Chapter One
Martha closed the TARDIS doors and stepped back, watching the blue box disappear with a wheeze through a film of unshed tears. The Doctor's face had been so carefully neutral when she'd told him she was leaving. He wasn't oblivious, when she'd finally confronted him. He knew, had known, had always known, that she loved him.
It had stabbed her straight through, even though she knew, had known, had always known: He'd consciously chosen not to love her, as he had chosen to love Rose. Rose, whose story she still didn't know, whose ghost she could never surpass.
What did they call it? A rebound relationship? She was a rebound companion.
And yet--she had felt it shining through his eyes as they'd clutched each other's hands, flat on the deck of the Valiant, as the paradox righted itself and the Horrible Year turned into the Year that Wasn't. He did love her, she saw it, felt it. She felt his pride in her, his sheer joy at seeing her alive--his deep love for her. But not the kind she bore for him. In the end, as she said goodbye, she could see compassion for her in his expression. And it was a little too close to pity for her taste.
"Well," she thought, "time through the Vortex now. Hope the next one he cons into that box isn't as moony as I was, for her sake--or," thinking of Jack, "his, for that matter."
She turned and saw her family through the front window curtains, her sister Tish bringing everyone tea, her parents, Clive and Francine, sitting side by side on the couch, her mother wrapped in a throw. Her father's arm was around her mother's shoulders as he handed her a cup. They all still looked in shock to find themselves back in a home they had thought gone forever.
Martha kept waiting for her mother to throw the cup at her father, or at least bat it away. No shouting, no anger, but supporting one another--this was going to take some getting used to. Better start now, she said to herself. She visibly shook off her bittersweet mood and pushed through the front door.
Inside, it was quiet. Tish settled herself on the edge of a chair, as if she weren't entirely sure it was real, Martha thought.
"Well," she said, breaking the silence, "that's done. He's off." Francine nodded, tears rising; Clive pulled her closer to his side. Silence descended again, broken only by Francine's slight sniffling.
"Here's what I want to know," Francine finally said. "What are we supposed to do now? What--are--we--supposed--to--do--NOW!" Her voice shook with suppressed hysteria. "No one knows but us. No one remembers but us. We can't even tell Leo without sounding daft. What are we supposed to do now?"
Martha considered only a moment. "Live," she finally said. "We have to live. We have to go on and have brilliant lives. That's what the Doctor wants."
"Oh, sod the Doctor!" cried Francine, with a small sob. "Oh God, I don't mean that, you know I don't mean that," she said, looking around at her family. "I just--Martha, how did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Live, knowing all these things you couldn't talk to anyone about. Aliens, and time travel, and all of it?"
Martha blew out the breath she'd been holding. "I had him," she said. "I had him to talk to. Now I have you all. We have each other, and we have Jack."
"That's not enough!" her mother broke out, sobbing.
"It's going to have to be," soothed Clive, wrapping the throw closer around her. "And we'll get through this. If there's one thing I know after this last year, it's that we can get through anything together. Because God knows we already have. You will always have me to talk to. I'm not going anywhere, not now, not ever." He kissed the top of his ex-wife's head.
Martha wondered how Annalise was going to take that news; as far as that girl knew, Clive was still her boyfriend as of a week ago. A year ago. A week ago. It made Martha's head hurt, and she was used to non-linear time by now. She could only imagine how it made her family feel.
Clive caught his eldest daughter's eye and looked toward the hallway. Martha took the hint. "Tish," she said, "c'mon. Let's see what's in the kitchen."
"Something stronger than tea, yeah?" her sister answered, following down the hall in her wake.
Chapter Two
"So," said Tish. She took a long drink of their mother's best whisky and winced.
"SIP it, don't guzzle it." Martha was leaning against the sink opposite her sister in the narrow galley kitchen, swirling the liquor in her glass. She never drank straight whisky before...before this last year, preferring something sweeter, something fizzy, something that might come with an umbrella in it, or at least a cherry. Now, she took her liquor neat, not even an ice cube. So, she noted, did Tish.
"Don't care as long as it takes the edge off." A pause. "You stayed."
"Mm."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Tish grimaced. "Why would you give up traveling--" here she grew melodramatic, waving a hand in the air-- "all space and time with him?" She became serious again. "You love him."
The bitterness rose unwanted in Martha's throat. "'S why I left him. I love him. He knows it. He doesn't love me back. There's no future there. I had to get out now, while I had enough of my self-respect left TO get out."
"Oh God, Martha," said her sister, setting her drink down and leaning away from the counter, "you couldn't be more wrong."
"More wrong about what? About him loving me?" Martha snorted and took a bigger drink than she'd intended from her glass. "I think I know him a bit better than you do."
Tish's eyes grew wide and outraged. "Oh--my--God. Martha Jones. You help him save the world, how many times? Save the world yourself, and you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself because you couldn't get him in your bed? Exactly how is that having a brilliant life?"
Martha stared at her sister.
"And while I'm on the subject," Tish continued, "you spent, what, a year all told with him before--IT happened? Guess what? So did we. SO. DID. WE. After it happened. While you were...gone."
Tish began to cry, shaking with anger. "He's not just yours any more! He's OURS, he belongs to our whole family! It's a year we shouldn't remember, but we do. And I know you saw people die and cities burn, but so did we! HE--the M-Master--" neither of them could bear to say his name-- "HE made us watch while he did...things. Martha, he did terrible things, to the Doctor, to Jack, to all of us, to the fucking world! To me!"
Tish put her face in her hands and began to sob. "And he never gave up on you, Martha! The Doctor always believed in you! And he was right! And here you're--" She broke down completely. "Oh, God!" she sobbed.
Martha felt her face grow hot and her stomach turn to ice. She downed the rest of the whisky in her glass, setting it down on the counter with a crack. "Tish," she said, her eyes filling with tears as she gripped her sister's shoulders. "Tish, look at me."
Tish looked up, bracing herself with one hand on the counter and trying to wipe her nose unsuccessfully with the other. "What happened while I was gone? I saw you all a few times on his broadcasts..." She swallowed hard. The Master often displayed her family, arrayed in a line in their domestic uniforms in an attempt to demoralize her. Sometimes, it even worked. "Tell me. I need to know."
Chapter Three
Tish shook her head. "You know enough. You can guess the rest," she said dully.
"No, I can't! I don't want to guess, I want to know, and no one will talk about it!"
"Well, fancy that! We'd like to forget!" her sister yelled back. Martha dug through her pockets, found a tissue, and wiped Tish's nose, which made her laugh in spite of herself. "Still my big sister." They smiled weakly at each other.
Tish took a deep, shaky breath. "Mum and Dad...mostly he just kept all of us working domestic. Dad he gave the worst chores he could find. If a toilet backed up anywhere on the ship, that's where you'd find Dad.
"Mum, he kept her close by. Cleaning his quarters and the bridge, stuff like that. He'd have either of them beaten at the drop of a hat if they did so much as sneeze out of turn, and sometimes he'd have the men beat Dad just because. Mum he just liked to say terrible things to. Mostly about you. How you were just a stupid lovesick girl who couldn't possibly bring him down, he was a god, you were an ape. What he was gonna do once he caught you." The tears welled up in her eyes again. "If he'd caught you sooner, Martha..."
"But he didn't," Martha said, smiling slightly. "Go on."
"Jack. Jack had it the worst of all of us. Martha," she said, her eyes wide, "Martha, he can't die! I mean--he can't die!"
"I know. I've seen it."
"He just kept killing him, over and over and over! The first day, he killed him three or four times just that one day--as soon as Jack'd get back up, he'd do it again, called him 'the freak.' Kept him chained up below decks. I saw him most days, I was the one who fed him--nasty, disgusting stuff like mashed swede, or rice gruel. HE got bored eventually, maybe only did it once a week, but he made sure the Doctor was practically on top of Jack whenever he did. Covered in Jack's blood sometimes." Tish dropped her eyes. "He'd have me clean the Doctor up, eventually. He wouldn't let me help Jack."
Martha settled next to Tish against the counter and slipped her arm around her sister's waist, pulling Tish into her side. "What about the Doctor?"
Tish's voice grew soft. "I was glad you weren't there, to see him like that. He was so...I'd say 'meek,' but he never gave in, he never gave an inch. HE treated him like a dog--I mean, he kept him in a kennel, made him eat off a dish on the floor. The Doctor was always so cold, his hands..." Tish looked up at her sister. "But he kept our spirits up, he kept us believing we would get through this." She looked down again. "He gave us hope. He helped me."
"Tish," Martha asked softly. "What happened to you?" She felt Tish stiffen against her side.
"I served the tea," she answered tonelessly. "I tidied up. I fed Jack and the Doctor. Tended to Lucy when she got so she couldn't even dress herself without help. I didn't get beaten, much. Whenever they did, HE'd tell them, 'no visible bruises, keep her pretty.' I...he..." Tish trailed off, and she drew herself in, eyes staring into the middle distance.
"There's more, I can tell. What else?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Tish--"
"I SAID, I don't want to talk about it. I can't talk about it. Maybe some day, but not now."
"But I can help--"
Tish pulled away and faced her straight on. "HE RAPED ME. In front of the Doctor. All right?! Happy?!"
Chapter Four
And there it was, Martha's worst nightmare from those days on the run, second only to the Master just killing them all before her mission was through. "Oh, God, Tish. Oh, God." She tried to pull her sister close.
"No! NO!" Tish flailed her arms at her sister. "NO! No..." and folded into herself, letting Martha catch her and lower them both to the floor before she collapsed completely, sobbing. Martha held her close, resting her chin on her sister's head and rocking her gently, crooning "It's all right, it'll be all right, it's all over, he's dead now, he's never coming back, he can't hurt you ever again." In front of the Doctor, Martha thought. He raped her in front of the Doctor.
They sat on the floor together, Martha cradling her until she felt her sister's tears subside a little. "So who'm I gonna go see for rape counseling, for a rape that never happened?"
Martha rose up from the floor. "Stay put." She retrieved the whisky bottle and their two glasses and sat back down. "Reinforcements." Tish managed a hiccupy smile. Martha refilled their glasses. She said not a word when Tish took a big gulp and shook herself as the liquor went down hard.
"Tish, I'm not gonna ask you any more about it. And I'm sorry I had to ask you at all. But I needed to know. I really did. And when you're ready, I'm here. You can tell me anything about that year--about what happened--that you need to. I'll always listen. We're all alone, we Joneses, and since I'm the doctor--well, I'm almost a doctor--I'm...I feel like I'm responsible for everyone. I need to know what to watch for in you all. Now I know."
"One psych rotation," said Tish, bitterly, "and you know what to look for."
"Yeah, in fact, I do," answered Martha calmly, "I'm what this family's got, any rate, and if I don't know what to do I'm not afraid to find out."
They were quiet for a long time, sipping at the whisky and holding hands. Eventually Tish slid down and put her head in Martha's lap, Martha leaning back against the cabinets.
"He helped me, you know. The Doctor," said Tish. "It would have been worse for me if he hadn't been there. He called us the Sisters Jones. Said we were brilliant and brave, and a bunch of other stuff." She was quiet for a moment as Martha stroked her hair. "He loves you, Martha," she whispered.
Martha's hand stopped in mid-stroke for a moment, and then resumed its rhythm. "I know. I know he does. But it's different for him. I think it's different for him with everyone, not just me. Well," she said, thinking of Rose, "almost everyone, and I don't really know that story. Not sure I ever will." Martha let out a long sigh and let her hand come to rest on her sister's shoulder. They lapsed into silence again, a little sore from sitting on the floor but a little too drunk to want to move.
"Martha?"
"Hm?"
"If he comes back...will you go with him then?"
"If he--" She thought of her phone, probably in one of his bottomless pockets right now, whenever "right now" was for him. All she had to do is call, and he'd come running. "If he comes back. Well. He might not want me back."
"He'll want you back."
Martha considered. "I don't know if I would or not. Maybe. If I'm through qualifying." And, she thought, if I've managed to put my heart back together, and if I've gotten myself--out.
She knew, sitting on her mother's kitchen floor with her sister instead of in the TARDIS control room with the Doctor, that she was already halfway there.