It was impossible to travel on the TARDIS without encountering death and, like the rest of the prisoners in Taxon, Martha Jones had her fair share of ghosts. The majority of her ghosts, however, came from a year that most of her world had forgotten had happened
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For a moment all he could do was stare in horror and then, impossibly, her lips moved.
Help me, Frank.
"Jesus Christ!" Fitz yelped and backed away, falling out of bed and scrambled to the door. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry I--"
Then from the next room he heard...no. Don't process it, just act. Beside his door he kept a baseball bat for just such occasions as this, and with one more glance to Alura (still there, but fading), flung wide his door and dashed over to yank Martha's open, the bat raised high over his shoulder and--
"Where...what--" He noticed the room was empty aside from his friend and then realized he'd just barged in wearing naught but umbrella drink and surfboard-pattered fleece pyjama bottoms. "I thought I heard..."
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