// Leanne Jones (unrequitedjones) wrote in silverage, @ 2011-08-12 23:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, martha jones, simon tam |
Who: Martha Jones, Simon Tam, or the (real) doctors!
When: Early Saturday morning
Where: a random intersection
What: helping!
Rating/status: TBD
Martha Jones was not usually up at this hour. Something was rattling her, and it wasn't just the snow. She slipped out of her room in the TARDIS, down the corridor, to the control room, and out the main door, making sure the door clicked shut. She had her key - oh yes, she had her key! - and she set off in the semi-tranquil streets of Manhattan. She'd been having a bad dream, she missed her family, and she felt lost over the fact that she didn't know her own future. It wasn't just getting over the Doctor - he'd made a fair point that day that they'd talked - but it was all the stuff she knew the Doctor wasn't mentioning, and how chummy he seemed with Donna, and all the adventures she never got to have but he'd told her about. She wanted to go home. Home and sit down and not deal with any of ... this. Snow. In August.
What she wanted was highly irrelevant as there was only what she had. New York. 1964. No moon landing. No cell phone. No functioning TARDIS. And a lot of crazy that she had no choice but to bear.
It was nice, the snow, peaceful. Reminded her of home at Christmas. Home. An ocean and several decades away. Maybe a walk hadn't been the best of ideas.
A screech of brakes to her left and the unmistakeable sound of metal on metal caused Martha to come crashing back to reality. Two cars lay in a crumpled heap, the stop light above them flashing yellow in one direction, red in the other. It was silent, for half a second, before all the noise hit her at once; without even processing, she dashed over to the cars to see if there was anyone she could help.
"Someone call 911," she yelled to the empty, falling snow. "Help! Someone!"
She tugged at the door of the first car and a man tumbled out, groaning and holding his bleeding arm. A piece of metal was firmly embedded in. "You're gonna be alright sir," Martha said, ripping off a length of her own shirt. "Don't pull it out. I'm going to tie this around your arm to help the bleeding, then check on the other car."
Had no-one honestly woken with the racket? What time was it anyway!
"Help!" she yelled again, as loud as she could. "Someone! Call 911! Help!"