The Artist raced into the TARDIS, pulling Martha with her. "Get down!" the Doctor yelled as he raced in behind them. All three hit the deck as a green bolt of energy whizzed overhead. The Doctor slammed the door shut and helped the two women up. "Did they see you?" he asked Martha urgently.
"I don't know." Martha replied.
"But did they see you?!"
"I don't know, I was too busy running!"
"Martha, this is important, did they see your face?" the Artist asked her.
"No, they couldn't have." Martha replied.
"Good, and they didn't see mine either, so we've got a chance." the Artist said, and she and the Doctor went over to the console.
"Off we go." the Doctor said as they both worked the controls, sending the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. Suddenly, the monitor began to beep. "Ah! They're following us." the Doctor groaned.
"But how can they do that? You've got a time machine." Martha pointed out
"They must have a Vortex Manipulator." the Artist replied, "They can time travel too."
"They can follow us wherever we go." the Doctor added, "Right across the universe. They're never gonna stop. Unless... I'll have to do it."
The Artist realised what he was thinking. "No." she groaned, "Please don't."
"We've no choice." the Doctor told her, "We've only got one bio-damper, and you're gonna need it." He turned to Martha. "Martha, you trust me, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Martha replied.
"Cos' it all depends on you." the Doctor said, reaching under the console for something.
"What does? What am I supposed to do?" Martha asked.
"Take this watch." the Doctor replied, handing her a fob watch with Galifreyean symbols on it, "Cos' my life depends on it. This watch, Martha, this watch is..."
———————————————————————————
John Smith jerked awake, he shook his head, dismissing the dream he'd just had and got out of bed. There was a knock at the door. "Come in." he called, and Martha entered, wearing a 1910's maid's uniform and carrying a breakfast tray.
"Pardon me, Mr Smith." she said when she saw him in his pyjamas, "I can come back later."
"No, it's alright, it's alright." John waved her off, putting on his dressing gown, "Put it down." Martha complied. "Today's the day." he continued, "Nancy arrives today. I've missed her."
"Me too, sir." Martha replied.
John thought for a moment. "I was, um.. Sorry, sorry. Sometimes I have these extraordinary dreams."
"What about, sir?" Martha asked, opening the curtains.
"I dream I'm this... adventurer. This daredevil, a madman. 'The Doctor', I'm called. Nancy's in them too, only she's called, 'The Artist'. And last night, I dreamt that you were there. As our... companion."
"A teacher, his wife and a housemaid, sir?" Martha questioned, "That's impossible."
"Nancy and I were from another world." John continued.
"That can't be true, because there's no such thing."
John went over to the mantle and picked up the fob watch with the Galifreyean symbols. "This thing. The watch, it was.." he murmured, considering it for a moment, then put it down again. "Yeah, it's funny how dreams slip away. But I do remember one thing, it all took place in the future. In the year of Our Lord 2008."
"I can prove that wrong for you, sir." Martha smiled, "Here's the morning paper." She picked a newspaper up off the tray and handed it to him. "It's Monday, November 10th 1913, and you're completely human, sir. As human as they come." she finished, with a slight undercurrent of disappointment in her voice.
John didn't notice it. "Hmm, that's me." he said brightly, "Completely human."
———————————————————————————
The Union Flag was raised to full mast as boys sang a hymn, ready to begin the day at Faringham Boy's School. John watched as a group of boys marched smartly past, like a platoon of soldiers. "Morning, sir." one of them greeted as they passed him.
John made his way inside the building, ready to start his lessons for the day. By the stairs, he passed Mr Rocastle the headmaster, a stern, pompous ex-military man. "Headmaster." John greeted.
———————————————————————————
John was soon busy teaching a history class about the Napoleonic wars. "Impediment. The French were all but spent, with only two battalions of the old guard remaining." he informed his pupils, "A final reserve force was charged with protecting Napoleon. By evening, the advance of the Allied troops had forced them to retreat."
———————————————————————————
Presently, Martha was scrubbing the floor in the main hallway with another maid, Jenny. Martha and the Doctor had been at the school for two months now. The Doctor had made himself human and believed he was a school teacher called John Smith, while Martha was his maid. The Artist was in London. She was still a Time Lady, having used a bio-damper to hide her signature. As part of her cover, she was to pose as John Smith's wife, and had stayed in London to settle things there, before coming to join her husband at the school today. Martha was looking forward to seeing her. The past two months had been unbearable. Jenny was nice, but everyone else looked down their noses at her due to her skin colour.
"Morning, sir." Martha greeted as John walked past, on his way to his next class.
"Yes, quite." John nodded, before moving off upstairs.
"Head in the clouds, that one." Jenny remarked, "Don't know why you're so sweet with him."
"He's just kind to me, that's all." Martha replied, "Not everyone's that considerate, what with me being..." She gestured to herself.
"A Londoner?" Jenny laughed.
"Exactly! Good old London town!" Martha grinned.
Just then, two senior boys, Jeremy Baines and Thomas Hutchinson walked by. "Uh, now then, you two. You're not paid to have fun, are you?" Baines said snobbishly, "Put a little backbone into it."
"Yes sir, sorry sir." Jenny said sheepishly, and went back to work.
"You there, what's your name again?" Hutchinson asked Martha's.
"Martha, sir. Martha Jones."
"Tell me then, Jones. With hands like those, how can you tell when something's clean?" Hutchinson said, and he and Baines laughed cruelly at their joke.
"I beg your pardon, boys?" a voice called, and everyone turned to see the Artist standing there, dressed in clothes fitted to the era, a tailored jacket, long skirt and high heel ankle boots much unlike her normal biker style outfits and she had a look of disgust on her face that was aimed at the two boys.
"I say, and who might you be?" Baines asked, looking at her with a leering look.
"Nancy Smith." the Artist replied, "And I believe you might know my husband, John Smith." Baines' leering look immediately disappeared. "Now, what're your names?"
"Baines."
"Hutchinson, ma'am."
"Well, Baines, Hutchinson, unless you want my husband to find out what you just said to Martha, I suggest you apologise. Immediately."
"Yes, ma'am." Hutchinson said meekly, and turned to Martha. "I am sorry, Miss Jones."
Martha nodded her acceptance, and the boys went sulkily away. Once they were gone, Jenny laughed. "That was brilliant." she said, "Never seen anyone stand up to Hutchinson before."
"Well, Martha's my friend." the Artist told her, "I can't stand people being nasty to my friends. Now then, Martha. Perhaps you could join me, and we could catch up?"
"Certainly, Mrs Smith." Martha said, and she and the Artist went off to catch up.
———————————————————————————
Meanwhile, John was coming out of his office with a pile of books when Joan Redfern, the school matron, came up behind him. "Good morning, Mr Smith." she greeted.
"Oh, there we go." John jumped, dropping a book.
"Let me help you." Joan offered.
"No, no, I've got it." John insisted, "Let me just... No. How to retrieve. Ah, could you take these?" He handed Joan the pile of books and bent over to pick up the errant book. "No harm done. So, how was Jenkins?"
"Oh, just a cold." Joan replied, "Nothing serious. I think he's missing his mother more than anything."
"Oh, we can't have that." John said.
"He received a letter this morning, so he's a lot more chipper." Joan replied, then looked down at the pile of books she was holding. "I appear to be holding your books."
"Yes, so you are!" John realised, "Sorry, sorry. Just let me..." He reached forward to take them off her.
"No, why don't I take half?" Joan suggested.
"Ah, brilliant idea. Brilliant." John agreed, taking half of the books, "Perfect division of labour."
"We make quite a team." Joan said.
"Don't we just?" John grinned.
"Ah, so these books, were they being taken in any particular direction?" Joan asked him.
"Yes, um, this way." John replied, and they made their way down the hall. "I always say, matron, give the boys a good head of steam, they'll soon tire themselves out." he said.
"Truth be told, when it's just you and me, I'd rather you called me Nurse Redfern." Joan replied, "Matron sounds rather, well, matronly."
"Ah, Nurse Redfern it is, then." John said as they began to go downstairs.
"Though we've known each other all of two months, you could even say 'Joan'."
"Joan?"
"That's my name." she nodded.
"Well, obviously." John said, feeling a little uncomfortable. It felt like she was making advances towards him, and he didn't like that. The only woman he had eyes for was Nancy and he couldn't wait until she arrived. The two months he'd spent without her felt more like two years.
"And it's John, isn't it?" Joan asked him.
"Yes, yes, it is, yes."
They paused by a bulletin board halfway down the stairs. "You seen this, John?" Joan asked, gesturing to a flyer, "The annual dance at the village hall tomorrow. It's nothing formal but rather fun, by all accounts. Do you think you'll go?"
"I haven't thought about it." John replied, "Though, the wife's coming today. Maybe she might want to go. I'll ask her. I don't think we've danced since our wedding two years ago."
"I'm going." Joan said, "Maybe you both should. I'd love to meet your wife. What's she like?"
"Oh, she's a wonderful woman." John smiled, thinking of Nancy, "She's beautiful, kind, clever and a bit unconventional, but lovely."
"The stairs." Joan said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"What about the stairs?" John asked.
"They're right behind you." Joan warned. While John had been talking about his wife, he'd been unknowingly walking backwards, unware of the stairs behind him.
John turned to see, lost his balance and tumbled down the stairs. Joan could only grimace, then she rushed down to help him.
———————————————————————————
Joan had soon helped John back to his room, and was tending to his sore head. John was grunting and grumbling dreadfully. "Stop it." Joan scolded him, "I get boys causing less fuss than this."
"Because it hurts." John moaned.
Just then, Martha burst in. "Is he alright?" she asked worriedly.
"Excuse me, Martha, it's hardly good form to enter a master's study without knocking." Joan said haughtily.
"She's with me, so never mind that rubbish." the Artist said, entering as well.
John's face immediately lit up. "Nancy!" he exclaimed.
"Hello, John." the Artist smiled, "Surprise!"
"I didn't know you were here already! You should've called, I was going to met you at the station."
"I took an early train." the Artist replied, "Thought I'd surprise you. Still getting into trouble, I see. Is he alright?" she asked Joan.
"Yes, it's just a tumble, that's all." John answered, not wanting to worry his wife.
"Have you checked for concussion?" Martha asked Joan, her medical background instinctively kicking in.
"I have, and I daresay I know a lot more about it than you." Joan replied stiffly.
"Oh, you'd be surprised at what our Martha knows." the Artist told her, not at all happy with the woman's snobbish attitude towards her friend. She was going to have to have some words with John about that, and when he turned back into the Doctor at the end of the month, she was going to have more words with him then.
"Thank you , ma'am." Martha nodded, grateful to have her friend sticking up for her, "I'll just tidy up."
"No, don't worry about it, Martha." the Artist told her, "I'll do it myself later. You can have the afternoon off. I bet my husband's been working you to death this past two months, you deserve a break."
"Thank you, ma'am." Martha smiled and left.
"It's good you to see you again, John." the Artist said, "I missed you."
"I missed you too." John replied, "Oh, this is Nurse Redfern, by the way." He gestured to Joan. "Matron, this is my lovely wife, Nancy."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs Smith." Joan nodded, eyeing the Time Lady closely. John was right, his wife was very beautiful with her big brown eyes, svelte figure and long wavy brown hair.
"Matron." the Artist nodded curtly, still annoyed at the matron's snooty attitude towards Martha but being polite nonetheless.
"I was just telling Matron about my dreams." John said, moving to the settee.
"Yes, Martha told me you'd been having them lately." the Artist nodded, sitting down beside John.
"They are quite remarkable tales." John continued, "I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding."
"Hiding?" Joan questioned, "In what way?"
"They're almost every night." John replied, "This is going to sound silly..." he laughed.
"Oh, don't be shy." the Artist smiled, "I like a bit of silly."
"I dream, quite often, that you and me have two hearts." John told her.
"Well them, I can be the judge of that, let's find out." Joan said, pulling her stethoscope out of her bag and placing it on John's chest then she repeated the process with the Artist. "I can confirm the diagnosis, just one heart, singular. Both of you."
"I have written some of these dreams in the form of fiction in that journal you gave me when I left." John said to the Artist, "Not that it would be of any interest."
"I'm always interested in anything you've done." the Artist told him, "I'd like to see."
"So would I." Joan added.
"Well... I've never actually shown it to anyone before." John said, going to his desk and pulling out a leather-bound journal and handing to the Artist who opened it, Joan standing beside her to read it too.
"'A Journal of Impossible Things'." Joan read.
The Artist flipped the page to see drawings of the TARDIS console and the sonic screwdrivers. "Very creative." she remarked, then she noticed a drawing of the nanogene zombies. On the next page was a drawing of Daleks. She supressed a shudder at the sight of their arch-nemesis.
Joan on the other hand was quite impressed at the Dalek. "Just look at those creatures! Such imagination!" she praised.
"It's become quite a hobby." John remarked.
The Artist flipped to the next page, where there were drawings of the Moxx of Balhoon, Krillitanes, and Autons. The page after that showed one of the clockwork robots that had tried to take the brain of Madame de Pompadour. "Not my finest hour." John said, "In that dream, I behave disgracefully and upset you." he told the Artist.
"Well, it's just a dream." she reassured him. In hindsight, although she'd been hurt at what happened in France, it had brought her and the Doctor closer, so she was thankful in that regard.
On the next page was a drawing of Rose. "Oh, sorry, Nancy." John said to the Artist, "I'd forgotten I'd drawn your cousin."
"That's my cousin, Rose." the Artist explained to Joan, "She went missing last year."
"I'm sorry." Joan said sympathetically. She knew what was like to loose someone close.
"It's alright." the Artist said, "Martha's been there for me." She continued her flicker through the journal, seeing drawings of Cybermen, the Jagrafess, then she found a drawing of the TARDIS.
"Oh, that's the box." John said, "The blue box, it's always there. Um, like a magic carpet. This funny little box that transports us to faraway places."
"Sounds fun." the Artist said, then flicked to the next page, where there were drawings of the Doctor's previous incarnations.
"My family." John said.
"Yes, there's your...brother." the Artist said, pointing to the Doctor's ninth incarnation, "He introduced us." she said to John, giving him a peck on the cheek.
"I sometimes think how magical life would be if stories like this were true." John said wistfully.
"If only." the Artist nodded, turning over to the next page where there were several drawings of herself.
"All just a dream." John said, "And I don't need all that, I've got everything I want right here." He put his arm around the Artist.
Joan saw the affectionate display, so decided she'd better leave the married couple to catch up. John gave her permission to borrow the journal, and Joan left the room.
———————————————————————————
Joan was halfway down the hall when the Artist came running after her. "Excuse me, matron." the Time Lady called, "But you left this." She handed Joan her stethoscope.
"Oh, thank you." Joan replied, taking it and putting it in her bag, "Who is he, Mrs Smith?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Your husband. It's like he's left the kettle on, like he knows he has something to get back to, but he doesn't remember what."
"That's just the way he is." the Artist replied, "He's always been like that, it's part of his charm."
"That servant girl, Martha, she arrived at the same time as him. He found her employment here at the school, isn't that right?"
"Yes, Martha used to work for my family. I asked her to look after him while I was in London."
"Well, you should tell her to be careful. If you don't mind my saying so, she sometimes seems a little familiar with him." Joan said haughtily, "She needs to remember her position."
"Thank you for your opinion." the Artist replied stiffly, "But Martha isn't just a maid, she's my friend. I asked her to look after my husband, so she has to be familiar with him. And, if you don't mind my saying so, you need to stop looking down at her like you're better than her. I don't care how it was while I was away, but when I'm around, Martha gets treated equally. And if you don't like it, tough!" And with that, she turned on her heel and went back to John's room, leaving Joan staring open-mouthed.
———————————————————————————
That evening, Martha and Jenny were at the pub. Jenny was sat on a bench outside when Martha came out with two pints. "Oh, it's freezing out here." she moaned, "Why can't we have a drink inside the pub?"
Jenny looked at her as if she was mad. "Now, don't be ridiculous. You do get these notions!" she said, "It's all very well, those suffragettes, but that's London! That's miles away."
"Don't you just wanna scream sometimes?" Martha asked her, "Having to bow, and scrape, and behave. Don't ya just wanna tell 'em?"
"I dunno." Jenny shrugged, "Things must be different in your country."
"Yeah, well, they are." Martha replied, "Thank god I'm not staying."
"You keep saying that." Jenny said.
"Just you wait. One more month and I'm free as the wind." Martha smiled. The Artist had promised that when the month was over and the Doctor was himself again, they'd take her somewhere nice to make up for all the racism she'd suffered over the past couple of months. "Wish you could come with me, Jenny. You'd love it."
"Where you gonna go?" Jenny asked.
"Anywhere." Martha shrugged, "Just look up there." She gestured to the sky. "Imagine you could go all the way up to the stars."
"Ya don't 'alf say mad things." Jenny laughed.
"That's where I'm going." Martha continued, "into the sky, all the way out." Suddenly, she saw a green light flare briefly in and out of existence in the night sky. Martha frowned, not liking the sight at all. "Did you see that?" she asked Jenny.
"See what?" Jenny questioned.
"Did you see it, though?" Martha continued, getting up to get a better a look, "Right up there, for just a second."
"Martha, there's nothing there." Jenny told her, but Martha wasn't convinced.
Just then, Joan came running up, looking spooked. "Matron, are you alright?" Martha asked.
"Did you see that?" Joan panted, "There was something in the woods. This light."
Just then, 'John' and 'Nancy' came out of the pub hand-in-hand. "Everything alright, ladies?" John asked.
"Yeah, it's freezing out here, you should come in the warm." the Artist said.
"There!" Joan said, pointing to the sky, "Look, in the sky." A light flew overhead.
"Oh, that's beautiful." Jenny breathed.
The Artist wasn't impressed. In the present circumstances, any strange lights were worrying. During her time in London, she'd been extremely edgy during bonfire night. John on the other hand wasn't concerned at all. "All gone." he said, "Commonly known as a meteorite. It's just rocks falling to the ground, that's all." He frowned when he saw the Artist looking worried. "Are you alright, dear?" he asked.
"Yeah." she muttered, distracted. That light had her worried. "I think it came down in the woods."
"No, no, no. They always look close." John reassured her, "But actually they're miles off. Yeah, nothing left but a cinder. Now, I should escort you back to the school." He smiled at her, then turned to Joan. "Matron?" Joan nodded, having decided she's had enough excitement for one evening. "Ladies?" John asked Martha and Jenny.
"No. We're fine, thanks." Martha waved him off, sharing the Artist's concerns about the light.
"Than I shall bid you good night." John nodded, and put his hat on, then he slipped his arm into the Artist's and they began to walk off.
"Be careful, Martha." the Artist warned, knowing that Martha was going to investigate the source of the light. She wished she could go herself, but she had to play the part of a devoted wife, so had to go with John.
———————————————————————————
Martha's search yielded nothing, so next morning, she and the Artist met up outside the TARDIS, which was stored in a barn. The Artist unlocked the door and they both stepped inside. The console room was dark, due to the ship being in low power mode. "Hello, old friend." the Artist called out. She'd missed the comfort of the box she called home over the past two months. 1910's beds were not exactly comfortable.
"Talking to a machine." Martha laughed.
"Oh, she's more than just a machine." the Artist replied, "The TARDIS is alive."
"Yeah, I know." Martha replied, "And I'm glad to see her too."
They went up to the console and the Artist checked the monitor. "Well, I can't find anything." she said, "But that's with the lower powered scan, and I can't risk firing her up as if it is the Family, they'll pick her up. I don't even dare use the screwdriver."
Martha nodded and they both looked around the darkened console room, reliving the last moments of the Doctor being himself.
"Martha, this watch is me." the Doctor said, handing Martha the fob watch.
"Right, okay, gotcha." Martha nodded, "No, hold on. Completely lost"
"Those creatures are hunters. They can sniff out anyone." the Doctor told her, "Me and Artist being Time Lords; well, we're unique. They could track us down across time and space."
"Huh, and the good news is?"
"They can smell us, but they haven't seen us." the Artist said, "And their life spans are running out, so if we bide our time, they'll die out."
"But they can track us down." Martha reminded.
"That's why I've gotta do it." the Doctor said, resigned, "I have to stop being a Time Lord. I'm going to become human."
"What about Artist?" Martha asked.
"I'll use this." the Artist replied, pulling out what looked like a wedding ring from her jacket pocket. "Bio-damper. If I put this on, they can't smell me."
"But there's only the one." the Doctor said, flipping a switch. A helmet-like contraption lowered from the ceiling. "Never thought I'd use this." he remarked, "Oh, but all the times I've wondered."
"What does it do?" Martha asked.
"It's the chameleon arch." the Artist explained, "It will rewrite the Doctor's biology, change his DNA and make him human."
"Now, the TARDIS will take care of everything." the Doctor said, taking the fob watch off Martha and placing into a slot on the helmet, "Invent a life story for me, find a setting for me and integrate me. Can't do the same for you." he told Martha, "So you'll just have to improvise "I should have just enough residual awareness to let you in. Artist, I'm sorry you'd better stay away for the first couple of months. Make it harder for the Family to find us if we split up. Should be safe for the final month."
"But, hold on, if ya gonna rewrite every cell, isn't that gonna hurt?" Martha asked the Doctor.
"Oh, yeah." the Doctor replied, setting the arch. "It hurts."
And it did hurt. Both women shivered as they remembered the Doctor's screams as the chameleon arch rewrote his DNA. Shaking the unpleasant memory out of her head, the Artist tuned the monitor to play a video message the Doctor had left before the change had took effect to give them advice on what to do. Unfortunately, his advice didn't say anything about strange lights. Most of his advice was about not letting him hurt anyone or abandon both of them. There was also some silly nonsense about not letting him eat pears and him rambling about a Housemartins concert. As they watched the video, the Artist subconsciously reached a hand up and touched the Doctor's face. "I miss him too." Martha said gently, putting her hand on her friend's shoulder.
Soon, the video reached the Doctor's final instruction; "If anything goes wrong, if they find us, then you both know what to do. Open the watch. Everything I am is kept safe in there. Now, I've put a perception filter on it, so the human me won't think anything of it. To him, it's just a watch. But don't open it, unless you have to. Cos' once it's open, the Family will be able to find me. It's all down to you, Martha. Your choice. Oh, and Artist? I love you. Always remember that, I love you with all my hearts. See ya on the other side."
"I love you too." the Artist whispered, wiping away a tear that had fallen down her cheek.
———————————————————————————
Meanwhile, John was in his study when there was a knock at the door. He answered the door to find Timothy Latimer, a quiet, shy, but secretly brilliant boy waiting outside. "You told me to come and collect that book, sir." Latimer said.
"Good lad, yes, yes." John said, "The Definitive Account of Mafeking by Aitchison-Price. Now, where did I put it?" He began rifling through the books on his desk. "And I wanted a little word. Your marks aren't quite good enough."
"I'm top ten in my class, sir."
"Now, be honest, Timothy." John said, "You should be the very top. You're a clever boy, but you seem to be hiding it. Where is that book?" he grumbled, finding no sign of it on the desk. "And I know why." he continued, moving to his anteroom to check the bookcases in there. "Keeping your head low avoids the mockery of your classmates. But no man should hide himself, don't you think?"
"Yes, sir." Latimer replied from the other room.
"If you're clever, be proud of it, use it!" John encouraged. He rifled through several shelves then found the book he was looking for. "Fascinating details about the siege." he said as he returned to Latimer, "Really quite fascinating. Are you alright?" he asked, noticing that Latimer seemed rattled about something.
"Yes, sir. Fine, sir." Latimer replied hastily.
"Right then, good." John nodded, giving him the book, "And remember, use that brain of yours." Latimer seemed to freeze over for a moment. "You're really not yourself, old chap." John frowned, "Anything bothering you?"
"No, sir, Thank you, sir." Latimer shook himself out of his daze and left the room.
———————————————————————————
Later that morning, John was teaching a class on the use of machine guns. Hutchinson was currently manning the gun, with Latimer in charge of the ammunition. "Concentrate." John ordered. The Artist stepped out onto the patio to watch. She felt rather sick at the sight. The Doctor wouldn't have condoned teaching boys this. "Hutchinson, excellent work." John praised.
Just then, Mr Rocastle came up. "Cease fire." he ordered.
"Good day to you, headmaster." John greeted.
"Your crew's on fine form today, Mr Smith." Mr Rocastle praised.
"Excuse me, headmaster, we could do a lot better." Hutchinson spoke up, "Latimer's being deliberately shoddy."
"I'm trying my best." Latimer protested.
"You need to be better than the best." Mr Rocastle told him, "Those targets are tribesmen, from the dark continent."
"That's exactly the problem, sir. They only have spears." Latimer pointed out.
"Oh, dear me, Latimer takes it upon himself to make us realise how wrong we all are." Mr Rocastle said haughtily, "I hope, Latimer, that one day you may have a just and proper war in which to prove yourself." The Artist overheard that, and it took every ounce of willpower not to storm over there and give the pompous fool a piece of her mind. He wouldn't be so smug if he knew what was coming in a year's time. "Resume firing." Mr Rocastle ordered, and Hutchinson began firing again.
Suddenly, the gun stopped. "Stoppage. Immediate action." Hutchinson ordered Latimer, but Latimer didn't move. He was staring into space, completely shell-shocked at something. "Didn't I tell you, sir? The stupid boy's useless." Hutchinson sneered, "Permission to give Latimer a beating, sir?" he asked Mr Rocastle.
"It's your class, Mr Smith." Mr Roscastle said to John.
"Permission granted." John nodded.
That was when the Artist leapt into action. "Excuse me, John?" she said, hurrying over, "Perhaps I could borrow Latimer and he could help me in the library?" she asked, giving John a look that told him there would be hell to pay if he refused.
"Alright." John nodded, not wanting to face his wife's wrath. The Artist and Latimer went off together, while Hutchinson sulked. That was the second time Mrs Smith had thwarted his fun. John then noticed that Baines was sniffing the air. "Anything the matter, Baines?" John asked him.
"I thought... No, sir. Nothing, sir." Baines said and walked away.
"As you were, Mr Smith." Mr Rocastle said, and went off back towards the school.
"Pemberton, Smyth, Wicks, take post." John ordered, and the boys took up positions. John then noticed Joan standing on the patio. "Ah, Nurse Redfern." he greeted, coming over.
"Um, I'll give you your journal back when next I see you." Joan said stiffly.
"No, no, no. You don't have to." John reassured.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr Smith." Joan shivered as the guns resumed, "I was just thinking about when my husband was shot."
"Ah, I'm sorry." John said, "My wife and I are going for a walk in the village this afternoon. Would you care to join us?"
"Um, I'd better not." Joan said. She hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot with Mrs Smith. "I have work to do, good day." And she walked away.
———————————————————————————
That afternoon, John and the Artist walked into the village together. "I have to confess I find myself disappointed in you, John." the Artist said, "Authorising a beating. You know how I feel about that."
"I'm sorry, dear." John said, "But I had no choice, the headmaster would've questioned me if I'd refused."
"The headmaster is an idiot." the Artist replied, "There's nothing just and proper about war at all. And this school is wrong. They should be teaching boys about the important things in life, like respecting others regardless of class, station and skin colour, not how to kill."
"Don't you think the discipline is good for them?" John asked.
"Of course, I think discipline is important." the Artist replied, "But not military discipline. If there's another war, the boys won't find it so amusing then."
"Well, Great Britain's at peace, long may it reign." John shrugged.
"I noticed in your journal, one of your stories told of next year, 1914." the Artist began delicately. As a Time Lady, she knew exactly what was coming; one of humanity's darkest chapters.
"That was just a dream, Nancy." John reassured her.
"But all those images of mud, barbed wire, trenches." the Artist probed, "You wrote of a dark shadow falling across the entire world."
"Well them, we can be thankful it's not true." John said, "I'll admit mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself. Everyday life can provide honour and valour and... let's hope from now on, this... country can find it's heroes in smaller places." His attention was caught by a lady with a pram coming round the corner and two men lifting a piano to the upper floor of a shop. He noticed that the rope on the piano was straining, about to break. "In the most..." he tailed off, seeing a boy with a cricket ball nearby. "Ordinary of..." He saw the rope straining ever further, and the woman obliviously walking towards it. "Of deeds." John finished, grabbing the boy's ball and throwing it towards some scaffolding, knocking a couple of poles over which in turn fell onto a plank of wood, catapulting a brick over the piano which then knocked a milk churn over right in the woman's path, causing her to stop just as the rope broke and the piano came crashing down, right where the woman would've been had she not been stopped. "Lucky." John murmured, surprised at himself for his own actions.
"That's not luck, that's my brilliant husband." the Artist smiled. Clearly there was some of the Doctor in John Smith after all.
"Nancy, would you like to accompany me to the village dance this evening?" John asked.
"I would love to, John." the Artist replied, giving him a peck on the cheek.
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Presently, they were walking past a field with a scarecrow. "It all makes sense now." the Artist said, "This Doctor is the man you'd love to be, doing amazing things with cricket balls."
"Well, I've discovered a talent, that's certainly true." John shrugged.
"Maybe you should play for England." the Artist joked.
"Now, I wouldn't go that far, dear." John said, then noticed something. "That scarecrow's all askew." he frowned, going over and putting the scarecrow right.
"An artistic eye as always." the Artist remarked, "Tell me, where did you learn to draw?"
"Galifrey." John replied absentmindedly then frowned, wandering why he's just said that.
"Ah yes, in Ireland, where we had our honeymoon." the Artist said hastily, "My mother was Irish, remember her?"
"Ah, yes." John nodded, "And your father. I remember when you took me to meet them."
"Yes. I wish I could've met your parents." the Artist said, carrying on with the charade, "What were they like?"
"My father, Sydney, was a watchmaker from Nottingham." John replied, "And my mother, Verity, um, she was a nurse."
"Oh, guess that explains why you get on so well with the matron." the Artist nodded.
"Well, my work is done, what d'you think?" John asked, gesturing to the scarecrow.
"Masterpiece." the Artist replied politely, through there was something about that scarecrow that unnerved her slightly, but she had no time to dwell on it as John took her hand and they resumed their walk.
"Talking of Matron, what do you think of her?" John asked.
"Well, I've only just met her, so I can't really judge." the Artist shrugged.
"Well, I asked her if she'd like to join us and she refused. I think she's worried you don't like her." John said.
"Now, that's a bit strong." the Artist said, "I just didn't like her attitude towards Martha. Martha has to put up with enough nonsense from the boys without the matron adding to it. When I arrived yesterday, I caught that Hutchinson boy saying bad things to Martha."
"Oh, did you now?" John frowned. He was aware that Hutchinson was an overprivileged bully, and would have to have words with him later.
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Presently, the couple had returned to the school and John had persuaded the Artist to let him sketch her, since Joan had his journal still. "Could I see it now?"the Artist asked when John had finished. John sat beside her on the settee and showed her the sketch. The Artist couldn't help but laugh. "You've done it again." she said, "Made me far too beautiful."
"You are beautiful, Nancy." John told her, gently brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, "You're my fairy-tale princess." He leaned in and kissed her. "Oh, I've missed you, Nancy. So much." he sighed, then kissed her again. Their moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes, come." John called, annoyed at the interruption.
The door opened and Martha came in. "You sent for me, ma'am?" she asked the Artist.
"Yes, um, my husband and I are going to the dance this evening, Martha." the Artist replied, "My luggage hasn't come down from London yet, so I've nothing to wear for the occasion, could you be so kind as to help me?"
"Of course." Martha nodded, and the two women left the room.
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"Sorry if I interrupted." Martha said once they were out of John's earshot.
"No, no, no problem." the Artist replied, "To be honest, I'm glad you came when you did, Martha. It was getting a bit, well, personal."
"He was kissing you, wasn't he?" Martha smiled. The Artist nodded. "Is he a better kisser than the Doctor?" Martha teased.
"Martha!" the Artist squealed, going bright red.
"Don't be ashamed, Artist." Martha reassured her friend, "He is technically the Doctor. You're not cheating on him, and you are John Smith's wife after all."
"Yeah, but..." the Artist tailed off. John was so much like the Doctor, yet so different. She didn't know what to feel really.
"Come on, let's get you dressed up for your big night with you husband." Martha said tactfully, dragging the Time Lady off.
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The Artist returned to John's room half-an-hour later wearing a nice greenish-blue dress she'd obtained from the TARDIS wardrobe, while her hair was pulled into a neat updo held in place with the butterfly clip she'd worn during the trip to 1869 Cardiff. She'd kept her normal boots on underneath the dress, since no one was going to see them and there was no way she was going to suffer high heels. She'd had to leave her sonic screwdriver and psychic paper in the TARDIS since she had no pockets, and even if she had, she didn't dare use the sonic in case it was detected.
"You look beautiful." John smiled. He was dressed smartly in a grey tweed suit and bowtie.
"You'd best give me some warning, John." the Artist replied, "How's your dancing nowadays?" The Doctor was an excellent dancer but a bad artist, yet John Smith was an excellent artist, so she thought his dancing skills might be the opposite.
"Um, I'm not certain. Haven't had much practice." John replied.
"I'm not surprised." the Artist smiled, "Is there anything you are certain about?"
"Only how much I love you." John replied, coming forward and kissing her. The Artist went along with it, as Martha had encouraged her to.
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Martha was in the room she shared with Jenny when Jenny came in. "There you are." Martha smiled, "Come and look what I've got. Mr Poole didn't want his afternoon tea, so cook said I could have it. And there's enough for two." Jenny stayed standing at the door. "What're you standing there for?" Martha asked. Jenny didn't answer, she just sniffed the air. "You alright?" Martha frowned.
"I must have a cold coming on." Jenny waved her off, coming in and sitting down.
"Problem is, I keep thinking about them, and I don't know what to do." Martha said.
"Thinking about who?"
"Mr and Mrs Smith. They're leaving in a few weeks."
"Leave where?"
"It's like his contract comes to end, so we've gotta go and I dunno how he's gonna react to it." The perception filter on the fob watch was so strong that Martha didn't know how to get John Smith to open it. She did think that maybe the Artist could persuade him.
"Leave for where?" Jenny probed.
"All sorts of places." Martha smiled, "I wish I could tell ya, Jenny, but it's complicated."
"In what way?"
"I just can't."
"It sounds so interesting. Tell me, tell me now." Jenny insisted.
Martha frowned. Jenny wasn't acting like herself at all. "Would you like some tea?" Martha asked, changing the subject.
"Yes, thanks."
"I could put a nice bit of gravy in the pot and some mutton." Martha offered, looking for an excuse to leave, "Or sardines and jam, how about that?"
"I like the sound of that." Jenny answered in a blank, emotionless voice.
"Right." Martha smiled tensely, "Hold on a tick." She got up and left the room. She quickly went outside and left the building.
Suddenly, a familiar bolt of green energy whizzed past her, just missing her by inches.
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John and the Artist were just getting ready to leave for the dance when Martha burst in. "They've found us." she panted.
"Martha, I've warned you..." John grumbled, but the Artist wasn't bothered.
"What's happened?" she asked Martha.
"They've found us and I've seen them." Martha told her, "They look like people, like us! Like normal! I'm sorry, but we've gotta open the watch." She looked to the mantle, only to find that the fob watch had disappeared. "Where is it?" Martha gasped, "Oh my god, where's it gone? Where is the watch?"
"What're you talking about?" John frowned, puzzled by his maid's odd behaviour.
"The fob watch my father gave you on our wedding day." the Artist told him, "Where is it?"
"Oh, that. I don't know." John shrugged.
"Martha, can I have a word outside?" the Artist said, and they both stepped out into the hallway out of earshot of John. "Okay, Martha, tell me exactly what's happened?"
"They've taken Jenny." Martha replied, "They've possessed her or copied her or something."
"Then they have found us." the Artist said grimly, "That's one of the Family. The others must be close by."
"What do we do?" Martha asked frantically.
"We need to find the watch." the Artist replied, "It's vital."
"I'll look for it." Martha said, "You go with your husband."
"Martha, we stand a better chance of finding it if we look together." the Artist told her.
"No, if you don't go, he's gonna start asking questions. And if the others are here, then he's gonna need protecting." Martha reasoned, "I'll meet you there if I find the watch."
"Failing that, try the sonic screwdrivers or something from the TARDIS." the Artist advised, "Chameleon arches aren't fool proof. Sometimes things can jog a Time Lord's memory."
"Alright I'll try that." Martha nodded, "Be careful."
"You too." the Artist replied, "Good luck." And Martha hurried away while the Artist went back inside the study.
"Everything okay?" John asked.
"Yeah, she's just had a bit of a shock." the Artist replied, "I told her to take it easy for a bit."
"Right then." John nodded, "Shall we?" He offered his arm and the Artist took it.
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John and the Artist soon arrived at the village hall. "Spare a penny for the veterans of the Crimea, sir?" the door man asked, holding out a can.
"Yes, of course, there you are." John replied, dropping a penny into the can, then they went inside.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners for a waltz." a man announced.
John put his arm around the Artist and they started to dance to the music. "Your skills are still fine." the Artist smiled. John was a pretty decent dancer, not as good as the Doctor, but still pretty good.
"Quite surprised myself." John laughed, only to accidentally bump into another couple. "Sorry." he called.
"Looks like we spoke too soon." the Artist laughed, trying to take her mind off her worries over Martha.
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Five dances later, John had gone to get some drinks, while the Artist went to find somewhere to sit down. She scanned the room to see if there was anyone or anything suspicious. Everything seemed pretty normal, people were milling about having a good time. She recognised Latimer and Joan. She went over to sit by the matron. "Evening, Matron." she greeted, "This table free?"
"Help yourself, Mrs Smith." Joan replied.
"Please, call me Nancy. I can't stand formalities."
"Is that why you're so lenient with Martha?" Joan asked.
"She's my friend." the Artist told her.
"Yes, um, so you told me yesterday. Forgive me for yesterday. It was, of course, none of my business. And I've got nothing personal against the girl, it's just that I lost my husband at Spion Kop. I felt angry at everyone coloured for a long time afterwards." Joan explained.
"Well, you shouldn't tar everyone with the same brush." the Artist said.
"Yes, I suppose." Joan mumbled, "I'd like to start over. Be friends."
"I'd like that." the Artist nodded. Despite the woman's snobby attitude, John had assured her that Joan was a good person at heart. "He's different from any other man you've met?" she asked, gesturing to John.
"Yes."
"And sometimes he says strange things, like people and places you've never heard of, right?" the Artist asked, hoping that maybe Joan could help jog the Doctor's memory.
"Yes." Joan nodded, wandering what she was getting at.
"But it's deeper than that." the Artist continued, "Sometimes when you look in his eyes, you know that there're something else in there. Something hidden, right behind the eyes."
Just then, Martha came up; "Nancy?"
"Did you find the watch?" the Artist asked.
"No, but I've got the sonic." Martha replied, "Would that work?"
"Hopefully." the Artist replied just as John came over with the drinks.
"Oh, now really, Martha. This is getting out of hand." John scolded, "I must insist that..."
"Just shut up and listen to her, John." the Artist told him, causing him to gape at her tone.
"Do you know what this is?" Martha asked, holding up the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, "Name it."
John took it and looked at it closely. "Remember, you wrote about it in your journal." the Artist said, "What's it called?"
John didn't answer, he just kept looking at the sonic closely. He recognised the strange silver and blue object from the journal, but couldn't believe it was actually real.
"You're not John Smith." Martha told him gently, "You're called the Doctor. And Nancy is called the Artist. The man and woman in your journal, they're real. He's you."
But before John could answer, a portly man who John recognised as Mr Clarke burst in carrying a futuristic gun, followed by Baines, who had an arrogant smirk etched on his face. "You will be silent, all of you!" Clarke bellowed as Jenny came in, accompanied by what appeared to be walking scarecrows, exactly like the one John had fixed earlier.
"Mr Clarke! What's going on?" the announcer demanded. Clarke responded by simply shooting him with his gun, completely vaporising him. A chorus of screams erupted from terrified guests.
"John, everything Martha just told you, just forget it." the Artist told John urgently, "Don't say anything."
"We asked for SILENCE!" Baines thundered, and the screams stopped. "Now then." Baines continued in a calm voice, "We have a few questions for Mr Smith."
"No, better than that." said a little girl with a red balloon, who John recognised as Lucy Cartwright, "The teacher, he's the Doctor. I heard 'em talking."
"You took human form?" Baines questioned John.
"Of course I'm human. I was born human!" John blustered, not understanding what was going on, "As were you, Baines. And Jenny, and you, Mr Clarke. What is going on? This is madness!"
"Oh, and a human brain too." Baines commented, "Simple, thick and dull."
"But he's no good like this." Jenny said.
"We need a Time Lord." Mr Clarke agreed.
"Easily done." Baines smirked, pulling out a gun and aiming it at John, "Change back."
"I don't know what you're talking about." John protested.
"Change back!" Baines demanded.
"I literally do not know how..."
Jenny grabbed Martha and pointed a gun at her head. "She's your friend, isn't she?" Jenny grinned cruelly, "Doesn't this scare you enough to change back?"
"I don't you what you mean!" John insisted.
"Wait a minute." Jenny pondered, "The maid told me there was another Smith, his wife. That woman there." She pointed to the Artist.
"Then let's have you!" Clarke snarled, grabbing the Artist and dragging her over to him then pointed a gun at her.
"Hate to disappointment you, but this isn't the first time I've had a gun pointed at me." the Time Lady said calmly, already thinking of how to get out of this mess.
"Have you enjoyed it, Doctor? Being human?" Baines goaded John, "Has it taught you wonderful things? Are you better, wiser, richer? Then lets see you answer this...Which one of them, do you want us to kill? Maid or the Mrs? Friend or wife? Your choice!"
To be continued...