Normality through routine [fic]
Title: Normality through routine
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Genre: One shot
Rating: PG
Prompt: Dinner with the family Jones
Word count: 1739
Once every month Jack travels to London and has dinner with the Jones family. It was, for a while, a popular mystery at Torchwood, Cardiff; where he went and why. They seemed almost disappointed when on a mission in London he introduced them to his friend, Martha; she was pretty, pleasant, intelligent and up for a laugh, but nothing special - nothing alien.
He usually comes on the evenings Leo visits, taking his seat between Clive and Tish. He wears ordinary things; dress shirt and slacks, jeans and t-shirt if they go out for pizza. He keeps the coat, though - he’ll lose the coat for nothing and no one.
He tends to make conversation with Leo and Francine. He likes Tish and Tish, whilst at times unable to stand the sight of him, quite likes him too. But after so many late, hopeless nights talking, they each know too much about the other to really be comfortable together. They’ve both sworn never to breathe a word to Martha of what they know, but complete trust has never been Jack’s strong suit and after all that’s happened Tish isn’t much better.
Clive would like him too, but remembers a few (far) too many times when Jack stood up and went on breathing when any sane (normal, human) being would have stayed still. He has difficulty finishing his meat sometimes when Jack’s sat next to him and though they all ask him (Martha has also asked Jack a few times on the quiet) he refuses to tell them what he saw, just as Jack will never talk about the things they did to him, not even to Martha.
Leo’s wary of actually liking Jack, but finds he can’t quite help it; aside from the fact that he and Martha aren’t actually going out (Leo tends to hate blokes who go out with either of his sisters on principle), there’s a kind of warmth to him. Even those times it seems forced or fake Leo likes it, all the more when he thinks of his family’s distant eyes, how his mum breaks down in tears when they show fires on the news. They don’t need to tell him that he doesn’t understand, that he’ll probably never be able to. He already knows. Jack has been through it all - he understands. But he still laughs and jokes and when he’s around Martha gets in on the act too. It’s the one thing Leo resents about Jack, but he doesn’t say anything. Because Martha’s happy when he’s there. That’s important. Leo knows - and understands - that that’s the main reason (if not the only one) that they have him around.
Francine, ever the over-protective mother, often regards him through narrowed eyes. She’s waiting - with no relish or smugness - for him to slip up, to fail her daughter somehow. She hasn’t forgotten the Doctor, has made it clear she never will, and Jack is sullied by association. That said, she does like having him around - not so much because he’s him (although his natural charm and stunning variety of dirty jokes do help to improve her mood); since the incident she feels…distant from her co-workers, her friends. Clive has it too. They don’t get many visitors anymore.
“So,” Martha begins, reaching for the salt. “How’s everyone’s day been?”
“I reckon I’ve got a new job,” Tish offers. “Nowhere in science or government.” she adds quickly and there are a few weak laughs. “It’s tourism.”
Jack sniggers and Leo almost snorts his drink down his nose.
“Tourism? You? Actually dealing with people?”
“Shut up, you.”
“You’ll have to talk to Ianto. People have apparently recommended our TIC to friends.” says Jack.
Clive frowns “I thought that was a ruse?”
“Initially, but Ianto takes it very seriously. Up to the minute leaflets, maps of the bay, everything. When he gets bored he teaches the American tourists Welsh swear words.”
“Dedication,” says Francine approvingly. “That’s what so many young people today lack.”
Tish scowls. “I hope you’re not looking at me.”
“Go on, then,” says Leo to Jack. “let’s hear some.”
“Swear words aren’t part of my repertoire-“
Martha scoffs. “”Repertoire”? You only know one word!”
“Which happens to be the most vital word in the Welsh language if you need to survive in Cardiff for any length of time.”
“Which is?”
Jack smiles at Tish. “Sglodion.”
Tish frowns back at him. “What, fish and chips? That’s all you can say?”
“It’s just “chips”, actually.”
Martha laughs while Leo tries pronouncing it for himself. “How did you guess?”
“Because that’s all he,” Tish jerks her head at Jack. “Went on about, day in, day out. Like that was the worst part.” Those last words come out too bitter and everyone goes quiet.
Clive quickly comes to the rescue. ”What the hell have you done to these vegetables, Fran? Tastes like charcoal.”
Francine glares, throwing herself into the role. “Anyone else feel like cooking their own dinner next time?”
The Jones children consider and as one raise their hands, offering sheepish smiles. Jack looks up from his mash potatoes long enough to see which way the tide’s turning and rolls his eyes, raising his hand in mock reluctance. “Wasn’t going to say anything, but - “
“Would you even be able to cook on the trains?” asks Clive, tone tinged with amusement.
Martha waves a hand. “don’t give him any ideas, Dad! They’ll throw him off for good.”
“Yeah, then where are we going to hear about the truth about British Rail’s reliability?”
“Not to mention all those brilliant stories about bagels randomly setting fire to the catering car.”
“Will you let that go already? That wasn’t my fault!”
“So you say.”
After dinner there’s usually television, sometimes a family game if they can muster the enthusiasm. It feels to Martha sometimes like they’re…well, regressing. Falling back into patterns they abandoned when Leo started secondary school. If they’re not careful they’ll packing themselves off to the seaside for sandcastles and ice cream come the summer and gathering around for “Home Alone” at Christmas.
Around eleven (sometimes earlier if something “kicks off” in Cardiff) Martha drives Jack to the station and sees him on to the last train. She lets him pick the music on the way there, reasoning that she’ll be able to play what she wants on the way back, drown out the silence. She almost always regrets it - Jack has a very eclectic taste in music. Tonight he insists on “November rain”, setting it to repeat so they can listen to it over and over and over.
“Thanks again for coming.” she says, carrying his rucksack (“ever the gentleman” Jack would say, if she hadn’t kicked him in the shins last time he said it).
Jack just shrugs. “It was good to see you. The family too, but mostly you.”
She elbows him playfully. “Watch it, you.”
His smile settles, almost fading completely. “How are they?” Because he’s not seen them, not since that day nearly two years ago when he, Martha and the Doctor found them hostage. Not really.
Her smile flickers from mischievous to brave (one might argue it disappears all together, but Jack likes to think of her as happy, see her on the mend). She shrugs. “Surviving. They’re getting better, but I think we’re going to have to get separate social lives sometime soon. Start going around the bend otherwise.”
“Don’t have to be separate to start off with,” Jack suggests. “You and Tish could share for a little while. Be handy - you’d know all the pros and cons of your potential boyfriend before even meeting him.”
“Given our taste in men, known to include aliens and creepy evil geniuses who can’t get their science right, I think we’re better off going our separate ways.”
Jack chuckles. “Good point. Would put me in the running too. I mean I’d be more than happy to court both of you - not at the same time, obviously - but I think things would get awkward between me and Tish. Certain situations and all-”
Martha cocks her head, one eyebrow raised. “Who said you weren’t already in the running?” she asks quietly, with a smile that might be teasing, might not be. For all his hundred plus years’ experience Jack can’t quite tell and just holds out his hand for his bag.
The announcer calls on Jack and his soon-to-be fellow passengers to look sharp. They hug and he whispers in her ear, “One of these days, Martha Jones, you’re going to come away with me.”
“One day,” Martha agrees as they pull back, still holding each others’ arms. She backs away and lets go, something that Jack might call regret if she weren’t so content crossing her face. “But not today.”
Jack nods, feeling only a tiny, pin-sized stab of disappointment. Because she’s right; she can’t leave now, not with things the way they are. But one day she’ll walk away with him arm in arm. That’s enough for now.
He smiles, making a show with a shrug and a weary sigh. “Oh well. We’ll always have that bit of mud in front of the TARDIS. Excellent CPR, by the way. Best I’ve ever had. My medic doesn’t use anywhere near enough tongue.”
Martha rolls her eyes, pointedly not laughing, even if she can’t quite stop the grin. She gives him a shove. “Go on, get a move on! It’ll leave without you.”
Jack strikes a pose Martha can tell he’s copied from a film - can’t quite think what at the moment…probably one of Clint Eastwood’s, he got really obsessed with him the other month - and through gritted teeth declares, “They can try.”
A smart salute and a quick wave and he’s gone. Martha stays to watch the train leave and thinks If this were a film I’d run after it. After him. Nothing would matter. But these things do matter, as she knows a little too well, and she really can’t run in these heels.
On the way home she puts on Thin Lizzy, turning it up to sing along with “Dancing in the moonlight” and “The Boys are Back in Town” and remembering; this isn’t a film where people can get things by wishing hard enough for them, by just wanting them, by stumbling across them and not realising it for two hours. This is real life, where things are earned with patience and hard work. It’s more satisfying that way anyway.
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Genre: One shot
Rating: PG
Prompt: Dinner with the family Jones
Word count: 1739
Once every month Jack travels to London and has dinner with the Jones family. It was, for a while, a popular mystery at Torchwood, Cardiff; where he went and why. They seemed almost disappointed when on a mission in London he introduced them to his friend, Martha; she was pretty, pleasant, intelligent and up for a laugh, but nothing special - nothing alien.
He usually comes on the evenings Leo visits, taking his seat between Clive and Tish. He wears ordinary things; dress shirt and slacks, jeans and t-shirt if they go out for pizza. He keeps the coat, though - he’ll lose the coat for nothing and no one.
He tends to make conversation with Leo and Francine. He likes Tish and Tish, whilst at times unable to stand the sight of him, quite likes him too. But after so many late, hopeless nights talking, they each know too much about the other to really be comfortable together. They’ve both sworn never to breathe a word to Martha of what they know, but complete trust has never been Jack’s strong suit and after all that’s happened Tish isn’t much better.
Clive would like him too, but remembers a few (far) too many times when Jack stood up and went on breathing when any sane (normal, human) being would have stayed still. He has difficulty finishing his meat sometimes when Jack’s sat next to him and though they all ask him (Martha has also asked Jack a few times on the quiet) he refuses to tell them what he saw, just as Jack will never talk about the things they did to him, not even to Martha.
Leo’s wary of actually liking Jack, but finds he can’t quite help it; aside from the fact that he and Martha aren’t actually going out (Leo tends to hate blokes who go out with either of his sisters on principle), there’s a kind of warmth to him. Even those times it seems forced or fake Leo likes it, all the more when he thinks of his family’s distant eyes, how his mum breaks down in tears when they show fires on the news. They don’t need to tell him that he doesn’t understand, that he’ll probably never be able to. He already knows. Jack has been through it all - he understands. But he still laughs and jokes and when he’s around Martha gets in on the act too. It’s the one thing Leo resents about Jack, but he doesn’t say anything. Because Martha’s happy when he’s there. That’s important. Leo knows - and understands - that that’s the main reason (if not the only one) that they have him around.
Francine, ever the over-protective mother, often regards him through narrowed eyes. She’s waiting - with no relish or smugness - for him to slip up, to fail her daughter somehow. She hasn’t forgotten the Doctor, has made it clear she never will, and Jack is sullied by association. That said, she does like having him around - not so much because he’s him (although his natural charm and stunning variety of dirty jokes do help to improve her mood); since the incident she feels…distant from her co-workers, her friends. Clive has it too. They don’t get many visitors anymore.
“So,” Martha begins, reaching for the salt. “How’s everyone’s day been?”
“I reckon I’ve got a new job,” Tish offers. “Nowhere in science or government.” she adds quickly and there are a few weak laughs. “It’s tourism.”
Jack sniggers and Leo almost snorts his drink down his nose.
“Tourism? You? Actually dealing with people?”
“Shut up, you.”
“You’ll have to talk to Ianto. People have apparently recommended our TIC to friends.” says Jack.
Clive frowns “I thought that was a ruse?”
“Initially, but Ianto takes it very seriously. Up to the minute leaflets, maps of the bay, everything. When he gets bored he teaches the American tourists Welsh swear words.”
“Dedication,” says Francine approvingly. “That’s what so many young people today lack.”
Tish scowls. “I hope you’re not looking at me.”
“Go on, then,” says Leo to Jack. “let’s hear some.”
“Swear words aren’t part of my repertoire-“
Martha scoffs. “”Repertoire”? You only know one word!”
“Which happens to be the most vital word in the Welsh language if you need to survive in Cardiff for any length of time.”
“Which is?”
Jack smiles at Tish. “Sglodion.”
Tish frowns back at him. “What, fish and chips? That’s all you can say?”
“It’s just “chips”, actually.”
Martha laughs while Leo tries pronouncing it for himself. “How did you guess?”
“Because that’s all he,” Tish jerks her head at Jack. “Went on about, day in, day out. Like that was the worst part.” Those last words come out too bitter and everyone goes quiet.
Clive quickly comes to the rescue. ”What the hell have you done to these vegetables, Fran? Tastes like charcoal.”
Francine glares, throwing herself into the role. “Anyone else feel like cooking their own dinner next time?”
The Jones children consider and as one raise their hands, offering sheepish smiles. Jack looks up from his mash potatoes long enough to see which way the tide’s turning and rolls his eyes, raising his hand in mock reluctance. “Wasn’t going to say anything, but - “
“Would you even be able to cook on the trains?” asks Clive, tone tinged with amusement.
Martha waves a hand. “don’t give him any ideas, Dad! They’ll throw him off for good.”
“Yeah, then where are we going to hear about the truth about British Rail’s reliability?”
“Not to mention all those brilliant stories about bagels randomly setting fire to the catering car.”
“Will you let that go already? That wasn’t my fault!”
“So you say.”
After dinner there’s usually television, sometimes a family game if they can muster the enthusiasm. It feels to Martha sometimes like they’re…well, regressing. Falling back into patterns they abandoned when Leo started secondary school. If they’re not careful they’ll packing themselves off to the seaside for sandcastles and ice cream come the summer and gathering around for “Home Alone” at Christmas.
Around eleven (sometimes earlier if something “kicks off” in Cardiff) Martha drives Jack to the station and sees him on to the last train. She lets him pick the music on the way there, reasoning that she’ll be able to play what she wants on the way back, drown out the silence. She almost always regrets it - Jack has a very eclectic taste in music. Tonight he insists on “November rain”, setting it to repeat so they can listen to it over and over and over.
“Thanks again for coming.” she says, carrying his rucksack (“ever the gentleman” Jack would say, if she hadn’t kicked him in the shins last time he said it).
Jack just shrugs. “It was good to see you. The family too, but mostly you.”
She elbows him playfully. “Watch it, you.”
His smile settles, almost fading completely. “How are they?” Because he’s not seen them, not since that day nearly two years ago when he, Martha and the Doctor found them hostage. Not really.
Her smile flickers from mischievous to brave (one might argue it disappears all together, but Jack likes to think of her as happy, see her on the mend). She shrugs. “Surviving. They’re getting better, but I think we’re going to have to get separate social lives sometime soon. Start going around the bend otherwise.”
“Don’t have to be separate to start off with,” Jack suggests. “You and Tish could share for a little while. Be handy - you’d know all the pros and cons of your potential boyfriend before even meeting him.”
“Given our taste in men, known to include aliens and creepy evil geniuses who can’t get their science right, I think we’re better off going our separate ways.”
Jack chuckles. “Good point. Would put me in the running too. I mean I’d be more than happy to court both of you - not at the same time, obviously - but I think things would get awkward between me and Tish. Certain situations and all-”
Martha cocks her head, one eyebrow raised. “Who said you weren’t already in the running?” she asks quietly, with a smile that might be teasing, might not be. For all his hundred plus years’ experience Jack can’t quite tell and just holds out his hand for his bag.
The announcer calls on Jack and his soon-to-be fellow passengers to look sharp. They hug and he whispers in her ear, “One of these days, Martha Jones, you’re going to come away with me.”
“One day,” Martha agrees as they pull back, still holding each others’ arms. She backs away and lets go, something that Jack might call regret if she weren’t so content crossing her face. “But not today.”
Jack nods, feeling only a tiny, pin-sized stab of disappointment. Because she’s right; she can’t leave now, not with things the way they are. But one day she’ll walk away with him arm in arm. That’s enough for now.
He smiles, making a show with a shrug and a weary sigh. “Oh well. We’ll always have that bit of mud in front of the TARDIS. Excellent CPR, by the way. Best I’ve ever had. My medic doesn’t use anywhere near enough tongue.”
Martha rolls her eyes, pointedly not laughing, even if she can’t quite stop the grin. She gives him a shove. “Go on, get a move on! It’ll leave without you.”
Jack strikes a pose Martha can tell he’s copied from a film - can’t quite think what at the moment…probably one of Clint Eastwood’s, he got really obsessed with him the other month - and through gritted teeth declares, “They can try.”
A smart salute and a quick wave and he’s gone. Martha stays to watch the train leave and thinks If this were a film I’d run after it. After him. Nothing would matter. But these things do matter, as she knows a little too well, and she really can’t run in these heels.
On the way home she puts on Thin Lizzy, turning it up to sing along with “Dancing in the moonlight” and “The Boys are Back in Town” and remembering; this isn’t a film where people can get things by wishing hard enough for them, by just wanting them, by stumbling across them and not realising it for two hours. This is real life, where things are earned with patience and hard work. It’s more satisfying that way anyway.