FIC: Giving In
Title: Giving In
Characters: Martha Jones, guest appearance by Des in the last five seconds of the fic. XD
Rating: Pg-13ish
Summary: Bad ass!Jones in action.
Notes: I've been hankering to write Bad ass!Martha Jones ever since I realized that's how she'd end up dealing with... everything. I wrote it during work. And I'm not sure if I really WILL refer to her as Jones when she's being bad ass. Probably not. Just.. experimenting with it really. It's weird how it worked out and I don't want it to seem like she has multiple personality disorder or something, she doesn't. It's just easier to do what she does if she doesn't think of herself in the same way. I guess. Like I said just experimenting. Also, this is REALLY, REALLY bad ass Martha. I'm not sure if this will ever actually happen in canon, it certainly doesn't happen often, but... UHM. yes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Martha, I guess I sort of own the random characters in here, not that they have names in my head. ^^" And the amazinnng Chris owns Des.
Jones exits the slummy bar, pulling Joe Somebody or Another by the waist band. He slips his hand across her lower back. She twists around and presses him to the wall, kissing him, hard. Her fingers slip into his hair and her other hand slips on to his shoulder, holding him into place.
"Jones, you are..."
"Shh." She never lets them finish.
He kisses her, again, with a hungry, drunken fervor, and puts his hand against her neck, but she doesn't give him the chance to hold her any more than that. Too soon the burn in her groin that made her drag him out here to begin with, starts to cut sharp and hot like the knife. And it hurts so much that tears prick painfully at her eyelids. She keeps her lips against his, not that he'd notice the tears. Jones kisses him in a mess of spit and heat on tongue and teeth.
And she needs him inside of her to get rid of the knife, to distract her from all of the bloody filth that seems to crawl across every portion of her skin. Jones doesn't make a noise as he slips his hand up into her hair, despite the way it makes the knife feel like it's digging deeper and screaming at her. She's afraid he'll hear it and know and-
Sweat drips down her forehead as she makes a grab for his belt buckle, fingers steady and true and determined to forget, until she hears it. Soft, pained whimpers, screams and sobs stifled by a hand, sounds she's intimately familiar with coming from the alleyway next to the bar. Martha pulls away from Joe Somebody or Another, only vaguely processing his protests.
He's too hard to walk now, anyway, and it's always over when she says it's over. Fuck if he wants more now, the burning inside of her starts to fade as she focuses on the sounds and tenses.
She pulls her gun from its holster, turning so that her back is pressed against the wall. Jones sucks in a breath and slips into the alleyway. The moonlight has faded. Dawn is on its way so the alley is darker than normal, filled with shadows.
Still it only takes a second for her vision to register a pale, heavy man raping a young woman against the wall. The hand that covers her mouth is nearly as big as her face. Her panties and jeans are down around her ankles and a knife is pressed so tight against her neck that its breaking the skin just enough to bleed, a little.
It only takes a second more for Jones to aim and shoot. No hesitation. Cock the gun back, aim, and shoot for the kill.
The man's head explodes in a mess of blood and brains. He seems to hover in position, before flopping over to the side. Like a fish.
And now that there isn't a hand to cover her mouth, the woman starts screaming, again. Her dark eyes wide, mouth hanging open, she is the picture of absolute terror to the point that it would be hilarious if the situation weren't worthy of horror. The woman is scared of her for shooting him, and there's a flicker of annoyance that should not be there.
People shouldn't scream at their rescuer.
Which would you rather, lady, his brains or yours?
Jones answers the question, herself, and suppresses the urge to cock her gun back, again, and shoot the woman, too. Her hand trembles, slightly, from clinging to the gun so tight, but it's difficult to see the shaking. The woman's stopped screaming. Her hands are over her face, as if she's waiting to be shot... or maybe just to wake up.
What would Martha do?
Martha would have never shot him in the head. She'd have knocked him out and stayed with the woman, got her and the rapist to the nearest police station, remained with the woman till she was safe at home and provide testimony, stood up as a witness.
But Martha would never be here.
And she's much more Jones than Martha right now, anyway. There's a look in that woman's eyes that seems to imply that she never wants to be touched, again. By anyone. Jones can relate so she leaves the woman in the alleyway with her pants around her ankles.
She returns to the bar, orders a shot of brandy, and drinks it, alone.
The sun has risen just enough when she returns to the Conrad that the bright light filling the streets is starting to make her even more tense and her fingers shake more now than they did when she shot that man. It does not escape her attention that she's let Calisto ruin light for her.
Into the elevator and out, again, and back to her door to take down the note that says she's at Brando's office. (upstairs. she's the only one who's ever been there now. to her knowledge) She takes ten minutes in her room to get under control, to change out of her clothes, to shower, and to shove emotions away.
She goes into the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee, and only stops to sit with it, because she notices Des sitting at a table with a cup of his own.
"Morning," he says.
Martha smiles for him. "Good morning."
And another day comes to an end.
Characters: Martha Jones, guest appearance by Des in the last five seconds of the fic. XD
Rating: Pg-13ish
Summary: Bad ass!Jones in action.
Notes: I've been hankering to write Bad ass!Martha Jones ever since I realized that's how she'd end up dealing with... everything. I wrote it during work. And I'm not sure if I really WILL refer to her as Jones when she's being bad ass. Probably not. Just.. experimenting with it really. It's weird how it worked out and I don't want it to seem like she has multiple personality disorder or something, she doesn't. It's just easier to do what she does if she doesn't think of herself in the same way. I guess. Like I said just experimenting. Also, this is REALLY, REALLY bad ass Martha. I'm not sure if this will ever actually happen in canon, it certainly doesn't happen often, but... UHM. yes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Martha, I guess I sort of own the random characters in here, not that they have names in my head. ^^" And the amazinnng Chris owns Des.
Jones exits the slummy bar, pulling Joe Somebody or Another by the waist band. He slips his hand across her lower back. She twists around and presses him to the wall, kissing him, hard. Her fingers slip into his hair and her other hand slips on to his shoulder, holding him into place.
"Jones, you are..."
"Shh." She never lets them finish.
He kisses her, again, with a hungry, drunken fervor, and puts his hand against her neck, but she doesn't give him the chance to hold her any more than that. Too soon the burn in her groin that made her drag him out here to begin with, starts to cut sharp and hot like the knife. And it hurts so much that tears prick painfully at her eyelids. She keeps her lips against his, not that he'd notice the tears. Jones kisses him in a mess of spit and heat on tongue and teeth.
And she needs him inside of her to get rid of the knife, to distract her from all of the bloody filth that seems to crawl across every portion of her skin. Jones doesn't make a noise as he slips his hand up into her hair, despite the way it makes the knife feel like it's digging deeper and screaming at her. She's afraid he'll hear it and know and-
Sweat drips down her forehead as she makes a grab for his belt buckle, fingers steady and true and determined to forget, until she hears it. Soft, pained whimpers, screams and sobs stifled by a hand, sounds she's intimately familiar with coming from the alleyway next to the bar. Martha pulls away from Joe Somebody or Another, only vaguely processing his protests.
He's too hard to walk now, anyway, and it's always over when she says it's over. Fuck if he wants more now, the burning inside of her starts to fade as she focuses on the sounds and tenses.
She pulls her gun from its holster, turning so that her back is pressed against the wall. Jones sucks in a breath and slips into the alleyway. The moonlight has faded. Dawn is on its way so the alley is darker than normal, filled with shadows.
Still it only takes a second for her vision to register a pale, heavy man raping a young woman against the wall. The hand that covers her mouth is nearly as big as her face. Her panties and jeans are down around her ankles and a knife is pressed so tight against her neck that its breaking the skin just enough to bleed, a little.
It only takes a second more for Jones to aim and shoot. No hesitation. Cock the gun back, aim, and shoot for the kill.
The man's head explodes in a mess of blood and brains. He seems to hover in position, before flopping over to the side. Like a fish.
And now that there isn't a hand to cover her mouth, the woman starts screaming, again. Her dark eyes wide, mouth hanging open, she is the picture of absolute terror to the point that it would be hilarious if the situation weren't worthy of horror. The woman is scared of her for shooting him, and there's a flicker of annoyance that should not be there.
People shouldn't scream at their rescuer.
Which would you rather, lady, his brains or yours?
Jones answers the question, herself, and suppresses the urge to cock her gun back, again, and shoot the woman, too. Her hand trembles, slightly, from clinging to the gun so tight, but it's difficult to see the shaking. The woman's stopped screaming. Her hands are over her face, as if she's waiting to be shot... or maybe just to wake up.
What would Martha do?
Martha would have never shot him in the head. She'd have knocked him out and stayed with the woman, got her and the rapist to the nearest police station, remained with the woman till she was safe at home and provide testimony, stood up as a witness.
But Martha would never be here.
And she's much more Jones than Martha right now, anyway. There's a look in that woman's eyes that seems to imply that she never wants to be touched, again. By anyone. Jones can relate so she leaves the woman in the alleyway with her pants around her ankles.
She returns to the bar, orders a shot of brandy, and drinks it, alone.
The sun has risen just enough when she returns to the Conrad that the bright light filling the streets is starting to make her even more tense and her fingers shake more now than they did when she shot that man. It does not escape her attention that she's let Calisto ruin light for her.
Into the elevator and out, again, and back to her door to take down the note that says she's at Brando's office. (upstairs. she's the only one who's ever been there now. to her knowledge) She takes ten minutes in her room to get under control, to change out of her clothes, to shower, and to shove emotions away.
She goes into the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee, and only stops to sit with it, because she notices Des sitting at a table with a cup of his own.
"Morning," he says.
Martha smiles for him. "Good morning."
And another day comes to an end.