CURSE OF THE PLASMAVORE

A missing adventure just after the episode "Smith and Jones" in the 3rd Season. Miss Finnegan leaves the Doctor with a little parting gift.

With a grin that made Martha think she just might have hitchhiked with a lunatic alien, the Doctor yanked a lever hard. Martha barely held on to the console, arms straining, and the Doctor was thrown back into the beaten seat. He slid off of it without changing his facial expression and proceeded to hang on for dear life to the console as well.

"Welcome aboard, Miss Jones!" he yelled over the roaring and shaking of the space/time ship. He stuck out his slim hand.

Martha grabbed it with a grin that she hoped matched his. "My pleasure, Mr. Smith!"

They shook hands and then went back to holding on with all their might. It was surprisingly short, but Martha felt lightheaded the whole time. It was so alien. So totally weird and cool and amazing. She still hadn't gotten over the fact that the TARDIS was bigger on the inside than it was on the out and now they were flying.

With the shaking gone, they were both left holding limply to the console. The Doctor recovered immediately, standing straight and spinning various small controls, peering at the screen. Martha heaved herself up straight.

"Where've we gone, then?" she asked after clearing her throat. She glanced at the doors, wanting to burst out of them into the shining unknown.

"Dunno."

"What?"

The Doctor looked up with an innocent expression. "Oh. Well, we're probably just coasting through space or on some harmless planet. I need to do a few things before we actually take that trip I promised you."

"Oh," Martha said, testing a sarcastic edge. "I don't mind. Do some housework, if you like."

"Ooh, look at you, all fire and spark," the Doctor said smirking interestedly. He turned on his heel casually and walked for the door that led further into the ship. "Just a quick wash and I'll be right with you."

"You're going to take a shower?" Martha asked, frowning.

The Doctor stopped walking and turned to face her, raising his eyebrows, hands in pockets. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I am. Time Lords need personal hygiene just like humans, you know."

"Alright," Martha said, rolling her eyes. "Go take your bubble bath."

The Doctor smiled slightly at her barb, but didn't respond. Wearing that soft smile, he turned on his heel again and walked through the doorway off of the control room, hands still in his pockets. Martha tried to deny it, but she was smitten.

*

"Um…Martha?"

Martha snapped away from the console—which she'd been prodding and playing with—like a naughty child. When she realized that the Doctor's voice was coming over the intercom and that he wasn't actually standing in the room watching her, she relaxed.

"Yeah?" she replied. She hoped that the speaker system went two ways, because she had no idea which button to press.

"Could you…ahm…come to the bathroom?" the Doctor's voice was still strong, but he seemed curiously distracted.

"Where's that then?"

"Straight down the hallway, pass three cross passages, second door on your right."

"Coming."

When she arrived at the correct door, she could still hear water running. Frowning, she knocked.

"Come in." Again the distracted tone.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm decent," the Doctor said dryly.

Martha opened the door and squinted through the billows of steam that greeted her. Almost immediately her skin was wet from all the moisture in the air. The humidity initially made her feel like she was suffocating, but she got used to it and finally got her bearings.

The shower was an open contraption in the center of the room—actually very tastefully designed unlike the rest of the blocky ship. The water was running hotly, but there was no Doctor in sight.

"Tell me what you see."

Martha spun around in alarm and frowned. The Doctor had his back pressed up against the wall next to the door. He'd switched out the blue suit she'd met him in for a brown pinstripe suit, but it looked as though he'd dressed hurriedly. He was barefoot—off-white canvas shoes lying haphazard on the ground. His usually spiky brown hair was dripping wet and hung in his eyes. He looked curious and intrigued by something in the shower, but also frightened.

"Where?" Martha asked finally.

"In the shower," the Doctor said. "What do you see?"

"Water and steam," Martha said without looking back at it.

"Fascinating," the Doctor said, eyes still wide, head tilted back against the wall, looking down his nose at the streaming water. "I seem to be hallucinating."

Martha was sweating from all the heat and had thought that the Doctor was too. But maybe his sweat was coming from something else. She walked closer to him holding out her hand to his face.

"Are you sick?"

"Actually," the Doctor said, avoiding her by jerking away and moving away. "I think I might be."

Trying not to be put out by his hasty retreat, Martha put her hands on her hips. "What do you see?"

The Doctor finally stopped watching the water and focused directly on her.

"Blood."

*

"Can I do anything?" Martha cried, jogging after the Doctor as he fairly ran through the maze-like passageways.

"Ahm…yes. Yes, actually, you can."

The Doctor sounded as if he was incredibly distracted, but trying very hard to focus. As they flew through the corridors, Martha was increasingly awed by the sheer size of the alien ship. The Doctor paused at a crossing of passages and just stood there, nearly panting, looking lost.

"Doctor—" Martha started to ask again if he was okay.

"Sorry! This way."

He started moving again and they turned off into a middling-sized room. There was more alien machinery against one wall and an advanced, but well-used chair.

"Ship's infirmary," the Doctor announced, walking to a console. He grinned over his shoulder at her. "Just so you know, Dr. Jones."

"Not yet, I'm not," Martha shot back. She looked around at everything. "Besides, I wouldn't know how to work half this stuff."

"Oh, don't let it intimidate you," the Doctor said. "It's as simple as operating an X-ray."

Martha saw the sparkle of teasing in his eyes and she rewarded him with a look that said she wouldn't stand for more poking fun. He was clearly referring to when they'd met, in the hospital where she'd previously worked. The Doctor had used his sonic screwdriver to amp up an X-ray to use as a weapon. They'd almost died because Martha couldn't figure out which button to press to make the X-ray work.

Off her look, the Doctor blew a laugh out in a splutter of sorts, apologizing immediately after it came out. He turned and finished tapping away at a keyboard. In one smooth motion, he discarded his pinstriped brown jacket and began rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"What exactly are you going to do?" Martha asked.

"Just a standard physical," the Doctor said with a shrug. "Find out what's wrong—though I have a pretty good guess already. Plus, I haven't actually had a check-up in…oohf. Must've been two hundred years, now."

After that casual comment, he winked, finished rolling up his sleeves, and, with a youthful spring and a spin, he plopped into the chair. The thing suddenly seemed to come alive. A blocky piece came down to cover his cranium like a cap and a dozen instruments popped out of the sides of the chair and hovered over his stretched-out body.

At first Martha thought it might be automated, but then she realized that the Doctor was directing everything, tapping at keys that were literally at his fingertips at the ends of the arms of the chair.

"So I'll just sit here then?"

"I'll need you in a minute."

Martha kept her cynical expression, but couldn't help but smile on the inside. He needed her!

It only seemed to take a minute before the chair was retracting its instruments. The instant the cranium cap was up, the Doctor leapt from the chair and slid on his bare feet over to a screen. Weird symbols flashed across it. Then the chaos settled and a calm line of alien script scrolled peacefully along the bottom of an outline of his body.

"Ooohh…I was afraid of that."

"What is it?" Martha asked.

"Martha!" The Doctor spun around quickly, as if he'd just remembered she was there. Then he walked over to her and grabbed her shoulders. "I don't have much time to explain, so listen carefully. Oooh…how to explain alien biometrics to a human…"

He stared off above her head, face screwed tight.

"I'm a medical student and I'm clever, Doctor," Martha said firmly. "Just don't throw alien words at me."

The Doctor allowed a small smile for the barest of moments before growing serious. "Did you ever hear stories about vampires?"

"Like Dracula and stuff? Yeah."

"Well, they were all true. Except, vampires aren't undead humans, they're…well, plasmavores."

"Like Miss Finnegan," Martha interjected. "At the hospital."

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "For a while, plasmavores infested Earth. I actually helped get them to leave…but that's not the point. The point is, that plasmavores behaved pretty much like vampires in those stories. (After all, the stories have to come from somewhere.) They bite necks and drink blood and turn other people into vampires."

"How?"

"It's a protein they inject just before they start to…suck."

The Doctor suddenly screwed his face up in pain and bowed his head for a second. His fingers tightened on her shoulders. Martha frowned at the top of his head. Before she could ask if he was okay, his head popped back up, flinging little water droplets onto her face.

"This protein latches onto the natural proteins in the victim's body and alters the biometrics," the Doctor continued, but his voice was slightly strained and he was talking faster. "It literally makes it so the victim can no longer survive on food—they need blood."

"Right, that's creepy," Martha admitted. She shrugged. "So…"

"I was a victim, Martha."

Martha suddenly flashed back to a memory from only yesterday. Stuck in a hospital that had been yanked off of Earth and dropped on the moon with limited air supply. Stuck with the Doctor. After fleeing for their lives several times and figuring out the mystery together, he'd kissed her and run off. The next time she saw him, he was lying on the floor of the MRI room—legally dead.

"But…" Martha couldn't look away from his wide brown eyes. They looked a tad bit more wild than usual. "But Miss Finnegan…that plasmavore…she used a straw. She didn't actually bite you."

"No, you're right."

The Doctor released her shoulders and paced away, shoving his hands into his hair. Usually this action would have made his naturally spiky hair stick up in every direction, but because it was wet, it just got a bit messed.

"No," he went on. "She was old and her fangs were worn. But she could hypothetically still inject it through the straw. I wasn't sure it was possible until I ran the test, but it's positive. I've been infected. Oooh! Infected by backwash, that's a bit embarrassing—not to mention disgusting."

He faced Martha and she was frightened by how lost he looked. He was supposed to have all the answers.

"Is there a cure?" Martha asked softly.

"No," the Doctor said. Then he spotted her horrified expression and amended, "But Time Lords have very healthy immune systems. Given time, my body will fight off the altered proteins and I'll be fine—back to normal. But, Martha, there's no telling how long that's going to take or what I'll be like in the meantime."

"What do I do?"

"Ah, Martha Jones." The Doctor smiled widely. "That's what I like about you. You're quick!"

He'd moved toward her again as he spoke and suddenly he was just as close as he'd been just before he'd kissed her. He still looked feverish though and his eyes were tinged with madness. Or hunger.

The Doctor leaned his head down, lips parted like he was going to kiss her. Then he made a low sound in his throat like he was struggling hard. Abruptly, he leapt backward away from her. His chest heaved as if that action had taken a lot out of him. He dug his hands into his hair again.

"It's happening too fast to think! Oh, come on, brain. Come on!" Suddenly, he spun to face her with a big happy grin, but kept his distance. "Quarantine!"

He spun and started punching buttons on the console, while yelling an explanation.

"I'm putting the TARDIS into quarantine. It'll let you through doors because it can tell that you're not sick, but I'll be trapped. You can't let me drink from you. Not only would you be infected—and for humans, there's no going back—but my body would have to work even harder to fight back. I might even lose. Take the sonic with you. It'd make it even easier for me to escape."

"Even easier?" Martha asked, even as she grabbed the slim device. "What, you mean it's already easy?"

The Doctor finished setting the controls and the infirmary doors suddenly slid shut and locked. He turned to face her, expression intense and serious. "Martha, it's my ship, I've got a brain the size of a small planet, and I've lived long enough to be terribly clever." He smiled almost sadly. "Good luck."

Martha backed toward the infirmary door and heard it buzz once and slide open, recognizing her wellness.

"And Martha?"

She stopped in the doorway and looked at the Doctor. He stood, still barefoot with wet hair, tie loosened, and shirtsleeves rolled up. He smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry about this. Maybe I should owe you two trips."

Martha licked her lips and nodded once. "I'll see you when it's over, okay?"

The Doctor's expression suddenly changed from sweetness to pure animal hunger. His mouth opened in a snarl as he lunged forward with terrifying speed. Martha threw herself backward and was relieved that the TARDIS reacted as quickly as it did, slamming the door shut in the Doctor's face.

Martha leaned against the wall opposite the door, panting and trying to calm her heart. Inside the infirmary, the Doctor pressed his forehead against the door, fingers curled like claws against the solid door. He was resisting. Still resisting.

"Run, Martha!" he yelled. His voice broke. "Run!"

Then he yelled in pain and doubled over, dropping away from the door to fall on the floor. He grabbed his face in his hands as his teeth grew forcibly and his eyes changed to allow for better hunting—giving him night vision. It was a painful, but quick process.

The Doctor she'd come to know and love—albeit after only a day—was gone completely, and a hunger-driven plasmavore had taken his place. Martha heard the rasping, yet low and smooth voice and barely recognized it as the Doctor's.

"Run and hide, Martha Jones," he crooned. "I always enjoyed a challenge."

She ran.

*

The first door took him about ten minutes. After that, he averaged about three to five minutes a door and shaved seconds off each time. The TARDIS put up a good fight, but the Doctor hadn't been bragging about his brain's size and cleverness—well, he had been bragging a bit, but it had also been true.

Martha was immensely glad now that the Doctor had thought ahead to give her the sonic screwdriver. It would have been even more terrifying to be stalked by a hungry, insane Doctor who had a tool that could open absolutely anything.

Martha fled through the labyrinth of the ship, deeper and deeper, not caring to remember which way she'd come, only thinking of escape. She just had to give him time to counteract the infection. She realized soon though, that the Doctor was too clever for that. He'd know his ship like the back of his hand and he'd know where to circle around and cut her off.

She stopped for a breather in a mildly large library. Such sights on this ship had ceased to amaze her already and that made her sad. She'd imagined a tour from the Doctor as being one with plenty of awe on her part and laughing on his—not fleeing for her life.

But then, a tour implied a long companionship—not a one trip deal. Martha sank to a seat on the floor, her back against a bookshelf and allowed herself a little pity party. She shouldn't have taken his offer for the trip. How could she go back to a normal life when it was over?

"I wonder what Rose would do," Martha whispered.

*

The Doctor was barely aware of himself. He couldn't remember anything past being infected by Miss Finnegan. The only emotion raging through his body was hunger. It was like a shrieking black hole in his body, threatening to tear him apart.

He finished overriding the TARDIS' locks and the latest door slid apart a few inches. "Why are you fighting me, old girl?" he crooned.

He dropped the wires he'd been messing with and shoved his shoulder into the slight gap. Wriggling further inside, he pushed, bracing his back against one side and his hands on the other. He pried the sliding door open fully with something beyond superhuman strength. Then he leaned against it and sniffed at the air.

So close.

*

Martha heard a loud clank and her eyes widened. She knew that sound by now. It was the sound of one of the locked-down doors being forced open through technical knowledge far beyond Earth.

And it was so close.

Her fears were confirmed by the silky, yet chilling voice that echoed around her in the dimness. "Maaaarrrrtha…Martha Joooooonnnnnesssss!" His singsong tone faded to a hiss at the end.

Martha stood up without a sound, silently panicking. The big space echoed the sound of his voice and she couldn't tell where it originated from. Her brain said that the safest thing would be to stay exactly where she was and not make a sound until she could be absolutely sure where he was and then run. But her entire body rebelled against the idea of standing frozen.

So with her brain screaming that she was going to get herself killed, Martha walked silently down the shelving. The creepy singsong voice that she barely recognized still floated around the room.

"Oh, Maaaarrrrtha! Dr. Maaaartha! You're running from your patient, Dr. Martha! That's not very nice of you! I'm sick, Miss Jones. Terribly, awfully sick and you're the only one who can cure me. Don't you want to cure me, Martha?"

Her mistake was to glance over her shoulder, thinking he was behind her. When she looked back ahead of her, only a few feet from the door, she literally ran into him. The already-familiar arms held her with surprising strength for all his slenderness. The eyes were not the eyes of her Doctor though.

"Boo," he whispered.

He lunged down for her neck and she slapped him on reflex. Thankfully that stopped him, but he didn't let go of her. She'd hit him so hard that his head had spun to the side and water sprayed off of his still-wet hair. Slowly, he rolled his head around to look back at her, still with that consuming hunger in his eyes, but regarding her with new respect.

"Look," he murmured. "I know the fangs are a bit hard to get used to, luv…"

He smiled as he spoke and she finally saw the thin—but terribly sharp—canines on his upper and lower teeth. His tongue ran over the gleaming white teeth as he leaned down slower this time.

"…but it's just one bite," he went on. "One little bite and I'll feel so much better. I have the awfulest sort of headache and I'm so hungry…"

Martha struggled, writhing against him, but it was in vain. She'd honestly underestimated his strength. So she did the only thing that came to mind.

"What would you do if Rose was here?"

The Doctor stopped with his lips inches from her neck. His entire body seemed to have turned to stone it was so tense. Then he slowly pulled his head up, his nose inches from hers, eyes searching hers.

"Rose?" his voice was hoarse and pitiful, his eyes full of pain.

"Your companion," Martha said. "The one before me. You lost her, remember?"

The pain in his raw animal eyes was heartbreaking, but both their lives were on the line.

*

The Doctor saw a flash of a face. A blond-headed, grinning face that broke through the howling hunger for an instant. A loud, infectious laugh filled his head and he heard his name being called by a woman's voice.

Then she was screaming it in fear as she was ripped away from him.

*

"Rose Tyler," the Doctor whispered, looking more himself.

"Yes," Martha said. "What if she was the only one within reach, would you bite her?"

"No!" the Doctor cried, horrified. He actually let her go. "No! Not Rose! I could never…" Then the animal was back and he smiled slowly, dangerously.

"But you're not Rose, are you, Miss Jones?" he growled.

He lunged again, but Martha's distraction had succeeded in buying her enough time to reach into her pocket. She had no idea what the sonic screwdriver was set on, but she pushed the button anyway, hoping it wasn't deadly.

There was no recoil, like with a gun, but it was like a wall of invisible energy hit the Doctor in the face. He flew back into the door and then slid to the ground. Though it broke her heart, Martha turned and fled without looking back at him.

Doors buzzed and opened accommodatingly for her as she sprinted on and on. The quietly humming corridors flew by through a blur of tears and she swiped at her eyes, sniffing and cursing her blubbering.

She cried for a lot of reasons. She cried because of the stress of fleeing for her life. She cried for the Doctor because he was so sick. She cried for herself because the Doctor was in love with Rose and not her. In love with a girl who was so far gone that even the Doctor had given up on ever seeing her again!

Martha finally stopped running when she tripped over a step that she hadn't seen because of her tears. She slammed her shin hard on the steel stair and barely caught herself on her hands. Finally wiping her eyes dry, she looked up.

She was back in the control room. Miraculously, she'd found her way back. The central console thrummed gently and the soft light gave everything a peaceful air—almost like the TARDIS itself was comforting her. Martha stood up and her eyes caught the doors to the time-ship. It looked so odd; the inside of police box doors just stuck in an alien wall.

She could leave. She could go out those doors, jam something through the handle, and walk away. If those doors could keep them safe while tumbling through time itself, surely it could keep a hungry Time Lord inside…

But what if it doesn't, Martha argued back with herself. What if he gets out and we're somewhere where he could hurt people. If he was in control of his senses, he'd hate that. And besides, he wouldn't be able to turn back normal.

That raised another issue. They'd left Earth. Martha could be floating in space for all she knew. And there was no way she could fly the TARDIS. She needed the Doctor as much as he needed her right now.

"I have to stay," she realized aloud.

"I sure hope you will."

Martha yelped and spun around, holding the sonic out like a gun. The Doctor raised his hands in surrender, eyebrows raised.

"It's me, Martha," the Doctor said. "I'm better."

Martha didn't lower the sonic, but studied his face. His hair was almost dry, but still limp. His eyes had lost their crazy light.

"Show me your teeth," she said.

The Doctor grinned amiably, showing nearly all of his teeth. None were fangs. Martha sighed in relief and spun away from him to sit heavily on the chair.

"Blimey, I'm glad that's over!" she gasped.

The Doctor laughed and walked around behind her. Martha's skin prickled as he got a little too close for comfort.

"Thank you for your help, Miss Jones," he crooned.

Then she heard the grating of fangs extending from the gums and felt a sharp pain in her neck.

But it only lasted one second.

Then the Doctor screamed in pain and flew back from her, landing hard on his back on the metal grated floor. There, he thrashed around, holding his head and crying out every so often.

Martha leapt up and stood there helplessly. She didn't know what to do. She reached up and brushed her fingers at the spot on her neck. They came away bloody and she bit her lip. She was a goner. She'd lasted right 'til the end, but she was too stupid to survive—literally—the last few seconds.

The Doctor had stopped his seizures and lay curled up, whimpering slightly. Swallowing her fear and depression, Martha knelt and rolled him over. Now she could tell for sure. This was her Doctor.

"Hello," she said, feeling joy despite herself. At least he would live.

"Hello," he said, smiling weakly. "I'm back."

"I'm glad," Martha said, smiling, though tears pricked her eyes.

She didn't know what to say. The Doctor squinted at her neck, then. He reached up and touched the spot and then looked at the blood on his fingers. Then his eyes widened and his lips parted, eyebrows going up. His gaze snapped back to Martha.

"Martha…" He sat up fluidly and knelt opposite her. "Martha, I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

Martha's tears spilled over. She wanted to respond, to lie and tell him it was all right, to assuage the guilt he must have been feeling. But just then her head throbbed and her vision went black. As her body collapsed, the last thing she was aware of was the Doctor yelling her name. He caught her before she hit the ground and then stood up, lifting her in his arms. Then he was carrying her like a child once more—just like in the hospital on the moon.

*

Martha woke to hospital-like fluorescent lighting. She squinted, and then sounds came to her. Buzzing and whirring and electronic bleeps. She was comfortable, but confused. She tried to turn her head, but couldn't. As she panicked, her vision cleared up considerably and she realized that she was in the ship's infirmary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor look up from the console, still with rolled-up shirtsleeves and loose tie. He punched a button and the thing holding her head, retracted. She sat up and spotted her red leather jacket lying on the ground on top of his brown suit coat.

"Oh, Martha, I'm sorry," the Doctor gushed, suddenly at her side.

"I don't feel sick," Martha realized, looking into his wide eyes.

"Yes," the Doctor replied, smiling with relief. "Luckily when I…bit you." He frowned. "Blimey, that sounds strange. Anyway, when I bit you, I didn't have time to inject you with the proteins or drink any blood before I started to change back. We're both fine!"

Martha laughed with relief and impulsively flung her arms around the Doctor. He tensed for a moment and Martha immediately thought of the long-lost Rose. Embarrassed, she started to pull back. But before she could, the Doctor wrapped his arms tightly around her, hugging tight.

Martha closed her eyes, resting her cheek on his shoulder. It was decidedly the best hug she'd ever experienced.

"Martha Jones, you are one amazing medical student," the Doctor said softly into her shoulder.

Martha opened her eyes and again spotted their jackets together on the floor. She smiled. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

THE END