Hi everyone! It's been almost a year since I've written or posted anything Doctor Who-related... I have been working on an ambitious story for another Fandom (plus a plot-bunny sidetrack) and decided to devote all of my (writing) attention to it. If you are reading this, I am extremely grateful that you've stuck with me in my lost-in-2007 mindset. I still care about this pairing and it makes me immensely happy to continue writing for them!

The downside to coming back to it after so long is that I feel a bit ham-handed in writing for Martha and the 10th Doctor again... after so many years of doing so, I had their voices down-pat, I felt. This doesn't feel the same, as I'm still re-finding my way. Please be kind as I grow back into it!

The last time I wrote for Doctor Who, it was "The Pleasure Vortex," in which Martha, the Doctor, and Captain Jack take down a vicious, greedy operation that was robbing people of their joy and driving many of them to suicide. In the midst of it all, Martha and the Doctor became, basically, a couple, which they often do in my stories! This jumps off from where that story leaves off. But rest assured, it is a completely different animal, and you should have no trouble following things!

Side note: I hadn't meant for this to become a Torchwood crossover, but the way the story sits at the moment, that's what it is. I don't know if it will, in the end, remain that way.

Also... don't blink.

But do enjoy!

ONE

Martha Jones' entire existence had nearly been retconned beyond all recognition.

Once again, an arrogant force in the universe thought it could mess with time and space, and use unnatural, perverted power and technology to destroy lives, simply to make money. That was always the sort of thing that got the Doctor right pissed off, so eventually, of course, the perpetrators of this crime had been brought to their knees and/or converted to the cult of the Doctor.

Well, not quite. But sort of.

They had been non-violently dispatched, and eventually, out of necessity, talked into working toward love, instead of power. This was the kind of thing the Doctor was incredibly good at, but Martha was better. She had quite recently saved the world with that skill, and it was really her rhetoric that had turned the bus around.

In any case, the important thing was, Raiden and O'Keeffe couldn't operate the so-called Pleasure Vortex anymore, and the Doctor hadn't had to kill nor imprison either of them, so it was a win.

But in the meantime, they had thoroughly screwed with Martha's life, her very presence in the universe, and driven her damn near to suicide. Or some version of her. Past her. Getting her mind around it, even now, was somewhat confusing, though the Doctor had explained it more than once (not that she had asked).

She tried not to dwell on it, as it was now two weeks later, and they were on day-ten of sunning themselves on the French Riviera during a much-needed holiday. This was after their previous much-needed holiday had resulted in skulking, sonicking, and feeling the fabric of time being altered in their guts. It had been, in many ways, a very unpleasant spa retreat.

But in other ways, that stay at the resort had been absolute ecstasy – quite by design, one might say. Because as a means-to-an-end of smoking out the bad guy, she and the Doctor had been propelled towards each other in the best way possible. And at the end of it all, villains beaten, ecstasy had, joy intact, he had asked, "What's next for you? I mean… three, four days ago, you were kind of done with all this. With me."

"A lot can happen in four days. I felt I was done with you because I couldn't continue living on just one side of love. Now I don't have to. Do I?"

"No, definitely not," he had said. And after hemming and hawing a bit more, he had confessed, "Well, I love you. And… it is what it is. Time is what it is. We are what we are… that's all I can say, and I think it's enough. And I think we should take advantage of it, but not at the expense of your sanity. Your joy."

"What do you mean, my joy?"

"Look at you. You're worn out… you feel everything heavily because you're so empathic, and you want to heal the world and…"

"But without those troughs, how will I feel the peaks?" she asked.

He swallowed hard, and crossed his arms. "Yeah. Good point."

"Without having gone through that crap-storm we just went through, how will I appreciate the bliss of the South of France?"

It was a holiday they had planned to take while they were fighting the bad guy, and wishing they didn't have to worry about their every move costing Martha her life.

He smiled. "Still want to go?"

"Still want to take me?"

"Oh, yes. So, shall we find a place to stay in Sainte-Maxime and create our own little pleasure vortex?"

She had laughed. "Wow, that was a really corny thing to say."

"I'll do better on my next attempt at sexy. Sorry – I'm a bit out of practise."

"You know what can be really, really sexy?"

"What?"

"Not fighting the forces of evil for, say, a fortnight. Maybe even ten days."

And here they were.

And indeed, here in sleepy Sainte-Maxime, there had been no near-misses with their lives, no chases, no narrow escapes. What she risked here and now was heartbreak. But, she reminded herself, every love comes with fear. Fear of pain, fear of loss, fear of what happens if and when it all ends, whatever that may mean…

…but no risk had ever not been worth taking, just to be in the Doctor's presence, in his life and world. So why wouldn't she risk heartache to be in his arms?

So, she pushed it all aside, and simply enjoyed the sun-kissed town. For them, at this moment, it was a haven of exhalation, lovemaking, sunshine, and metaphorically, time standing still.

Despite the inordinate number of three-hundred-pound Greek men walking about in Speedos.

"Why, oh why?" Martha asked, as she lounged on a beach of white sand, people-watching, her gaze trying desperately not to follow once such Greek talking loudly on a mobile phone.

"Why what? The noise or the view?"

"Both, really. Do you think they're all related? Like one family of brothers having decided to holiday here?"

"Could be. It takes all kinds, Martha," the Doctor muttered back to her. He had just sat down again, beside her under the large umbrella, after a swim and a game of Frisbee in the low breakers with some American kids.

"Speaking of taking all kinds, have you heard from Jack?"

"Not since The Plass," he said.

"Hm. I'd have thought he would at least phone."

"He probably got back to the Hub and had to hit the ground running. It's 'all go' around those parts."

"Cardiff?"

The Doctor smirked. "Well, I was just thinking, in Jack's presence. But yeah, Cardiff, too. They've got that rift, which is quite convenient if you've got a TARDIS to refuel, but quite a pain in the arse if you're trying to accomplish literally anything else there."

After the Pleasure Vortex debacle two weeks prior, during which the immortal Captain had almost died for good, Martha and the Doctor had said goodbye (for now) to Jack in Roald Dahl Plass. He was ready to take responsibility, and get back to his crew.

It was about five minutes during which they held hands, and said nothing – just watched the sapphire sea and sky, and the people basking in it.

And then there came a buzz from inside the bag at the foot of the Doctor's lounge chair, indicating a text message.

"I'm expecting a possible check-in from my aunt today," Martha said. "Can you get it for me?"

He leaned forward and dug into the bag, and extracted her mobile phone and handed it to her.

She looked at the display. "Well, talk of the devil... it's Jack. The text says, 'have you been following the disappearances at Oystermouth?'"

The Doctor sighed and said to her, "And here we go. This is your fault, you know."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

They walked hand-in-hand to a seaside restaurant which they had frequented quite a bit during their sojourn in Sainte-Maxime, and had a late lunch. It came complete with Pastis for the Doctor, and a short Belgian beer for Martha. Then they took their time getting back to the hotel, holding hands again of course, shopping just a bit, while they talked about whether the holiday was over. Martha said she was all right with it, because she felt relaxed, and as though they had finally been afforded the time and space needed to recuperate from… well, the past two years of their lives, plus begin to explore their new relationship more deeply.

"I mean, I might never recuperate from all that, but at the moment, I don't feel harried or desperate for sleep," she said. "Or insecure, like you might push me away again."

"That's all I need to hear," he said. "Unless there's something else that can help you get past…"

"Walking all the way round the planet, running from an alien despot, then having my existence endangered by a greedy bitch?"

"Er, yeah."

"Time. Time is what will help. Unfortunately, it's not the kind of time you can give me," she said lightly.

"No, it is not," he said, rather taciturn.

"Doctor, come on now," she scolded. "You've already given me more than I dared hope for. I mean as a Time Lord, and as a… whatever you are to me now."

He smirked. "Okay."

"Everyone has trauma, and I've chosen to take that on with you. Again. So let's take it on. Again."

"Okay," he said. She grabbed onto his arm, and rested her head against his shoulder as they walked.

Once they were in their room, a Mediterranean breeze must have caught them just right through the open window because the next thing they knew, they were snogging rather hard, fumbling to close the shears, which let in only light. They made love one more time with the southern air and sun nipping at their sighs. Then, a combination of heat, alcohol, physical exertion, and a thorough absence of desire to be in a hurry to get anywhere, caused them to fall asleep for a while. When they woke, it was dark. They decided to check out of the hotel that evening, and return to their very strange life.

Then, and only then, did they text Jack back. After a short exchange, they agreed to download and watch a video that the team at Torchwood had taken.

Back in the TARDIS, the travellers simply tossed their baggage into the bedroom, then changed into attire more fitting to investigating weird stuff happening in Wales. For the Doctor that always meant the same thing: a pinstriped suit and Converse. Today he chose brown. Martha had enjoyed the color-coordinated variety of blue, brown, burgundy, and white casual-wear and beach togs she had seen on the Doctor over the past ten days, but she was nevertheless glad to see him back looking like himself.

A video file entitled 'Oystermouth-TW394052' came up on the screen. Whoever was holding the camera was getting out of a black car or SUV. They joined Jack, an Asian woman, an annoyed-looking white guy, and another woman. The camera depicted the four of them staring intently down at something, then it panned to show what they were studying.

"It's a cemetery. Why the hell am I here?" a male cockney voice asked. It wasn't Jack, nor was it the cameraperson, so it had to be the annoyed guy.

"Because we don't know what's causing it, Owen," Jack's voice could be heard to say, as the camera gave a panorama of the Oystermouth Cemetery, jam-packed with high grave stones, statues, effigies, mausoleums of every kind. "It could be rift energy, which is kind of my area. It could be technology, which is Toshiko's area. It could be as simple as a serial killer…"

"That's simple?" asked the man, apparently named Owen.

"In which case, we'll need Gwen," Jack continued. "Or…"

"Or it could be zombies," one of the women joked. Her accent was thick and Welsh. "That's your area, Owen. Dead bodies up walking around, limbs falling off, eating brains…" and then she started to laugh.

"She looks familiar," the Doctor said.

"The Welsh one?" Martha asked.

"Actually, both of the women. But more so the Welsh one, yeah."

"Thank you, Gwen," Jack said, cutting across her joke, which he found unfunny. "Or it could be some sort of heavily mutated virus or bacteria, or other biological agent. And that's where you come in, Dr. Harper. Plus, if we're walking into a place where there's been a rash of disappearances, we're going to want as many eyes on the situation as possible."

The camera panned back to the group.

"All right, fine," Owen agreed, grudgingly. He checked his weapon currently holstered in his trouser waist under the back of his t-shirt. With that, Jack began heading into the cemetery, hero coat billowing behind him, and his armed crew followed, with the cameraperson taking up the rear.

And as they walked, the cameraperson spoke. It was a man's voice, even-keel, Londoner, sounded nice.

"For the tape, we are currently in Oystermouth Cemetery, you should be able to see the date and time at the top of the display – both are accurate. We're here because in the last four weeks, about a dozen people have gone missing. Walked into the cemetery, never walked out. There is no CCTV that covers the grounds – only the periphery, so all we know is that they crossed the threshold and disappeared."

"This is the older part of the cemetery, yeah?" Gwen said from somewhere off-camera.

"Well, clearly," Owen replied, his voice, as before, dripping with annoyance.

And indeed, on the screen, they could see that the stonework was crumbling in places, blackening, smoothing over, some tombstones were sitting askew, and the grass was a bit overgrown. Generally speaking, this section of the cemetery was experiencing the natural ravages of time. The place had opened in 1883, and this sector dated back to then. There was nothing off-putting about it, and it was no-one's fault – the place was just old.

"Does it matter?" asked the cameraman.

"Well, it should be noted that the newer part is down that way over to the southeast," Toshiko said, to him, facing him on the video now. She was holding a device that seemed to be measuring the lay of the land somehow. "And adjacent to that, to the north, there is Oystermouth Woodland Burial."

"Right, we should check the CCTV along that area to see who goes in and never comes out," Jack said. "What's beyond the Woodland Burial?"

"Er…" Tosh said, examining her device. "Looks like it backs up to a bunch of houses, but Glen Road is not too far away and runs all along the back with some residentials in-between. We might be able to pull something useful from the footage there, and maybe from the side streets that feed onto it. Especially Prospect Terrace."

"Gwen?" Jack said to his Welsh colleague.

"On it," she said, pulling her mobile phone from her pocket.

And they all continued to walk deeper and deeper into the cemetery, with statue after statue, stone after stone, tribute after tribute.

Observing their activities, Martha had a very strong sense memory of hiding out in Paris in Père Lachaise cemetery. It was one of the hardest parts of her yearlong mission to bring down the Master. Paris was such a well-known city, well-documented, well-storied with oppression and resistance, and was rife with residences, monuments, hotels, catacombs, et cetera. There was nowhere in the city where some historic operative had not hunkered down to wait out a signal, no nook nor cranny above ground where there hadn't been a barricade built or a makeshift hospital operating in secret… No place unknown.

So, the Resistance thought the best place for her, when the scanners came looking, was inside a tomb. And indeed, it was one of the few places during her time in Europe where the spheres simply passed overhead without stopping to sniff about. The scheme had kept her safe, and everyone in the Resistance in Paris for the time being – it was a smart move. But she had lain on top of a stone sarcophagus for hours, in the pitch dark beneath the floor of a mausoleum, all alone. She had plenty of room to move, plus some water, and had not had to come into contact with the body of the person buried there, but still. It might as well have been her worst fear realised…

"You okay?" the Doctor asked.

She realised she had grabbed onto his arm, and was digging her nails in.

"Oh. Oh, God, yes, I'm fine. Just… an unpleasant memory about a cemetery resurfaced… I hadn't known it would be this powerful."

"Want to stop the video?"

"No, it's fine."

"Sure?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the video said loudly, snapping both of their eyes back to the screen. It was Jack's voice, and the cameraman searched around dizzyingly for the source of the ruckus.

"What?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"Look at this thing!" Jack shouted.

The camera got closer to him, and zoomed in on the object in his hand.

"Wha… that's… that's… that's my…." the Doctor protested upon seeing it.

"Your Timey-Wimey Detector," Martha finished, pausing the video. "How the hell did he get it?"

"I… I… have no… unless I'm to lose it somewhere in the past and he picks it up because it's a thingie that could be said to be related to his vortex manipulator, and the two devices would sync and home in on one another, and Jack scavenged it, either because he knew I made it or in spite of it, because Torchwood collects alien tech… never mind. I know how he got it."

"Are you sure it's the same one? I mean, not that it matters, I guess…"

"It does matter, because I know exactly what my Timey-Wimey Detector does, and it's going bloody haywire on that video, Martha. Look," he said, pointing at the apparatus in Jack's hand on the screen. "I made my device out of an open-reel tape recorder with a red body, and only one spool. And when I messed with the guts enough, the wires popped out and I set them back in place by gluing a Blackpool post card to it, like any reasonable person would. What are the odds that's not mine?"

"Slim to none, fine," she conceded. "So, in 1969, you said it goes ding when there's stuff. What's it mean when it's going haywire, like you just said a few seconds ago?"

He looked at her quite seriously with blackening eyes. "It means there's a hell of a lot of stuff."

"And by stuff, you mean time energy?"

"Anomalous time energy. Jack must have the thing calibrated to accommodate for the Rift, and only pick up stuff that's not rift-related. That would be the only sensible thing to do."

"Naturally," Martha shrugged, sarcastically. But he didn't catch it.

"The point is, Martha, it went ding when we found Billy Shipton from a few blocks away," he said. Then he hit play.

On the video, the tape on the Detector's spool was spinning at an incredible speed, smoke was coming out of it, and it was making a repeated ding, that sounded like one long one.

"Wow," Martha said. "That's insane."

Jack turned the thing off, and looked at the camera. "What the fuck?" he asked it.

"I wish I knew how to answer that," said the cameraman.

"Give it here," the voice of Toshiko said, approaching. The camera swung to the left where the woman was coming up the hill holding out her hand.

The change of the camera's position was everything.

In the TARDIS console room, three hearts momentarily stopped beating, and Martha jumped and yelled with a start.

"Oh, shit, Doctor, do you see what I see?" she asked breathlessly.

"I see it," he said. His scowl was deeply etched into his face, and its gravitas was terrifying.

Well, you probably already know what they see... but won't this be fun?

Please leave a review to let me know you're out there, what you're thinking, or just to say hi! Thanks so much for reading! I'm glad to be back.