Fic: "A Somewhat Backwards Love Story" (3/5)
As you can see, the chapter count changed. Yep, Imma need five chapters for this puppy. But on with this one, which is short:
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, Jack Harkness
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
Chapter 2: The Woman
The first thing Martha does is to tender her resignation to UNIT. Her immediate superior, a good man, wants to know why. She simply tells him, “456.” He’ll understand sooner or later.
She and Mickey make for America then, heading to Cleveland, Ohio, to join some monster hunters there. Cleveland, Mickey says, has a sort of dimensional rift running through the city that makes it almost as strange as Cardiff, in its way.
It’s in Cleveland that Martha starts learning about how to make her way in this strange new world. Keep your ear to the ground. Never work completely alone. Find other groups and cells around the world, and they can help you blend in locally. When you run out of money, there’s always a way to earn more. Mickey can get paid under the table for mechanical or computer work. Martha’s situation is more complicated, but one thing she learns is that a trauma nurse--not a doctor, but a nurse--can always find work. Forge the right documents and create the right cover story, and Martha can get a job anywhere in America.
They spend three months in Cleveland together. In that time, they become close friends. Martha tells Mickey about her introduction to the Doctor. He, in turn, tells her about his.
“Long story short, I got eaten by a rubbish bin, nearly killed under the London Eye and an alien stole my girl, all within twenty-four hours. Tell me that’s not typical of the way he operates.”
Martha laughs and agrees that it is. They talk about the Doctor, traveling in time and space, Rose, Tom, Jack, other universes, Torchwood, everything. Their growing rapport, though, is interrupted by an alert from another group, one based in the Caribbean. They need a medic.
Mickey’s staying in Cleveland, so Martha strikes out on her own. She ends up in Puerto Rico, dodging el Chupacabra. As it turns out, the monster is the only survivor of a crashed spaceship. It’s a species Martha knows, once she sees the wreckage, but the creature itself is almost unrecognizable. Earth is a hostile planet for him. His homeworld has a much thicker atmosphere, and the sunlight beating down on him has blistered his skin and caused tumors all over his body. The pain’s driven him to madness and aggression, and in the end, the only thing they can do for this scarred survivor is to give him a quick death. It’s an unsatisfactory ending, and Martha is troubled as she returns to America.
A storm over the Great Lakes region forces her plane to divert to Chicago, and the airline puts her up for the night in a hotel. Though she’s tired from traveling, she finds she can’t sleep, so she goes down to a local bar for a few drinks and, hopefully, a little relaxation.
And of all the gin joints in the world . . .
She’d know that coat anywhere. With those shoulders and the black hair on top, there’s no question just whom she’s found.
For a moment, she debates with herself whether to speak to him or not. On the one hand, he’s probably here to banish recent events from his mind. If Jack sees her, there’s no way he won’t ask after Tom, and that will lead straight back to his own pain.
On the other hand, she thinks it’s unlikely it’s ever far from his mind.
That decides her. She’s his friend, and she can’t let him suffer alone. Not if she can help at all.
A few opening gambits flit through her mind, and she settles for the tried-and-true, sliding onto the barstool next to him with a casual, “Hey, stranger.”
A moment, no more, of shock crosses his face before it’s banished behind his signature smile. It would be convincing if Martha didn’t know what she did. “Dr. Martha Jones Milligan, as I live and breathe. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Layover, courtesy of the storm.” She nods vaguely at the rain pouring down outside.
He nods. “I take it that handsome husband of yours isn’t here? Too bad--the two of you are fun to look at.”
“He’s dead, Jack.” The words wipe the smile from Jack’s face and stop him in his tracks. “Killed when government soldiers came to his orphanage, looking for child sacrifices.”
The mask slips, and the look that comes over Jack’s face is indescribable. Devastated, broken. Even a year serving as the Master’s chew toy aboard the Valiant didn’t make this much of an impact on him. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.
Martha suddenly feels she needs to protect him. “Come back to my hotel with me. We can talk in private.”
He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t deserve to have this thrown on you.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “I was up to my neck in hell on Earth for a year. Do you think I can’t handle giving a shoulder to a good friend, no matter what he’s been through?”
“I don’t deserve a shoulder,” he whispers.
“Doesn’t matter what you deserve. What matters is what you need.” She stands, taking one of his hands. “Come on. Weather’s only getting worse.”
***
He allows himself to be led, and they end up in Martha’s hotel room. It’s not exactly luxurious--a Clarion Inn near the airport that offers a hard mattress and overpriced booze in the mini-fridge--but it’s enough. Jack drinks a bad American beer while Martha sips from a small bottle of decent California wine.
“It’s like that stupid saying, you know--‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ I keep moving, because whenever I stay still, it’s all there, behind my eyes.” Jack crumples the empty beer can. “I’ve probably fucked half the Western Hemisphere, and I still can’t get Ianto off my skin. Every blond-haired kid I see is Steven. Every mother is Alice, and I feel like they can all see what I did. I die, and I die, and . . . when will it be enough, Martha? Can’t I just rest?” He runs his hands through his hair. “Steven, Ianto, Tosh, Owen--I just bring pain.”
“Stop that,” Martha scolds. “It’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Jack gives a humorless laugh. “Here I am, trying to play like I’m the Doctor, and I keep messing things up.”
“So does he, sometimes,” Martha counters. “I’ve had lots of opportunities to observe him at close quarters, and for all his brilliance, there’s one way he’s very stupid, and that’s the part you’ve chosen to imitate: He always blames himself when things go badly. And do you know why he does? Because he’s an idiot. A vain idiot.” Jack blinks, and she knows she has him. “He genuinely believes that if he gets it right, and that, because he’s so bloody brilliant, he can get it right every time, he can fix everything. That means that if things go wrong, he’s at fault somehow. And you know what? It’s nonsense. Shit happens, Jack. It happens, and not you nor I nor the Doctor can stop that. You did the only thing you could in a situation that had no winners, and you saved those kids from Tom’s orphanage from a hideous fate.” She’s weeping, but presses on. “You’ve got enough to deal with without shouldering the things others are to blame for.”
“He’d have found another way. A better way.” Jack swallows hard.
Martha shakes her head. “Not always. He destroyed his own world to end the Time War. He told me that. And you know what else he told me?” She leans forward, cupping Jack’s face with her hands. “His whole family was there. Including his granddaughter.”
Jack falls apart. He buries his head in Martha’s lap, clinging to her as sobs wrack him, and she holds him as tightly as she can, her own tears falling on him. It takes him a long time to calm, and when he does, he’s shaking and weak. Martha tugs him up on the bed, undoing his shirt buttons. Jack can’t even summon a lascivious joke as he sheds his shirt and belt and Martha strips down to her vest top. Then the two friends cuddle into each other’s bodies, and they fall asleep in warm comfort.
Come morning, Jack’s gone. He left a note behind, just one word: “Thanks.”
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, Jack Harkness
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
Chapter 2: The Woman
The first thing Martha does is to tender her resignation to UNIT. Her immediate superior, a good man, wants to know why. She simply tells him, “456.” He’ll understand sooner or later.
She and Mickey make for America then, heading to Cleveland, Ohio, to join some monster hunters there. Cleveland, Mickey says, has a sort of dimensional rift running through the city that makes it almost as strange as Cardiff, in its way.
It’s in Cleveland that Martha starts learning about how to make her way in this strange new world. Keep your ear to the ground. Never work completely alone. Find other groups and cells around the world, and they can help you blend in locally. When you run out of money, there’s always a way to earn more. Mickey can get paid under the table for mechanical or computer work. Martha’s situation is more complicated, but one thing she learns is that a trauma nurse--not a doctor, but a nurse--can always find work. Forge the right documents and create the right cover story, and Martha can get a job anywhere in America.
They spend three months in Cleveland together. In that time, they become close friends. Martha tells Mickey about her introduction to the Doctor. He, in turn, tells her about his.
“Long story short, I got eaten by a rubbish bin, nearly killed under the London Eye and an alien stole my girl, all within twenty-four hours. Tell me that’s not typical of the way he operates.”
Martha laughs and agrees that it is. They talk about the Doctor, traveling in time and space, Rose, Tom, Jack, other universes, Torchwood, everything. Their growing rapport, though, is interrupted by an alert from another group, one based in the Caribbean. They need a medic.
Mickey’s staying in Cleveland, so Martha strikes out on her own. She ends up in Puerto Rico, dodging el Chupacabra. As it turns out, the monster is the only survivor of a crashed spaceship. It’s a species Martha knows, once she sees the wreckage, but the creature itself is almost unrecognizable. Earth is a hostile planet for him. His homeworld has a much thicker atmosphere, and the sunlight beating down on him has blistered his skin and caused tumors all over his body. The pain’s driven him to madness and aggression, and in the end, the only thing they can do for this scarred survivor is to give him a quick death. It’s an unsatisfactory ending, and Martha is troubled as she returns to America.
A storm over the Great Lakes region forces her plane to divert to Chicago, and the airline puts her up for the night in a hotel. Though she’s tired from traveling, she finds she can’t sleep, so she goes down to a local bar for a few drinks and, hopefully, a little relaxation.
And of all the gin joints in the world . . .
She’d know that coat anywhere. With those shoulders and the black hair on top, there’s no question just whom she’s found.
For a moment, she debates with herself whether to speak to him or not. On the one hand, he’s probably here to banish recent events from his mind. If Jack sees her, there’s no way he won’t ask after Tom, and that will lead straight back to his own pain.
On the other hand, she thinks it’s unlikely it’s ever far from his mind.
That decides her. She’s his friend, and she can’t let him suffer alone. Not if she can help at all.
A few opening gambits flit through her mind, and she settles for the tried-and-true, sliding onto the barstool next to him with a casual, “Hey, stranger.”
A moment, no more, of shock crosses his face before it’s banished behind his signature smile. It would be convincing if Martha didn’t know what she did. “Dr. Martha Jones Milligan, as I live and breathe. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Layover, courtesy of the storm.” She nods vaguely at the rain pouring down outside.
He nods. “I take it that handsome husband of yours isn’t here? Too bad--the two of you are fun to look at.”
“He’s dead, Jack.” The words wipe the smile from Jack’s face and stop him in his tracks. “Killed when government soldiers came to his orphanage, looking for child sacrifices.”
The mask slips, and the look that comes over Jack’s face is indescribable. Devastated, broken. Even a year serving as the Master’s chew toy aboard the Valiant didn’t make this much of an impact on him. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.
Martha suddenly feels she needs to protect him. “Come back to my hotel with me. We can talk in private.”
He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t deserve to have this thrown on you.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “I was up to my neck in hell on Earth for a year. Do you think I can’t handle giving a shoulder to a good friend, no matter what he’s been through?”
“I don’t deserve a shoulder,” he whispers.
“Doesn’t matter what you deserve. What matters is what you need.” She stands, taking one of his hands. “Come on. Weather’s only getting worse.”
***
He allows himself to be led, and they end up in Martha’s hotel room. It’s not exactly luxurious--a Clarion Inn near the airport that offers a hard mattress and overpriced booze in the mini-fridge--but it’s enough. Jack drinks a bad American beer while Martha sips from a small bottle of decent California wine.
“It’s like that stupid saying, you know--‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ I keep moving, because whenever I stay still, it’s all there, behind my eyes.” Jack crumples the empty beer can. “I’ve probably fucked half the Western Hemisphere, and I still can’t get Ianto off my skin. Every blond-haired kid I see is Steven. Every mother is Alice, and I feel like they can all see what I did. I die, and I die, and . . . when will it be enough, Martha? Can’t I just rest?” He runs his hands through his hair. “Steven, Ianto, Tosh, Owen--I just bring pain.”
“Stop that,” Martha scolds. “It’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Jack gives a humorless laugh. “Here I am, trying to play like I’m the Doctor, and I keep messing things up.”
“So does he, sometimes,” Martha counters. “I’ve had lots of opportunities to observe him at close quarters, and for all his brilliance, there’s one way he’s very stupid, and that’s the part you’ve chosen to imitate: He always blames himself when things go badly. And do you know why he does? Because he’s an idiot. A vain idiot.” Jack blinks, and she knows she has him. “He genuinely believes that if he gets it right, and that, because he’s so bloody brilliant, he can get it right every time, he can fix everything. That means that if things go wrong, he’s at fault somehow. And you know what? It’s nonsense. Shit happens, Jack. It happens, and not you nor I nor the Doctor can stop that. You did the only thing you could in a situation that had no winners, and you saved those kids from Tom’s orphanage from a hideous fate.” She’s weeping, but presses on. “You’ve got enough to deal with without shouldering the things others are to blame for.”
“He’d have found another way. A better way.” Jack swallows hard.
Martha shakes her head. “Not always. He destroyed his own world to end the Time War. He told me that. And you know what else he told me?” She leans forward, cupping Jack’s face with her hands. “His whole family was there. Including his granddaughter.”
Jack falls apart. He buries his head in Martha’s lap, clinging to her as sobs wrack him, and she holds him as tightly as she can, her own tears falling on him. It takes him a long time to calm, and when he does, he’s shaking and weak. Martha tugs him up on the bed, undoing his shirt buttons. Jack can’t even summon a lascivious joke as he sheds his shirt and belt and Martha strips down to her vest top. Then the two friends cuddle into each other’s bodies, and they fall asleep in warm comfort.
Come morning, Jack’s gone. He left a note behind, just one word: “Thanks.”