DW Fic: Ere We Extinguish
Title: Ere We Extinguish
Author: nancybrown
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Mickey/Martha, Jack
Rating: PG
Words: 1000
Warnings: post-injury related trauma, past character death
Spoilers: none
Summary: A year after the dragons, Martha and Mickey return home.
AN: Sequel to " The Day the Dragons Came". Written for trope bingo square: au: apocalypse
***
No-one had seen a dragon in these parts in over a year. After the death of the queen, and the destruction of the nest, the surviving males had finished out their lifespans and died, fouling the ground where they fell.
It stank where a dragon died, and not even the rats would eat the corpse, so they festered and rotted, great disgusting heaps that were a pain in the arse to bury. Mickey didn't half think his nose was any sharper ever since he'd lost his sight, but he could smell a dragon graveyard from a mile away or more. Ugh. He covered his nose.
"It's not so bad," said Martha, taking his hand for a quick squeeze. "When I walked through America, the dead skunks were worse."
Mickey wasn't appeased. "These are bigger," he moaned. "It's like a big rotting pile of skunks." Although he'd never seen an actual skunk, he was sure this was worse. Also, he was feeling petulant because the last time he'd been on this road, he'd been driving. Just another thing he'd lost.
She seemed to understand, and gave him another squeeze. "We'll be past this one soon enough. Then only another hundred kilometres to London."
"Yeah."
From up front, Jack said, "Can you hail the team and let them know our location?"
'Team' was a kind word. With a little luck and a lot of effort, Mickey and Martha had put together a small band of former UNIT members and survivors of the dragons' many attacks on the city, and kept them alive for years until they'd finally made the breakthrough to win them the war against the great bloody flying alien newts. Most of their team, those who could still fight, had joined them in the final assault on Mt. Snowdon. Those who'd stayed were too sick or injured to go.
Mickey reckoned he counted in their number now. He put his face to the window, feeling the sun's warmth, and just barely making out the differences between bright and dark. On the good days, he could make out shapes, and once, he swore he could see the jewel-toned blue dress Martha had worn as she'd coaxed him out on a date to listen to a play some of the Cardiff survivors had put on. Mad Shakespeare fan, that woman. But he loved her. He hadn't been sure at first, hadn't known if it was just attraction and loneliness spent with someone who understood him. A lot of relationships were built on less. This, he knew, was more. If he was the sappy kind, he'd say Martha brought light into his day. But he wasn't sappy, not like that. He just knew that his whole life was better for having her with him, and that was fine, more than fine. It was wonderful.
"You've got that look." Martha sounded amused.
"Just enjoying the sunlight. You want to give the team a call?"
"Sure." She picked up the radio, cranking the batteries to charge them, and gave an update as the truck bounced along the road under Jack's terrible driving.
Behind them, he could hear the other trucks in the convoy muttering along the destroyed highway. They had supplies to trade, and they had people who wanted to spread out from Cardiff, finally unafraid of dragons and wanting to see more of the world. The team chatting with Martha now had set up in the ruins, digging out and rebuilding. After a year of rest, Mickey was ready to rejoin them in whatever capacity he could. Hadn't he fixed up two of the trucks practically by feel alone? And sure, Torchwood's alien-derived generator could power things near the Bay forever, but he'd helped rig up the power station to provide intermittent electricity around the whole city. Mickey had plenty to offer this weird new world, eyes or no eyes.
Stupid dragon scorching him anyway. Mickey'd almost given up then, but the dragons would win that way. The hell with that.
"They've got a place ready for us," said Martha, clicking off the radio. "I told them we'll be late."
"I can fix that," said Jack, accelerating despite the debris and worse pitting the road.
Martha scolded him, "You will not get back to Cardiff any faster if you crash on the way to London."
With bad grace, Jack slowed back down to a safer speed. He'd volunteered to escort them home and set up contacts with the survivors in London, but Mickey knew he'd spend every evening trying to get a signal through back home, and he'd be on his way the minute he thought he could.
Martha settled back into her seat beside Mickey. He wondered what she was thinking now, headed home. He'd lost most of the people he'd care about well before the dragons came, and Rose had died their first day back in this universe. But Martha now, she'd lost her whole family, missing or dead. Carefully, he placed an arm around her now, letting her know without words that he was right there for her. They'd fallen in together here in this mad world after the dragons, and what had started as temporary comfort had all the makings of something permanent. He thought it a fine time to ask her to make it official, even if they couldn't find a vicar. They'd know, and that was fine enough.
"What do you say," he said, gasping as the tyres hit something big and bouncy, "that tomorrow, you and me go back to that one spot in Kensington?"
He didn't have to say which spot. The first time they'd gone off alone together, with an intent to be alone together, they'd found a not-entirely-burned-out building, and they'd dug out a couple of bottles of not-entirely-miserable beer, and they'd had an entirely enjoyable evening. From the happy noise Martha made in her throat, he could tell she remembered as well.
He also remembered a moment later that between his eyesight and her leg, they had very little chance of even reaching the place again. "Or we could stay in."
"No," she said. "I think that'd be perfect."
***
The End
***
Author: nancybrown
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Mickey/Martha, Jack
Rating: PG
Words: 1000
Warnings: post-injury related trauma, past character death
Spoilers: none
Summary: A year after the dragons, Martha and Mickey return home.
AN: Sequel to " The Day the Dragons Came". Written for trope bingo square: au: apocalypse
***
No-one had seen a dragon in these parts in over a year. After the death of the queen, and the destruction of the nest, the surviving males had finished out their lifespans and died, fouling the ground where they fell.
It stank where a dragon died, and not even the rats would eat the corpse, so they festered and rotted, great disgusting heaps that were a pain in the arse to bury. Mickey didn't half think his nose was any sharper ever since he'd lost his sight, but he could smell a dragon graveyard from a mile away or more. Ugh. He covered his nose.
"It's not so bad," said Martha, taking his hand for a quick squeeze. "When I walked through America, the dead skunks were worse."
Mickey wasn't appeased. "These are bigger," he moaned. "It's like a big rotting pile of skunks." Although he'd never seen an actual skunk, he was sure this was worse. Also, he was feeling petulant because the last time he'd been on this road, he'd been driving. Just another thing he'd lost.
She seemed to understand, and gave him another squeeze. "We'll be past this one soon enough. Then only another hundred kilometres to London."
"Yeah."
From up front, Jack said, "Can you hail the team and let them know our location?"
'Team' was a kind word. With a little luck and a lot of effort, Mickey and Martha had put together a small band of former UNIT members and survivors of the dragons' many attacks on the city, and kept them alive for years until they'd finally made the breakthrough to win them the war against the great bloody flying alien newts. Most of their team, those who could still fight, had joined them in the final assault on Mt. Snowdon. Those who'd stayed were too sick or injured to go.
Mickey reckoned he counted in their number now. He put his face to the window, feeling the sun's warmth, and just barely making out the differences between bright and dark. On the good days, he could make out shapes, and once, he swore he could see the jewel-toned blue dress Martha had worn as she'd coaxed him out on a date to listen to a play some of the Cardiff survivors had put on. Mad Shakespeare fan, that woman. But he loved her. He hadn't been sure at first, hadn't known if it was just attraction and loneliness spent with someone who understood him. A lot of relationships were built on less. This, he knew, was more. If he was the sappy kind, he'd say Martha brought light into his day. But he wasn't sappy, not like that. He just knew that his whole life was better for having her with him, and that was fine, more than fine. It was wonderful.
"You've got that look." Martha sounded amused.
"Just enjoying the sunlight. You want to give the team a call?"
"Sure." She picked up the radio, cranking the batteries to charge them, and gave an update as the truck bounced along the road under Jack's terrible driving.
Behind them, he could hear the other trucks in the convoy muttering along the destroyed highway. They had supplies to trade, and they had people who wanted to spread out from Cardiff, finally unafraid of dragons and wanting to see more of the world. The team chatting with Martha now had set up in the ruins, digging out and rebuilding. After a year of rest, Mickey was ready to rejoin them in whatever capacity he could. Hadn't he fixed up two of the trucks practically by feel alone? And sure, Torchwood's alien-derived generator could power things near the Bay forever, but he'd helped rig up the power station to provide intermittent electricity around the whole city. Mickey had plenty to offer this weird new world, eyes or no eyes.
Stupid dragon scorching him anyway. Mickey'd almost given up then, but the dragons would win that way. The hell with that.
"They've got a place ready for us," said Martha, clicking off the radio. "I told them we'll be late."
"I can fix that," said Jack, accelerating despite the debris and worse pitting the road.
Martha scolded him, "You will not get back to Cardiff any faster if you crash on the way to London."
With bad grace, Jack slowed back down to a safer speed. He'd volunteered to escort them home and set up contacts with the survivors in London, but Mickey knew he'd spend every evening trying to get a signal through back home, and he'd be on his way the minute he thought he could.
Martha settled back into her seat beside Mickey. He wondered what she was thinking now, headed home. He'd lost most of the people he'd care about well before the dragons came, and Rose had died their first day back in this universe. But Martha now, she'd lost her whole family, missing or dead. Carefully, he placed an arm around her now, letting her know without words that he was right there for her. They'd fallen in together here in this mad world after the dragons, and what had started as temporary comfort had all the makings of something permanent. He thought it a fine time to ask her to make it official, even if they couldn't find a vicar. They'd know, and that was fine enough.
"What do you say," he said, gasping as the tyres hit something big and bouncy, "that tomorrow, you and me go back to that one spot in Kensington?"
He didn't have to say which spot. The first time they'd gone off alone together, with an intent to be alone together, they'd found a not-entirely-burned-out building, and they'd dug out a couple of bottles of not-entirely-miserable beer, and they'd had an entirely enjoyable evening. From the happy noise Martha made in her throat, he could tell she remembered as well.
He also remembered a moment later that between his eyesight and her leg, they had very little chance of even reaching the place again. "Or we could stay in."
"No," she said. "I think that'd be perfect."
***
The End
***