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Doctor Who/Torchwood, Down to a Fine Art, Toshiko/Martha, PG13/R
Title: Down to a Fine Art
Author: ALC Punk!
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Pairing: Toshiko Sato/Martha Jones
Recipient: alizarin_nyc
Length: 1000+
Rating: PG13/R, language, adult situations, sexual references
Set: pre-Exit Wounds
Summary: Tosh and Martha embark on an affair, while aliens sometimes invade.
It starts after Owen, when Jack says there should be cooperation and liaising with UNIT more. Tosh figures it's a way of expiating his guilt at his inability to change things (Owen being mostly-dead and the most brittle member of the team seems to be all about Jack), but she doesn't volunteer.
Jack sends her without asking, and Tosh is relieved to find that it's Martha she's meant to brief, even if Tosh's feelings about UNIT as a whole are more brittle than Owen.
They leave it mostly business the first few times, until they're both comfortable.
Wine and booze on Jack's tab are always an easy sell for both of them, and Martha holds hers better than Tosh.
"I don't like UNIT," she confesses late one night, at an hotel that isn't going to slide her into the past. "Not after--"
Martha's hand touches hers, "I've read your file. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
Cold concrete floors and a sense of futility are gone, but Tosh still shivers. She downs the last of her white wine and smiles, "Shall we get an expensive suite and spend lavish amounts of money as retaliation?"
Martha laughs, and something about it makes Tosh lean over and kiss her. In thanks, if nothing else.
But the kiss isn't what she expected, and Martha's hand cups her cheek, holding her still.
It's not like Mary, with its instant explosion of chemistry, want and need. It's something comfortable, something not-quite-sane, something unreal all at once. Tosh slowly brushes Martha's mouth with her own then pulls back.
"Sorry, uh, that--"
"I'm engaged," Martha fumbles, but her fingers close on Tosh's.
They don't get the expensive suite, and Tosh considers telling Jack to put someone else on this job.
-=-
"So, the world hasn't ended yet!" Martha shouts over the wind. "Good on Torchwood!"
There's a platoon of aliens bearing down on them, and Tosh's fingers are cramping on the grips of her pistol. She'd like to have something sarcastic to say, but the adrenaline rush is too painful, and she can't hear over the sound of the gun anyway.
Martha says something else that gets lost in the backwash of sound as the spaceship that had brought the scouting party goes up in an explosion that will be reported as a gas leak.
They always were. It was hilarious how many people will believe in gas leaks.
Joining Martha in the bar after giving Jack her report, Tosh finds that her hands are steady again.
"So, that happen often?" Martha asks as Tosh slides onto a stool.
"Could say that. The Rift likes tossing up as much as it can--we usually get a good blip on the read-outs beforehand."
The conversation slides into the technical, with Sontarens, Daleks and things that go bump in the night giving them lots to discuss. Tosh lets Martha buy the last round and walks her to her room.
They stagger inside, Tosh's hands shaking, and Martha's mouth hot and desperate against her throat.
-=-
It's almost a routine, after three months. Toshiko knows it shouldn't--can't--last. Martha has a fiancee, Tosh has Owen (or would have liked to have had, once. After all, even Gwen had him before he died). They both have their work. But none of that interferes with their visits. It's business to sit in the bar, discussing aliens and the latest technology being hybridized.
What happens after, isn't. Tosh on her knees, Martha on her back--sometimes, it's not sex, sometimes it's just flopping on their backs, naked and talking about nothing until the sun comes up.
Tosh always leaves first; Martha's legitimately staying at the hotel (the crown is springing for it, good inter-departmental politics and all that). Her apartment is always cold when she gets there, even if the heat's on and the sun is shining brightly.
"I have a fiancee," Martha says. But it's a feeble excuse. Neither of them talk about wedding days.
"There's always Owen," is Tosh's sometimes reply. Martha wasn't blind before, and there's no point in secrets, now. "And I hate UNIT."
She does. Hate UNIT, still. It's hard not to when she still wakes from nightmares, clawing her way to the surface and tasting cement at the back of her throat. Explaining that to Martha isn't easy, and so she simply doesn't bother. Not at first, anyway.
-=-
"I got into your file," Martha tells her one spring evening.
The alcohol is fresh, the conversation had been sparkling. Tosh looks away, "I think that's the last of the intell--"
"Did you really build a sonic disrupter from spare parts?"
"Yes."
Silence descends for a while, and Tosh wonders how deeply Martha got into her file. Tosh knows what's in it, she and Jack put it there long ago. It's a sort of morality tale, half fiction, half truth, for young and budding scientists. Don't play with what you don't understand. Don't get caught. Don't get your family in the crossfire.
"Now I understand. At least, I think--"
Tosh shakes her head, "It's past," she says, "Let's talk about something else."
"Have you heard the latest scores?"
Talking about football is an Ianto and Gwen thing, but Tosh can keep up, even if she doesn't really care.
-=-
"Going to see Martha again," Owen sneers, and the look in his eyes says he's thinking about Martha stripped off, but not necessarily Tosh.
Tosh is all right with that, she has no claims on Martha (even if she thinks Martha would have resorted to kneeing Owen in the groin after a while, and she wonders a little if it still feels the same, now he's dead).
"Routine meeting," she says instead, waving cheerfully at Gwen, who seems to be the only one to have noticed there's more to it than that.
It was the most awkward conversation Tosh has ever had, but she gathers Gwen is afraid Martha and UNIT are using her for something unsavory. "Rest assured, I'm fine," she'd said.
Gwen hadn't looked convinced, even if she seemed happy that Tosh was happy. But Gwen was a worrier, one of those people who liked to know everything about everything, and Tosh had learned to live with that. To let her in, just a little. She didn't think of telling her about Martha's fingers clawing at her skin, though, anymore than she would have shared pictures of Martha naked with Owen.
If Ianto knew, he didn't ask.
"Have fun," Gwen calls, half-serious, half-joking in that way of women everywhere who know a girlfriend is on the pull.
Tosh smiles enigmatically, "Try not to destroy the Hub while I'm in conference."
-=-
"We've got to be more careful with the expense account," Martha tells her another time.
Tosh almost laughs at the thought that UNIT is subsidizing her affair with one of their operatives. She grins and stretches out, "No hundred year-old scotch, then?"
"No," says Martha firmly before she dissolves into giggles.
Tosh loves it when Martha laughs, the carefree sound something to bask in. It's different from her own laughter, because Martha doesn't seem to have the same things in her past, and Tosh is all right with that. She wouldn't wish her past on anyone, even if she still loves her family.
Sometimes, Tosh thinks about ret-conning Martha to before they met in Torchwood, and the thought tears at her until she convinces herself it would be stupid to take her outlet away.
-=-
The problem with a routine is that it's easy to fall into. Sometimes, there's a crisis. Sometimes, there isn't, and it's just them, kissing like schoolgirls until they're breathless with laughter.
Sometimes, it's remembering this can't last. There's Tom and the him Martha never elaborates on (just like Jack), and Owen. There's saving the world and there's remembering Tosh is still considered a fugitive in some quarters (Tosh could only hack so far, and Jack's influence is small, in this day and age).
And sometimes, Tosh wakes to find Martha watching her, fingers idly tracing shapes across her skin. Blushing at being naked early in the morning is silly, but Tosh does it anyway.
"Shhh," Martha says, then, mouth following her fingers.
"Not again," groans Tosh, even as she shifts onto her back, arms over her head and skin aching to feel more. This isn't like Mary, and Tosh is glad of that. A slow burn, a careful deciding of boundaries and movements is better than a flash in the pan that leaves her aching forever.
The morning gets forgotten.
-f-
Author: ALC Punk!
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Pairing: Toshiko Sato/Martha Jones
Recipient: alizarin_nyc
Length: 1000+
Rating: PG13/R, language, adult situations, sexual references
Set: pre-Exit Wounds
Summary: Tosh and Martha embark on an affair, while aliens sometimes invade.
It starts after Owen, when Jack says there should be cooperation and liaising with UNIT more. Tosh figures it's a way of expiating his guilt at his inability to change things (Owen being mostly-dead and the most brittle member of the team seems to be all about Jack), but she doesn't volunteer.
Jack sends her without asking, and Tosh is relieved to find that it's Martha she's meant to brief, even if Tosh's feelings about UNIT as a whole are more brittle than Owen.
They leave it mostly business the first few times, until they're both comfortable.
Wine and booze on Jack's tab are always an easy sell for both of them, and Martha holds hers better than Tosh.
"I don't like UNIT," she confesses late one night, at an hotel that isn't going to slide her into the past. "Not after--"
Martha's hand touches hers, "I've read your file. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
Cold concrete floors and a sense of futility are gone, but Tosh still shivers. She downs the last of her white wine and smiles, "Shall we get an expensive suite and spend lavish amounts of money as retaliation?"
Martha laughs, and something about it makes Tosh lean over and kiss her. In thanks, if nothing else.
But the kiss isn't what she expected, and Martha's hand cups her cheek, holding her still.
It's not like Mary, with its instant explosion of chemistry, want and need. It's something comfortable, something not-quite-sane, something unreal all at once. Tosh slowly brushes Martha's mouth with her own then pulls back.
"Sorry, uh, that--"
"I'm engaged," Martha fumbles, but her fingers close on Tosh's.
They don't get the expensive suite, and Tosh considers telling Jack to put someone else on this job.
-=-
"So, the world hasn't ended yet!" Martha shouts over the wind. "Good on Torchwood!"
There's a platoon of aliens bearing down on them, and Tosh's fingers are cramping on the grips of her pistol. She'd like to have something sarcastic to say, but the adrenaline rush is too painful, and she can't hear over the sound of the gun anyway.
Martha says something else that gets lost in the backwash of sound as the spaceship that had brought the scouting party goes up in an explosion that will be reported as a gas leak.
They always were. It was hilarious how many people will believe in gas leaks.
Joining Martha in the bar after giving Jack her report, Tosh finds that her hands are steady again.
"So, that happen often?" Martha asks as Tosh slides onto a stool.
"Could say that. The Rift likes tossing up as much as it can--we usually get a good blip on the read-outs beforehand."
The conversation slides into the technical, with Sontarens, Daleks and things that go bump in the night giving them lots to discuss. Tosh lets Martha buy the last round and walks her to her room.
They stagger inside, Tosh's hands shaking, and Martha's mouth hot and desperate against her throat.
-=-
It's almost a routine, after three months. Toshiko knows it shouldn't--can't--last. Martha has a fiancee, Tosh has Owen (or would have liked to have had, once. After all, even Gwen had him before he died). They both have their work. But none of that interferes with their visits. It's business to sit in the bar, discussing aliens and the latest technology being hybridized.
What happens after, isn't. Tosh on her knees, Martha on her back--sometimes, it's not sex, sometimes it's just flopping on their backs, naked and talking about nothing until the sun comes up.
Tosh always leaves first; Martha's legitimately staying at the hotel (the crown is springing for it, good inter-departmental politics and all that). Her apartment is always cold when she gets there, even if the heat's on and the sun is shining brightly.
"I have a fiancee," Martha says. But it's a feeble excuse. Neither of them talk about wedding days.
"There's always Owen," is Tosh's sometimes reply. Martha wasn't blind before, and there's no point in secrets, now. "And I hate UNIT."
She does. Hate UNIT, still. It's hard not to when she still wakes from nightmares, clawing her way to the surface and tasting cement at the back of her throat. Explaining that to Martha isn't easy, and so she simply doesn't bother. Not at first, anyway.
-=-
"I got into your file," Martha tells her one spring evening.
The alcohol is fresh, the conversation had been sparkling. Tosh looks away, "I think that's the last of the intell--"
"Did you really build a sonic disrupter from spare parts?"
"Yes."
Silence descends for a while, and Tosh wonders how deeply Martha got into her file. Tosh knows what's in it, she and Jack put it there long ago. It's a sort of morality tale, half fiction, half truth, for young and budding scientists. Don't play with what you don't understand. Don't get caught. Don't get your family in the crossfire.
"Now I understand. At least, I think--"
Tosh shakes her head, "It's past," she says, "Let's talk about something else."
"Have you heard the latest scores?"
Talking about football is an Ianto and Gwen thing, but Tosh can keep up, even if she doesn't really care.
-=-
"Going to see Martha again," Owen sneers, and the look in his eyes says he's thinking about Martha stripped off, but not necessarily Tosh.
Tosh is all right with that, she has no claims on Martha (even if she thinks Martha would have resorted to kneeing Owen in the groin after a while, and she wonders a little if it still feels the same, now he's dead).
"Routine meeting," she says instead, waving cheerfully at Gwen, who seems to be the only one to have noticed there's more to it than that.
It was the most awkward conversation Tosh has ever had, but she gathers Gwen is afraid Martha and UNIT are using her for something unsavory. "Rest assured, I'm fine," she'd said.
Gwen hadn't looked convinced, even if she seemed happy that Tosh was happy. But Gwen was a worrier, one of those people who liked to know everything about everything, and Tosh had learned to live with that. To let her in, just a little. She didn't think of telling her about Martha's fingers clawing at her skin, though, anymore than she would have shared pictures of Martha naked with Owen.
If Ianto knew, he didn't ask.
"Have fun," Gwen calls, half-serious, half-joking in that way of women everywhere who know a girlfriend is on the pull.
Tosh smiles enigmatically, "Try not to destroy the Hub while I'm in conference."
-=-
"We've got to be more careful with the expense account," Martha tells her another time.
Tosh almost laughs at the thought that UNIT is subsidizing her affair with one of their operatives. She grins and stretches out, "No hundred year-old scotch, then?"
"No," says Martha firmly before she dissolves into giggles.
Tosh loves it when Martha laughs, the carefree sound something to bask in. It's different from her own laughter, because Martha doesn't seem to have the same things in her past, and Tosh is all right with that. She wouldn't wish her past on anyone, even if she still loves her family.
Sometimes, Tosh thinks about ret-conning Martha to before they met in Torchwood, and the thought tears at her until she convinces herself it would be stupid to take her outlet away.
-=-
The problem with a routine is that it's easy to fall into. Sometimes, there's a crisis. Sometimes, there isn't, and it's just them, kissing like schoolgirls until they're breathless with laughter.
Sometimes, it's remembering this can't last. There's Tom and the him Martha never elaborates on (just like Jack), and Owen. There's saving the world and there's remembering Tosh is still considered a fugitive in some quarters (Tosh could only hack so far, and Jack's influence is small, in this day and age).
And sometimes, Tosh wakes to find Martha watching her, fingers idly tracing shapes across her skin. Blushing at being naked early in the morning is silly, but Tosh does it anyway.
"Shhh," Martha says, then, mouth following her fingers.
"Not again," groans Tosh, even as she shifts onto her back, arms over her head and skin aching to feel more. This isn't like Mary, and Tosh is glad of that. A slow burn, a careful deciding of boundaries and movements is better than a flash in the pan that leaves her aching forever.
The morning gets forgotten.
-f-