prompt response: oncoming_storms 127.3 - high school AU
Martha hobbles into the nurse’s office, her expression a grimace in pain. She’s turned her ankle playing field hockey - not for the first time, either. (All right, so she might’ve deliberately gone after someone else, but they’d been making disparaging comments about Leo, so, as far as she was concerned, they deserved it.) There’s a boy she’d never seen before stretched out on the cot, lanky, with spiky brown hair.
“Hullo,” he greets her with a smile. “The nurse’s stepped out for a mo’, but she said to tell anybody who came to wait here.”
Martha shrugs, unconcerned, and sits down on a chair. “I just need to ice my ankle,” she explains. “Maybe wrap it, ‘m not sure. I don’t want to take my gym shoes off, ‘cos then it’ll start to swell, you know?” She knows her first aid, and a fair bit more, too - she’s already looking into pre-med programs, even though she’s still got a year to go before she graduates.
“Mm, let me take a look at it.” He scoots down on the cot, and Martha lifts her foot up for him obligingly. His long, slender fingers are surprisingly cool on her skin, though she hisses when he hits a particularly sore spot. “Nope, not broken, at least. Here, I’ll get you some ice, you leave your foot right there.”
He stands and turns to fetch some ice from the cooler, so he doesn’t see what Martha sees when she glances out the window behind him. “That’s weird, it was sunny just a moment ago when I was out on the field.” Rain is pouring down - no, it’s pouring up - and then there’s a flash of lightning, and suddenly, it’s nighttime outside the window.
“Hmm?” He tosses the baggie full of ice to Martha, then peers over the windowsill. “Oh, dear, that is a problem.” He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. “Biiiiig, big problem.”
“What’s a problem?” Martha stands up again, shifting her weight onto her good foot, and moves behind him. “Sorry, being on the moon is just a problem?”
“I said it was a big problem, didn’t I? C’mon, let’s go outside and take a look.” He grabs Martha’s hand and tugs, moving towards the door. “It’s all right, it’s perfectly safe. Weeell, it’s either perfectly safe or we’ll die, but probably the former.”
This really doesn’t serve to comfort Martha in the slightest, but, well, when will she get another chance to walk on the moon? “What’s your name, anyway?” she asks as she limps after him.
“John Smith.” He grins at her. “Just transferred here the other day, and here I am, laid up sick already.”
Martha rolls her eyes; he’s the very picture of health, except that his body temperature seems to be significantly lower than normal. Of course, she’s hardly a stranger to teenagers pretending to be ill in order to get sent home from school - half her mates end up with cramps whenever there’s a test they haven’t studied for properly (sometimes more than once a month). It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to pull a fast one, though.
“I’m Martha Jones,” she introduces herself.
“Pleasure t’ meet you, Martha.” He holds the door for her as they go out into the courtyard. “So, we’re on the moon. What d’you think of that?”
“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? But it’s starting to be par for the course ‘round here.” She shrugs casually and takes a seat next to the fountain. “I mean, my first year here, we had all those weird teachers who looked like they needed to go on Weight Watchers. Then there was all that weird stuff with the blood drive just before Christmas holidays, and that explosion in the chem lab a few months ago? All of it’s way too fishy, if you ask me.”
He smiles at her again, and Martha’s already half in love with that ridiculous smile. “Very observant, Martha. But the moon, I mean, that’s a bit different, eh?” John takes a seat next to her, swinging his long legs.
“Well, yeah,” she admits. “But not any weirder than those rumours about a secret society operating out of the band room - okay, yeah, it is weirder, because we’re on the bloody moon.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out how to fix it,” he reassures her, and, strangely enough, she almost believes him.
Almost.
“Going to build a spaceship out of paste and milk cartons, then?” Martha jokes, nudging him with her shoulder in a sort of-flirty way.
“Naaaah, thought I’d figure out whose fault this is and get them to fix it, that’s all. There’s got to be someone who stands out, someone who’s not supposed to be here.”
“Other than you, you mean?”
“Me? I’m harmless. I don’t think that’s the case with our friend, whoever they may be.” He suddenly stiffens; Martha looks around for a cause, but she doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Who’s that, Martha?” he whispers in her ear, pointing to a boy around her age standing behind the doors to the courtyard, nearly out of her field of vision.
“Him?” Martha squints a little to try and make out the figure in the corridors - it looks rather like he’s staring at the two of them. “Looks like Harry Saxon - but he’s all right, yeah? Bit nerdy and all, but a nice enough bloke.” She’s never really talked to him, but she knows him by reputation - half the girls (and some of the boys) in the school fancy him, and, from what she’s heard, he’s a downright charmer. It almost makes up for his intellectual bent (not that she minds smart blokes, but loads of girls go for the athletic type instead). “He’s been here for ages, never caused any trouble. He’s practically a model student.”
Harry turns away from the door and walks off, and John frowns. “Never mind, then. What we need to do is go scope out the records - attendance logs, emails, things like that. Ready for a bit of spying, Martha Jones?” He stands up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.
“Oh, yeah, like that’ll really hold clues as to why we’re on the moon.” Martha laughs incredulously, but takes his hand when he reaches to help her up.
“You never know. All it takes is one little hint to what’s out of place, and then all the pieces of the puzzle fall together.”
“You sound a bit mad, you know.” Martha doesn’t quite believe what’s going on here, but, for some crazy reason, she instinctively trusts John. It seems like he knows what he’s talking about.
“Better hope it isn’t contagious, then.” He practically drags her back inside to begin the investigation.
Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Words: 1131
Author's notes: Sorry I've been more absent than usual lately - ended up being without internet for half of June. Fun times. Also, I know the setting's a bit weird, it's all a mish-mash of American and British because I don't know a damn thing about British secondary schools.
“Hullo,” he greets her with a smile. “The nurse’s stepped out for a mo’, but she said to tell anybody who came to wait here.”
Martha shrugs, unconcerned, and sits down on a chair. “I just need to ice my ankle,” she explains. “Maybe wrap it, ‘m not sure. I don’t want to take my gym shoes off, ‘cos then it’ll start to swell, you know?” She knows her first aid, and a fair bit more, too - she’s already looking into pre-med programs, even though she’s still got a year to go before she graduates.
“Mm, let me take a look at it.” He scoots down on the cot, and Martha lifts her foot up for him obligingly. His long, slender fingers are surprisingly cool on her skin, though she hisses when he hits a particularly sore spot. “Nope, not broken, at least. Here, I’ll get you some ice, you leave your foot right there.”
He stands and turns to fetch some ice from the cooler, so he doesn’t see what Martha sees when she glances out the window behind him. “That’s weird, it was sunny just a moment ago when I was out on the field.” Rain is pouring down - no, it’s pouring up - and then there’s a flash of lightning, and suddenly, it’s nighttime outside the window.
“Hmm?” He tosses the baggie full of ice to Martha, then peers over the windowsill. “Oh, dear, that is a problem.” He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. “Biiiiig, big problem.”
“What’s a problem?” Martha stands up again, shifting her weight onto her good foot, and moves behind him. “Sorry, being on the moon is just a problem?”
“I said it was a big problem, didn’t I? C’mon, let’s go outside and take a look.” He grabs Martha’s hand and tugs, moving towards the door. “It’s all right, it’s perfectly safe. Weeell, it’s either perfectly safe or we’ll die, but probably the former.”
This really doesn’t serve to comfort Martha in the slightest, but, well, when will she get another chance to walk on the moon? “What’s your name, anyway?” she asks as she limps after him.
“John Smith.” He grins at her. “Just transferred here the other day, and here I am, laid up sick already.”
Martha rolls her eyes; he’s the very picture of health, except that his body temperature seems to be significantly lower than normal. Of course, she’s hardly a stranger to teenagers pretending to be ill in order to get sent home from school - half her mates end up with cramps whenever there’s a test they haven’t studied for properly (sometimes more than once a month). It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to pull a fast one, though.
“I’m Martha Jones,” she introduces herself.
“Pleasure t’ meet you, Martha.” He holds the door for her as they go out into the courtyard. “So, we’re on the moon. What d’you think of that?”
“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? But it’s starting to be par for the course ‘round here.” She shrugs casually and takes a seat next to the fountain. “I mean, my first year here, we had all those weird teachers who looked like they needed to go on Weight Watchers. Then there was all that weird stuff with the blood drive just before Christmas holidays, and that explosion in the chem lab a few months ago? All of it’s way too fishy, if you ask me.”
He smiles at her again, and Martha’s already half in love with that ridiculous smile. “Very observant, Martha. But the moon, I mean, that’s a bit different, eh?” John takes a seat next to her, swinging his long legs.
“Well, yeah,” she admits. “But not any weirder than those rumours about a secret society operating out of the band room - okay, yeah, it is weirder, because we’re on the bloody moon.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out how to fix it,” he reassures her, and, strangely enough, she almost believes him.
Almost.
“Going to build a spaceship out of paste and milk cartons, then?” Martha jokes, nudging him with her shoulder in a sort of-flirty way.
“Naaaah, thought I’d figure out whose fault this is and get them to fix it, that’s all. There’s got to be someone who stands out, someone who’s not supposed to be here.”
“Other than you, you mean?”
“Me? I’m harmless. I don’t think that’s the case with our friend, whoever they may be.” He suddenly stiffens; Martha looks around for a cause, but she doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Who’s that, Martha?” he whispers in her ear, pointing to a boy around her age standing behind the doors to the courtyard, nearly out of her field of vision.
“Him?” Martha squints a little to try and make out the figure in the corridors - it looks rather like he’s staring at the two of them. “Looks like Harry Saxon - but he’s all right, yeah? Bit nerdy and all, but a nice enough bloke.” She’s never really talked to him, but she knows him by reputation - half the girls (and some of the boys) in the school fancy him, and, from what she’s heard, he’s a downright charmer. It almost makes up for his intellectual bent (not that she minds smart blokes, but loads of girls go for the athletic type instead). “He’s been here for ages, never caused any trouble. He’s practically a model student.”
Harry turns away from the door and walks off, and John frowns. “Never mind, then. What we need to do is go scope out the records - attendance logs, emails, things like that. Ready for a bit of spying, Martha Jones?” He stands up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants.
“Oh, yeah, like that’ll really hold clues as to why we’re on the moon.” Martha laughs incredulously, but takes his hand when he reaches to help her up.
“You never know. All it takes is one little hint to what’s out of place, and then all the pieces of the puzzle fall together.”
“You sound a bit mad, you know.” Martha doesn’t quite believe what’s going on here, but, for some crazy reason, she instinctively trusts John. It seems like he knows what he’s talking about.
“Better hope it isn’t contagious, then.” He practically drags her back inside to begin the investigation.
Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Words: 1131
Author's notes: Sorry I've been more absent than usual lately - ended up being without internet for half of June. Fun times. Also, I know the setting's a bit weird, it's all a mish-mash of American and British because I don't know a damn thing about British secondary schools.