[fic][btr canon]
Note I had to write this out so I could get back into Martha headspace. :/
The house is empty.
People are disappearing on the streets, in their homes, at the hotel.
The house is empty.
No one is answering their mobiles. She calls again and again. Every hour. Her hand hurts from dialing so often, but she doesn't let the pain stop her. She pushes though it.
Maria is not in her room, not at Zoe's. Not even Zoe is at Zoe's. Maria isn't in the kitchen either, where she'd taught Martha how to cook better. The kitchen is as empty as every other room, as every other closet, as every other corner.
Donna's room is equally empty, aching in its emptiness.
And her own room... she can't stay for longer than a second. The sight of that bed shoves the air out of her and makes her feel faint. Too many memories that cut with a sharpness that can't be ignored. She should be bleeding. There should be something to indicate the pain that she feels.
The journals explode with people looking for loved ones. Torchwood is gone, too. Practically, all of them are gone. Robin calls about Grace. She's gone, too. Grace, Gwen, Donna, Maria, the Doctor, Des... all of them. What relief she feels over the few of those that are close to her that remain cannot fight against the pain of those who've been ripped away.
I need you. I can't survive without you. How many times did she think that, holding on to them, her boys. I need you. More than air, she had thought, but she's still breathing. More than food, more than anything, and they're gone.
She doesn't accept it at first. They've disappeared before. Days are spent sitting on the couch, waiting by the phone, by the journal. Words and memories flood heavily through her head, and the way the walls seem to close in on her make it hard to breathe. She doesn't sleep or eat. It's impossible to do either when pieces of herself are not where they should be. She searches the city and waits and searches again and waits again.
Please. Don't leave me again, she'd said. I won't, the Doctor promised.
And she can see him smile at her, with fondness in his expression. And she can hear him say her name, like no one else can, like he always has from the day she met him.
You can't get rid of me that easy, Des had said to her when she brought him back from the dead. And then in her room when she'd reached the bottom, That's right, Martha Jones. We're stuck with each other.
And how many apocalypses have they been through together? When the rest of the world fell down around them, they remained. When she had been covered in blood and thought she'd lost he mind, he'd been thee. He'd pulled her out of insanity with one touch.
It's too hard to breathe, knees pressed against the carpet. She's breaking where no one can see, because there's no one left here. Her wedding ring presses sharply into her thigh, and she leaves it there, like a reminder, pressing her fist deeper until the pain of it makes her cry out. The tears are like fire, burning down her skin, and there's one pained sob. There's only one, but she feels the rest building in her chest, crying out there.
It must be hours that she spends this way, grieving. It feels like days, weeks, years. Her eyes are tired and red. She's too weak, too drained to stand. The ache has spread from her chest to every part of her body, and her face remains damp, pressed against her legs.
We're here, Jack told her once. You're here. They aren't. You survived.
And it's true again, in a different way. The people who aren't here didn't take her and torture her in a warehouse. The people who aren't here are people that she loves, that she's chosen to give pieces of her heart to in one way or another.
You're here.
There was a time when this house was overflowing with people. Des and Martha entered it first with the Doctor at their side. People came in and filled up the rooms until the rooms had to be shared. As time went on, people died and went missing. And in one weekend, they were all taken. There is nothing where life once was.
Martha is the only one left, and the emptiness in this house is what finally fills her completely and allows her to stand again. The tears have dried. Her face is blank and set. She walks out of the empty house and plans on never coming back.
The house is empty.
People are disappearing on the streets, in their homes, at the hotel.
The house is empty.
No one is answering their mobiles. She calls again and again. Every hour. Her hand hurts from dialing so often, but she doesn't let the pain stop her. She pushes though it.
Maria is not in her room, not at Zoe's. Not even Zoe is at Zoe's. Maria isn't in the kitchen either, where she'd taught Martha how to cook better. The kitchen is as empty as every other room, as every other closet, as every other corner.
Donna's room is equally empty, aching in its emptiness.
And her own room... she can't stay for longer than a second. The sight of that bed shoves the air out of her and makes her feel faint. Too many memories that cut with a sharpness that can't be ignored. She should be bleeding. There should be something to indicate the pain that she feels.
The journals explode with people looking for loved ones. Torchwood is gone, too. Practically, all of them are gone. Robin calls about Grace. She's gone, too. Grace, Gwen, Donna, Maria, the Doctor, Des... all of them. What relief she feels over the few of those that are close to her that remain cannot fight against the pain of those who've been ripped away.
I need you. I can't survive without you. How many times did she think that, holding on to them, her boys. I need you. More than air, she had thought, but she's still breathing. More than food, more than anything, and they're gone.
She doesn't accept it at first. They've disappeared before. Days are spent sitting on the couch, waiting by the phone, by the journal. Words and memories flood heavily through her head, and the way the walls seem to close in on her make it hard to breathe. She doesn't sleep or eat. It's impossible to do either when pieces of herself are not where they should be. She searches the city and waits and searches again and waits again.
Please. Don't leave me again, she'd said. I won't, the Doctor promised.
And she can see him smile at her, with fondness in his expression. And she can hear him say her name, like no one else can, like he always has from the day she met him.
You can't get rid of me that easy, Des had said to her when she brought him back from the dead. And then in her room when she'd reached the bottom, That's right, Martha Jones. We're stuck with each other.
And how many apocalypses have they been through together? When the rest of the world fell down around them, they remained. When she had been covered in blood and thought she'd lost he mind, he'd been thee. He'd pulled her out of insanity with one touch.
It's too hard to breathe, knees pressed against the carpet. She's breaking where no one can see, because there's no one left here. Her wedding ring presses sharply into her thigh, and she leaves it there, like a reminder, pressing her fist deeper until the pain of it makes her cry out. The tears are like fire, burning down her skin, and there's one pained sob. There's only one, but she feels the rest building in her chest, crying out there.
It must be hours that she spends this way, grieving. It feels like days, weeks, years. Her eyes are tired and red. She's too weak, too drained to stand. The ache has spread from her chest to every part of her body, and her face remains damp, pressed against her legs.
We're here, Jack told her once. You're here. They aren't. You survived.
And it's true again, in a different way. The people who aren't here didn't take her and torture her in a warehouse. The people who aren't here are people that she loves, that she's chosen to give pieces of her heart to in one way or another.
You're here.
There was a time when this house was overflowing with people. Des and Martha entered it first with the Doctor at their side. People came in and filled up the rooms until the rooms had to be shared. As time went on, people died and went missing. And in one weekend, they were all taken. There is nothing where life once was.
Martha is the only one left, and the emptiness in this house is what finally fills her completely and allows her to stand again. The tears have dried. Her face is blank and set. She walks out of the empty house and plans on never coming back.