martha_jones: ([suit] o rly?)
You're far too comfortable to move.

Not yet.

Sure, your Mum tells you that you should buy a larger flat, or a house, and make it perfect for yourself and Tom. That's what couples do, that's what she and your Dad did, that's what Leo and his girlfriend would do if his girlfriend would just be like any normal girl and marry him.

But your flat is safe. You can stand by the side window and know with absolute certainty that if someone was shooting at you outside, you could duck under the window and hide. And your front door has all the locks you've installed, and your bedroom door sticks just enough that only you and Tom can push it open without too much effort. You know the handle of the door and you know how to shift your arm and throw your weight into it, so you know without doubt that your bedroom is safe.

Your home is safe. Your carpet is plush and soft beneath your feet and the closeness of the walls is a tight, comforting feeling. It's not vast, like the TARDIS, or the world.

And what about Nameless? You ask your mother. You can't just tell him to leave, he's got nowhere to go!

What about him? Your mother demands back. He's not your husband, he's not even really a person. He's certainly not good for you, like Tom is.

He's my friend, you reply. There's a note to your voice that implies, to your ever-so-nosy-mother, that he's just your friend. Sure, in the heat of a very tense moment you and he have shared an idiotic kiss, but it was nothing Tom can't forgive. When you tell him. Which will be soon.

Just not yet.

And no, the bedroom Nameless is in at the moment wouldn't really make a good nursery, but you're not married yet, much less ready for children. What would you do with them, anyway? It's not as if you have time to take care of them. And Tom, well, Tom's a constant but absent presence in your life. He isn't ready to be a steady parent. Tom might tell you he is, but he isn't. He isn't.

The world like you know it isn't the sort you want to bring a child into, either. Cut for mild spoilers to Torchwood: Children of Earth. )

Muse: Martha Jones, MD
Fandom:Doctor Who
Word Count:1,387
based on RP with [ profile] handysparehand
martha_jones: ([emote] what's that supposed to mean?)
Companion piece to this brilliant story by [ profile] savagestime.

First, do no harm.

She hates him.

She hates every moment of being around him. She washes her hands and scrubs the dirt underneath her nails away but she can never quite clean up the blood. He watches her with those small, piercing eyes. Like slivers of glass, they glitter and cut.

He looks at her as if he's waiting for her to speak. She won't. She's just his doctor, she's just doing her job. But she isn't going to speak. Not to him. Not to Saxon.

He'll always be Saxon to her, no matter how many times the Doctor corrects her and tells her he's the Master. He's not her Master.

"Oh, yes, question the name why don’t you, everyone else does!" he says, brightly. This is something Martha has come to expect of him. When she doesn't speak like he wants her to, he talks as though she's spoken. Responds as though she's still talking, still asking the questions he wants to hear. It would be disconcerting if she wasn't certain he was completely and utterly mad. She rolls her eyes and grabs the blood pressure monitor. He extends his arm without protest.

"You know, people don’t question the Doctor’s name half as much as they do mine, and his is just as arrogant, if not more so. Hello, ‘the Doctor’? He doesn’t even know medicine! Not enough that he could save a man’s life – thanks for that, by the way – and he hardly has the demeanor of a doctor. If I had a doctor like him, I’d have fired him ages ago."

His eyes glitter again. 'Lucky that I get you, isn't it?' )

Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,569 not including lines from the Hippocratic Oath
martha_jones: ([ten] how to save a life)
Describe two moments in which your life took a turn, where on the one side, you were one person, and on the other side, someone new.

Whenever it happens, it feels like the first time.

They're on the blasted desert near India. Martha doesn't speak Arabic and the TARDIS is too weak from the paradox machine to translate, but she has Davi with her. Davi isn't really his name, he says, but she wouldn't be able to pronounce his name anyway. He wants to help and he gives her water and holds her hand and translates her stories.

He tells her she's his friend, but she won't tell him he's hers. Her friends die in the Master's world.

But Davi is not going to die. She's not going to let him die, even as he drops from the shot of a Toclafane. It doesn't see Martha and scurries away. They always hurt the ones she cares about and leave her alone.

She runs to Davi's side. He starts shaking and coughing. There's blood everywhere.

It feels like the first time. )

Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 903
martha_jones: ([text] the year that never was)
Ministers spread the Word. They go from place to place, person to person and tell them what they know of the Word and give others the belief they need to continue living. It requires persistence, patience, and unwavering faith.

In that way, Martha is a minister. Only the Word Martha spreads is "Doctor" and her congregation is the whole of humanity.

And right now, she's spreading the word of the Doctor to a huddled group of survivors in a bunker in Australia.

Above them, nuclear fallout is destroying what was left of their country. Children sit motherless in a circle at her feet, families hold small ceremonies before radioactive bodies are unceremoniously thrown from the shelter.

If Martha's faith wasn't so strong, if she wasn't so certain, then she isn't sure she could keep telling the story she's telling.

"And then, right when the Bard himself couldn't figure out what to say, the Doctor exclaimed 'Expelliarmus!' which just so happened to fit into the rhyme perfectly---"

The kids at her feet whoop with excitement. There's a copy of Harry Potter somewhere between them and they've all taken turns reading it to each other since Martha found it above and brought it down.

The kids love this story about Shakespeare and the witches. The parents love it, too, and Martha's had her tellings of lines corrected so often she's gotten used to saying it wrong, just to make sure her audience is truly listening. Sure, she's removed herself from the climax of the story, but that makes the Doctor more of a hero. And what they need right now is a hero.

She's learned a lot about telling stories. Martha was never the storyteller of her group of friends, she often left that position to her eternally-in-P.R. sister. Tish always knew where to raise her hands and where to pause for drama. When she first started telling her stories, she would imagine she was her sister and the stories would come out as a fairly bad parody of Tish's usual performances.

But people need the stories. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,687
For [ profile] handysparehand who has been requesting The-Year-That-Never-Was ficlets
martha_jones: ([tom] side by side)
It's been 155 days since the Daleks stole Earth.

Tom remembers that day well. He remembers the cold, sunny day in Southern Africa suddenly plunged into terrifying darkness. He remembers holding frightened children and telling them everything would be all right. He remembers telling them a story Martha told him once, about a man who could turn back time and bring the world back to right. He'd come, Tom promised the children, the Doctor would come and bring the stars back.

He remembers sitting around a makeshift fire, trying to get some sort of signal to New York. He remembers praying---for the first time in how many years now?---that Martha was all right. She had to be all right.


The buildings shook, patients screamed, bedpans toppled over and catheters fell out as the Earth was put back to right. Just like he said it would. Tom remembers that even as they pulled themselves from the ground, the people around him cheered for the sunshine.

He's on the eighteenth plane to leave. He should've been much, much later, but he refuses to stay, not when he's always put everyone else first before this. It takes a week, but he gets home, back to London. He doesn't stop off at his mother's house, he rushes right to Martha's. Her phone is still going straight to voicemail, and if he can't get ahold of her---

He darts up the stairs and throws open the door and almost walks directly into him. It's the man Tom's seen in pictures Martha's shoved into boxes and under cabinets, pretending he doesn't exist anymore.

"The Doctor?" Tom asks.

"No." He, he being the man who looks like the Doctor, looks startled to see him. He's in a blue suit with red trainers and he's standing in the doorway, more than a bit dumbfounded.

"Tom!" Martha darts to the door and grins. He loves that smile of hers, the one that's a little surprised but thoroughly pleased. It melts away quickly and turns into something like embarrassment.

"This is…a friend of mine." She takes Tom's arm and leads him up to the bedroom---sorry, her bedroom, as the office now has its own futon, being his bedroom.

This is when Tom learns that the day Earth was returned to orbit, the Doctor made a choice and left Martha with him, this half-human clone without a job, home, or anything else.

"He's got nowhere to go," Martha tells him. "He'll stay here a few weeks, get himself together, and be off. Nothing's different."

He believes her because he's never had any reason not to believe her.

He goes back downstairs and shakes the hand of this nameless man, the one who will be Martha's flatmate for a while. Tom had thought he'd sweep in, take her into his arms, and forget about the world falling apart. Now, standing there in muddy red trainers, is a personification of everything that happened to the world.


I love you. )

Muse: Martha Jones
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,036
Based on this post and extra special thanks to your hero, my co-conspirator, [ profile] handysparehand!
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