With My Mind, I Wake Up (The Messin' With the Enemy Remix) [Martha, Ten, the Master | R]
Title: With My Mind, I Wake Up (The Messin' With the Enemy Remix)
Author: magicallaw
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Ten, the Master
Rating: Light R.
Summary: During the year that never was, Martha was nevery truly alone.
Word Count: 1,500
Original Story: Sleeping With the Enemy by rude_not_ginger.
Notes: Many thanks to my beta, prof_pangaea.
So you made it then? It won’t last. You can’t run forever.
You’re not strong enough, Martha Jones.
I will find you and I will end this, by any means possible.
I will destroy you.
This is not that story.
***
“Keep that. ‘Cause I’m not having you disappear on me. If that rings - when that rings - you better come running. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll see you again, mister.”
***
Do you even own a mirror? Self-respect, you should try it. I mean, word tells me you’ve been busy lately, but still.
You look tired.
Did you ever let him see you like that? So ... weak.
No. I thought not.
She's had nightmares before, but she knows that categorizing that as one would be way off the mark.
In the morning when she wakes up, there’s a car nearby and she goes to look in the wing mirror. It’s cracked but it will do. She still sees her in there, somewhere: Martha Jones.
She wonders how long she will be able to.
***
Work was far too hard, so she quit. It was quite laughable, when she thought about it: she walked the earth for a year, but doing her rounds back at the Royal Hope? Not a chance.
She decides to stay still for a bit. No more running. Perhaps it will do her good.
She sits and waits and wonders what to do next. Every now and then she hears a familiar noise. She knows what it is but she still looks out of her bedroom window, just to make sure.
She’s not sure what to do next, but she knows she doesn’t need this.
***
What do you think about at night? When you’re on your own ... When there’s no one to hold your hand. Has there really ever been, I wonder?
I see how you think of him. It’s very ... what’s the word? ... Vanilla. Quaint, almost. It disgusts me ...
You could have me. I could offer you so much more.
You don’t have to be alone.
When someone tells her the next day that she should get some rest, Martha doesn’t tell them that she’s even fighting in her sleep these days.
***
Martha catches her mum staring out of the kitchen window at it. “I’m dealing with it,” she tells her.
Francine grabs her arm. “You don’t have to.”
“What is it you always say about Leo? ‘He’s making the place look untidy.’”
***
What would he say if he could see you now?... No longer the impressionable young human he hoped for, are you?
He doesn’t want you anymore.
What’s the point of hiding?
You don’t have to fight me.
She wakes up immediately and spends the rest of the night crying because she thought, for just one moment, that not fighting sounded like the better option.
***
“You look different,” the Doctor observes.
“It hasn’t been that long.”
She left, but he doesn’t seem to want to. He keeps finding things that need fixing, he reckons. Here seems like a good a place as any, he tells her.
“Besides, I was wearing this when I we met,” she tells him.
“Yeah, well,” he says, looking at his feet. “We never did ...”
“What? Talk it through? Tell each other what we went through? Do you want me to tell you how I got these?” She raises her purple vest top, shows him the scars; the ones he can see, at any rate.
She sees that it both fascinates him and horrifies him at the same time. She is blank when he apologises.
***
You and your stupid little game is driving me to boredom. That little stunt in Japan? Well I had to do something about it; I had to take it out on someone ...
... It’s OK. He didn’t scar; we don’t.
I want you to remember that.
It’s OK, she thinks, as she’s got quite used to not looking in mirrors.
***
“You sound different as well.” She knows he’s trying to change the subject - trying not to think about what happened to her - which is silly seeing as it’s all the same thing they’re talking about.
“Did you love him?” She wants him to say yes more than anything, perhaps more than if she’d asked him if he loved her. She’d be at peace with herself then. Nearly.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because once you tell me, I think you’ll be ready to leave.”
“Is that what you want?”
She has no doubt in her mind that yes is the right answer to that question, so when she says, “I want you to kiss me,” it comes as a bit of a shock.
***
I could make him come just by touching him there, right on his neck. You should have seen him when I scraped my nails over the nape.
Actually, I don’t think that mental image is for sharing. Like the Doctor, that’s all mine.
“I know,” she says, only there’s no one there to hear it.
***
She can’t help but wonder what his hands are doing as hers busy themselves with his jacket buttons. Their kiss is a tentative one which frustrates her as she wants it to be rough and painful - she wants it to say what neither of them ever managed to. Her frustrated hands pull off buttons, whilst his finally draw her into his body.
“You don’t want this,” he mumbles against her lips.
She wonders how he knows.
***
Oh, now, don’t flinch like that. Everyone has a ... experimental stage. I mean, yes, there’s experimental and there’s just plain filthy ... The things he would let me do to him.
No, you’re right: words can’t do it justice. This is much better.
She dreams about it the next night, and the next, then the next. Then the Doctor’s gone. Then it’s just her, with him. Always with the Doctor’s master. It’s then that she decides to call him that: his master. Never hers.
***
“Martha,” the Doctor says. It’s more of a question, really, as they seem to have stopped doing ... whatever is what that they were doing.
Martha’s nervous for the first time since she’s been standing there. She doesn’t answer him. Instead she tentatively moves her hand up his back and it rests on his shoulder. Now isn’t the time for nerves, she tells herself; if she could have mentally slapped herself she would have.
What was it he had said? So weak.
***
I’ve lost count of how many girls like you he’s had. Well let me tell you this, Martha Jones: There’s only one Me. Only one Us. Only one Everything He Ever Had.
It makes sense to her now. Not all of it, but most of it.
She has the best night’s sleep she’s had in almost a year.
***
“Martha,” he says her name again, but it’s no question. She’s a little surprised because surely he’d be curious as to how she knows just where to touch him. She tries not to think about how she wishes it was her that could make him this incoherent because she knows she’s being someone else. Instead she focuses on kissing him the way that she wants to; all teeth and anger. Only when she bites his lip a little too hard does it seem to bring him back round to the here and now.
When she senses that he’s back with her, she looks him in the eye and says, “Touch me.”
She feels his hand slide up her top and she grabs it, stops him. “Not there,” she says. She knows that she’s confusing. She raises her head and tilts it slightly, exposing that same spot of flesh on her neck that he finds so pleasurable on his own.
“But...” he says.
“But what?”
He doesn’t answer.
“But what?” she demands.
“You’re not...” He can’t say it. She knows he can’t.
“I’m not any of them, Doctor.”
***
The most frustrating thing for you must be that you never stood a chance. I don’t know why you tried replacing a girl stuck in a parallel universe. That was never the issue. You see, you had an entire race of people to contend with.
You had me.
Basically, you’re fucked.
She remembers this when she’s back on the Valiant, when the Doctor is busy crying over his corpse. She remembers this, looks at them both and thinks, no, you are. You both are.
***
She pushes him away from her and he falls against the console.
“You’d better come running, remember?”
After she’s left, he picks up his previously discarded jacket, feels for a phone that he can’t let go of and says to no one, “Got it.”
Author: magicallaw
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Ten, the Master
Rating: Light R.
Summary: During the year that never was, Martha was nevery truly alone.
Word Count: 1,500
Original Story: Sleeping With the Enemy by rude_not_ginger.
Notes: Many thanks to my beta, prof_pangaea.
So you made it then? It won’t last. You can’t run forever.
You’re not strong enough, Martha Jones.
I will find you and I will end this, by any means possible.
I will destroy you.
This is not that story.
***
“Keep that. ‘Cause I’m not having you disappear on me. If that rings - when that rings - you better come running. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll see you again, mister.”
***
Do you even own a mirror? Self-respect, you should try it. I mean, word tells me you’ve been busy lately, but still.
You look tired.
Did you ever let him see you like that? So ... weak.
No. I thought not.
She's had nightmares before, but she knows that categorizing that as one would be way off the mark.
In the morning when she wakes up, there’s a car nearby and she goes to look in the wing mirror. It’s cracked but it will do. She still sees her in there, somewhere: Martha Jones.
She wonders how long she will be able to.
***
Work was far too hard, so she quit. It was quite laughable, when she thought about it: she walked the earth for a year, but doing her rounds back at the Royal Hope? Not a chance.
She decides to stay still for a bit. No more running. Perhaps it will do her good.
She sits and waits and wonders what to do next. Every now and then she hears a familiar noise. She knows what it is but she still looks out of her bedroom window, just to make sure.
She’s not sure what to do next, but she knows she doesn’t need this.
***
What do you think about at night? When you’re on your own ... When there’s no one to hold your hand. Has there really ever been, I wonder?
I see how you think of him. It’s very ... what’s the word? ... Vanilla. Quaint, almost. It disgusts me ...
You could have me. I could offer you so much more.
You don’t have to be alone.
When someone tells her the next day that she should get some rest, Martha doesn’t tell them that she’s even fighting in her sleep these days.
***
Martha catches her mum staring out of the kitchen window at it. “I’m dealing with it,” she tells her.
Francine grabs her arm. “You don’t have to.”
“What is it you always say about Leo? ‘He’s making the place look untidy.’”
***
What would he say if he could see you now?... No longer the impressionable young human he hoped for, are you?
He doesn’t want you anymore.
What’s the point of hiding?
You don’t have to fight me.
She wakes up immediately and spends the rest of the night crying because she thought, for just one moment, that not fighting sounded like the better option.
***
“You look different,” the Doctor observes.
“It hasn’t been that long.”
She left, but he doesn’t seem to want to. He keeps finding things that need fixing, he reckons. Here seems like a good a place as any, he tells her.
“Besides, I was wearing this when I we met,” she tells him.
“Yeah, well,” he says, looking at his feet. “We never did ...”
“What? Talk it through? Tell each other what we went through? Do you want me to tell you how I got these?” She raises her purple vest top, shows him the scars; the ones he can see, at any rate.
She sees that it both fascinates him and horrifies him at the same time. She is blank when he apologises.
***
You and your stupid little game is driving me to boredom. That little stunt in Japan? Well I had to do something about it; I had to take it out on someone ...
... It’s OK. He didn’t scar; we don’t.
I want you to remember that.
It’s OK, she thinks, as she’s got quite used to not looking in mirrors.
***
“You sound different as well.” She knows he’s trying to change the subject - trying not to think about what happened to her - which is silly seeing as it’s all the same thing they’re talking about.
“Did you love him?” She wants him to say yes more than anything, perhaps more than if she’d asked him if he loved her. She’d be at peace with herself then. Nearly.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because once you tell me, I think you’ll be ready to leave.”
“Is that what you want?”
She has no doubt in her mind that yes is the right answer to that question, so when she says, “I want you to kiss me,” it comes as a bit of a shock.
***
I could make him come just by touching him there, right on his neck. You should have seen him when I scraped my nails over the nape.
Actually, I don’t think that mental image is for sharing. Like the Doctor, that’s all mine.
“I know,” she says, only there’s no one there to hear it.
***
She can’t help but wonder what his hands are doing as hers busy themselves with his jacket buttons. Their kiss is a tentative one which frustrates her as she wants it to be rough and painful - she wants it to say what neither of them ever managed to. Her frustrated hands pull off buttons, whilst his finally draw her into his body.
“You don’t want this,” he mumbles against her lips.
She wonders how he knows.
***
Oh, now, don’t flinch like that. Everyone has a ... experimental stage. I mean, yes, there’s experimental and there’s just plain filthy ... The things he would let me do to him.
No, you’re right: words can’t do it justice. This is much better.
She dreams about it the next night, and the next, then the next. Then the Doctor’s gone. Then it’s just her, with him. Always with the Doctor’s master. It’s then that she decides to call him that: his master. Never hers.
***
“Martha,” the Doctor says. It’s more of a question, really, as they seem to have stopped doing ... whatever is what that they were doing.
Martha’s nervous for the first time since she’s been standing there. She doesn’t answer him. Instead she tentatively moves her hand up his back and it rests on his shoulder. Now isn’t the time for nerves, she tells herself; if she could have mentally slapped herself she would have.
What was it he had said? So weak.
***
I’ve lost count of how many girls like you he’s had. Well let me tell you this, Martha Jones: There’s only one Me. Only one Us. Only one Everything He Ever Had.
It makes sense to her now. Not all of it, but most of it.
She has the best night’s sleep she’s had in almost a year.
***
“Martha,” he says her name again, but it’s no question. She’s a little surprised because surely he’d be curious as to how she knows just where to touch him. She tries not to think about how she wishes it was her that could make him this incoherent because she knows she’s being someone else. Instead she focuses on kissing him the way that she wants to; all teeth and anger. Only when she bites his lip a little too hard does it seem to bring him back round to the here and now.
When she senses that he’s back with her, she looks him in the eye and says, “Touch me.”
She feels his hand slide up her top and she grabs it, stops him. “Not there,” she says. She knows that she’s confusing. She raises her head and tilts it slightly, exposing that same spot of flesh on her neck that he finds so pleasurable on his own.
“But...” he says.
“But what?”
He doesn’t answer.
“But what?” she demands.
“You’re not...” He can’t say it. She knows he can’t.
“I’m not any of them, Doctor.”
***
The most frustrating thing for you must be that you never stood a chance. I don’t know why you tried replacing a girl stuck in a parallel universe. That was never the issue. You see, you had an entire race of people to contend with.
You had me.
Basically, you’re fucked.
She remembers this when she’s back on the Valiant, when the Doctor is busy crying over his corpse. She remembers this, looks at them both and thinks, no, you are. You both are.
***
She pushes him away from her and he falls against the console.
“You’d better come running, remember?”
After she’s left, he picks up his previously discarded jacket, feels for a phone that he can’t let go of and says to no one, “Got it.”