BACK AGAIN!!

Thank you so much for all the reviews. I AM SO HAPPY!
But anyway...moving on.
Getting on with it...This is the seventh Chapter in this entire story, we're getting much closer to the end now. Maybe two Chapters left to go.
I'm so sorry, but I just like a little bit of Ten Whump. Just a little bit...in every way that I can get it.
Mind you, it's a bit obvious that I also LOVE Ten/Martha.
This chapter is pretty much Ten/Martha.
Read on and review!!


CHAPTER 7: FALLING

The Doctor spun on his heel, in time to see Martha collapse.

Jack's arms shot out, catching her, screaming at the Master, who was laughing like a mad man.

The Doctor watched, a cold horror creeping through his body; he could swear his hearts had stopped.

Jack had lowered her to the ground, gazing at her still face, his own face a mixture of fear, sorrow and denial.

For a moment, the Doctor could not move, his feet disobeyed the screamed orders of both his mind and his hearts. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, and all he could see was Martha.

Then, the moment fled into the past, and he moved; darting quickly to her side.

He hit his knees, not bothering to register the pain from the jarring motion, he simply leaned over Martha, craning to see her face, to see her eyes.

But there was nothing.

Her eyes were not open, her face held no emotion.

"Here…you take her…" Jack's voice was torn with emotion, deeper and rougher than ever before as he gently lifted Martha into his arms.

He noticed immediately that she was a dead weight, that there was no strength in any of her muscles. Her head was resting against his chest as he let his legs fold into a more comfortable position.

He cradled her to him.

She was hurt.

Badly hurt.

Not gone.

No

Never gone.

All he needed to get her to do was wake up.

"…M-Martha?" he asked, not caring if he sounded so weak and vulnerable as he did.

Despite him calling her, she didn't move.

He blinked a few times, barely sparing a moment to wonder why everything was going blurry and why his throat ached so badly.

Gently, he shook her, trying to rouse her from her sleep.

"Martha?...Martha, wake up…" he pleaded; unintentionally whispering.

His voice felt broken, he couldn't manage to raise it any louder than it was.

He didn't care if he sounded desperate.

He was.

Beside him, very vaguely, he heard murmuring.

Like someone was speaking from a million light years away. Not loud enough or important enough to draw his attention from the sill face of his companion.

She was pale, turning so pale. Even showing through her darkish skin.

She was a very light brown, different from a lot of other people he had travelled with, but it never mattered to the Doctor.

He didn't register colour as a form of difference, nor was race a form of difference.

Not even species.

But for some reason, Martha had always felt like it mattered, like at any given moment she's loose all she had with the Doctor because she was a different colour.

In his eyes though, it had made her beautiful.

Even at the hospital, when she first spoke to him.

She'd been beautiful.

Not that it mattered either, Rose had been beautiful, Jack in his own way, himself, the TARDIS.

Everything had a radiating beauty.

Martha's had been more prominent, probably fuelled by the beauty of her developed mind.

Now, looking down on her, her body so still and heavy in his arms, she was as beautiful as ever.

"Martha…please…open your eyes…please...open your eyes" he begged, raising a hand to her face.

His fingers brushed ever so slightly over her cheek, and even through this slight contact, he felt the warmth fleeing from her skin.

He sat here, gently running his fingers over her face.

He felt something start to swell in side his chest, before it charged up his throat.

He released a hiccupping sob, his hearts quivering in the moments before shattering.

It had been so obvious, that he couldn't deny it. He'd known since first taking her in his arms.

He'd clung to the small hope that maybe his voice would reach her, that some how she had dodged and fallen in shock.
Fainted.

That was the word.

But she hadn't been breathing.

He couldn't feel a heartbeat.

The radiating beauty that came from her was gone.

He's failed.

He'd failed fantastically.

Spectacularly even.

He'd sworn to protect her, not to loose her. For her not to end up like Rose.

No.

This was worse.

He could take no comfort from this as he could from Rose.

She was alive and well, with her family, living her life the way she should.

Martha wasn't.

She lay dead in his arms.

Never to breathe the air, never to see the sky, never to live her life, get her degree, meet a man, become a wife, mother wonderful children; live a good, full and rich life.

He'd failed her, he'd failed himself, failed Jack, her family and everyone on Earth.

An innocent person was dead, because he'd met her.

He'd failed.

Tears that blurred his vision now drenched his face, running free and unchecked.

A wretched sob of agony and loss and regret, broke from him and another and another.

It wasn't long before he was crying, sobbing uncontrollably, curled around Martha's body, his head rested under her chin, shaking his head and pleading for forgiveness.

Then came that voice.

That smug voice, that enraging voice.

"And you call yourself a Time Lord" The Master scoffed.

At first, the Doctor ignored the Master, concentrating solely on his grief and Martha. Yet, the Master persisted in tormenting.

"Such a pitiful, pathetic, weak creature, clinging to humans…you kill them Doctor…don't you realise that? If you hadn't taken her, she might still be alive! It's all your fault…" the Master taunted.

It was then, that the Doctor's mind plunged into the darkness, his body filling with anger.

It had been the Master that had fired; shot her.

Killed her.

Slowly, he looked up at the Master, through the tears, glaring at him through eyes that betrayed his broken state.

Hate flowed freely.

The Master chuckled self assuredly, before holding up Jack's armlet with a smug smile and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Good luck in murdering the next one Doctor. Rassilion, knows this girl suffered enough." The Master said.

He intended to leave the conversation hanging, to let the words burn the Doctor's hearts for all eternity as he ran.

But the Doctor would not let this happen.

As the Master pressed the button, the Doctor let out a roar of primal rage and leapt at the Master, getting a hand to the device.

Effectively disappearing with the Master.


He landed hard on the rocky ground, smashing into the solid and unforgiving terrain.

It drove the air from the Doctor's lungs and with such force, he descended into a coughing fit.

Nearby, he heard gasps. Undoubtedly from the Master.

Slowly, the Doctor managed to look around and take in the surroundings as he clambered to his feet.

They had landed on a large cliff, with nothing but blackened rocks with small tufts of pale green grass straggling luridly across the jagged edges, bending awkwardly yet smoothly in the wind that must have been ever present.

On either side, the cliff dropped away to form a sort of ridge. One side led away in a steep decline, giving way to endless fields of pale green grass.

On the other side, the cliff became a sheer drop, perhaps 250 feet down, into another great field occupied by hundreds and hundreds of missiles, steaming and hissing.

Aimed at the sky.

It inspired even greater rage in the Doctor as he turned to the Master.

Those black eyes regarded him, almost measuring him in someway, and giving the Doctor's fury, he took offence.

"You killed her" he breathed, his teeth bared as he contemplated how to tear the Master limb from limb.

"Wrong…you killed…" the Master began in that self assured tone.

"I DIDN'T KILL HER. YOU DID" The Doctor roared and the Master's voice faltered into silence.

For a moment, nothing but the wind and the grass moved.

The Master saw the rage of the ancient Time Lord, the burning fire raging in his eyes

And now they were alone.

So alone upon the ridge, the last two Time Lords that existed.

With a sudden blur of movement, the Master revealed the laser screwdriver, instantly met by the Sonic Screwdriver in the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor felt oddly calm, standing facing death, facing the very instrument hat had taken Martha's life.

A cackle of maddened glee erupted from the Master, and he actually smiled.

"You want to pitch the Sonic against the Laser?" he laughed.

Yet the Doctor was not in the mood to chat about idle matters.

With the click of a button, sonic soundwaves battered into the intricate, delicate workings of the Laser Screwdriver that the Master held, smoke and sparks crackled from it, and with a sudden cry of dismay, he threw the now broken device over the edge of the cliff in disgust.

He turned as the Doctor deposited the Sonic back into the inner pocket of his jacket, and again they stood facing each other, each silently daring the other to make a move against him.

"…There's no regeneration…neither of us are linked to the TARDIS" the Master said, voicing some part of a conversation that he was having in his head.

"I know" The Doctor deadpanned.

It seemed to concern the Master that the Doctor sounded and appeared emotionless.

His face was blank, perhaps his mouth set in a sort of grim line, but there was nothing more.

His eyes however, were telling.

Raging fires smouldered restlessly in his dark brown eyes; such anger and hate and torment that did not reach his face.

The Master grew fearful; the Doctor simply stood there, his only movements were that of the wind tousling his hair and pulling relentlessly at his long tan overcoat.

Other than that, which could not even be classed as physical movement; he was still.

Then, in a movement bourn of sheer madness and certain folly, the Master charged to meet the Doctor head one, to hopefully slam into him and crush him against the jagged rocks.

There would only be one Time Lord leaving the cliff, and the Master was determined for it to be him.


The Valiant was so very silent. The silence wasn't normal either.

It was oppressive.

A dead silence.

One that made Jack so restless.

He'd busied himself at first by checking the guards that they had knocked out at the beginning of the 'plan', then dragging them into a room and locking them in.

It suddenly struck him as he pressed the numbers on the keypad to lock the door, that in no way, had their plan worked.

Everything had gone so wrong.

As it ended up, both Michael and Brett were dead, the world still in ruins, the Master and the Doctor in some place, perhaps both dead now, and Martha had been killed.

The thought, the mere thought of her death brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

He glanced at her, before shaking his head.

Jack couldn't remove the image in his mind; the Doctor slumped over her. His thin frame trembling as he wept, and the horrible knowledge that nothing the Jack could ever say or do, would make any of it the slightest bit better.

The Doctor had sounded like a child, tentatively calling to Martha, like a lost child calling for their mother. Before they realised that they had lost the hand that they so desperately cling to.

Identical to the Doctor's reaction.

At first, he was hesitative, unsure, calling her name so very quietly. He grew bolder, requesting her consciousness.

Then came the begging, the heartbreaking sound of the Doctor, an ancient being, revered as a god in many cultures, pleading. He'd sought a physical connection, but none could be established.

Martha wasn't there anymore.

And finally, he broke, under it all, he simply broke. Like any human would. Folding in on himself and crying.

Jack could still see the tears in his eyes, hear the tremor in his voice, feel his hearts ripping into a million pieces; the reaction of the Doctor burned into his mind.

"Jack"

The Ex-Time Agent looked up to find Ricky at the top of the stairs.

He and Adam had gone to tend to the brothers, but as Jack had found with Martha, there was nothing to tend to.

Death was the finality.

They were gone.

"Orders?" Ricky asked, feebly almost.

It almost made Jack laugh aloud at the irony.

Some people cling to the memories of those that passed, like Jack.

Some were eager to escape them, like Ricky.

"None to give" Jack sighed.

As he turned away, a sudden memory flooded Jack's mind.

He could recall, so vividly the feelings and intentions he had for the Mater almost a year ago. He'd been so eager, so ready, to put a bullet into the Master's skull, just to kill him.

It finally dawned on him why the Doctor had said he wasn't ready.

The thought had dogged his mind, dominated most of his thoughts while travelling, but he'd never been able to put his finger on what the Doctor saw, and Jack didn't.

It had been the lack of conscious thought.

The Master was a Time Lord, and no doubt did the Doctor want to exhaust all options before resorting to murder.

And if he had Jack chomping at the bit to take his head off, there was no possibly way that the Doctor could exhaust these options.

Jack would have been a liability, rather than an asset.

"Didn't amount to much" Jack whispered as he leaned back against the glass table.

In his eyes everything failed.

Their main objective had been to rid the world of the Toclafane, capture the Master and save Martha.

Yet in reality, the Toclafane still infested the world like metal rats with urges to kill, the Master had escaped, regardless of the Doctor going with him, soon as they landed, the Master would have shot him with the Laser Screwdriver anyway and with no connection to the TARDIS he could not regenerate.

And Martha had been killed rather than saved and on top of all that, they'd lost Michael, Brett and the Doctor most likely.

One of the most unsuccessful missions Jack had ever embarked upon, including World War One, World War Two, his time spent at the Time Agency, his time as a coward/conman, his time with the Doctor AND his time at Torchwood.

That was saying a lot.

Everything seemed to fall silent again, even the quiet murmuring of Ricky and Adam.

It was almost complete again, the type of silence that one sits down and remembers in, that you travel to days long since passed.

Sitting under the shade of a large tree upon the bank of a river on a lazy summer's day, listening comfortably to the gurgling of the river as you dozed.

Jack sat against the table, his mind lost in it's countless memories.

He was charging down a rocky slope, in the dark, the cold biting at his face with his heavy backpack bouncing in time with his steps. Ahead of him, he could just make out the form of the Doctor, racing ahead of him, his long tan overcoat streaming behind him as he moved with all the grace and speed of a cheetah.

Behind him, he heard Martha's breathing, her heavy footsteps as she ran in boots with high heels. He imagined that it took some skill, to run on high heels over a rocky terrain at this speed.

Exhilaration ran thought him and he cackled momentarily.

This was living.

He didn't know how he'd lived without this rush for so long.

But he was suddenly drawn from his memories of recent events with a faint whining noise very faint, so faint in fact that it wouldn't have been audible if someone was talking.

In the silence though, it was quite loud.

As he looked up, he noticed a section of space quivering abnormally.

Then it hit him.

Someone was coming back using his armlet.

Perhaps both of the Master and the Doctor were returning, though Jack some how doubted it.

Bracing himself for the worst, he slipped off the table, backing away from the entry point.

The Time Vortex opened, ripping apart reality and an outline of a figure appeared.

Jack squinted, trying to peer deeper into the Vortex.

But he couldn't make out who it was.


And another cliffie. This one is a little worse than the other.
Mind you...I hope you liked it.
I would LOVE it if you reviewed.
Please?
By the way, if you have't figured it out. The italics are Jack's memories.