So, as I said, the juicy bits were not finished. You may recall our heroes in mid-romp at the end of the previous chapter, after a long absence from one another (at least from the Doctor's point of view). Passion is the word of the morning.

However, all is not right with the world, as you will see.


THIS MOMENT

The Doctor's moods had always had the effect, sometimes annoyingly so, of reflecting upon her. If he was annoyed, so was she. If he was in pain, she was in pain. If he was elated, she usually was, as well, or would soon be.

And of course, when he was fiercely crashing through the feelings that come with losing oneself in passion and love, after being away for more than a month, she got completely pulled along in the undertow. For her, it had only been about three days since she'd last seen him, and her need for him did not match his for her, not at this moment.

But that was need. Desire was a different story.

Those dark eyes, in their intensity, could sting, melt her. When she knew that there was a powder keg in him, it was hard not to anticipate an explosion, hard not to spark it with her own fire. As much as she would have liked to take charge, and be the one to press his back into the soft rug, she simply let him have her. She was lost in the cloud of thirty four days without you, and this one perfect day, this one perfect moment...

And in that moment, in all of those moments, leading up to the dénouement, as it were, she felt differently than she ever had. Pleasure flowed through her, as it always did, but there was something else rising in her as well. Something was clawing at her, almost as though a realisation of some sort were trying to find its way in. What is that? she wondered vaguely, through the din of her body being coaxed powerfully through colours and bright lights and fireworks. What unknowable sensation was this? Then she felt almost as though her fingers, toes, hands and feet were vibrating. Was it a stroke? Was it something to do with pleasure centres and pressure points? Was the Doctor's non-humanness doing something to her, in his forceful lovemaking?

"Doctor, I feel..." she tried, knowing that it was a long shot even to wonder if he would hear her, as long as her voice remained so thin and breathy...

But nearly as quickly as it began, it was gone. The vibrating stopped, and whatever presence was clawing at her mind seemed to slink away.

Almost as though it retreated as soon as she became aware of it.

It was nothing, it was nothing, she told herself, as she turned her attention back to the moment. The only thing in her mind, and the only sensation against her skin, was him. His voice whispering, his breath, the sounds of him in pleasure, were all that she could hear.

And then everything else went out the window, because she started the familiar slow climb toward total release. Nothing else in the human experience could quite so resolutely root one's consciousness in the here and now. Her body practically changed texture, as everything went rigid and began to push back, and she began to feel fuel rising inside.

The Doctor's movements, in spite of their urgency, in spite of their quickness, were perfect - they virtually always were. Something in his rhythm and hers, when in concert, just worked; either that, or he'd lied to her when he'd said he couldn't read her mind.

It was right. And she was reminded of this once again, when the slow climb became a sprint, and suddenly, she found herself bursting, clawing at the carpet, coming quite suddenly...

...but also experiencing something, once again, that she had never felt before. Her body was buzzing - not in the usual way. Alongside the waves of perfect, liquid catharsis, there seemed to be something insinuating itself in her being. It felt like the explosion radiating off of her was attracting a different kind of energy, something living and breathing and strange...

Though it did not stop her from feeling deliciously shattered, flooded with fire. She cried out, and let go of those qualms.

Then, within a few seconds, right in her ear, a groan, a breath, words emitted almost without his knowing: "Martha, I can't hold back."

"Why on Earth would you?" she asked as her own explosion began to die down, and euphoria set in.

And no foreign sensation could stop her from feeling powerful and sated when he came along behind her, inside her. She heard every strained breath, every meted-out moan and felt the rug under her head bunch up while he braced himself with handfuls of it.

Tremors were surging through her, both familiar and new, but she was able to put out of her mind the "new" ones, in order to enjoy the pleasant ones. And as he threw himself to his left and collapsed beside her, panting, she had nearly no conscious memory of the "new" sensation.


Lying on her side, with a wonderful view of the bottom of the sofa, she felt ludicrously content. His body was pressed against her back, his arm was draped over her waist, and she could hear his breathing returning to normal.

She closed her eyes, and almost dozed for a moment... but then there was music. A simple, sober, yet somehow also ethereal, piano solo was followed by a woman's voice...

This moment, perfect, golden,
Grasp it, see it.
This moment, laughing, happy,
Feel it, be it.

Curve of face, warmth of hands,
Butterfly
Pinned in place when it lands
Try, try...

This moment, ripened, bursting,
Taste it, name it.
This moment, precious, fleeting,
Catch it, frame it.

The gentle lilt of the song reflected perfectly how she felt just now. She particularly liked the words "ripened," and "bursting," as descriptors. She marvelled as she often did at the Doctor's uncanny ability to choose the perfect music for the moment.

He must indeed have been anticipating an incendiary romp with her - he'd planned music for before and after! She smiled to herself.

Curve of moon, warmth of air,
Willow bough...
Winter's soon, be aware!
Now, how?

Suddenly the singer's voice was stronger, higher and the song took a decided turn. The piano ran to forte, and the tone of the singing became urgent...

This sadness, aching, reaching,
Looking on
At this moment, present, distant
Shining bubble,
Touch it, lose it

Happy, laughing, perfect, golden,
Gone.

Martha's private smile became a frown. Of course these moments were fleeting, but did she really need a reminder? Did a woman who was less than three per cent the age of the man she loved, really need him to tell her how ephemeral happiness could be? Though she had never experienced the long, long life of a Time Lord herself, and never would, she was painfully aware of how she must be a blip in his life.

But what she felt was confusion. She could not find it within herself to be irritated.

"Gone?" she said.

"Mm?" he asked, as though he'd been dozing a bit himself.

"Perfect, golden... gone?"

"What are you on about?" he said evenly.

"The song."

"What song?"

"The one you just played. Why did you choose that? I loved the first half, but the second half was a bit..."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"The song, Doctor," she said sitting up. Now she was irritated. "You played a song. It ended not ten seconds ago!"

"I didn't play a song, Martha."

"Get off," she sighed. "I just heard it."

"You heard a song?"

"Yes!"

"Just now? Since we've just been lying here?"

"Yes! Didn't you choose it?"

"No. And Martha, there was no music. Not since the Elbow song ended, but that was when we were still..."

"What?" she shouted, getting to her feet, and hastily looking for her linen trousers. He also stood up and put his own trousers back together, then searched for his jacket and tie. "Doctor, please tell me you're just mucking about."

"I'm not," he said. "I swear to you, I heard no music! And I certainly didn't initiate any."

"Then what the hell did I hear?"

"I have no idea," he said, shrugging. "It must've been your imagination."

"My imagination? That's the best you can do?"

"Well, I don't know what else to tell you!"

"It was a song I'd never heard before, Doctor, and a voice I'd never heard before," she insisted, hands on her hips, properly annoyed/afraid now. "How am I just going to imagine an entire song, in a made-up voice, and not realise I'm imagining it?"

He sighed, buttoned his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets. He scowled and contemplated her for a few moments.

"How did it go?"

"Erm..." she closed her eyes and tried to remember. She sang a few lines. "This moment, perfect, idyllic... la-la, la-la... ripened, bursting... say it, name it, own it... or something like that."

"And it ended with... what did you say? Perfect, golden... gone?"

"Yeah! The whole second half of the song was about how it's all going to collapse soon. This perfection, the bubble, the... happiness." She frowned back at him. "Doctor, what do you think? Please tell me what you're thinking! Why are you frowning at me like that?"

He took a deep, slow breath. "It was all in your head - which is not to say it wasn't real."

"Great. I don't even know what that means."

"There's a slight chance that maybe the TARDIS put it in there," he said. "The only being, other than maybe me, with whom you have any kind of psychic connection like that, is the TARDIS. So before we freak out, we ought to check with her first."

"Freak out? We should freak out?"

"No, I said we should check with the TARDIS first, all right?"

"Oh God," she sighed. "Okay. Okay."

"Just trust me," he said, holding out his arm for her. She fell against him with fear in her eyes. "Let's go talk to her. We'll hold out hope that she's the one screwing with your mind. Or maybe she got her wires crossed somehow."

"Wires crossed? To whom would she have meant to send a cryptic song about shattered happiness?"

"I don't know," he said. "That's why we're going to ask her."