Hey guys! I'm back. This is just a short filler; A kind of stream-of-consciousness thing that sparked in the middle of homework. Hope you like it!

Set after The Angels Take Manhattan. It was on its way to being a Rated M production, but as I stated writing, the mood just didn't right for it. Maybe I'll add another chapter or something but for now, this is it.

Oh! And I don't own anything. Blah, blah blah.. Please don't sue me. This story is VERY Loosely based on the song Coming Down by The Weeknd- which I don't own.

Enjoy!

Coming Down

2:28 am

He was never very considerate of universal time zones. But he called her, as he always did in these situations and she answered on the second ring, as she always did when he called in the wee hours of the morning. It had been this way for the last 7 years. No matter what the date, the time of day, the occasion: he called, she came and vice versa.

He was married now; aborted timelines mean nothing to time travelers; they always remember anyway. She was married too, of course. Had been for 5 years and happily so.

Tom knew. But he never complained. He knew she wouldn't budge and it wasn't worth the argument. And the bigger picture outweighed the jealousy that bubbled and brewed inside of him whenever she picked up that call: the price he had to pay was nothing compared to what he'd been given in return. The opportunity to live.

Their situation wasn't ideal, but it's what worked. And she'd rather it be her. Apparently, so did the Doctor.

So when that phone rang, Martha answered.

4:37 am

Martha glanced down at the small scrap of paper where she'd scribbled the information down in sleepy haste. It would make way too much sense to always pick the same hotel, she thought to herself. She'd never get used to these American streets. She left her car with the valet, and walked to the front desk.

"Hello there. Mrs. Smith. My husband should be joining me shortly." The receptionist handed her the key, informing her of the amenities of the Presidential Suite he'd chosen. Always the Presidential. She still found it funny how much she could tell about his complexes by the small decisions he made.

She still had another 20 minutes before he was to arrive, so she started her ritual. She stripped the bed of its sheets and replaced them with her own from her duffle bag. Same with the pillow cases. Once the bed was dressed to her liking, she showered and began to dress herself.

She could always tell what he wanted by his voice- he never had to tell her details. After a harrowing mission, he wanted her in a pink teddy and heels. If he'd lost control, leather and lace. Right now, she dressed in a cream silk nighty.

He'd just lost someone.

5:02 am

He didn't burst into the room in a ball of energy; he tapped on the door meekly before opening the door with his own key. She greeted him at the door, smiling a small sympathetic smile. His arms hung limply at his sides and he looked beaten down, but a small glimmer of light shown in his eyes when he saw her.

"Martha Jones, my doctor." He muttered affectionately as he shuffled in, wearing the agony of 1103 years on his face. She remained silent, but stood on her tip-toes and hugged her 'patient'. He was a bit shorter than his younger incarnation, but he still towered over her. When he slipped his arms around her tiny waist and hugged her, her feet didn't touch the floor. He hugged her hard, crushing her in his embrace. Martha didn't care- she embraced him with equal ferocity. It was what he needed. She felt the warm tears that fell as he buried his face in her neck like a child- she stroked his hair in consolation.

"They're gone," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Both of them are gone." The last word slipped away from him in a raspy whisper as his resolve gave way to waves of grief.

She took him by the hand and led him to the bed. He sat down and she stood before him, removing his dress coat from his shoulders, then his bowtie, followed by his boots. She systematically removed every item of clothing he had on with deft, warm fingers. He laid down on the lavender-scented sheets she put on the bed.

Martha turned off every light except for a small lamp by the bed, before climbing into the bed beside him, gently guiding his head to her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder as he told her the story, his eyes still full of tears. He always managed to talk so much while actually saying so little. This time, however, his words were measured- not wasting one syllable. Every breath was meaningful.

"Amy knew she could never see me again. And she did it anyway." His voice was almost a whisper by the time he was done. "Why did she do it, Martha?"

Martha spoke for the first time since he arrived, she was in tears as well. "Well, Doctor, we all do irrational things for the ones we love. In a sense, following Rory was the most rational thing she could've done. You're her best friend, but he's her husband. They promised forever." He was looking up at her now, as if he never considered the fact that forever didn't necessarily include him. "Besides," she began again, this time smiling through her tears. "She was happy in the end, wasn't she?"

A small smile crept onto his face. "Yes. Yes she was." He leaned up and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Doctor Jones."

"You're welcome, Mr. Smith." She said as she turned off the light and snuggled in next to him under the lavender-scented sheets.

They both drifted into a comfortable sleep in each other's arms.

Done and done! maybe. What do you think: continue with some M rated fun or leave it as is? It's up to you guys. Thanks for reading!