A/N: Welcome, folks! This one takes place approximately six months before the two-parter When You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going. Also, mind the rating. If you're not 18+, it's time to git along little doggies. Further notes at the end.
Disclaimer 1: I do not own any part of Torchwood or Doctor Who. This is a complete work of fiction for my own personal enjoyment. No copyright infringement intended.
Disclaimer 2: This chapter is individually rated M. If you do not wish to read sexually explicit material, then this is not for you.
Description: Jack and Martha agree to make a movie sometime in the near future. In the meantime, they play with guns.
They're back on Earth after the Year That Wasn't, and things have, for the most part, returned to normal. For Torchwood, that means running about like fools, secretly chasing loose aliens and, with a little bit of excessive grandiose, saving the world from its ultimate peril.
Sometimes, they need help. It's a big job, after all, and it's also a very large world. Jack is, more often than not, properly pissed off that he can't use his vortex manipulator anymore. He didn't see meeting himself to be quite the same kind of problem that the Doctor did, but still, he understands it.
It's one of these times where the challenge is a little too great for a five-man team that Jack calls on a friend, and she's more than willing to help. They'd had the occasional run-in, but their rendezvous were always short-lived, and generally had more to do with it's so good to see you! And hey, can I borrow that gun for a tick? In this instance, however, what the Torchwood team really needs is a fresh face to set up some new lines of communication with a black market group who think they're so tough dealing in aliens. They're not turning out to be nice folks, and Jack knows that if there's one person in the world he can trust with this, it's Doctor Martha Jones.
His team, however, is a little less than welcoming, and on her first day, it seemed that Martha was always drawing the short stick. With Jack's company and satisfying work, it didn't bother her that much. But by the end of the third week… things had seriously changed.
A surgeon and a playboy, Martha's fiancé had had cold feet before he'd even proposed, and with Martha gone for just a few days, love, to looks like next week, to I'm sorry, but I'll be home for Christmas, he decides then and there to leave domesticity behind. He called her the following morning, and left a stuttering message about taking some time, going back to his roots, and hey, maybe I'll see you around.
More than anything else, it just left Martha angry. She'd listened to the message on the morning of her most important play, and that meant she had to shove it and her emotions to the back of her mind so she could get the job done and not have anyone invading her privacy. She'd tell Jack, of course, but just not now, and went through the day with that mantra rolling over and over in her head.
The day goes well and everything goes to plan – well, mostly to plan, except that the team gets caught up and Martha and Jack have to bail them out in a series of risky moves that almost cost them the entire operation. However, when the dust settled, it was the hot-shots who claimed to have done all the work. Jack is used to their boasting and petty competition; Martha doesn't like not giving credit where it's due. To top off her day, Jack called after her as she was about to leave the Hub, everyone else already moving on to Torchwood-related paperwork. He'd requested that, since she was free, she move on to the next step of the plan immediately – "Just ask Tosh for the details."
The details were to go to a row of strip clubs and find the blonde girl named Luna with mismatched irises. As she set out, too frustrated to complain and not willing to start a fight with Jack, Martha wondered to herself why they always had to be blonde.
Once she had made it back to the Hub two hours later, Martha had reached the end of her mental grace period. She was angry at her loss and for falling for the surgeon anyway, pissed at the team that didn't appreciate her, and beyond frustrated that her friend, her best friend, possibly, had been too sidetracked to notice anything off. Behind all of these emotions, too, was that itchy, terrible voice in her head that mocked, and you didn't even see it coming.
While she was angrily tossing things in and out of her locker, Jack had made his way down into the sub-basement, leaning on the doorframe. Eventually, Martha turned around to notice him, obstructing her path with a cocky smile on his face and innuendo on his lips. In that moment, she almost wanted to slap him, and Jack's face fell to more neutral lines when he saw the dark anger flash behind her eyes.
His tone is solid but without bias. "What happened?"
Martha let out a cynical laugh and she leaned back against the locker doors, looking at Jack in a way that makes him uncomfortable. "You haven't the faintest, Jacky boy." She paused and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away furiously, and when Jack took a step forward, her voice was hard. "Don't you touch me," she said. "I'm so beyond that right now."
Jack opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off with a pointed finger. "Oh, no. You don't get to talk right now. Your team dragged me through the mud today Jack, and they put the whole situation – all of us – in danger. And you didn't say a word! They're petty and they fight and you call that a team?" Jack crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for what else Martha was holding on to.
She kept yelling; facts and accusations came out of her mouth equally, and when she ran out of steam, her voice got lower but hard once again. "He left me, Jack."
Jack's expression didn't change, but he took in a deep breath and let in out in a great rush. He tilted his head forward in a question, asking, in a way, may I sit?
Martha nodded as she kept talking, still leaning against the lockers. "He called late last night, and I got the message this morning. Just a, you know, hey, changed my mind, I don't want to marry you. And that was it. We've been together for four years and then he's just… done."
There were a few moments of silence while Martha looked blankly at the floor and Jack looked at her. Then, decision made, he held out a hand for her. As she looked at him, he said, "I'm sorry; I deserved that; and I can fix this."
Martha reached out slowly, taking his hand in hers. She's still unhappy, but really, it's Jack, so what else is she going to do? They've certainly been through worse than this, even if this the very first time she'd ever been this angry with him.
They went down another flight of stairs, and Martha vaguely wondered just how far underground they were then they came up to the firing range. She waited in the doorway as Jack set out one of almost every weapon they had in stock – noticeably absent were the rocket launchers – and he then laid out gloves, eyewear, and ear protection. He puts on his own pair of glasses and mufflers before turning to the woman just to his left. She stepped forward, taking the proffered gear, and hears through the intercom, "Use everything you're comfortable with first."
"And the others?" Martha growled at him as she lined up her stance. "You'll teach me if I don't bite?"
Jack just gives her a saucy grin. "I'd like it better if you did."
And so, shoulders squared and eyes blazing, Martha does as she's been told, emptying the magazines without really aiming anyway in particular on the paper dummy. On the next two she slowed down, and then, on the fourth, she's taking her time, aiming – and hitting – exactly on target. It doesn't escape Jack's attention that she didn't miss a single shot once she'd toned down and focused.
Then, moving on to the sixth gun; it was a hulking piece made from bits and bobs that Owen and Suzie put together, meant to be fired from the hip. Martha hefted the bulky weapon up in her arms; the earlier exercises had left her heart racing and her muscles jittery, and she felt powerful holding something so wieldy in her hands. Jack stepped up close behind her, wrapping his whole body around her. It doesn't feel suffocating, but Martha's suddenly aware of their bodies.
Jack knows that she's handled just as many weapons as he has, so he keeps his instructions to a minimum. Guiding her hands to the best positions, he reminded her how to breathe through the rapid-fire concussions. Then, just before she fires, he traced one hand down her side, coming to rest on her hip and bring her solidly back against his body. Martha's vision wavers but she doesn't let her body betray her. They count down from three together, and then she squeezed the trigger. The force of the recoil had her staggering back, but Jack, with his feet firmly planted, caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she continued to shoot until all fourteen rounds have been discharged.
As the dust settled, Martha let her breath out in a whoosh, and Jack held back a chuckle at her expense. First taking the gun from her, and then removing his own protective gear, he turned back to her with eyes that saw right through her.
Martha had gone from angry to frustrated, to now a totally different kind of wound up, and Jack was looking at her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play.
As he walked back towards her, she threw off her own goggles and mufflers. As he got closer and closer into her personal space, echoes of sensations bounced around her nerves: his hand pulling her back into his body, the recoil pushing them together. Her head was swimming and all Jack did was walk closer, until Martha was nearly panting and he was only a few inches away.
"How angry were you when you got back, one to ten?"
Martha worked to control her breathing and she swallowed heavily before she answered. "Eight. Maybe nine."
"And now?"
Martha paused before responding. "Four and a half."
Jack smirked, and Martha rolled her eyes dramatically, making to give his shoulder a shove. Jack caught her hand, however, and Martha's expression changed dramatically to wide eyes as she watched him.
He pushed her sleeve down her arm till it was bunched around her elbow, and he brought her hand up near to his face, letting his breath ghost over the sensitive inside of her wrist. Martha shivered. He placed a kiss on the skin there, eyes watching Martha carefully. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she kept her gaze on him.
Jack reached out and pulled her roughly against him, hips momentarily rocking together. Martha lets out a gasp and looks at Jack like she wants to figure him out. There's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Jack leans down, tasting a kiss from her lips that lasts less than second. "Pity," he mumbled against her neck. "I always aim for a ten."
Martha gets the joke and lets out a bark of a laugh before she grabs his braces and pulls him even tighter against her body.
"Captain Jack Harkness," she drawls casually, and if Jack's honest with himself, he's wanted to hear his name out of her mouth like that a hundred times, though maybe under different circumstances. "Then don't you think I deserve the best?"
She's cheeky and Jack loves it, it gets his blood running. "Oh, Doctor Jones," and he leaned in, whispering with his lips along her skin. "That's a promise, if you'd like." He makes his way to her ear, tracing the shell of it with his tongue and then his teeth. She breathed deep and leans against him. They're still back to front, and Jack uses his size to his advantage, bodily pushing against her until they reach a wall and he pins her to it. He pulls her out of her jacket, but his hips have her lower half held in place – Martha pushed her ass back against him just to make it clear that they are, in fact, doing this. His hands run up her bare arms and they settle hugely against her slim shoulders. He flips her over quickly, and Martha is fierce when she kisses him, making up for the way he'd manhandled her to where they are now.
Jack rocked his hips against her, one thigh coming to rest between her open ones. He reached down, grabbing her under her knees and lifting her up along the wall until he's satisfied with the height she's at. The pressure of where his hip holds her in place at the apex of her thighs is right in all the wrong ways, and it's not helping her at all. Jack is working miracles against her neck, and her eyelids fall as she raked her fingers though his hair and then supports herself against his shoulders – her head lolling forward under his ministrations.
He reached up to squeeze her breasts through her shirt and that was when Martha caught his hands, holding them in place. "Don't you have security cameras, Jack? I don't fancy Owen wanking off to this," she got out through gritted teeth.
Jack laughed against her skin and the sensation echoes throughout her body. "We do, and hell, I don't mind," he said, nipping at her collarbones.
Martha practically growled under him and Jack felt his cock twitch, so he jostled her against his hip just to get a reaction. It's a frustrated groan and it was music to his ears. "We'll make a movie later, Jack," she said, still holding his hands on her chest.
Jack froze on the spot, and Martha was already heady with sex, groaning at the absence of pressure. "Is that a promise?" his tone was saucy and Martha loved it.
"Fuck, yes," she breathed. "If you finish what it is that you've started." She makes a point by rocking her hips sharply against his – she could feel his bulk under her thigh and wanted nothing more than to complete this act.
Jack turned her slightly sideways on his hip and then wraps one arm under her bottom. Before pulling away from the wall he looked at her seriously. "Hold tight," he said, before hefting her up and carrying her much like an oversized child.
Martha awkwardly wrapped her legs around his waist as he quickly carried them up the staircase, laughing all the way, until they were on the main level of the Hub. Martha could've walked, but she figured that Jack got off on being the hero, and that was exactly what they were here for this evening, sowhy not indulge him?
When Jack stopped, he was standing in his office, and Martha was confused. He kissed her neck with an open mouth and then set her down, and she looked around mildly before her gaze went back to Jack. "This really isn't any better, thanks."
Jack laughed as he bent over, pulling at the hatch in the floor. Suddenly to Martha's eyes a porthole and a ladder were exposed, and in the dim light of the chamber, she could also spy the corner of a bed.
"Really, Jack? You live at work?" Her voice was incredulous.
"Always prepared," he said, trademark grin in place. "Lady's first."
Martha gave a false curtsey with her own smirk, and then turned quickly to drop herself down the ladder. Jack swatted her ass as she turned, mostly just because he could. Once he heard her boots made contact with the concrete, he too jumped down the porthole, avoiding the ladder entirely.
Martha stepped up to him in the dark, and the kiss was just as intense as it had been in the firing range. He picked her up and Martha let out a little shriek as he tossed her back onto the bed, her oomph amid the pillows and bedclothes turning into a burst of laughter.
Jack stalked up to the bed with eyes like a predatory animal; it sent shivers down Martha's spine and made her feel more desirable than she ever had. He leaned over her on the bed, whispering in her ear. "Lights?" he asked. Martha glanced around the room, around his bulk in the dark. She realized that once they closed the hatch they'd be in complete darkness, save for a few blinking lights on the odd piece of tech. She nodded as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and kissed the exposed skin of her cleavage.
"Please," she mumbled. "I want to see you."
Jack smiled against her skin, giving her a quick nip before leaving her bereft to find the light switches on the other side of the room. Martha blinked rapidly when they flickered on, and took in the room.
The bed was wide and long and took up most of this side of the chamber. There was a small couch, a low table, and what looked like a dressing table and a matching writing desk. There was a doorway behind Jack, and over his shoulder she caught the edge of what was probably a bookshelf and then a hallway that she assumed led to an en suite. That was all she time to take in before Jack filled her vision again. The soft light cast heavy shadows and it did little to hide Jack's arousal. She drank in the sight of him just as he did her, stepping back towards the bed slowly.
He toed out of his boots and then came forward, catching Martha by the knees and hauling her forward, all the way to the edge of the bed. He knelt before her and Martha felt her heart rocket around inside her chest. Things had slowed down considerably in the few minutes it had taken for them to get here, and Martha wouldn't have had it any other way as she looked in Jack's eyes.
Her voice was quiet and she posed him a question that didn't really surprise him. "Are we going to do this again?" she whispered.
Jack took one of her hands and pulled her fingers until her palm was open to him. He placed a soft kiss there and then folded her fingers back over it, like it was a physical thing that could be treasured. He held her hand closed in both of his and looked at her seriously. "Martha Jones, the woman who walked the earth." His tone is reverent. "Whenever you want."
Martha held her lips between her teeth and breathed deeply at his response. Then, she nodded and smiled, eyes warm on Jack's. She leaned down to him and held his face with her free hand, deepening their kiss. When she finally pulled back, their lips were still touching, the kiss lingering. "I missed you, Jack. So much."
He smiled against her lips and cupped the back of her head as he kissed her again. "I know," he said, voice momentarily very tight. "I know."
They paused again, and this time Jack lets his fingers play along the hem of her shirt. Martha's breath hitched and he watched her breasts bounce with the movement, letting her feel the weight of his eyes. She looked at him slyly and held his hands in hers, blatantly suggesting that he simply wasn't moving things fast enough for her. "Martha Jones, so bossy," he teased as he slid his hands under her shirt to play across her belly and ribs. She tried to keep the sensations off of her face. "I wonder how far that goes?" Jack asked at large.
Martha just smiled cheekily as she reached for his braces, first pushing them off of his shoulders and then setting in to work on his buttons. Jack beats her to it, and when it's half-undone he just yanks it and his undershirt over his head before he reached for her tank and pulled it off of her. It leaves her hair going wild in all directions, and he thinks of what it will look like spread out against his pillow.
He took in the sight of her in this light – more than he's ever seen, but almost prudent in comparison to what's coming. His eyes catch on the butterflies on her arm and the palm tree on her hip – his fingers skim over it and he wonders if she has any other inky secrets. He pushed the thought aside as he ran his hands across her thighs and down her calves, legs that Martha can't wait to wrap around him once again. Jack made quick work of her boots and then moves his hands back up to get her out of her cargos. Jack consciously meant to leave her knickers in place, but Martha hooks her thumbs into the waistband and shoves them down in nearly the same movement. Being as close to her as he is, kneeling on the floor beside the edge of the low bed, her scent fills his senses and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Martha can smell it, too, and she fought the urge to close her thighs.
Jack opens his eyes in time to see those thoughts flit across her features. He reminds himself that this kind of self-consciousness is something that plagues the women until about the 30th century, when the men in their lives finally straighten out and tell them they're beautiful without expecting favours in return. The taboo of their bodies frustrates him, so he gently coaxes her to open her thighs and kisses wetly up the length of one, whispering the whole way, "You are gorgeous."
With one hand on her hip and his breath ghosting over where she needs him the most, Martha sighed heavily and lets her nails drag along the nape of Jack's neck. He shivered and placed a kiss just over the bump of her pubic bone, watching as she thought about leaning backward and her belly fluttered under the sensations. His tongue comes out to gently lave at her folds, her taste warm and musky and a little bit sweet. Finally, he licked her from bottom to top, his tongue swirling across the little bud of nerves and Martha had just about given up, falling backward against the bed with a grateful groan. Her nails scratched at his scalp and he sucked her clit between his lips, feeling her thighs tremble under his hands. He leaned back but the smell of her still filled his senses and left him wanting and a little bit desperate.
Martha arched off the bed at the loss of contact, but she opened her eyes to find Jack crawling up the bed beside her. When they were almost face to face he bundled her up in his arms and used their weight cooperatively to shift them to the middle of the mattress. She ends up sprawled overtop of him, and Jack thinks there are worse things in the world.
Martha leaned up so she was properly straddling his waist; she could feel his braces tangled around her feet and the warm/cold of his belt buckle under her ass. Finding her balance, she leaned down again, this time kissing him the way she wants to, fast and a little bit frustrated and a whole lot why didn't we do this sooner? Her nails pressed crescents into the skin of his chest and he loves it, reaching around her back to pull her roughly against his body. Deft fingers made for the clasp of her bra and it was gone in an instant, black silk tossed carelessly in whatever direction. Jack broke the kiss then to make his way down her neck, and then, low enough so that he thinks it won't show in a blouse, he sucks a wonderful mark into her skin. She growled at him, like he expected, and that makes tomorrow's sour look so worthwhile right now.
He caught her by surprise when he rolled them, taking his weight on his forearms but letting his pelvis settle heavily across her. The trousers were uncomfortably tight, and when Martha reached down a hand to stroke him through the layers he hissed and pressed her deeper into the mattress. She laughed and pushed back against his belly with her hands, giving herself enough space to work open the buckle, button, and zip. The tightness abates, but his body knows that this gets better yet. Bringing his attention back to her needs, Jack marvels at her bare chest for what he can't believe is finally the first time; they are perfect to him. Small chocolate-coloured nipples are pebbled and hard against the rest of her coffee-cream skin, and Jack thinks about never eating a sweet again if he can always come home and unwrap Martha. His fingers walked up her ribs and were extraordinarily gentle at first, barely even making contact with her skin. She watched him watching her, and when he raised his eyes to meet her gaze, Martha is smiling softly, shyly, but a real smile none the less. He wanted to kiss her in that moment, and so he did.
His hands settled more fully on her while they kiss, tongues playing and teeth nipping sharply at lips looking exactly for that. In his palms her breasts are comfortably heavy and they remind him of things that are real and worth waiting for. Martha breaks the kiss and takes control, her fingers in his hair, guiding his mouth down to what his hands protect. Jack smiled against her skin and his breath had her arching up to meet him – a swirl, a flick, and Martha cried out. He sucked her nipple gently between his teeth and pinches as his tongue leaves her at his mercy, she was writhing beneath him and he filed that away for another day, wondering just how far he can take her without touching anything else.
Now, however, is not that time, and Martha worked to control herself and pull Jack back up to her eye-level. She kissed him fiercely, holding his face in her hands and bucking her hips up against him in an impatient reminder. "Keep your promises, Captain," she mumbled into his neck, and he let out a sound that was stuck somewhere between groan and whimper.
He leaned back on his haunches and his previously undone trousers fell to his knees. Martha sat up with him, and he watched the way her breasts sway with her movements. She gave him a playful shove and he was suddenly on his back with an oomph and a laugh and she's pulling his trousers and socks off of his legs. Martha was farther down the bed than he was, and the bedclothes have been completely forgotten, rumpled and mostly on the floor. She stretched like a cat and Jack was mesmerized by the way the light played on her lush hips. He was so distracted that when she traced her fingernails up his thighs, he had to swallow back undignified sounds. She watches him like a cat that got the cream, and when she starts to toy with the band of his shorts his eyes watch her with something dark and hungry underneath. Martha couldn't wait to find out what.
She traced the outline of his cock under the thin fabric, applying pressure and then totally leaving him bereft in favour of outlining his abs with light touches. It's torture and he loves it, sure, but after another eternity Jack grits out, "Martha, sweetheart, that's just not fair," in a voice that almost whined. He has sort of got a point, she can see, so she doesn't tease him anymore – at least, not like that. Instead, she hooked her fingers more fully under the elastic band, pulling it away from his body so that his cock can lie, hot and heavy, against his belly. Martha pulled the shorts all the way down off of his legs, and then, to his surprise, nothing should surprise you about her anymore, she positions herself between two strong, muscled thighs, head bowed to breathe over the wet trail her tongue left as she climbed up the length of one leg. Jack lets out a full-bodied groan and she rests one cheek against his thigh and looked up at him with big eyes and a warm smile. Jack reached blindly behind him for a pillow and stuff it gracelessly under his head, propping himself up to watch her. He thought idly about fairytales for a moment, and when someone says to the princess 'your wish is my command,' but then he reminds himself that Martha is no princess who needs saving. She's the queen who rescued the world, but in that moment, Jack's realized that there's nothing at all that he won't do for her. She reached a hand up to him and he takes it in his own, hoping that everything he's feeling shows on his face, because when Martha finally lets her tongue trail over him and then gently sucks him into her mouth, he was just about beyond words.
Martha half-wondered, once upon a time, about ever having to impress Jack should they ever collapse into the sheets. Now that they're here, though, she was too content and everything felt much too natural for her to worry about putting on a show. Instead, she held him steady with one hand on the base of his shaft and let the point of her tongue swirl around the head, watching as his facial expressions change and the fingers twined with hers hold tightly when she took him in, slowly slowly, all the way until her nose brushes up against his belly and she works the muscles of her throat once, then twice, and then backs off, hollowing out her cheeks just so she can hear him groan again.
When she looked up again, his hands reached for her, pulling her up on top of him, and she was more than okay with that. They kissed again, this time a little more languidly, and Martha gently rolled her hips over him, riding the ridge of his erection even though he's not inside of her yet. It's done a little bit consciously – her natural juices have covered him, and so when she reaches down between them, she can settle her body over his without any pressure or too-tight friction.
The moment that joins them almost did Martha in, she'd been so wound up for so long. She felt full and complete and heavy with him inside of her, and this perfection is written on her face when he pulled her down so that they could breathe through it together. They started rocking slowly, Martha raising herself up on her knees, Jack's hands strong on her hips, pulling her back down over him. He whispered in her ear for her to sit up straight, all the way, and the way the angle changes inside of her makes Martha cry out, grinding herself down over Jack. He pulled her down close and holds her tight to him as he rolled them again, this time letting his weight settle between them as Martha gasped and whimpered against his neck. She hooked her ankles around the small of his back mostly out of reflex, her nails scoring down his back. Jack cursed and kissed her roughly once again. One of his hands reached down between them, and they both looked down their bodies to see where they're joined. Jack gets her with one perfectly placed thrust and now that he knew where it was, that one golden spot, he balanced himself and just hits it over and over and over again, until Martha felt like she's been stung out too thin, and when he let one finger circle lazily around her clit, it only takes two figure-eights and then she was falling apart in his arms, hips bucking up to meet his and her voice breathy as she lets out one long, low, "oh, Jack."
He helps her ride it out, feeling her thighs tremble and concentrating on his breathing as her internal muscles clench and flutter around him. He slowed his strokes until she's almost gotten her breathing back, and then he redoubled his efforts; he brings her a second time, chasing the waves of her first orgasm and then, when it feels like her body is exploding around him, he lets go. His thrusts lose their rhythm but Martha was too far gone to notice, and with arms shaking from holding his weight he slams into her one final time, buried to the hilt as his own body surrenders.
In the back of his mind – maybe the only part that's still working – he knows that he's much bigger than her and if he drops on the spot, that will be the end of perfect little Martha Jones, and so he somehow manages to shift his top half a few inches when he finally collapses, stars behind his closed eyes.
Seconds or hours later, he opens them again, Martha was tracing patterns on his back. He put a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her down for a kiss; it's open-mouthed but it's mostly just lips resting together, whispering words into its partner's mouth.
Jack said things like perfect and beautiful and you are amazing. Martha kissed him for each one. He finally rolled off and out of her, his soft cock slipping gently from her body. She still groaned and shifted with the loss. Her muscles, however, are still full of the physical memory, and she relished the feeling they give her. Jack gathered her up on his chest, and she played her fingers over the little angry marks her nails have left behind. A shiver passed between the both of them, and Martha reached down, grabbing the sheets and duvet from the foot of the bed. Jack helps her spread it over the two of them, but she's warm and pliant against him and Jack couldn't think of anything else he could want.
Her head was on his chest, comfortably heavy, with an ear and a palm over his heart, listening to it beat out that forever rhythm. It has been going like that for the better part of one hundred fifty years, and Martha couldn't think of any other sound she would turn to in dark times.
It turned out that there's a dial for the light on the bedside dresser – why didn't they use that earlier? – and it makes falling asleep all the more convenient. It's almost as dim as it was when they came down here more than an hour ago, the only light left is the soft glow that comes from the bookshelf/hallway/bathroom that she hasn't explored yet. But that's okay. She's got time.
Martha whispered something to Jack just as they're both on the edge of sleep. "Jack," she mumbled against his chest. He rubs her back to tell her he's listening. "You know I love you, yeah?"
If that was anyone else on top of him, Jack might've jumped out of his skin. But it's Martha, and there's no other woman in this universe that he'd rather have beside him. Sleepy blue eyes looked back at her, but either her gaze is downcast or she's closed her eyes, Jack can't tell in this light. His voice is raspy with sleep. "I know, nightingale," he says quietly, and he placed a kiss in her wild hair. "You, too."
A/N: About Christmas in this one – let's say that the operation started about five weeks before the holiday season, so she was gone for quite a bit longer than expected. Also, Martha and her fiancé were living in London, and Torchwood Three is in Cardiff. And when they say their I love yous, I really think it's just that solid kind of thank-god-you're-in-my-life love. It certainly felt right for Martha to say it in that moment.
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