taxonomites | 2 [Accidental Visual | Location: Mount Perdition]

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2 [Accidental Visual | Location: Mount Perdition]

[ooc: Backdated to be after this, feel free to ask the Doctor wtf he is doing or poke/laugh at/check on the Master.]

When the tablet flickered on it was obvious that something was amiss. The Doctor and the Master were both in the frame, though the tablet itself seemed to be in the hands of a third, unseen person who hadn’t realised it was active, as there was quite a bit of floor in the shot as well. Both Time Lords were close together, their foreheads touching, and it was apparent that the Doctor had been part of the way through saying something when the tablet was activated.

“—sorry.”

Then the Master screamed like someone in agony, reeling back from the Doctor like he’d been burned, arms flailing wildly as though he was trying to fend off an invisible attack. The building they were in shuddered and whoever was holding the tablet dropped it, throwing the image into a disarray of walls, floor, and ceiling before it stopped, showing the Doctor. He rose slowly, his face an almost cold and distant mask as the Master continued to sob and scream, shouting the word ‘no’ more than once among the other sounds of his distress.

The room shuddered again and the Doctor was moving, picking up the tablet – his hand filling the screen for a moment – and running from the room, leaving the Master behind. Though the screams could still be heard as he raced through the building, the tablet broadcasting a confusing jumble of running feet, half-seen glimpses of ornate furniture and architecture, and the Doctor’s face.

It was difficult to tell, but there was something else strange in the way the building shook, doors banging open and closed like the place was home to a very upset poltergeist , and at least once the Doctor ducked as an unseen object flew across the room towards him.

A shot of a door loomed out of nowhere and there was a bang as he burst through it, yelping in pain as a flying object caught the side of his head. The sound of the Master’s tortured yelling finally stopping as the gloom of the building gave way to too-bright sunlight. The Doctor must have tripped then, as the sky suddenly became red grass, then sky, then grass, over and over as he rolled a distance and finally stopped, the tablet showing his slightly-bruised profile as he lay sprawled on his back staring at the sky and breathing hard.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Martha had to agree with that. She cared about Jenny and didn't want to think about what the Master could - would, if they ever gave him the opportunity - do to her.

She nodded in reluctant agreement.

"You'll have to talk to her eventually," she pointed out, attempting to appraise his injuries across the tablet. "You need to warn her, Doctor."

"I know," he sighed. "It's just finding a way to explain everything without making her want to run off and take care of things on her own."

The irony of that comparison seemed to escape him for the moment, as he concentrated more on heading into the city slowly. Other than his slower movements, sluggish and lacking some of his normal energy, the Doctor only had a few cuts and bruises marking him from what could be seen. And those weren't really unusual considering what the tablet had shown taking place in the House and his subsequent fall down the side of the mountain.

But even though he knew it wouldn't seem like he was too worse for wear to anyone looking at him, Martha knew him well enough to know he wouldn't say he was hurt unless it was something he needed help with.

Heading for a nearby tram stop, the Doctor eyed the tablet again. "You'll tell me if I'm going the wrong way, won't you? It'd be a bit silly if I got lost trying to find you."

"Do it soon," she warned, watching the map on her tablet. If the circumstances had been different, Martha would have been very amused by his comment. The Doctor, of all people, warning someone not to run off and take care of things on his own? That was all he ever did!

"You're going the right way," she confirmed, "I'll meet you at the tram station."

Martha was worried - very worried - about the Doctor. She could only see a few cuts and bruises, but she could imagine what the Master had done to him all too easily. The wounds inside were more difficult to treat, but she'd do her best.

"Soon as I can," he agreed, getting aboard the tram when it arrived. Fortunately the tram ride didn't take too long before he had arrived at his destination and was looking around for Martha's familiar face.

Spotting her, and thankfully no sign of Jenny yet, the Doctor strode over and greeted her with a tired smile. "Hello again."

"Hello," she said, softly. The first thing she noticed was how tired he looked. Immediately, Martha took the Doctor's hand in order to check his pulse. His hearts seemed to be beating strongly enough, which was something to be thankful for. Getting him to be honest with her, on the other hand, was going to be less than straightforward.

"Should we go back to the surgery?" she suggested, "You're going to have to tell me what he did to you, you know."

She couldn't treat wounds that she didn't know about.

He made an amused noise when Martha took his wrist and checked his pulse almost immediately, but didn't stop her. Protesting that he'd had far worse injuries in the past and managed to live through them wouldn't really make much of a difference or, he imagined, really be appreciated by Martha.

He didn't think she'd much like it either if he pointed out that technically he only had to tell her about what happened that he needed some help with. Besides, it would only make her more suspicious than she already was and it wouldn't help him much.

"The surgery's a good place to start," he agreed, neatly dodging the other comment. "Jenny isn't there yet, is she?"

What did he expect? She was a doctor. She was a doctor and she'd worked very hard to earn her credentials. Checking his pulse was both automatic and a necessary starting point. And she knew the Doctor as well as any human could, which meant that his attempts to be evasive weren't going to be received well.

"She wasn't there when I left," she said, which was all she could offer. "And you have to tell me, Doctor. I know he hurt you. How did he hurt you? You've got to let me help."

What sort of doctor would she be if she couldn't? What sort of friend?

"But she'll get there quickly, knowing Jenny," he finished. "And we wouldn't want to worry her by taking too long."

Martha would have to help him with making sure Jenny didn't learn too much that would upset her as well, which she couldn't do if she didn't already know as much as he could conceivably get away with telling her. Realising he had very little choice in the matter, the Doctor sighed.

"Alright... But we'll need to go somewhere a little out of sight..." His hand rose to tug absently at his lower lip in thought. "Most of it isn't anything you can really do anything about, sorry. Stimulation of the nerves, neat trick that doesn't leave any marks. You can do all sorts of things with that. Well, so long as they're all sorts of painful things anyway.

"He took my sonic screwdriver, you see. And he used it to make his laser one again."

"We'll go to my flat," she said, decisively. Because it was above the surgery, it would give her access to any medical equipment she might need. Furthermore, there were a variety of other locations that Jenny would probably want to check first.

She held out her hand for the Doctor's, in order to lead the way and because she wanted to make sure that he really was there. Safe, for the time being. Safe and alive.

"Oh my god."

She remembered - her stomach tightening, briefly, with grief and helpless anger - Tom's first death and how dangerous the laser screwdriver could be if you made a habit of getting in the Master's way. (Or, for that matter, if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.)

"Alright then," the Doctor agreed, and not only because he was fairly certain that Martha wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer unless he had a very, very good reason to avoid the place. He took her hand and kept pace with her easily, allowing her to lead them both towards where she was staying for the most part.

Her reaction to the news of what the Master had managed to arm himself with was to be expected, really, though he couldn't help but wince ever so slightly at the reminder. His poor, poor sonic screwdriver. He had to find a way to get it back somehow.

"Yes well, I couldn't very well stop him easily, could I?" he said a little defensively. "I don't think it would have mattered what I said."

Fortunately, she'd chosen a location close to the tram station for her surgery and her flat. In the days before the Master had arrived in Taxon, she'd done her best to make herself as accessible as possible. (Now, however, she had no choice but to be a bit more careful.)

"I know," she said, equally defensively. Didn't he know that she knew that? She trusted him. Even now, she trusted him. And the Master wasn't the sort of person to trust anyone.

"Here we are," she added, fishing her keys out of her pocket with her free hand and leading him up the stairs. The flat was neat. Neat enough for it to be obvious that she spent most of her time in the surgery below. "Sit down."

She indicated the couch with a wave of her hand, opening a cupboard to get out her first aid kit.

The Doctor looked around the flat with interest, noting that it looked like Martha didn't spend much time here - unsurprisingly - but that otherwise she was doing very well for herself.

He made his way over to the indicated couch, but didn't sit down immediately. With Jenny likely to turn up at any moment, it was better to get the worst out of the way as soon as he could, so that Martha also knew what she wasn't to tell Jenny about. So he slowly shed his tweed jacket, draping it over the arm of the couch, and then slid the braces off his shoulders before undoing his bow tie shedding it and the shirt as well, both of which joined the jacket.

Just that much made the injuries more apparent. The Master had at least been good about giving him ones that were easy enough to hide under his clothing, other than the largish one on the side of his face that was, so a majority of the bruises and marks were confined to his torso. To be fair they weren't all entirely the Master's work, strictly speaking. The House had enjoyed getting the occasional shot in as well, which probably accounted for more of them. The burns on his back were entirely the Master's handiwork, however.

The Doctor hadn't gotten a good look at them himself yet, but they felt like some kind of pattern, which didn't bode well. Though, really, someone burning anything into you was generally considered the opposite of boding well. It was only that it seemed to be a specific design or letters that made it that bit worse and harder to explain away as coming from being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Aximili was rampaging as a T-Rex. Not unless the rampaging dinosaur had also been carrying a laser weapon of some kind and had extraordinarily good hand-eye coordination for a dinosaur.

He sunk into the couch tiredly, avoiding putting too much pressure on his back as he waited for Martha to return and start asking what the Doctor could imagine would be some rather probing questions. Better get this over with then.

"Don't suppose you have a mirror as well, do you?" he asked idly, "I think we'll need it." He may as well see the extent of the damage for himself, after all.

Martha was a doctor and, although the Doctor’s wounds were unpleasant, she’d seen a lot worse during her career. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that this was the Doctor. The Doctor, who she trusted and respected and would always, to some extent or another, love. She’d seen him weak and defeated before, but she’d never had the opportunity to treat the physical wounds that the Master liked inflict. Had he been through this every day on the Valiant? She refused to gasp and she refused to allow her shock to show on her face, but her concern was palpable. It made her feel a little sick.

She’d unpacked the medical kit while he’d been undressing, leaving the equipment she’d need spread out on the coffee table.

“In the bathroom,” she replied, sitting down next to him. “I need to treat your back first. You’re badly burned. Did he use … did he use the screwdriver for this?”

Later, she’d allow the shock to set in. She might even cry. Now, however, she focused on treating her patient.

"Yes," he answered, since there was little point in trying to hide it when the evidence, as it were, was staring her in the face. "It's in the name really, laser screwdriver. I suppose he thought it would be a good reminder of... everything."

Which was probably right, really. Not only for himself either; he didn't imagine Martha would be forgetting all of this and her own past with the Master any time soon. The Doctor was grateful that she was keeping everything carefully professional right now, however, and not asking him too many questions or making any accusations. They'd probably come sooner or later, but for now it was... easier. Martha was concerned, but not so much he felt he had to lie and protect her or lessen the blow. He could relax his guard a little and allow himself to admit that, yes, it hurt quite a lot.

"I want to get a look at it," he insisted, and was surprised at how much strain was in his voice just from that little change. "See what it is."

It was at that point that Jenny came running through the front door of the surgery downstairs, breathless and frustrated.

"Dad?! Martha?!" She'd followed Martha's location dot on the map, changing directions twice as Martha had moved around and eventually -- thankfully -- met up with her father's dot. She'd had to double back to get to the surgery, but both dots were there now, unmoving. Whirling around in a circle, she could see no one, but there were back rooms, and Martha lived upstairs. Worried, she called out again.

"Dad!"

"All right," said Martha, reluctantly. He sounded exhausted, which meant that he needed her attention - her help - whether he wanted it or not. She wasn't going to leave him. "But I'm coming into the bathroom with you."

As she moved to open the bathroom door for him, she heard a very familiar voice coming up the stairs. Usually, she was happy to hear Jenny. But not today and not now. She didn't want to have to lie to her. She wasn't sure she could.

"Jenny?" she called back, then: "Doctor, it's Jenny. She knows we're here. I've got to let her in."

He nodded, fully aware that there wasn't much he could say that could change her mind, and stood up to follow Martha towards the bathroom.

Then Jenny's voice sounded from downstairs.

The Doctor's eyes squeezed shut for a moment. He'd hoped, he really had, that Jenny wouldn't get here for a little while yet. That they'd have time to treat the worst of the damage so that he could pretend he wasn't hurt as badly as he was. But Martha was right that they couldn't not let Jenny in now.

"Alright," he said, then quickly strode back to the couch to retrieve his shirt and ducked into the bathroom. "Let her in. Just... don't worry her too much."

Hearing Martha call her name, Jenny bolted up the stairs to the door to the flat. It was only the faintest voice of polite reason that kept her from swinging open the door herself. She knocked quickly instead, practically vibrating with anxiousness.

"Martha? Is dad in there with you?" She couldn't help but worry. Something was obviously very wrong, and she had no idea what it was. She wanted to know what was going on almost as badly as she wanted to know that her father was alright.

"Don't put your shirt back on," she said, in her most authoritative voice. "I still need to treat your back."

He knew that she was the doctor and that what she was telling him made sense. Whether he'd listen to her not was a different matter.

Feeling more than a little weary, Martha opened her door to grant Jenny access. She was impressed that the younger woman had knocked, actually.

"Remind me to get you a key cut," she remarked, "The Doctor's all right. He's just in the bathroom."

The Doctor paused guiltily in the act of pulling on his shirt again, eyeing the bathroom door. Martha was right; he needed to have his back looked at, but Jenny could also decide to come in and see him personally, which would raise some rather uncomfortable and difficult to avoid questions.

In the end he settled for pulling the shirt on but leaving the front open so he could remove it again later, once he knew what Jenny was going to do.

Nodding absently at Martha's comment about a key, Jenny's eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. It was a military reflex, and had come in handy more than once. An object out of place, a piece of furniture shifted; any small thing could be indicative of something gone wrong. Not that Jenny really expected there to be an enemy hiding behind the couch, but as keyed up as she was, instincts had taken hold.

"What's happened? Are we in danger?" She'd wait to see for herself that her father was alright when he came out of the bathroom, but for now she needed to know if there was an immediate threat. She looked about ready to barricade the door and fashion weapons out of various household objects.

"No, we're not," she assured Jenny. The Master would take a while to recover from what had happened, which gave them a few days - at the very least - to rest and recuperate. And decide exactly what to tell Jenny. She needed to be warned.

"Not any more," she added. "You know what your Dad's like. He's good at making enemies as well as friends."

"I don't try and do it on purpose," the Doctor felt the need to point out from the bathroom. He slid the shirt off his sore back again, then set about trying to get a look at what marks he had in the bathroom mirror.

"These things just..." His voice trailed off as he frowned at the mirror, the pattern of symbols he could see burned into his skin. It was lucky for him that no one else here other than himself - both of them - and the Master could read Old Gallifreyan, otherwise it would get a bit tricky to explain. Not that marks like this wouldn't be difficult to explain on their own anyway.

Remembering that both Jenny and Martha were outside still, the Doctor called out again. "I'm alright, Jenny. Nothing that won't heal on its own well enough and we're perfectly safe here." For the moment. "You don't have to worry just yet."

At that, Jenny couldn't help but smile and roll her eyes just a bit. She shot a look at Martha; the universally recognized look of amused but exasperated female solidarity in reaction to a particularly troublesome but beloved male.

"How long have you been here, and you're stirring up a vespiform's nest already?" she scolded the bathroom door lightly. (As if she had any room to talk. She'd been on Raxacoricofalapatorius for all of an hour before all hell had broken loose, and she'd considered that an oddly delayed reaction. It was genetic, it had to be.) Jenny's smile quickly fell, though, despite all reassurances.

"If you're alright, why are you still hiding in the bathroom, then? Come out and let Martha have a look at you, even if it's not bad."

It was also the universal reaction of anyone who had spent a prolonged period of time in the Doctor's company. Although Martha shared the look with Jenny, she was more worried than her demeanor suggested. He was hiding. That wasn't surprising. The Doctor had a habit of hiding from things that were too difficult to discuss. But hiding from medical treatment was something else entirely. Something she wouldn't accept.

"Doctor," she said, firmly, "I need to take a look."

His reticence had increased since Jenny's arrival, but she couldn't very well send her away. Even on some sort of errand. She had her father's stubborn streak.

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