Someone kill the damn rooster

[purplerhino]

Who: Oona, River, Molly
Where: Camp Crash II
When: Day 37 crack-o-dawn
Open: Anyone waking up
Status: Complete

She’d dreamt odd dreams, erotic promises etched on her skin and in her blood.

Hands not her own roamed her body, but she could not open her eyes to see who they belonged to, or even if it were male or female as no callous or roughness marred

Comments

[Martha]

[fikgirl]

When Martha awoke, she was alone. She wasn't surprised. Ten didn't need sleep, and in a way his absence was something of a relief. Her pride still smarted from last night's conversation and she wasn't quite up to seeing him this morning yet.

"You and Rose have a good talk?"

Martha, settled down with her hands tucked beneath her cheek and eyes closed, opened her eyes to look at him. "If you're so interested, you didn't have to stay away."

Ten snorted. Glasses on, he peered at the contraption that he was working on. She didn't know what it was and she didn't ask. "Learned a long time ago that the safest place to be when two women are nattering is far away. Especially when you're the subject of said conversation."

"You think a bit highly of yourself, don't you?" Martha teased.

"What did you talk about then?" The Doctor looked up, brown eyes challenging.

"Books, traveling, arriving here, board games." A beat. "You and him."

"We're the same person. Mostly. Minor cosmetic differences."

"And personality."

"Rose said that?" He manages to look concerned, puzzled and happy all at the same time.

"No." The word came out more clipped that Martha intended. "I managed to figure it out. Doesn't take a lot to work it out. Anyone who spends a few minutes with you both could do it."

"Changes in brain chemistry brought on by the regeneration leaves a few residuals," Ten turned back to his contraption.

Silence hung in the air between them. So did the unspoken subject of Rose Tyler.

"Where does this leave me?" The words slipped out before Martha could stop them.

Ten stopped, only for a moment before returning to his work. "Whatever do you mean, Martha? You're left stranded here with me last I checked."

"Rose is here. You found her again. Even if she isn't your Rose, she's Rose. Where do I fit in?"

There, the words were said and out there. The nagging fear and worry that he'd forget about her and abandon her, that she would become the One That Didn't Measure Up to Rose again.

"You're my first responsibility."

"Right," Martha said, her words sharp. "Glad we sorted that out."

"Yes, it's a very good thing."

Whether he was oblivious or being deliberately thick, Martha didn't know. She rolled over, her back to him, not wishing to talk anymore. She'd not expected professions of love and adoration, but she'd hoped for something more than being simply his responsibility.

He was still fiddling when she drifted off to sleep.

Waking up with his trench coat draped over her, an odd gesture of caring and concern for her well-being only confused her more. The urge and need to throttle him loomed large and strong.

She rolled out of bed, changed from her borrowed clothes back into her blue jeans and shirt, and after pulling her hair back into a ponytail, headed off to find some breakfast. She happened upon Romana, the girl, River and two women that she hadn't met, and gave them a polite, "Good morning, Romana, River. I don't believe we've met yet. I'm Martha Jones." The last was directed at the two women - the ginger and the very pale, likely albino woman.