Pairing: Ten/Martha

Setting: AU, post S4

Story Rating: G

Table Prompt: 033 Sunset

A/N: These stories will be, in the main, unbeta'd. Beta-ish comments welcomed if you feel so inclined.

Index Post & Table


She sat up straight, pulling her sweater closer around her body, rubbing her neck in that way that always drove him mad with desire to take the day's burdens away from her. She'd never let him take them before, but things were different now, and his hands shifted to rub her shoulders. He could feel her relax beneath his touch, her tension ebbing away like the light dimming in the early evening sky. He pressed a kiss to her neck and was surprised when she lifted her hand to keep his head there. He moved his hands to circle her waist, and felt her relax into him as they watched the setting sun together.

He’d surprised her, arriving with wine and flowers and her favorite cheeses not long after their daughter and the Doctor had left. They were seated in the garden now, and Francine allowed herself the indulgence of relaxing in Clive’s arms, her head nestled into his shoulder, as they watched the sun setting through the trees. The spectrum of colors in the sky brought her mind to the marmalade, to Martha’s blushes, to the Doctor’s suit. Her hand brushed away a tear.

“Frannie?” His voice was gentle and concerned, his arm tightening around her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and shifted to meet his down turned eyes. “Nothing,” she smiled, then added, “She’s traveling with him again.” She could feel him stiffen against her, and she thought of that time when their roles were switched, when she was the one urging Martha to stay while he told her to run. Both of them, protecting her, but neither of them seeing what was actually hurting her.

“It’s alright, Clive. He sees her now.”

She turned her body to face him, and gently rubbed her hand against the light stubble on his cheek while she kissed away his tension. As she pulled away from his lips, she indulged in the forgotten pleasure of looking at his face when his eyes were closed and his mouth curved in that smile that belongs to only her kisses.

“We’re too old for this,” he sighed, “this pretending it’s afternoon in our lives when the clock is clear it’s evening.” She turned away from him again, and he pulled her against his chest. The sun was nearly gone now, and the moon was an increasingly substantial ghost against the darkening sky. “I want to come home.”

She rubbed his knee. “Then come home. I think you should.” He could hear the shimmer of a smile in her voice. He rose and took her hand, guiding her to their home, to him, to them, as day gave way to night.

She sat up straight, pulling the thin, scratchy blanket around her body as she tried to find some comfort in the narrow strip of bedding provided in the cold stone cell. Through the bars on the window, Martha could see the shifting colors in the sky, the Euphorian sunset reminding her of the sky over her parents’ garden.

The Doctor was pacing about the small cell, his hands frenetically feeling along in the darkness for some hint of a way out. When he’d made what had to be his hundredth path through the closet of a room, he looked over at Martha. The moonlight illuminated the profile of her face, the curve of her neck, the outline of her small form wrapped in the grey blanket. He sat next to her on the cot and drew her gently into his arms.

“I’m sorry Martha. I wanted your first trip with me to be memorable, but this isn’t quite what I had planned.”

She was silent for a few moments before she finally spoke, her voice small as her body. “I never thought I’d want a perception filter again as much as I did today.”

“No, Martha.” He turned her to face him, his hand trying to touch the silvery light on her cheek. “You should never feel ashamed of being seen. The world—this world—needs to see you. Tomorrow they will.”

She rested her head against his chest, the sound of his heartsbeat thumping in her ears. She relaxed a bit as his hands stroked her arm and his lips kissed her hair. They looked out at the evening sky together, the planet’s twin moons gaining substance as the sun became a distant memory.

Chronological: To 021. Friends


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