The thing is, love sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Time and time again it's happened to people who thought themselves unworthy of love, or thought they didn't have time for it, or some who simply couldn't have cared less. Love isn't a voluntary experience, though. One day, you just look at someone and realise that they're everything to you. For Martha Jones, that day came during a hunt.

The young man stepped closer. Martha stood her ground and forced down the fear. Ordinarily, she wouldn't be afraid of some college kid. But as it was, this man had jet-black eyes and blood-stained hands.

Martha inched backwards a bit. If the demon stepped just a little bit closer, he would be caught in the devil's trap painted on the floor. Martha had to goad it into coming closer any way she could. So far, simply being the demon's next potential victim hadn't worked.

"I've heard a lot about you, Martha Jones," said the demon.

"Have you? Then you know what I can do to you," said Martha.

"And you have no idea what I can do to you. Put a knife in my hand and I'll rip you to shreds." The demon took a step forward.

"Why would I give you a knife?" asked Martha. She pulled her knife from the waistband of her jeans. "This thing is too good to waste on the likes of you."

The demon snarled. Martha raised up the knife and ran a finger along the edge. She could see the demon eyeing the blade enviously. Just a bit farther, thought Martha. She needed the demon to move right now. If this went on too long, the demon might realise the trap that was waiting for him.

"You want the knife?" said Martha, "Come and get it."

The demon leapt forward. He got stuck in the devil's trap, but he grabbed Martha's arm and pulled her toward him. He spun her around so her back was to him, and he wrapped an arm around her neck. The knife, however, was still in Martha's hand. She thrust it back and felt it plunge into the demon's stomach. His grip around her neck loosened, and she raised the knife to hack at his arm. He let go.

Martha jumped out of the way just as Sam leapt out of the shadows with the demon knife in his hand. Before the demon could so much as shout, Sam plunged the knife deep into the demon's chest. A crackling, orange light spread through the body of the young man, and then he collapsed. Blood seeped out from the wound and obscured the devil's trap on the floor.

Martha looked up at Sam. He still had the knife poised in the air, and his face was a blaze of calm fury. He was tall and strong and ferocious; in short, he was the epitome of what a hunter should be. The fire in his eyes, born of the hunt, quickly faded into concern.

"Martha, are you okay?" asked Sam.

Martha could only stare at him. Had he always been this magnificent?

"Martha?"

It was as if someone had lit a fire in Martha's heart, or perhaps the fire had always been there. She stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of Sam's jacket. She kissed him hard and then pulled away.

"Sam Winchester, you magnificent fool, I love you."

Sam smiled so much that it felt like the whole room got a bit brighter. He kissed Martha again, and then he said, "I love you too, Martha Jones."

Love is a strange thing. It is always there, growing steadily, even if you don't notice it. No one can ever predict when it will make its presence known. The littlest things can bring it out of a person, be it a romantic gesture or a knife lodged into a demon. Love is always waiting just beneath the surface; sometimes it just needs a little push.