Martha's been trying to nap, but memories that aren't her own keep seeping through, and whenever she drifts off, she sees burnt orange skies and fields of red grass; a heart that isn't really hers mourns a dead planet and its twin suns. She tosses and turns in her bed, almost wishing for the Toclafane to return - but the creatures that haunt these ( Read more... )

Martha's sequestered herself in a bedroom - hers, not the Doctor's, which she almost instinctively headed for first. Donna's still unconscious; she hopes that the Doctor's stopgap solution worked. She's really not used to being psychic - or, for that matter, to having a Time Lord in her head. Or having two hearts beating in her chest. If she ( Read more... )

"What's in the box?" Donna asks, craning her head around Martha, who wonders belatedly if she ought to have blindfolded the other woman. The Doctor's letter said that she needed her, that the Time Lord-human metacrisis was key to her mission - and doesn't calling it a mission sound ridiculous? she wonders briefly - but that she has to be careful to ( Read more... )

Follows this fic.Martha unlocks the TARDIS and steps in, full of uncertainty. She imagines that the lights are a little dimmer, that the background hum has shifted to a diminished chord, melancholy and sorrowful. She rests a hand on the console, not sure what she's meant to do next. Nobody's offered to transport her back to Earth - they seem to ( Read more... )

She's at the trial as his witness, as his friend, as the only person willing to provide support for a dangerous and possibly insane criminal. She's the only witness for the defence; all the examples of good deeds he's done are countered with death and destruction by the prosecutor, until she's left in silence, tears running down her face as she ( Read more... )