A/N: Gah! What is with all the Martha fic? I hate Martha. Anyways, I do not own Doctor Who or the song White Horse by Taylor Swift.
"Oh come on, Marthie, it's just one little song!" pleads Lena Jones to her cousin, whipping out her self-proclaimed 'secret weapon': puppy-dogs eyes that had the crafty shine of a feline in their pupils, totally canceling out any power they could've wielded.
"When I say no, I mean 'no, not ever in a million years so stop trying to convince me and by the way those puppy-dog eyes look more like donkey eyes,'" says Martha, studying her reflection in the mirror. She had decided beforehand that white was too sharp a contrast for her skin, and opted for a more creamy, marzipan color instead.
"But I've got the CD and everythin'," wails Lena, waving about said CD, "The DJ just needs to pop it in and set it to track seven. It won't take anythin' at all from you, and it's just one song, it's be over in just four minutes. Four minutes of your whole wedding, which is like, ten hours or somethin'." Lena brandishes the casing in front of Martha's eyes. "See? Nothin' frilly and pink, just good old country."
"Country?" Martha wrinkles her nose, and tucks a dark curl behind her ear, "Well, I suppose it's better than pop." She glances to the image of her hopeful cousin in the reflection. "Alright," she relents, "I'll let you play for me here, and then I'll decide."
Lena squeals and practically skips to the CD-player, and Martha smiles at her antics. Moments later, a hopeless yet lilting melody tinkled from the stereo's speakers.
Maybe I was naïve,
Got lost in your eyes
I never really had a chance.
A face appears in her mind, unbidden, one she had strived to forget for such a long time.
My mistake I didn't know to be in love
you had to fight to have the upper hand.
She thinks of fob watches, motorways, and that conversation of lost worlds.
I had so many dreams about you and me
Happy endings;
Now I know
I'm not a princess
This ain't a fairytale
I'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet
Space rhinos and radioactive trainers invade her thoughts.
Lead her up the stairwell
This ain't Hollywood,
This is a small town
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down.
Now its too late for you and your White Horse,
To come around.
She remembers the sound of its engines, but can't bring herself to smile.
And there you are on your knees
Begging for forgiveness,
Begging for me
Just like I always wanted,
But I'm so sorry
She can't help but know that this never happened. He never wanted her.
Cause I'm not your princess
This ain't a fairytale
I'm gonna find someone, some day
Who might actually treat me well.
The face of the man who'll be waiting for her at the altar appears, and her heart aches.
This is a big world,
That was a small town
Not really, she thinks.
There in my rearview mirror,
Disappearing now.
And it's too late for you and your White Horse,
Now its too late for you and your White Horse
To catch me now.
Martha looks down at her hand and the circle of paler skin where her engagement ring had been, the one that had be taken off to allow the wedding band to have its place. She thinks of how his hand used to hold this one, the warmth, and can't deny that she misses that. But it's too late for him and his blue box, and he can't hold her back from happiness any more.
So she smiles, not quite genuine, but still a smile. "Thanks," Martha tells her overbearing cousin. "All this time I've tried to forget, but now." She turns from the mirror. "Now that I've remembered, I can move on."
Lena regards her strangely. "I swear, sometimes I think you're from another planet."
Martha laughs.
"Yeah."