Nelle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
builtofsorrow) wrote2007-09-29 10:06 pm
builtofsorrow) wrote2007-09-29 10:06 pm
fic: no longer at ease (in the old dispensation) [dw/tw; jack harkness, martha jones]
title: No Longer at Ease (In the Old Dispensation)
fandom: Doctor Who
characters: Martha Jones and Jack Harkness, primarily. Brief appearances by the Torchwood team. Briefer appearances by Tish & Leo Jones.
rating: PGish
words: 3,340
spoilers: DW S3 'Utopia'(11) through 'Last of the Time Lords'(13). References to TW S1 generally, and more specifically 'They Keep Killing Suzie'(08) and 'Combat'(11). (But you don't necessarily need to have watched TW for it to make sense.) No definitive spoilers, per se, unless you have no idea what happens at the end of DW S3.
author's notes: Title from T.S. Eliot's Journey of the Magi.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lexiedoh, who swoons with me over Jack, betaed extensively, enabled me along the way, and listened to my angst. Thanks go as well to un_titled_love & trinsy_fics, who also betaed & reassured. (♥!)
Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my fault.
------------
The doorbell rings, and Martha only answers because no one else does. Jack's leaning against the jamb in his greatcoat, arms folded across his chest: Martha laughs the moment she realises that it's him standing there, and she doesn't even wait for him to straighten before she flings herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck.
He swings her around and out onto the porch, crushing her to him swiftly before his hands go to her hips and he pushes her gently away to look into her eyes. 'You didn't even give me a chance to get out my "Doctor Jones, I presume" bit, and I was practising it the whole way here,' he teases with a slight pout.
She laughs again, checking the watch on her wrist, and says, 'I only found out for certain twenty minutes ago; how'd you get here so fast?'
'Former Time Agent?' he tries, and she just rolls her eyes, so he laughs, and admits, 'Tish told me you'd find out today. I'd have been here sooner, only I had some things to take care of and had to take a later train.'
'What if the news had been bad?' she can't help asking, smirking slightly.
'As if, Martha Jones,' he replies, smirking exaggeratedly right back at her. She laughs again, and he realises how much he's missed her, so he leans forward and kisses her chastely on the lips. 'Not to mention,' he can't resist adding, 'if it had been bad news, you'd have needed comforting.'
'And naturally the first person I'd want to turn to is Captain Jack Harkness, former Time Agent extraordinaire,' she retorts sarcastically, but the edge is softened by the feel of her palm against his as she finds his hand.
'First person I'd turn to,' he notes with feigned nonchalance as she turns to lead him into the house, and he follows behind through the echo of her laughter.
+ + +
There's the sound of glass breaking from just inside the doorway to the kitchen, followed quickly by a soft curse. It's the third time Tish has broken something today, and Jack looks toward the doorway with vague amusement and a tilt of his head. He waits until she can be heard retrieving the broom from the pantry before asking, 'Has Tish always been this clumsy?'
'Only around men she fancies,' Leo mutters between mouthfuls of cake.
Martha's stood up to go to Tish's aid, and as she passes him, she slaps the back of her brother's head in a fashion not-quite-playful. Jack shoots a glance at Leo, but just as quickly goes back to looking toward the kitchen, interest painted in the lines of his face, and Martha turns on her heel just before she goes through the doorway. 'Jack Harkness,' she says in a voice just above a whisper, and in her voice he hears the pointed finger shaking at him sternly, 'don't you dare.'
+ + +
'So that's a definite no on Tish & me?'
Jack and Martha are alone now, sprawled and curled by turns on opposite ends of a sofa, and Martha laughs softly. 'Absolutely,' she murmurs, head pillowed on the sofa back, eyes closed, and Jack, turning his head to look at her fully, knows it says a lot about what she's been through that she's managing to look relatively well-rested after her series of examinations.
'You can't fault me for making sure,' he replies with a good-natured grin.
Her lips curve up a bit more in reply, but there's a gravity to her voice when she finally speaks. 'Psychologically damaging, Captain. We Joneses don't need any more of that at present.' And as though she can see his mouth opening, she interrupts, 'And none of your snarky remarks about the quaintness of the 21st Century, thank you; we both know well enough you're not going to commit to anything serious, and Tish has it bad enough already, being at least half in love with you.'
'You flatter me, Martha,' Jack says with a quiet chuckle, but she's opened her eyes now to gauge his reaction, and she can tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't really expecting her to say anything along the lines of what she's just revealed.
+ + +
The madness of a train platform, people rushing about beneath crackling announcements and sounds of metal screeching against metal, and they're both still getting re-used to this, to the world as history now says it always was. Jack hasn't let go of Martha's hand since he helped her out of the cab, and if he delved into motives, he's not certain he'd find it's entirely for her benefit.
There's a first call for his train, and he knows that within minutes, he'll be in a compartment, pondering the oddities of time and timelines and a year that scarcely half-a-dozen others besides himself remember, but here, in this moment, anyone would think Martha and he were normal, a normal couple of friends, or lovers, saying their farewells. He takes her hands in his, grinning down at her. 'Congratulations again, Doctor Jones.'
Martha's head falls back slightly as she returns his gaze with a proud smile. She slides her hands out of his and reaches up to hug him, but when she lets go and steps back, she picks up one of his hands again to hold it gently between both of hers. 'Jack,' she begins, and she's not sure why she finds this so necessary to say, but something in his eyes last night had hurt, so she finds herself looking up at him earnestly now as she says, 'A year on The Valiant with a man like you? I'd be at least half in love with him too.'
All the lines of his face soften, and he brings up his free hand to run the knuckles softly along her jaw. His lips twist up in a wry grin. 'And you and me and a man like him; took us what, an hour?'
Martha laughs helplessly, ducking her head to press a quick kiss to his palm before meeting his eyes again, asking, 'If we factor in the non-human bit and pretend a Gallifreyan hour is at minimum an Earth day, does that make us less pathetic?'
+ + +
Martha's curled up on her bed, reading, when her mobile goes off for the third time in twenty minutes. She makes a noise of frustration, picking it up with an intent to ignore the call. But the number shows up as blocked, which makes Martha curious, so she picks up. 'Hello?'
'Doctor Jones?'
'Yes,' she replies, wrinkling her nose a bit in impatience.
'This is Ianto Jones speaking.' He pauses, as if waiting for her to indicate her recognition of him, which, after a moment to process what he's said, Martha does.
'Of Torchwood?' she asks, mild surprise slipping into her voice and echoing through the phone line. 'Is everything all right? Jack made it back safely?'
'Yes, yes, of course,' Ianto reassures her. 'Jack asked me to call and ask when you're planning on coming to Cardiff; he'd like me to purchase your ticket and have it sent to you.'
There's a short bark of laughter on Martha's end, and then a teasing, 'And is there any particular reason he couldn't ask me himself?'
There's a pause, then Ianto replies, 'Hold on a moment,' and Martha can hear the faint click of a mouse in the moments of silence before his voice comes through once more. 'As it's been fewer than four hours since he last saw you, he feels his calling you might come off as desperate.'
'Are you- are you read- reading from a memo?' Her question is broken up by laughter, and she can't imagine how Ianto manages to reply, 'I am indeed,' in such an even tone.
Martha's tempted to keep Jack waiting, but she's already brought up her going to Cardiff with her family (painted as a mere visit to scope things out, but still, it was addressed), so there's no reason not to inform him of her decision. She's still laughing as she replies, 'You can tell Jack I'll be there in five days. And tell him I can buy my own ticket, thanks.'
'I'll pass the message along,' Ianto replies, and she can't tell if he's as amused as she is, but she does know she's never realised before that you could actually hear someone smirk.
The next day, there's a special delivery in the post, and Martha doesn't even need to look at the envelope to know what it is.
She logs on to her e-mail for the express purpose of scolding Jack, but he's apparently thought of this already, as there's a five-minute-old message from him in her inbox.
I know you can, but I want to. See you in four days; we'll pick you up at the station. Glad you're coming; Torchwood needs you, MJ (I do too).
She was only half-heartedly irked with him anyway, so her message back is short.
I miss you too, Jack.
+ + +
She's officially been able to call herself Dr Martha Jones for nearly a week now, and although she should probably still be catching up on sleep, she instead finds herself deep beneath the centre of Cardiff, standing next to Jack, and gazing into a cell at a creature that may or may not be frightening; she can't decide. She's told her family she's only going to see if she wants the job, and she's fed the same line to Jack, but she knows from the minute they enter the Hub that she won't be leaving any time soon, other than the part where she's probably going to have to go back to London and get more of her things.
Jack's expected this, judging by the fact that he already has a desk set up for her, and the way he introduced her to the others as the newest member of their team. Martha almost hates how smug he's being, but most of her doesn't really care too much, because this is the most at home she's felt in a long while.
Pulling her attention back to the present, she asks, 'Assumedly dangerous?'
'If they're provoked, lethal,' Jack replies. 'But there's a lot we don't know. Owen theorises they communicate telepathically, at least on some level, and they're susceptible to changes in the Rift, time energy and such.'
'Hmm.' Martha's silent for awhile, staring at the creature in front of them until finally, she asks, 'So. 51st Century, former Time Agent, self-proclaimed con-man, and the best you can come up with is Weevil?'
'Heyyy.' He draws out the word, colouring it with feigned offence. 'Why do you assume I'm the one who named them?'
Martha laughs at this, giving him a sidelong glance as she says, 'As if you would leave a job like that to Owen or Tosh.' But she's heard most of his stories about his crew, so after a pause, she continues with a grin, 'So unless you're going to try and tell me its full name is Evil Weevil, you'd better own up to your inability to be creative.'
+ + +
'Where's Ianto got off to?' The hush of the Hub is broken by Tosh's query, and Martha, sitting at the desk Jack told her she could use, looks up as Owen replies languidly, 'Dunno, but I could do with a cup of coffee right about now.'
'Can't you make it yourself?' Martha cuts in, settling back a bit in her chair.
'Newbie,' Owen mutters with a slight sneer.
'Ignore him,' Gwen calls out, grinning slightly as she casts a sidelong glance at Owen. 'Truth is though, Ianto would kill us if we touched his special supply of coffee, and all the rest is rubbish,' she continues, answering Martha's next question before she can ask it.
'I buy that on purpose; makes for job security,' Ianto says airily as he passes by Gwen's desk, having just emerged from belowstairs with a thick file folder in his hand.
Martha laughs, following Ianto with a curious gaze as he heads toward Jack's desk, wondering what the folder contains.
Not three minutes later, there's a loud thud from somewhere next to her, and Martha gasps loudly from the shock of it, looking up to see Jack, lips curved in a huge smirk, having just thrown the file folder down onto her desk.
'I've come to clear my name, Dr Jones,' he announces dramatically, before actually spinning on his heel and making his way back to his desk.
Martha only just manages to catch a glimpse of the label, Weevil[s], before she dissolves into laughter.
+ + +
'How long have Weevils been around then?' Martha asks later, sitting on the floor to the side of Jack's desk, surrounded by stacks of papers that she's shuffling through, having mostly settled there to annoy him as she sorts through the folder he'd thrown at her.
Jack shakes his head slightly, glancing over at her with a fond smile that would be condescending from anyone else. 'Torchwood records of them go back to the early 50s, I think. As you see.'
'Don't know why you expect to find something new,' Owen interrupts as he comes to drop a file on Jack's desk. 'Not like we haven't all looked at that same information before.'
Martha continues to shuffle through papers unperturbedly, and after a pause, she retorts, off-handedly, 'And of course, seeing as how we all have the same life experience and memories, I couldn't possibly know anything you lot don't.'
She hears unfamiliar laughter, and looks up from reading to see Ianto, eyes shining with delight, straightening up from Jack's desk and holding a mug of coffee that's a twin to the one he's evidently just set down. Jack's leaning back in his chair, observing the scene before him bemusedly, and Owen is rolling his eyes as he turns to walk away, muttering darkly about the Hub's overabundance of cheeky females. Ianto, rare grin plastered on his face, walks over with the mug, and although Martha reaches up for it, he brings it down to her, seating himself on the floor by her side. 'Mind if I help?' he asks, and Martha masks her surprise with a warm smile and manages to say, 'I'd love that; thank you,' before Ianto picks up a stack of papers and adds, 'I've never delved too deeply into the archives concerning Weevils.'
'Idealists,' Jack says, still staring at them with one side of his mouth quirked up, amused. 'Trust me when I say they knew less back then. The Weevils just infested the city, probably slowly, but there were a fairly large number when they were discovered. No one knows where they originated.'
Martha knows that when he says 'they', he probably really means 'we', but she keeps quiet about it, merely asking, 'Aren't you at all curious where exactly they came from? You should have asked the Doctor; he would know.'
There's silence, and his eyes follow hers to her mobile, sitting where she's left it on the corner of his desk. 'Hero worship is bad for the soul, Martha Jones,' he reproves gently.
Her eyebrows shoot upward as she lifts her mug of coffee to her lips, and a mumbled, 'Doesn't stop you,' is drowned in her cup.
He sits back, sighing. 'Never claimed to have a soul in good order.'
+ + +
'Feel that?' Jack's voice is husky with a need for sleep and suppressed emotion and maybe a little bit too much wine.
'Yes,' Martha whispers, hoarsely, shutting her eyes and breathing in deeply.
They're down in the Hub, lying on top of the lift that goes up to the Plas, heads angled toward each other and nearly touching, legs hanging over the edges. Silence beats, stretches, quivers between them, until finally she drops her head to the side to look at his profile. 'Do you ever reckon we're mad for- for-?' she asks, voice still hushed and trailing off in the middle of words she's not sure she wants to say.
Jack chuckles, tilting his head to return her gaze. 'For loving him?' he finishes, gently.
She nods, murmuring, 'About sums it up.'
'I'm not sure I mind; do you?'
'Not when it feels like this,' she replies, and there are echoes of a whole universe in her voice.
(There's really no reason for her to elaborate, because the universe bringing her voice to life is merely one of many that reverberate inside the walls of the wooden box that once rested on the stone beneath them, and the residue of it is suspending them again inside of that, suspending them amongst galaxies and nebulae, hanging them like the stars they've both travelled amongst, erasing the definitions of past, present, future; running, runningrunning from nevers and impossibilities and sharply drawn lines meant to box them in.)
They reach for each other subconsciously and slowly, hands finally meeting between them, fingers curling around one another's and holding on tightly, an unspoken hope they can hold each other up, suspended in memories and outside of time.
+ + +
Martha had been afraid of heights, once upon what should have been a very long time ago.
But since then she's stood on the edge of many precipices (physical and metaphysical and metaphorical -- and she wonders why no one ever refers to anything as phorical, and if on another planet or in a different time, they do, and she'd wonder if she's maybe going a little bit mad, only she's got too used to being alone and thinking of trivial, strange things such as this), she's looked too deeply into worlds and galaxies and universes and suns, she's hung suspended in time for flashes of infinity, and in a small way, this seems simple now, standing near the edge of a roof, twenty-five storeys up.
Jack's beside her, hands in the pocket of his coat, and she can't tell if he's actually annoyed with her for following him up here, as he'd simply stepped further back from the edge when she came up beside him, dragging her with him by the back of her jumper. He's just silent, so she follows his lead, and she wonders again and more, wonders at fear and death and what it would be like to fall from here and wake up minutes after hitting the pavement and dying, wonders if Jack knows, wonders if he knows from multiple experiences. Only she can't ask him that, never would ask him that, so her mind falls back into the familiar patterns of wonder at life and timelines and manipulation of vortices.
'Do you know,' she finally says, not even certain Jack can hear her words before the wind carries them off, 'do you know how many times as a kid, as a silly little kid, how many times I wished I could live days and months and years over?'
'Yeah,' Jack says after a pause. 'Yeah, me too.' He slips an arm around her waist, hand still in one pocket, effectively wrapping her in one side of his coat.
'It's odd, isn't it.' Syntax dictates a question, but it comes out as a statement, a hollow statement filled with a hundred questions that echo more clearly in Jack's ears than what she's actually said (because what she really means, what she's really asking is why, now they've been given the chance to relive the worst year of their lives, the chance to rewrite the worst year in the history of the world ever, why, why when they've been granted the wish that everyone around them has wished at least once, why does a bit of her want more people to remember, why does this time through hurt so damn badly?).
He pulls her more tightly to him as he responds to everything she's never going to say: 'Because the first time through you lived it just as you should have.'
------------
Feedback & concrit are equally appreciated, adored, and reciprocated with banana daiquiris. ♥
(Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lifeonmartha and galactic_conman. Apologies if you see this multiple times.)
fandom: Doctor Who
characters: Martha Jones and Jack Harkness, primarily. Brief appearances by the Torchwood team. Briefer appearances by Tish & Leo Jones.
rating: PGish
words: 3,340
spoilers: DW S3 'Utopia'(11) through 'Last of the Time Lords'(13). References to TW S1 generally, and more specifically 'They Keep Killing Suzie'(08) and 'Combat'(11). (But you don't necessarily need to have watched TW for it to make sense.) No definitive spoilers, per se, unless you have no idea what happens at the end of DW S3.
author's notes: Title from T.S. Eliot's Journey of the Magi.
For
lexiedoh, who swoons with me over Jack, betaed extensively, enabled me along the way, and listened to my angst. Thanks go as well to un_titled_love & trinsy_fics, who also betaed & reassured. (♥!) Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my fault.
------------
The doorbell rings, and Martha only answers because no one else does. Jack's leaning against the jamb in his greatcoat, arms folded across his chest: Martha laughs the moment she realises that it's him standing there, and she doesn't even wait for him to straighten before she flings herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck.
He swings her around and out onto the porch, crushing her to him swiftly before his hands go to her hips and he pushes her gently away to look into her eyes. 'You didn't even give me a chance to get out my "Doctor Jones, I presume" bit, and I was practising it the whole way here,' he teases with a slight pout.
She laughs again, checking the watch on her wrist, and says, 'I only found out for certain twenty minutes ago; how'd you get here so fast?'
'Former Time Agent?' he tries, and she just rolls her eyes, so he laughs, and admits, 'Tish told me you'd find out today. I'd have been here sooner, only I had some things to take care of and had to take a later train.'
'What if the news had been bad?' she can't help asking, smirking slightly.
'As if, Martha Jones,' he replies, smirking exaggeratedly right back at her. She laughs again, and he realises how much he's missed her, so he leans forward and kisses her chastely on the lips. 'Not to mention,' he can't resist adding, 'if it had been bad news, you'd have needed comforting.'
'And naturally the first person I'd want to turn to is Captain Jack Harkness, former Time Agent extraordinaire,' she retorts sarcastically, but the edge is softened by the feel of her palm against his as she finds his hand.
'First person I'd turn to,' he notes with feigned nonchalance as she turns to lead him into the house, and he follows behind through the echo of her laughter.
+ + +
There's the sound of glass breaking from just inside the doorway to the kitchen, followed quickly by a soft curse. It's the third time Tish has broken something today, and Jack looks toward the doorway with vague amusement and a tilt of his head. He waits until she can be heard retrieving the broom from the pantry before asking, 'Has Tish always been this clumsy?'
'Only around men she fancies,' Leo mutters between mouthfuls of cake.
Martha's stood up to go to Tish's aid, and as she passes him, she slaps the back of her brother's head in a fashion not-quite-playful. Jack shoots a glance at Leo, but just as quickly goes back to looking toward the kitchen, interest painted in the lines of his face, and Martha turns on her heel just before she goes through the doorway. 'Jack Harkness,' she says in a voice just above a whisper, and in her voice he hears the pointed finger shaking at him sternly, 'don't you dare.'
+ + +
'So that's a definite no on Tish & me?'
Jack and Martha are alone now, sprawled and curled by turns on opposite ends of a sofa, and Martha laughs softly. 'Absolutely,' she murmurs, head pillowed on the sofa back, eyes closed, and Jack, turning his head to look at her fully, knows it says a lot about what she's been through that she's managing to look relatively well-rested after her series of examinations.
'You can't fault me for making sure,' he replies with a good-natured grin.
Her lips curve up a bit more in reply, but there's a gravity to her voice when she finally speaks. 'Psychologically damaging, Captain. We Joneses don't need any more of that at present.' And as though she can see his mouth opening, she interrupts, 'And none of your snarky remarks about the quaintness of the 21st Century, thank you; we both know well enough you're not going to commit to anything serious, and Tish has it bad enough already, being at least half in love with you.'
'You flatter me, Martha,' Jack says with a quiet chuckle, but she's opened her eyes now to gauge his reaction, and she can tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't really expecting her to say anything along the lines of what she's just revealed.
+ + +
The madness of a train platform, people rushing about beneath crackling announcements and sounds of metal screeching against metal, and they're both still getting re-used to this, to the world as history now says it always was. Jack hasn't let go of Martha's hand since he helped her out of the cab, and if he delved into motives, he's not certain he'd find it's entirely for her benefit.
There's a first call for his train, and he knows that within minutes, he'll be in a compartment, pondering the oddities of time and timelines and a year that scarcely half-a-dozen others besides himself remember, but here, in this moment, anyone would think Martha and he were normal, a normal couple of friends, or lovers, saying their farewells. He takes her hands in his, grinning down at her. 'Congratulations again, Doctor Jones.'
Martha's head falls back slightly as she returns his gaze with a proud smile. She slides her hands out of his and reaches up to hug him, but when she lets go and steps back, she picks up one of his hands again to hold it gently between both of hers. 'Jack,' she begins, and she's not sure why she finds this so necessary to say, but something in his eyes last night had hurt, so she finds herself looking up at him earnestly now as she says, 'A year on The Valiant with a man like you? I'd be at least half in love with him too.'
All the lines of his face soften, and he brings up his free hand to run the knuckles softly along her jaw. His lips twist up in a wry grin. 'And you and me and a man like him; took us what, an hour?'
Martha laughs helplessly, ducking her head to press a quick kiss to his palm before meeting his eyes again, asking, 'If we factor in the non-human bit and pretend a Gallifreyan hour is at minimum an Earth day, does that make us less pathetic?'
+ + +
Martha's curled up on her bed, reading, when her mobile goes off for the third time in twenty minutes. She makes a noise of frustration, picking it up with an intent to ignore the call. But the number shows up as blocked, which makes Martha curious, so she picks up. 'Hello?'
'Doctor Jones?'
'Yes,' she replies, wrinkling her nose a bit in impatience.
'This is Ianto Jones speaking.' He pauses, as if waiting for her to indicate her recognition of him, which, after a moment to process what he's said, Martha does.
'Of Torchwood?' she asks, mild surprise slipping into her voice and echoing through the phone line. 'Is everything all right? Jack made it back safely?'
'Yes, yes, of course,' Ianto reassures her. 'Jack asked me to call and ask when you're planning on coming to Cardiff; he'd like me to purchase your ticket and have it sent to you.'
There's a short bark of laughter on Martha's end, and then a teasing, 'And is there any particular reason he couldn't ask me himself?'
There's a pause, then Ianto replies, 'Hold on a moment,' and Martha can hear the faint click of a mouse in the moments of silence before his voice comes through once more. 'As it's been fewer than four hours since he last saw you, he feels his calling you might come off as desperate.'
'Are you- are you read- reading from a memo?' Her question is broken up by laughter, and she can't imagine how Ianto manages to reply, 'I am indeed,' in such an even tone.
Martha's tempted to keep Jack waiting, but she's already brought up her going to Cardiff with her family (painted as a mere visit to scope things out, but still, it was addressed), so there's no reason not to inform him of her decision. She's still laughing as she replies, 'You can tell Jack I'll be there in five days. And tell him I can buy my own ticket, thanks.'
'I'll pass the message along,' Ianto replies, and she can't tell if he's as amused as she is, but she does know she's never realised before that you could actually hear someone smirk.
The next day, there's a special delivery in the post, and Martha doesn't even need to look at the envelope to know what it is.
She logs on to her e-mail for the express purpose of scolding Jack, but he's apparently thought of this already, as there's a five-minute-old message from him in her inbox.
I know you can, but I want to. See you in four days; we'll pick you up at the station. Glad you're coming; Torchwood needs you, MJ (I do too).
She was only half-heartedly irked with him anyway, so her message back is short.
I miss you too, Jack.
+ + +
She's officially been able to call herself Dr Martha Jones for nearly a week now, and although she should probably still be catching up on sleep, she instead finds herself deep beneath the centre of Cardiff, standing next to Jack, and gazing into a cell at a creature that may or may not be frightening; she can't decide. She's told her family she's only going to see if she wants the job, and she's fed the same line to Jack, but she knows from the minute they enter the Hub that she won't be leaving any time soon, other than the part where she's probably going to have to go back to London and get more of her things.
Jack's expected this, judging by the fact that he already has a desk set up for her, and the way he introduced her to the others as the newest member of their team. Martha almost hates how smug he's being, but most of her doesn't really care too much, because this is the most at home she's felt in a long while.
Pulling her attention back to the present, she asks, 'Assumedly dangerous?'
'If they're provoked, lethal,' Jack replies. 'But there's a lot we don't know. Owen theorises they communicate telepathically, at least on some level, and they're susceptible to changes in the Rift, time energy and such.'
'Hmm.' Martha's silent for awhile, staring at the creature in front of them until finally, she asks, 'So. 51st Century, former Time Agent, self-proclaimed con-man, and the best you can come up with is Weevil?'
'Heyyy.' He draws out the word, colouring it with feigned offence. 'Why do you assume I'm the one who named them?'
Martha laughs at this, giving him a sidelong glance as she says, 'As if you would leave a job like that to Owen or Tosh.' But she's heard most of his stories about his crew, so after a pause, she continues with a grin, 'So unless you're going to try and tell me its full name is Evil Weevil, you'd better own up to your inability to be creative.'
+ + +
'Where's Ianto got off to?' The hush of the Hub is broken by Tosh's query, and Martha, sitting at the desk Jack told her she could use, looks up as Owen replies languidly, 'Dunno, but I could do with a cup of coffee right about now.'
'Can't you make it yourself?' Martha cuts in, settling back a bit in her chair.
'Newbie,' Owen mutters with a slight sneer.
'Ignore him,' Gwen calls out, grinning slightly as she casts a sidelong glance at Owen. 'Truth is though, Ianto would kill us if we touched his special supply of coffee, and all the rest is rubbish,' she continues, answering Martha's next question before she can ask it.
'I buy that on purpose; makes for job security,' Ianto says airily as he passes by Gwen's desk, having just emerged from belowstairs with a thick file folder in his hand.
Martha laughs, following Ianto with a curious gaze as he heads toward Jack's desk, wondering what the folder contains.
Not three minutes later, there's a loud thud from somewhere next to her, and Martha gasps loudly from the shock of it, looking up to see Jack, lips curved in a huge smirk, having just thrown the file folder down onto her desk.
'I've come to clear my name, Dr Jones,' he announces dramatically, before actually spinning on his heel and making his way back to his desk.
Martha only just manages to catch a glimpse of the label, Weevil[s], before she dissolves into laughter.
+ + +
'How long have Weevils been around then?' Martha asks later, sitting on the floor to the side of Jack's desk, surrounded by stacks of papers that she's shuffling through, having mostly settled there to annoy him as she sorts through the folder he'd thrown at her.
Jack shakes his head slightly, glancing over at her with a fond smile that would be condescending from anyone else. 'Torchwood records of them go back to the early 50s, I think. As you see.'
'Don't know why you expect to find something new,' Owen interrupts as he comes to drop a file on Jack's desk. 'Not like we haven't all looked at that same information before.'
Martha continues to shuffle through papers unperturbedly, and after a pause, she retorts, off-handedly, 'And of course, seeing as how we all have the same life experience and memories, I couldn't possibly know anything you lot don't.'
She hears unfamiliar laughter, and looks up from reading to see Ianto, eyes shining with delight, straightening up from Jack's desk and holding a mug of coffee that's a twin to the one he's evidently just set down. Jack's leaning back in his chair, observing the scene before him bemusedly, and Owen is rolling his eyes as he turns to walk away, muttering darkly about the Hub's overabundance of cheeky females. Ianto, rare grin plastered on his face, walks over with the mug, and although Martha reaches up for it, he brings it down to her, seating himself on the floor by her side. 'Mind if I help?' he asks, and Martha masks her surprise with a warm smile and manages to say, 'I'd love that; thank you,' before Ianto picks up a stack of papers and adds, 'I've never delved too deeply into the archives concerning Weevils.'
'Idealists,' Jack says, still staring at them with one side of his mouth quirked up, amused. 'Trust me when I say they knew less back then. The Weevils just infested the city, probably slowly, but there were a fairly large number when they were discovered. No one knows where they originated.'
Martha knows that when he says 'they', he probably really means 'we', but she keeps quiet about it, merely asking, 'Aren't you at all curious where exactly they came from? You should have asked the Doctor; he would know.'
There's silence, and his eyes follow hers to her mobile, sitting where she's left it on the corner of his desk. 'Hero worship is bad for the soul, Martha Jones,' he reproves gently.
Her eyebrows shoot upward as she lifts her mug of coffee to her lips, and a mumbled, 'Doesn't stop you,' is drowned in her cup.
He sits back, sighing. 'Never claimed to have a soul in good order.'
+ + +
'Feel that?' Jack's voice is husky with a need for sleep and suppressed emotion and maybe a little bit too much wine.
'Yes,' Martha whispers, hoarsely, shutting her eyes and breathing in deeply.
They're down in the Hub, lying on top of the lift that goes up to the Plas, heads angled toward each other and nearly touching, legs hanging over the edges. Silence beats, stretches, quivers between them, until finally she drops her head to the side to look at his profile. 'Do you ever reckon we're mad for- for-?' she asks, voice still hushed and trailing off in the middle of words she's not sure she wants to say.
Jack chuckles, tilting his head to return her gaze. 'For loving him?' he finishes, gently.
She nods, murmuring, 'About sums it up.'
'I'm not sure I mind; do you?'
'Not when it feels like this,' she replies, and there are echoes of a whole universe in her voice.
(There's really no reason for her to elaborate, because the universe bringing her voice to life is merely one of many that reverberate inside the walls of the wooden box that once rested on the stone beneath them, and the residue of it is suspending them again inside of that, suspending them amongst galaxies and nebulae, hanging them like the stars they've both travelled amongst, erasing the definitions of past, present, future; running, runningrunning from nevers and impossibilities and sharply drawn lines meant to box them in.)
They reach for each other subconsciously and slowly, hands finally meeting between them, fingers curling around one another's and holding on tightly, an unspoken hope they can hold each other up, suspended in memories and outside of time.
+ + +
Martha had been afraid of heights, once upon what should have been a very long time ago.
But since then she's stood on the edge of many precipices (physical and metaphysical and metaphorical -- and she wonders why no one ever refers to anything as phorical, and if on another planet or in a different time, they do, and she'd wonder if she's maybe going a little bit mad, only she's got too used to being alone and thinking of trivial, strange things such as this), she's looked too deeply into worlds and galaxies and universes and suns, she's hung suspended in time for flashes of infinity, and in a small way, this seems simple now, standing near the edge of a roof, twenty-five storeys up.
Jack's beside her, hands in the pocket of his coat, and she can't tell if he's actually annoyed with her for following him up here, as he'd simply stepped further back from the edge when she came up beside him, dragging her with him by the back of her jumper. He's just silent, so she follows his lead, and she wonders again and more, wonders at fear and death and what it would be like to fall from here and wake up minutes after hitting the pavement and dying, wonders if Jack knows, wonders if he knows from multiple experiences. Only she can't ask him that, never would ask him that, so her mind falls back into the familiar patterns of wonder at life and timelines and manipulation of vortices.
'Do you know,' she finally says, not even certain Jack can hear her words before the wind carries them off, 'do you know how many times as a kid, as a silly little kid, how many times I wished I could live days and months and years over?'
'Yeah,' Jack says after a pause. 'Yeah, me too.' He slips an arm around her waist, hand still in one pocket, effectively wrapping her in one side of his coat.
'It's odd, isn't it.' Syntax dictates a question, but it comes out as a statement, a hollow statement filled with a hundred questions that echo more clearly in Jack's ears than what she's actually said (because what she really means, what she's really asking is why, now they've been given the chance to relive the worst year of their lives, the chance to rewrite the worst year in the history of the world ever, why, why when they've been granted the wish that everyone around them has wished at least once, why does a bit of her want more people to remember, why does this time through hurt so damn badly?).
He pulls her more tightly to him as he responds to everything she's never going to say: 'Because the first time through you lived it just as you should have.'
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Feedback & concrit are equally appreciated, adored, and reciprocated with banana daiquiris. ♥
(Cross-posted to
lifeonmartha and galactic_conman. Apologies if you see this multiple times.)
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Terrific!
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I woke up with a Martha/Jack fic beating at my brain - hope mine is half as good as yours once it's done !
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(Yes, I know how that is... I was actually in the middle of writing something else when this popped into my head and demanded to be written. Not that I'm necessarily complaining. ^^)
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You've painted a wonderful AU which really shows the connection Jack and Martha have - the friendship that could just tip over into something deeper, but which probably won't as it's tinged with sorrow, both of them in love with the unattainable.
I love the moment on the stairlift and how they can feel the residual Tardis energy - that is glorious, but your strength is folding Martha into the TW team seamlessly and showing that it's where she does belong and where she could heal from the year that never was, before moving on to other things.
Lovely fic.
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And oh, this comment honestly made my morning, because that's precisely what I was trying to get across, only I didn't quite know how to say it.
And, just. This was a lovely comment, and thank you for it.
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I love the way that Martha can make Ianto laugh, and the ways it all just seems to flow...
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Original drafts didn't actually include the bits of Ianto, but I find him a really fascinating character, and the more I got to thinking about him, the more I just had to write him.
Anyway, the point being: I'm glad to hear you liked that bit. And it's also good to know it flowed, because that's definitely something I always worry about.
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This was a great read.
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Thank you for this lovely comment.
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utterly beautiful. thank you.
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First of all, thank you for providing a link to the poem. I read that first, then read the Wikipedia article about it. Titles are one of my favorite things about episodes and songs and stories and poems. I'm so glad you reached to such a meaningful source to give your story that much more dimension.
And what a wonderful story it is. It's absolutely lovely. The characterization of everyone is just spot on, and I adored the relationship you painted between Jack and Martha. And Ianto really surprised me. I liked the connection that he formed with Martha. Your prose is also extremely beautiful. I'm pointing out the scene where they're lying on the lift. What a brilliant image. And the way you describe how the TARDIS has affected them is equally gorgeous.
Wonderful job.
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And oh, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Ianto sort of surprised me by wanting to sneak into those bits, but he's such a fascinating character that I was excited to write him, and I'm thrilled that you (and others) liked him. :) And just, thank you, so very much, for the lovely compliments and comment.
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Hmm, I actually thought the religious aspect added to the message. Because what the Doctor was proven to be in LOTTL was pretty much a religion. And to Martha personally he was a religion even before then. She loved him, she worshiped him. But then again, I could still be under the influence of the religious themes from my latest DW video Agnus Dei (http://community.livejournal.com/sync_slaying/6750.html#cutid1). ;)
And you're very welcome. This was a great piece of writing.
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(That video is... gosh, it's fabulous. At some point I may be coherent enough to give you the actual response you deserve, but thank you for linking me to it. It's incredibly beautiful.)
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(Anonymous) 2007-10-04 12:42 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
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And I shall do my best, but there are no guarantees. :D
Mickey fic is coming, however.-knocks on wood-♥&infin
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Thank you for writing and sharing.
Just a Quick Hello
(Anonymous) 2011-09-17 04:14 pm (UTC)(link)