fixing things. But, with the Doctor, he has the answer first. I never know enough, and he knows so much. I’ve been traveling with him for close to six months now, and it’s changed me.” She pulled the toast off the fire. “I wait for him to give me the answer first.”
“So would I. That mind-” and Tim’s eyes widened while he shook his head, “Well, he’s seen everything. And I really wouldn’t want to do anything wrong in front of him.”
Martha took spoon out of his hand and ladled some of the porridge into a bowl for the Headmaster. “That’s the problem.” She frowned. “He didn’t show you anything... inappropriate, did he?” The slow blush that crept across Tim’s face told her everything. “I’ll have to rap his knuckles for that,” she announced, turning to hide her smirk and the bottle she pulled out of her apron. She mixed a small amount of its contents into the bowl, then corked the bottle and slid it back into her pocket. Martha turned back to Tim and leaned forward. “See anything he’d rather me not know?”
He grinned. “He wears some funny clothes sometimes. If I were you, I’d ask him about the celery.”
Martha raised her eyebrows. “Celery?” Tim nodded deeply. “As clothing?” He raised his hands in the air, shrugging. Martha laughed. “Well, if that’s what it takes.” She finished the trays with a pair of teapots. “I’ll have to start faculty service now, but if you watch things until I get back, I’ll cover your escape so that the other boys don’t know you’ve been doing servants’ work.”
“Can I take some biscuits?”
Martha balanced a tray on either hip. “Take whatever you like, just don’t let the place burn down.”
She was almost to the door when he cleared his throat. “Martha?”
“Yes, Tim?” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to brace herself as she turned back.
“The Doctor – he showed me a lot of things, and I saw a lot of his memories. A lot of them were things about the future. I used to dream about the war, but now I know it’s coming.” Her mouth dropped open as her breath came out of her. He shook his head and raised a hand towards her. “Oh, no! It’s not that, don’t worry about me. He let me know that I’m going to survive. It’s just –“ and now he looked down. “You mean an awful lot to him. Not like, y’know, kissing or uh, inappropriate things-” Martha nodded. “More like he counts on you to know the answers sometimes when he doesn’t. So you should keep exploring with him. He’s not ready for you to go yet.”
Martha bit her lip. “It will be different with Buffy around. He won't need me the same way.”
She didn’t expect Tim to laugh at this. “Buffy? I think she needs more answers than he does.” He reached back towards the baking sheets to grab a ginger snap. “And the inappropriate things that the Doctor thought about, well, they weren’t hardly anything compared to what she was thinking.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?” Martha couldn’t resist smiling.
“Probably not,” replied Tim with a grin full of crumbs. Martha finally started the breakfast service, and received the exact tongue lashing that she’d expected from the Headmaster. After two months, she’d figured out how things worked around here, and some people, like the Headmaster, were never going to change. Once last time, she silently tolerated more insults to her character, intellect, and heritage than she cared to ever hear again. With a curtsey and a, “yes, sir,” she left his rooms, continuing on to deliver the other tray to the Matron’s office. Matron Redfern, bent over a patient, didn’t acknowledge her. All the same, Martha left with a lighter spirit, and apron, than when she’d entered.
“Thank you, Martha,” said Joan Redfern, removing the stethoscope from her ears a few seconds too late to catch the maid. Martha was such a flighty young thing; she never remembered to knock. Joan turned to the shelves, then blinked. These boys were aging her prematurely: she simply didn’t remember getting out the castor oil that morning.
Author: MoragMacPherson
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Set during Human Nature/Family of Blood for DW, sometime in the Season Eight comics for BtVS
Disclaimer: Oddly enough, characters = not mine. Note for attorneys: if I file for bankruptcy, the only creditor who will still be able to get me is the student loan guys.
Archive: Here, TtH, & Teaspoon. If you'd like it, let me know.
Beta: The incomparable
booster17. Author's Note: So I saw a piece of fanart by BuffyCharmed over at TtH and got all inspired here. Then she saw the story I wrote and made me some genuinely terrific fanart here and there (my favorite is there).
Summary: John Smith and Martha hide from the Family of Blood at the Farringham School, where Martha meets a new friend from the 21st century.
13. I've Got This Thing That I Consider My Only Art
The sun had risen, and Buffy and the Doctor weren’t back yet. Martha looked down on Tim, whose sleeping head rested on her shoulder. Her slight movement prompted him to snap back to alertness, raising the shovel that had been slipping out of his fingers. “Ah-ah – no worries, there aren’t any scarecrows at the gates,” she reassured him.
Tim sank back against the wall. “Oh, good.”
There had been scarecrows on the road back to the school. The knife prescribed by Buffy saw good use when Martha used it to slash apart one that had tried to strangle Tim. She eyed the marks on his neck. They would fade in time, impermanent, the welts already devoid of any sign that something extraordinary had acted as the ligature. Only she and Tim would know.
Still, she pulled his scarf over them. It wasn’t like he could explain them away as razor burn at his age. But he’d shown courage and resolve beyond his years, staying here with her in the courtyard. Together they watched the gates long after the Headmaster returned, stating that the “brigands who’d burned the community hall had obviously fled into the moors.” The townspeople would dismiss those who claimed to have seen scarecrows walking around as a student prank, or the panicked imaginings of people fleeing from the community hall fire. If there was one thing she’d learned from her travels with the Doctor, it was that anything could be explained away like that.
It also meant that the Headmaster would be expecting breakfast promptly, rejecting her excuses as the, “irrational fears of a foolish woman from an inferior stock.” Martha sighed as she stood. She’d been hoping the Doctor would arrive in time to save her from one last breakfast service. Then she shook her head. She’d been wishing for the Doctor to come save her a little too often lately. It was time for her to start taking matters into her own hands again.
This didn’t mean that she said no when Tim offered to help out in the kitchen. It was important to accept help when you needed it. And with neither Buffy nor Jenny liable to show up for work, ever again, she could use an extra, willing set of hands. So Tim stirred the vat of porridge while she set the tables in the dining hall. When she returned, he asked, “So are you going to keep traveling with the Doctor?”
“I don’t know.” She set a rack of bread slices over the fire to toast. “I enjoy the exploration. But I don’t know if it’s making me a better person.”
Tim tilted his head. “But you do such great things. You saved my life. You’ve saved lots of peoples’ lives.”
“You know so much about me, you should know that in my home, I’m studying to be a doctor myself.” She waited a few more beats, then flipped the toast. “There’s plenty of lives to save doing that.”
“Oh.” Tim rocked from side to side. “Right.”
Martha regarded him honestly. “At home I hardly ever ask for help from anyone. I’m the one who raises my hand first and gives the answer. Sometimes I’m wrong, but I always try to figure it out on my own. I’m smart, and I’m good at fixing things. But, with the Doctor, he has the answer first. I never know enough, and he knows so much. I’ve been traveling with him for close to six months now, and it’s changed me.” She pulled the toast off the fire. “I wait for him to give me the answer first.”
“So would I. That mind-” and Tim’s eyes widened while he shook his head, “Well, he’s seen everything. And I really wouldn’t want to do anything wrong in front of him.”
Martha took spoon out of his hand and ladled some of the porridge into a bowl for the Headmaster. “That’s the problem.” She frowned. “He didn’t show you anything... inappropriate, did he?” The slow blush that crept across Tim’s face told her everything. “I’ll have to rap his knuckles for that,” she announced, turning to hide her smirk and the bottle she pulled out of her apron. She mixed a small amount of its contents into the bowl, then corked the bottle and slid it back into her pocket. Martha turned back to Tim and leaned forward. “See anything he’d rather me not know?”
He grinned. “He wears some funny clothes sometimes. If I were you, I’d ask him about the celery.”
Martha raised her eyebrows. “Celery?” Tim nodded deeply. “As clothing?” He raised his hands in the air, shrugging. Martha laughed. “Well, if that’s what it takes.” She finished the trays with a pair of teapots. “I’ll have to start faculty service now, but if you watch things until I get back, I’ll cover your escape so that the other boys don’t know you’ve been doing servants’ work.”
“Can I take some biscuits?”
Martha balanced a tray on either hip. “Take whatever you like, just don’t let the place burn down.”
She was almost to the door when he cleared his throat. “Martha?”
“Yes, Tim?” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to brace herself as she turned back.
“The Doctor – he showed me a lot of things, and I saw a lot of his memories. A lot of them were things about the future. I used to dream about the war, but now I know it’s coming.” Her mouth dropped open as her breath came out of her. He shook his head and raised a hand towards her. “Oh, no! It’s not that, don’t worry about me. He let me know that I’m going to survive. It’s just –“ and now he looked down. “You mean an awful lot to him. Not like, y’know, kissing or uh, inappropriate things-” Martha nodded. “More like he counts on you to know the answers sometimes when he doesn’t. So you should keep exploring with him. He’s not ready for you to go yet.”
Martha bit her lip. “It will be different with Buffy around. He won't need me the same way.”
She didn’t expect Tim to laugh at this. “Buffy? I think she needs more answers than he does.” He reached back towards the baking sheets to grab a ginger snap. “And the inappropriate things that the Doctor thought about, well, they weren’t hardly anything compared to what she was thinking.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?” Martha couldn’t resist smiling.
“Probably not,” replied Tim with a grin full of crumbs. Martha finally started the breakfast service, and received the exact tongue lashing that she’d expected from the Headmaster. After two months, she’d figured out how things worked around here, and some people, like the Headmaster, were never going to change. Once last time, she silently tolerated more insults to her character, intellect, and heritage than she cared to ever hear again. With a curtsey and a, “yes, sir,” she left his rooms, continuing on to deliver the other tray to the Matron’s office. Matron Redfern, bent over a patient, didn’t acknowledge her. All the same, Martha left with a lighter spirit, and apron, than when she’d entered.
“Thank you, Martha,” said Joan Redfern, removing the stethoscope from her ears a few seconds too late to catch the maid. Martha was such a flighty young thing; she never remembered to knock. Joan turned to the shelves, then blinked. These boys were aging her prematurely: she simply didn’t remember getting out the castor oil that morning.