Fic: "A Somewhat Backwards Love Story" (2/4)
Title: A Somewhat Backwards Love Story
Author: honorh
Rating: Teen
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Tom, Martha/Mickey, the Joneses, the Tenth Doctor, Gwen Cooper-Williams, Rhys Williams
Spoilers: Through EoT2 for DW, CoE for TW
Beta: wendymr and dark_aegis
Note: This is born out of a theory I've seen floated around the Wide Internets. Somehow, it produced a Plot Poodle that's been gnawing at my ankle ever since, so here goes nothin'.
Summary: Her marriage cut tragically short, Martha Jones sets out to discover the truth--and find her place in a world where her deepest beliefs have been shattered. Somewhere along the way, she finds more than she ever expected.
Chapter 1: The Widow
Her first clue as to what’s gone wrong comes when she goes to Roald Dahl Plass in search of Torchwood. She finds a crater. Horrified, she flags down a passing PC.
“What the hell happened here?” At the look on the constable’s face, she swiftly adds, “I’ve been out of the country for a while.”
“Some sort of terrorist plot’s the official line,” says the PC, whose last name appears to be “Davidson”. Something about the look on his face makes Martha think he doesn’t put much stock in the official line. She doesn’t, either.
Martha’s gaze wanders back to the open pit that used to be the Hub. There’s someone down there, crouched as if examining something in the rubble. It’s a woman dressed in black, and as she stands and begins to climb back up to the surface, Martha recognizes her. She walks around to the side of the pit the other woman is ascending, and by the time Gwen Cooper-Williams is back on solid tarmac, Martha is waiting for her.
Gwen’s smile doesn’t entirely erase the darkness and grief in her eyes. “Martha! What are you doing here?”
“What happened here, Gwen?” Martha demands. “What happened to the world?”
Gwen closes her eyes, pain etched deep into every line of her face. “It’s a very long story.”
“I need to know.” Martha hears the tightness in her own voice. Gwen hears it too, her concerned gaze focusing on the other woman. “They--they killed my husband. They killed him.”
“Oh . . . oh, my dear.” Gwen wraps her in a warm, tight embrace. “Come home with me. I’ll tell you everything.”
***
The house Gwen drives her to is obviously recently purchased. There are still a few boxes here and there, but otherwise, it’s warm and comfortable, just like the couple who have made it their home. Martha meets Rhys, Gwen’s husband, and instantly likes him. Rhys sets about making tea while Gwen gets them settled in the living room.
The story spins out over the next hour, and it’s obvious that the telling of it brings Gwen pain. Martha had known about Tosh’s and Owen’s deaths, but she sheds fresh tears for Ianto even as her horror at the truth of what the monsters wanted with the children--and what her own government was willing to do--deepens.
She’s shaking again, chilled through by her grief and horror. Rhys appears out of nowhere, tucking an afghan around her shoulders and setting a fresh cup of hot tea in front of her. Then he sits with Gwen, lending her his support as she gathers her strength for the devastating finale of the story.
The look in the Doctor’s eyes had been an indication of how bad it was, but Martha finds herself unprepared for just how terrible a price Jack paid to defeat the monsters.
“God,” she gasps, and it’s half a prayer.
Gwen is weeping openly. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since,” she finally manages. “I’m afraid for him. I know he can’t die, but he can punish himself. And he will.” She wipes her face. “Worse, what if it was all for nothing? I have nightmares that they come back. How long can we defend our children if they do?”
That, at least, Martha has an answer to. “They won’t.” At Gwen’s look, she explains, “I met the Doctor. He’s the one who told me to find you, and he wanted me to deliver a message. He said, ‘There is one threat the children of Earth need never fear again.’ I didn’t ask him what that meant, and I’m not sure I want to know. They targeted innocents, and they forced his friend into something no one should ever have to do. That’s the sort of thing guaranteed to make him angry. And when you anger the Doctor . . .” She shakes her head. “He’s as terrible as he is wonderful. The 456 won’t be back. Ever.” There’s some satisfaction in that, at least.
There’s a question in Gwen’s face, one she seems reluctant to ask. “What is it?” Martha prompts gently.
“Do you know . . .” Gwen takes a breath and plunges on. “Why didn’t he come? Why didn’t the Doctor help us? Is it because of what the governments of Earth were planning to do? Do you think--do you think, perhaps, that he’s ashamed of us?”
Martha squeezes Gwen’s hand. “No. That’s not it. People like you, people who fought for the children--the Doctor would never willingly let you down. But you have to understand, Gwen, that he’s not a god. The 456 blocked all transmissions, from what I gather. I couldn’t get through to him. And he has all of space and time to look after. Sometimes, he can’t stop these things. Sometimes, the timelines are set before he can intervene. When that happens, he suffers, too. He would never just stand by.”
She’d say more, but a huge yawn catches her off-guard. She’s utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she can see that Gwen is, too.
“You two ladies need some food and some sleep,” announces Rhys. “I’ll make dinner, and our guest room’s ready for company. You’re staying here tonight, Martha--no arguments.” He gives her a mock-severe look and wags a finger at her.
Martha can’t help but smile. Gwen found herself a good man. “Wouldn’t dare to argue.”
***
After dinner, Gwen loans her some pyjamas and shows her to the guest room. On the way, Martha notices another room. A nursery.
“Are--are you having a baby, Gwen?” she asks.
Gwen’s smile is gentle and compassionate. “Yes, I am.”
Grief knots Martha’s throat as she tries--and fails--not to think about the beautiful babies she and Tom would’ve made. “Congratulations,” she forces out, and hurries into the guest room and shuts the door on the painful understanding in Gwen’s eyes.
Once more, she cries herself to sleep.
***
Come morning, Martha makes her way downstairs just as Rhys is leaving. “Off to work,” he says as he sees her. “Gotta keep my kept woman in luxury.”
“Hush, you,” Gwen scolds lightly. She kisses him goodbye. “Bring home that bacon, now.”
He leaves, and Martha accepts a cup of coffee from Gwen. “How are you this morning?”
“About as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Martha says. She spots something on the coffee table that she didn’t fully process the night before. “Is that Jack’s wristband?”
“Yes.” Gwen picks it up. The strap is mangled beyond repair, but when Gwen opens it, the device itself looks undamaged. “He’ll want it when he comes back.”
The words are hopeful, but Martha feels the worry under them. There’s no guarantee Jack will ever return.
The two women eat a quiet breakfast. Just as they finish, Gwen’s mobile rings. She has a brief, rather peculiar conversation with the person on the other end, and when she hangs up, she reaches for her jacket--and her gun.
“Trouble?” asks Martha.
“That was Torchwood 2,” says Gwen. “Funny old chap in Scotland. He says he’s been monitoring the fluctuations of the Rift from his location--the sensors Torchwood 3 put in place are still active, though our monitoring equipment is obviously destroyed--and we have a Rift storm headed our way.”
That doesn’t sound good. “What’s a Rift storm?”
“A period of heightened Rift activity. More things coming through the Rift, Weevils getting restless, atmospheric disturbances, et cetera. Torchwood 2 says he’s sending an independent operative here with a portable Rift manipulator device. With any luck, it’ll calm the storm. In the meantime, someone needs to keep an eye on things here.” Gwen straps on her gun and shrugs into her jacket. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help?”
Something to do sounds good. “Love to.”
***
Nearly ten hours later, Martha, Gwen and the “independent operative” stumble back into the Williamses’ home, exhausted but laughing.
“What’s so funny?” demands Rhys, whom Gwen had called earlier. “I got takeaway curry; it’s on the table. Yours is the ‘extra mild,’ Gwen.”
“Bless you.” Gwen gives her husband a quick peck and makes for table. “I get heartburn so easily these days. Oh, Rhys, meet Mickey Smith; Mickey, meet Rhys, my husband.”
“Pleased to,” says Mickey, shaking Rhys’s proffered hand.
“How’d you get mixed up in this business?” Rhys asks.
“Long story. Short version is, I was tracking a great, hairy beast somewhere in the arse-end of Scotland when I ran into this funny old bloke who was trackin’ it, too. We took care of it, and then he said he could do with my help with this Rift storm. Next thing you know, I’m on a train headed for Cardiff.”
“I met him a few months ago, when the Earth got moved,” says Martha, grabbing some tandoori chicken and rice. “He traveled with the Doctor, too.”
“Not as long as you did. This naan is brilliant.” Mickey chews a piece. “Ended up in another universe. Came back when the Earth moved and decided to stay.”
“Good thing he did, too,” says Gwen. “Things were a bit mad today. There were Weevils everywhere, a bloody great storm vortex right over the Plass--”
“--and an alien graffiti artist!” Martha finishes, laughing. It feels good to laugh. For the moment, her heart feels light. “He had six arms and some kind of paint in each hand. Got spat out of the Rift, bounced to his feet and went for the nearest building and started painting a mural on it.”
“We’ll never know what it would’ve turned out like, unfortunately,” says Gwen. “He got sucked up by a miniature tornado and disappeared into the storm vortex. Mickey had a Rift manipulator Torchwood 2 made, so he set it and put it on the ground right where another tornado was about to touch down, and that took care of it.”
“Is that where the dust storm today came from?” Rhys asks. “It hit my lot. Do you know what that much dust does to engines?”
Mickey laughs. “Tell me about it, mate. I used to be a mechanic.”
That gets Rhys’s attention, and he and Mickey are off and running on the subject of engines. They make fast friends, and by the time the meal is over, Rhys has offered him their couch for the night. Mickey accepts. Martha also accepts the offer of a second night in the Williamses’ guest room.
Later, the talk turns more serious. Mickey already knew much of what had happened with the 456, having got it from unofficial sources, and Gwen fills him in on the rest over bottles of good beer for them and tea for herself.
“It will be some time before Torchwood 3 is up and running again, but when it is, you two have a standing offer of employment,” she says afterward. “The world needs people like you.”
“Might take you up on that,” says Mickey. “I’ll give you my email so you can give me a shout when it’s a go. What about you, Martha? Are you sticking with UNIT?”
She sighs, wishing the high from the day’s excitement could last longer. “I don’t know what to do. UNIT is part of the United Nations, and the UN was willing to give up children to the 456. They’re part of what got Tom killed. I don’t know if I can work for them any more. But I know what’s out there; I can’t ignore it. How long will it be until Torchwood is ready, Gwen?”
Gwen gives a slight shrug. “The infrastructure was blown to hell, unfortunately. I’m getting help rebuilding it, but it will take months at the least. Perhaps a year or so.”
Martha sighs and bangs her head against the back of the sofa. “I can’t go back to UNIT, but if I don’t keep busy, I think I’ll go mad.”
“So, don’t work for anyone right now.” Mickey sets down his beer bottle. “I don’t. Do what you wanna do. Don’t answer to anyone except your own conscience.”
Martha can’t deny Mickey’s words appeal to her. The two of them sit up half the night talking, and before Martha goes to bed, she’s made up her mind to go rogue.
***
Author: honorh
Rating: Teen
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Tom, Martha/Mickey, the Joneses, the Tenth Doctor, Gwen Cooper-Williams, Rhys Williams
Spoilers: Through EoT2 for DW, CoE for TW
Beta: wendymr and dark_aegis
Note: This is born out of a theory I've seen floated around the Wide Internets. Somehow, it produced a Plot Poodle that's been gnawing at my ankle ever since, so here goes nothin'.
Summary: Her marriage cut tragically short, Martha Jones sets out to discover the truth--and find her place in a world where her deepest beliefs have been shattered. Somewhere along the way, she finds more than she ever expected.
Chapter 1: The Widow
Her first clue as to what’s gone wrong comes when she goes to Roald Dahl Plass in search of Torchwood. She finds a crater. Horrified, she flags down a passing PC.
“What the hell happened here?” At the look on the constable’s face, she swiftly adds, “I’ve been out of the country for a while.”
“Some sort of terrorist plot’s the official line,” says the PC, whose last name appears to be “Davidson”. Something about the look on his face makes Martha think he doesn’t put much stock in the official line. She doesn’t, either.
Martha’s gaze wanders back to the open pit that used to be the Hub. There’s someone down there, crouched as if examining something in the rubble. It’s a woman dressed in black, and as she stands and begins to climb back up to the surface, Martha recognizes her. She walks around to the side of the pit the other woman is ascending, and by the time Gwen Cooper-Williams is back on solid tarmac, Martha is waiting for her.
Gwen’s smile doesn’t entirely erase the darkness and grief in her eyes. “Martha! What are you doing here?”
“What happened here, Gwen?” Martha demands. “What happened to the world?”
Gwen closes her eyes, pain etched deep into every line of her face. “It’s a very long story.”
“I need to know.” Martha hears the tightness in her own voice. Gwen hears it too, her concerned gaze focusing on the other woman. “They--they killed my husband. They killed him.”
“Oh . . . oh, my dear.” Gwen wraps her in a warm, tight embrace. “Come home with me. I’ll tell you everything.”
***
The house Gwen drives her to is obviously recently purchased. There are still a few boxes here and there, but otherwise, it’s warm and comfortable, just like the couple who have made it their home. Martha meets Rhys, Gwen’s husband, and instantly likes him. Rhys sets about making tea while Gwen gets them settled in the living room.
The story spins out over the next hour, and it’s obvious that the telling of it brings Gwen pain. Martha had known about Tosh’s and Owen’s deaths, but she sheds fresh tears for Ianto even as her horror at the truth of what the monsters wanted with the children--and what her own government was willing to do--deepens.
She’s shaking again, chilled through by her grief and horror. Rhys appears out of nowhere, tucking an afghan around her shoulders and setting a fresh cup of hot tea in front of her. Then he sits with Gwen, lending her his support as she gathers her strength for the devastating finale of the story.
The look in the Doctor’s eyes had been an indication of how bad it was, but Martha finds herself unprepared for just how terrible a price Jack paid to defeat the monsters.
“God,” she gasps, and it’s half a prayer.
Gwen is weeping openly. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since,” she finally manages. “I’m afraid for him. I know he can’t die, but he can punish himself. And he will.” She wipes her face. “Worse, what if it was all for nothing? I have nightmares that they come back. How long can we defend our children if they do?”
That, at least, Martha has an answer to. “They won’t.” At Gwen’s look, she explains, “I met the Doctor. He’s the one who told me to find you, and he wanted me to deliver a message. He said, ‘There is one threat the children of Earth need never fear again.’ I didn’t ask him what that meant, and I’m not sure I want to know. They targeted innocents, and they forced his friend into something no one should ever have to do. That’s the sort of thing guaranteed to make him angry. And when you anger the Doctor . . .” She shakes her head. “He’s as terrible as he is wonderful. The 456 won’t be back. Ever.” There’s some satisfaction in that, at least.
There’s a question in Gwen’s face, one she seems reluctant to ask. “What is it?” Martha prompts gently.
“Do you know . . .” Gwen takes a breath and plunges on. “Why didn’t he come? Why didn’t the Doctor help us? Is it because of what the governments of Earth were planning to do? Do you think--do you think, perhaps, that he’s ashamed of us?”
Martha squeezes Gwen’s hand. “No. That’s not it. People like you, people who fought for the children--the Doctor would never willingly let you down. But you have to understand, Gwen, that he’s not a god. The 456 blocked all transmissions, from what I gather. I couldn’t get through to him. And he has all of space and time to look after. Sometimes, he can’t stop these things. Sometimes, the timelines are set before he can intervene. When that happens, he suffers, too. He would never just stand by.”
She’d say more, but a huge yawn catches her off-guard. She’s utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she can see that Gwen is, too.
“You two ladies need some food and some sleep,” announces Rhys. “I’ll make dinner, and our guest room’s ready for company. You’re staying here tonight, Martha--no arguments.” He gives her a mock-severe look and wags a finger at her.
Martha can’t help but smile. Gwen found herself a good man. “Wouldn’t dare to argue.”
***
After dinner, Gwen loans her some pyjamas and shows her to the guest room. On the way, Martha notices another room. A nursery.
“Are--are you having a baby, Gwen?” she asks.
Gwen’s smile is gentle and compassionate. “Yes, I am.”
Grief knots Martha’s throat as she tries--and fails--not to think about the beautiful babies she and Tom would’ve made. “Congratulations,” she forces out, and hurries into the guest room and shuts the door on the painful understanding in Gwen’s eyes.
Once more, she cries herself to sleep.
***
Come morning, Martha makes her way downstairs just as Rhys is leaving. “Off to work,” he says as he sees her. “Gotta keep my kept woman in luxury.”
“Hush, you,” Gwen scolds lightly. She kisses him goodbye. “Bring home that bacon, now.”
He leaves, and Martha accepts a cup of coffee from Gwen. “How are you this morning?”
“About as well as can be expected, I suppose,” Martha says. She spots something on the coffee table that she didn’t fully process the night before. “Is that Jack’s wristband?”
“Yes.” Gwen picks it up. The strap is mangled beyond repair, but when Gwen opens it, the device itself looks undamaged. “He’ll want it when he comes back.”
The words are hopeful, but Martha feels the worry under them. There’s no guarantee Jack will ever return.
The two women eat a quiet breakfast. Just as they finish, Gwen’s mobile rings. She has a brief, rather peculiar conversation with the person on the other end, and when she hangs up, she reaches for her jacket--and her gun.
“Trouble?” asks Martha.
“That was Torchwood 2,” says Gwen. “Funny old chap in Scotland. He says he’s been monitoring the fluctuations of the Rift from his location--the sensors Torchwood 3 put in place are still active, though our monitoring equipment is obviously destroyed--and we have a Rift storm headed our way.”
That doesn’t sound good. “What’s a Rift storm?”
“A period of heightened Rift activity. More things coming through the Rift, Weevils getting restless, atmospheric disturbances, et cetera. Torchwood 2 says he’s sending an independent operative here with a portable Rift manipulator device. With any luck, it’ll calm the storm. In the meantime, someone needs to keep an eye on things here.” Gwen straps on her gun and shrugs into her jacket. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help?”
Something to do sounds good. “Love to.”
***
Nearly ten hours later, Martha, Gwen and the “independent operative” stumble back into the Williamses’ home, exhausted but laughing.
“What’s so funny?” demands Rhys, whom Gwen had called earlier. “I got takeaway curry; it’s on the table. Yours is the ‘extra mild,’ Gwen.”
“Bless you.” Gwen gives her husband a quick peck and makes for table. “I get heartburn so easily these days. Oh, Rhys, meet Mickey Smith; Mickey, meet Rhys, my husband.”
“Pleased to,” says Mickey, shaking Rhys’s proffered hand.
“How’d you get mixed up in this business?” Rhys asks.
“Long story. Short version is, I was tracking a great, hairy beast somewhere in the arse-end of Scotland when I ran into this funny old bloke who was trackin’ it, too. We took care of it, and then he said he could do with my help with this Rift storm. Next thing you know, I’m on a train headed for Cardiff.”
“I met him a few months ago, when the Earth got moved,” says Martha, grabbing some tandoori chicken and rice. “He traveled with the Doctor, too.”
“Not as long as you did. This naan is brilliant.” Mickey chews a piece. “Ended up in another universe. Came back when the Earth moved and decided to stay.”
“Good thing he did, too,” says Gwen. “Things were a bit mad today. There were Weevils everywhere, a bloody great storm vortex right over the Plass--”
“--and an alien graffiti artist!” Martha finishes, laughing. It feels good to laugh. For the moment, her heart feels light. “He had six arms and some kind of paint in each hand. Got spat out of the Rift, bounced to his feet and went for the nearest building and started painting a mural on it.”
“We’ll never know what it would’ve turned out like, unfortunately,” says Gwen. “He got sucked up by a miniature tornado and disappeared into the storm vortex. Mickey had a Rift manipulator Torchwood 2 made, so he set it and put it on the ground right where another tornado was about to touch down, and that took care of it.”
“Is that where the dust storm today came from?” Rhys asks. “It hit my lot. Do you know what that much dust does to engines?”
Mickey laughs. “Tell me about it, mate. I used to be a mechanic.”
That gets Rhys’s attention, and he and Mickey are off and running on the subject of engines. They make fast friends, and by the time the meal is over, Rhys has offered him their couch for the night. Mickey accepts. Martha also accepts the offer of a second night in the Williamses’ guest room.
Later, the talk turns more serious. Mickey already knew much of what had happened with the 456, having got it from unofficial sources, and Gwen fills him in on the rest over bottles of good beer for them and tea for herself.
“It will be some time before Torchwood 3 is up and running again, but when it is, you two have a standing offer of employment,” she says afterward. “The world needs people like you.”
“Might take you up on that,” says Mickey. “I’ll give you my email so you can give me a shout when it’s a go. What about you, Martha? Are you sticking with UNIT?”
She sighs, wishing the high from the day’s excitement could last longer. “I don’t know what to do. UNIT is part of the United Nations, and the UN was willing to give up children to the 456. They’re part of what got Tom killed. I don’t know if I can work for them any more. But I know what’s out there; I can’t ignore it. How long will it be until Torchwood is ready, Gwen?”
Gwen gives a slight shrug. “The infrastructure was blown to hell, unfortunately. I’m getting help rebuilding it, but it will take months at the least. Perhaps a year or so.”
Martha sighs and bangs her head against the back of the sofa. “I can’t go back to UNIT, but if I don’t keep busy, I think I’ll go mad.”
“So, don’t work for anyone right now.” Mickey sets down his beer bottle. “I don’t. Do what you wanna do. Don’t answer to anyone except your own conscience.”
Martha can’t deny Mickey’s words appeal to her. The two of them sit up half the night talking, and before Martha goes to bed, she’s made up her mind to go rogue.
***