[Doctor Who] "Girl Talk on the Edge of Doomsday" (PG)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's Doctor Who, Martha Jones and Adeola Oshodi, The last time Martha Jones saw her cousin was the morning just before all hell broke loose at Canary Wharf With a cameo appearance of Suzie Costello.
"You think this is really wise, this ghost shift project?" Martha said as she and Addy walked from Addy's flat to the Underground station. "It's affecting some of the patients at the clinic." She could not help but feel proud for her cousin, landing a job at the Torchwood Institute, but the daily appearances of ghosts had made more work for the clinic: some people had suffered heart attacks when the ghosts first started to appear, but the number of cases had diminished once people started to grow accustomed to their appearances, and especially when the ghost shifts followed a fairly regular schedule. Now, they had to deal with the odd case of hysteria when people got too attached to "their" ghosts, and the odd person who had somehow not gotten the memo that ghostly appearances happened every day on schedule.
"It's given people a lot of hope," Addy replied, defending her territory. Just like most of the women on Mum's side of the family. "And the energy they generate is so great, we'll soon be able to give up non-renewable sources like oil."
"But are those really ghosts? I've heard a lot about hauntings before: remember Neville in college?" Martha asked. "The bloke who was into paranormal investigation?"
"Neville the gnome? that weird little man with the ectoplasm reader?" Addy asked, with a giggle.
"EMF reader, he called it. Well, I phoned him the other night -- has his own paranormal investigation group now, so he's all set now," Martha said, realizing she had started to blither a bit. "He doesn't think these 'ghosts' are actual hauntings. They could be something he calls residuals, but they barely look human."
"That's what happens when you bring in a skeptic," Addy replied, scoffing.
"I though Torchwood was all about the science, not the supernatural?" Martha replied.
"There's still the *natural* in the supernatural, and I'm not in it for the hard science: I just collate the research," Addy said.
"Mmm, that's not just the only research you're doing," Martha said, with a cheerily knowing smile.
"Were you snoopin' at my mobile?" Addy snapped, trying to sound cross, but beaming instead.
"How could I not? You got three calls from him last night," Martha twitted. "So who's the lucky man?"
"His name's Gareth Evans and he's very sweet." Addy replied.
"And? That all you got to say about him? doing a little technical work on the side with him?" Martha insinuated, mischievously.
"I'll tell you tonight, if you're not too late coming from hospital," Addy said, swiping her pass card through the slot on the turnstile.
"Keep me in suspense will you?" Martha teased, following her cousin through, heading for her platform...
. . . It all went mad that day. Silvery skinned robots stomping through the streets, people cornered in their homes, those creatures standing over them. Things like giant pepper pots flying through the sky. Then reports of a slaughter at Canary Wharf, almost the entire staff of Torchwood wiped out those silver robots.
Then the call came that the family did not want to hear: at their door, a police officer and a slightly severe-looking, bespectacled woman from Torchwood Three, the Cardiff branch, come to the city to tie up the organization's loose ends.
"We're very sorry, Mrs. Jones, Miss Jones: Adeola Oshodi was among the dead."
Mum's face fell and she sank back into the nearest chair she could find. Martha, exhausted herself from three days of assisting the survivors of the attack, could only put a comforting hand on Mum's shoulder. The fear she had had since the news broke of the attack got confirmed in a way she had hoped she would not hear. "Did she... did she suffer?"
"Mrs. Jones, your daughter was the victim of inhuman creatures --" the severe-lookimg woman started.
"I wouldn't advise an open casket funeral," the police officer cut in. The severe-looking woman did not move, but Martha saw her peer sideways at the officer around the sides of her lenses, her gaze cold.
"Oh my god," Mum gasped, breaking down. Martha slipped an arm about her shoulders, soothing her, or trying to, despite the pain that clenched at her own heart.
"We're very sorry for your loss," the police officer said.
"If there's any assurance, your daughter had a small life insurance policy that should pay out --" the severe-looking woman started to say.
"No, I don't want to hear about money or insurance: that was my *niece* who died," Mum snapped. The severe-looking woman hardly blinked, but the police officer darted a disapproving look at his companion.
"I think, in that case, we'd better be leaving," the officer said, diplomatically. "I'll leave a number you can call, to claim her remains, but in the meantime... I'm very sorry this had to happen."
Once the officials had gone, Mum broke down crying on Martha's shoulder, inconsolable, sobbing for several long minutes on end. Martha held onto her, unable to cry from the sheer shock, and trying to be strong for her mother. "You... you were with her that morning, weren't you?" Mum asked, weakly after a while.
"Yeah... we took the same train," Martha replied.
"How was she that morning?"
"She was fine, she was crowing about her new boyfriend," Martha replied. "I was teasin' her about them doin' some technical research on the side."
Mum managed a weak laugh at this. "Did you know him?"
"No. Didn't get to meet him, but she told me his name: said it was Gareth," she replied.
"Hope he made her happy..."
"I think he did... she 'ad stars in her eyes when she spoke about him."
"Good..." Mum whispered, leaning her head on Martha's shoulder to hide her eyes as her tears started again.
fic_promptly's Doctor Who, Martha Jones and Adeola Oshodi, The last time Martha Jones saw her cousin was the morning just before all hell broke loose at Canary Wharf With a cameo appearance of Suzie Costello.
"You think this is really wise, this ghost shift project?" Martha said as she and Addy walked from Addy's flat to the Underground station. "It's affecting some of the patients at the clinic." She could not help but feel proud for her cousin, landing a job at the Torchwood Institute, but the daily appearances of ghosts had made more work for the clinic: some people had suffered heart attacks when the ghosts first started to appear, but the number of cases had diminished once people started to grow accustomed to their appearances, and especially when the ghost shifts followed a fairly regular schedule. Now, they had to deal with the odd case of hysteria when people got too attached to "their" ghosts, and the odd person who had somehow not gotten the memo that ghostly appearances happened every day on schedule.
"It's given people a lot of hope," Addy replied, defending her territory. Just like most of the women on Mum's side of the family. "And the energy they generate is so great, we'll soon be able to give up non-renewable sources like oil."
"But are those really ghosts? I've heard a lot about hauntings before: remember Neville in college?" Martha asked. "The bloke who was into paranormal investigation?"
"Neville the gnome? that weird little man with the ectoplasm reader?" Addy asked, with a giggle.
"EMF reader, he called it. Well, I phoned him the other night -- has his own paranormal investigation group now, so he's all set now," Martha said, realizing she had started to blither a bit. "He doesn't think these 'ghosts' are actual hauntings. They could be something he calls residuals, but they barely look human."
"That's what happens when you bring in a skeptic," Addy replied, scoffing.
"I though Torchwood was all about the science, not the supernatural?" Martha replied.
"There's still the *natural* in the supernatural, and I'm not in it for the hard science: I just collate the research," Addy said.
"Mmm, that's not just the only research you're doing," Martha said, with a cheerily knowing smile.
"Were you snoopin' at my mobile?" Addy snapped, trying to sound cross, but beaming instead.
"How could I not? You got three calls from him last night," Martha twitted. "So who's the lucky man?"
"His name's Gareth Evans and he's very sweet." Addy replied.
"And? That all you got to say about him? doing a little technical work on the side with him?" Martha insinuated, mischievously.
"I'll tell you tonight, if you're not too late coming from hospital," Addy said, swiping her pass card through the slot on the turnstile.
"Keep me in suspense will you?" Martha teased, following her cousin through, heading for her platform...
. . . It all went mad that day. Silvery skinned robots stomping through the streets, people cornered in their homes, those creatures standing over them. Things like giant pepper pots flying through the sky. Then reports of a slaughter at Canary Wharf, almost the entire staff of Torchwood wiped out those silver robots.
Then the call came that the family did not want to hear: at their door, a police officer and a slightly severe-looking, bespectacled woman from Torchwood Three, the Cardiff branch, come to the city to tie up the organization's loose ends.
"We're very sorry, Mrs. Jones, Miss Jones: Adeola Oshodi was among the dead."
Mum's face fell and she sank back into the nearest chair she could find. Martha, exhausted herself from three days of assisting the survivors of the attack, could only put a comforting hand on Mum's shoulder. The fear she had had since the news broke of the attack got confirmed in a way she had hoped she would not hear. "Did she... did she suffer?"
"Mrs. Jones, your daughter was the victim of inhuman creatures --" the severe-lookimg woman started.
"I wouldn't advise an open casket funeral," the police officer cut in. The severe-looking woman did not move, but Martha saw her peer sideways at the officer around the sides of her lenses, her gaze cold.
"Oh my god," Mum gasped, breaking down. Martha slipped an arm about her shoulders, soothing her, or trying to, despite the pain that clenched at her own heart.
"We're very sorry for your loss," the police officer said.
"If there's any assurance, your daughter had a small life insurance policy that should pay out --" the severe-looking woman started to say.
"No, I don't want to hear about money or insurance: that was my *niece* who died," Mum snapped. The severe-looking woman hardly blinked, but the police officer darted a disapproving look at his companion.
"I think, in that case, we'd better be leaving," the officer said, diplomatically. "I'll leave a number you can call, to claim her remains, but in the meantime... I'm very sorry this had to happen."
Once the officials had gone, Mum broke down crying on Martha's shoulder, inconsolable, sobbing for several long minutes on end. Martha held onto her, unable to cry from the sheer shock, and trying to be strong for her mother. "You... you were with her that morning, weren't you?" Mum asked, weakly after a while.
"Yeah... we took the same train," Martha replied.
"How was she that morning?"
"She was fine, she was crowing about her new boyfriend," Martha replied. "I was teasin' her about them doin' some technical research on the side."
Mum managed a weak laugh at this. "Did you know him?"
"No. Didn't get to meet him, but she told me his name: said it was Gareth," she replied.
"Hope he made her happy..."
"I think he did... she 'ad stars in her eyes when she spoke about him."
"Good..." Mum whispered, leaning her head on Martha's shoulder to hide her eyes as her tears started again.