(Untitled)
Martha Jones doesn't eat.
She doesn't sleep.
She runs.
And when she finds people she tells them the story. His story. She tells them about The Doctor.
But mostly, she runs.
Four months in. Malnutrition has long since set in, but it makes running walking the earth easier. She doesn't get hungry much and when she does she can handle it. Her ( Read more... )
She doesn't sleep.
She runs.
And when she finds people she tells them the story. His story. She tells them about The Doctor.
But mostly, she runs.
Four months in. Malnutrition has long since set in, but it makes running walking the earth easier. She doesn't get hungry much and when she does she can handle it. Her ( Read more... )
Comments 103
His uniform is bloody and dirty as usual, and he looks a little tired - but when the door bursts open and Martha falls into the Inn, he rockets to his feet and starts toward her immediately.
"Martha!"
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And she thinks maybe she died when she was running and didn't realize it.
It takes her a moment to find breath and to look up at him. It is him, but it can't be. Unless they're both dead.
"Jack?"
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"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. You're in the Inn, it's okay."
He has to wonder, with Martha in this state, where the Doctor is. He has to be around, right? The Doctor's always there.
Unless you're Jack, but... he wouldn't abandon Martha.
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Martha wraps her shaking arms around his neck and presses her face there, breathing him in. And yes, it is Jack. It smells just like him and his arms are warm and tight and...
"You're all right. You're all right. Thank God. Thank God, you're all right." She hasn't quite realized that this Jack isn't from her time-line yet.
It's just she thought it unlikely she'd ever see him again. Or her family. Or the Doctor. She'd assumed the Master'd found a way to kill Jack. Went ahead and did away with them all.
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It is this fact that makes her smile, makes her even laugh just a little and rise from her seat. "You don't look well," she says approaching the girl. "Is something wrong?"
Oh, she's trying very hard to sound sincere, she really is. Except not at all.
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She failed. She failed.
And nothing else matters.
Martha reaches around for the door handle to get out. To try to run again, but her legs burn. She couldn't stand on them if she tried. She'd just have to crawl, but the door's gone and she can't breathe again.
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She considers stooping down but decides not to. The view form here was actually quite nice after all and she planned to savour every moment.
"You look like you've been having a lovely time," she comments, stepping a little closer. "Tell me, is it wonderful out there in our little world? Oh, I bet it must be absolutely fantastic."
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She looks around. The Inn.
Why the bloody hell are they in the Inn?
Have they taken over that as well?
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There would have been a time, not all that long ago, where Molokov would have seen the woman on the floor and stepped over her.
But times change, and people change.
So when he sees her, he kneels besides her and thinks up a glass of water. "Are you alright?"
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Martha half gasps, half screams, but it sounds more absolutely frustrated and angry than scared.
"No. No, no, no. You're not here. This isn't... how it's... oh God..." She needs to run away.
Martha tries to. She forces herself to her feet, which just makes her make another scream-like noise in pain as her legs refuse to cooperate.
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There is no doubt in Molokov's mind who she means and he represses a snarl. "I'm not him," he says, as gently as he can manage. The Russian accent ought to help a bit, yes?
"Sit before you hurt yourself even more."
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"You're not?"
And it's then that she notices the accent. She's spent so much time in Russia this last week, it'd nearly sounded natural to her.
Martha eyes him suspiciously, but really has no choice, but to sit right back down on the floor. Her legs won't let her move any farther.
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"Martha!"
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Actually, Martha didn't expect to hear anything at all. She focuses on the noise, the sound of the running to help her focus her breathing. Calm it. Stop the heavy beat of her heart.
She blinks, wiping her forehead. "Rose? I-" And then she sees that she's in the Inn.
Not somewhere in Russia being killed.
Oh thank God.
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Grateful. Beyond grateful for the touch.
She's had to learn over the past four months how to calm herself quickly. It's harder this time, because of what'd happened. What she was running from. She ran too much, over exerted herself. It makes it harder to calm down, but it's easier when there's someone there. Talking to her.
She never gets that on the Earth.
"'m fine." Martha says when her breathing's at a more normal pace again.
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