[For the Master]
It had been two years since Martha Jones had anyplace outside of the TARDIS that she even remotely considered home. A year she'd gone unable to settle, and another after trying to remember how. Now, as she sat on the front steps of the new hut she was sharing with the man she should have considered her greatest enemy, she couldn't help but wonder what had brought her to this. Her life so backwards, herself a walking, unrepentant contradiction.
Was she there because it was so easy, or there because it was so difficult?
Outside of the Council paper-pushers, no one knew that she was there, with him. How long, she wondered, could she go on avoiding the Doctor, avoiding Sam? Lee would apparently do the avoiding for her, so at least that was one less person to worry about, but there was a pervasive feeling of anticipation and dread that Martha was unable to shake.
What would she say to them in explanation? What could she? Taking that step and moving into the hut was a decision she wasn't even certain of herself. Her justifications were flimsy and garbled, and she knew it.
Why was she even there at all?
Was she there because it was so easy, or there because it was so difficult?
Outside of the Council paper-pushers, no one knew that she was there, with him. How long, she wondered, could she go on avoiding the Doctor, avoiding Sam? Lee would apparently do the avoiding for her, so at least that was one less person to worry about, but there was a pervasive feeling of anticipation and dread that Martha was unable to shake.
What would she say to them in explanation? What could she? Taking that step and moving into the hut was a decision she wasn't even certain of herself. Her justifications were flimsy and garbled, and she knew it.
Why was she even there at all?