Old Frank
New York City, 2009
Martha recognised him as soon as she stepped over the patio. He'd took a lot of searching he had, but once she had found him and was positive that it was him, she was determined to see him in the flesh, just one last time.
For him, it had been seventy-nine years. For her it had been one, officially. Two, really.
She'd never planned it. She knew how unlikely it was that this would ever come to fruition when she'd done the search but she'd found out he was still alive and, relatively, well and she just couldn't resist.
He'd been such a sweet and brave boy and she wondered what kind of man he'd become. She wondered what the little adventure that they shared together had done to him. If he ever thought about it, to this day, if it played on his mind.
If it hadn't been for the transfer then she'd never have bothered. But UNIT had offered a great, important position in New York and she could never have said no and she never heard the words 'New' and 'York' without thinking of that one little moment in her history and all the people she'd met back then and shared that moment with.
And then she was there and she just couldn't resist a peek. An advantage of working for UNIT; you have access to everything.
Tallulah had become a small time star, a theatre darling, bouncing from state to state. But the sad look in her eye and the permanent rose bud tagged to whichever piece of clothing she wore, in every single picture Martha came across, told her that Laszlo's fate hadn't been so good. He'd dropped from any and all records around the time of his 'transforming'. Martha figured that he didn't make it much further after she and the Doctor had left him, no matter what help they'd been able to give.
Tallulah eventually married and had a son, who could only have been named after her lost love. She passed peacefully in her sleep in the early 80's, her husband by her side.
But Martha had been astonished to find that the one she was really looking for was still alive.
He'd only been 18 when she'd met him. A young man with his whole life ahead of him.
And what a life he'd had.
He fought in World War II and married his sweetheart, a beautiful dark haired girl, before it had ended. The war passed and his life began. He lived a long and fruitful life with his wife. He worked every day for almost fifty years and his marriage gave him three beautiful children.
Martha found herself in tears when she found the obituary of his wife, dated 1994, but from what she could see, he was never alone. You could never be alone with seven grandchildren and a few great-grandchildren too.
Knowing he was still alive, she knew she had to pay him a visit.
His life was now in a small but plentiful residential care estate just outside the city. It gave him company at all times and there was always someone there to make sure that he was okay. From what she could see, for a ninety-seven year old, he was doing alright.
When he finally caught sight of her, from his bench at the opposite end of the sunny garden, she worried for a brief minute that she'd given him a heart attack, but then the biggest and most marvellous of smiles had stretched across his old, handsome face and she knew he remembered her.
He pushed himself to his doddery feet and stood as straight as his frail body would allow, "Well, if it isn't Martha Jones. And looking barely a day older than I recall."
She quickly bounded over and his arms were wrapped around her faster than hers were around him, "Hello Frank."
A.N Just a very short piece that came to mind at an ungodly hour and wouldn't go away until it was written.
I always liked Frank (I would like to say that it had nothing to do with Andrew Garfield playing the part but of course it did help. Just a little bit.).
Hope you all liked it.
As usual, happy reading,
Jessica.