Title: Reset (2/4)
Author: Emma
Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: Martha Jones comes to Torchwood and their world will never be the same...

Part One here

Watching Martha examine the patient, Owen had to admit she was a damn good doctor. Some of it was the face, of course: she had the kind of face that made people believe in her from the first time they met her. But she also had the craft of it down pat, and an instinctive grasp of how the whole organism was affected by disease. She was the closest thing Owen had ever encountered to a Healer in someone with absolutely no Talent..

“I don't understand,” Iselle Macris said, her american accent sounding harsh in Owen's ears. “I was doing fine.”

Owen sat on the side of the bed. “But you had been ill.”

She shuddered. “Yes. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. In America we call it Lou Gehrig's disease.”

“After the baseball player, yes.” Owen took her hand in his. “Remission is very rare.”

“It's not remission!” Iselle Macris shook with rage. “I'm cured!”

“How?” Martha said gently.

Iselle looked at her, then looked away. “I can't tell you.”

Owen's phone signal chimed quietly in his ear. He looked at Martha and touched his ear as if scratching it. She nodded. Another question answered: she was as quick on the uptake as Ianto. He got up and moved towards the window. Martha murmured something to Iselle, then pulled the privacy curtain around the bed.

Owen tapped the ear piece. “Talk.”

“The doctor's name is Aaron Copley,” Tosh said. “He has a clinic thirty miles outside of Cardiff in a converted manor house. He calls it The Farm. A fancy rest cure sort of place. Rich drunks and aging movie stars.”

“How did he become a miracle worker?”

“Still digging.”

“Keep looking, love. I'll see what I can get out of Iselle Macris.”

As he turned back towards the bed, Martha slid back the curtain. Their eyes met briefly. Owen got the message; Iselle Macris was losing the fight.

“Iselle.” Owen waited until she looked at him. “Tell me about Doctor Copley.”

He saw the recognition flare in her eyes before they slid away.

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

Owen returned to his perch at the side of the bed. “Iselle, there have been several cases just like yourself. People who have been very ill, suddenly recovered, and just as suddenly fell ill again. We need to find out what's going on.”

“It's a miracle!” She burst out, tears running down her face. “He made a miracle for me!”

Martha put her arm around Iselle's shoulders. “Iselle, you're a good Catholic, you know better than that. Whatever doctor Copley did, was not of God or from God. The Lord would not give you a miracle and then take it back.”

For a moment Iselle looked as if she wanted to argue, but then she sagged into Martha's arms, weeping. Owen waited; in his experience, that sort of emotional storm didn't last long. Finally, as her sobs wound down to hiccups and sniffles, he took one of her hands in his.

“Iselle, we need to know.”

She nodded, raising her head from Martha's shoulder. “After I got my diagnosis I went a little crazy. I tried everything, from vitamin therapies to hedge witch potions. Nothing worked. Then I heard a rumor about a doctor that could cure anything.”

“How did you find him?” Martha asked.

“You don't. He finds you.” She rubbed her eyes with one fist, like a child trying to fight sleep. “I make my living doing research for corporations and law firms. It took a while, but I found his trail.You put an ad in the online adverts for any of the Welsh papers. Not the big ones, the small town papers. And then you wait for his call.”

Owen stroked the hand he still held. “And when he called you?”

“It felt like I had won the lottery. They gave me instructions. I was to turn all the money in my savings account into diamonds and have half of them with me when they came to pick me up...” she pushed away from Martha, suddenly shivering. “The rest was due.... I don't feel very well... when I was cured. I thought it was a good deal.... shit! That hurts!”

Martha put her hand on Iselle's arm, then snatched it back. Eyes wide, she turned her palm out towards Owen. Her fingers were singed.

“Oh, God, I'm burning up! I'm burning up!” Iselle stared in horror at her skin as it began to glow. “Help me!”

Owen grabbed a blanket and tossed it over her, trying to smother the fire he knew was coming, but after a few minutes the blanket began to burn too. He looked around for something else to use.

“Owen, move!” Martha pushed him back against the wall. “There's nothing you can do!”

They watched helplessly as Iselle Macris burst into flames. Owen grabbed Martha and turned around, shielding her with his body. Alarms blared and people ran into the room but were pushed back by the smoke and heat. The sprinklers turned on, but they seemed helpless against the conflagration. Finally, to Owen's relief, Iselle's body collapsed back into the bed and the flames began to die down under the relentless curtain of water.

Suddenly, Martha darted out, a sampling hypodermic in her hand, and plunged it into the still-smouldering foot. Owen admired her coolness. Putting the needle in his bag, she motioned towards the door.

“We need to get back to the Hub.”

He nodded and followed her out of the room, unnoticed in the madhouse in the halls as the hospital staff coped with the smoke and noise. Once outside hospital parking, Owen drove as fast as he could. Martha sat next to him, eyes closed, sunk in her own thoughts. He studied her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she had already talked to Jack. To his Healer's Sense, Martha's illness was as visible as her beauty was to his eyes.

In the Hub, they followed the heavenly scent of Ianto's coffee to the conference room. The whole team was there, munching on hot buttered scones and sipping at their mugs.

“Isn't it a little late for tea?” Owen asked, trying for sardonic and not quite making it.

“It's four in the morning. Just a little early for breakfast.” Jack said, waving Martha to the chair next to his. “Anything new?”

“Iselle Macris is dead.” Owen said, taking a huge gulp of his coffee. “Martha got a sample, but I'm sure we're going to find the same thing that with did with the others. Doctor Copley is injecting un-human genetic material into the patients. Something about it acts as a sovereign specific... yes, Andy?”

“I am admittedly ignorant of medicine, but isn't a sovereign specific a cure for a particular set of diseases or symptoms? Like my mam-gu used to swear that chamomile would cure all fevers, no matter what caused them?”

Martha put down her cup. “Owen and I looked over the files. The diseases Copley has been curing all have a genetic component. Whatever he is injecting is curing the cells no matter what the disease is.”

“But ends up killing them,” pointed out Jack.

“Yes,” she said. “And that means that the material he is using is so genetically divergent from human normal that human cells can't assimilate it.”

“There can't be that many options, can there?” Gwen asked.

“More than you'd think,” Owen said. “But the problem is that we can't identify it from the samples we have. We do not think it's demonic, but even there we can't be sure. We need to get our hands on the raw material he's using.”

“That's not going to be easy.” As Tosh pressed a key on her portable keyboard, the holographic screen built into the glass wall of the conference room showed a satellite view of a walled compound resembling a military compound much more than a clinic. “Security is state-of-the-art. Staff is vetted back to the cradle before being hired. I can mock up a history for someone, but not in the time we have.”

“And we're not exactly hard to find if someone's looking,” Ianto pointed out. “None of us could go undercover in this case.”

“I can,” Martha said. “They don't know me.”

“We can't wait too long,” Jack said. “Three more cases were diagnosed while you were with Miss Macris. Thankfully we were able to divert all three to the Archbishop's infirmary. The last two were sisters. Ann and Rose Williams. Ann Williams was treated by doctor Copley for triple-negative breast cancer. Rose Williams received a clean bill of health at her annual checkup less than a month ago.”

Owen nearly choked on his mouthful of scone. “Contagious?”

Jack nodded. “Whatever Copley is using has become aggressive. One of the nursing sisters came down with whatever it is two hours after helping Rose Williams drink some broth.”

“We need to get inside that compound,” Martha said.

“We don't have time for Tosh to work her magic,” Jack told her. “I've applied for a warrant from Westminster, but that won't come through until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“I wouldn't be able to get in as a prospective employee, Jack,” Martha said. “But I can as a patient.”

Jack studied her tired face. “Martha?”

“It seems the waters of Lethe are not exactly healthy for living humans.” She touched his face gently. “The Doctor tried everything he could and all he managed was to slow down the rate of deterioration. I'm dying, Jack.”