It was hard to tell whether Martha or Steve was more on edge following her pregnancy scare. Naturally, she was at sixes and sevens. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to marry Steve, have kids with him, and do all the things that came with growing old together. There was, however, a progression of events she envisioned in her head and a baby at this point threw a spanner in the works.
Steve, on the other hand, seemed to regress into some sort of forties era boy scout. That's not to say that he suddenly came over all prudish. Their sex life was still active and passionate, albeit more cautious. But Martha still got the impression that Steve was stuck on the need to do right by her, the biggest indication being his incessant desire to be formally introduced to her parents.
Following Tish's visit to New York, Martha had a long conversation with her mum about the new man in her life. Unsurprisingly, Francine was less than thrilled to hear that her stalwart daughter had once again fallen for an impossibly reckless man. But Steve wasn't the Doctor and he wasn't going to break her heart. One day Martha would get her mother to see that, preferably before Francine had a chance to either give Steve the third degree or a firm slap.
So in late November, Martha found herself back in London laying the groundwork for what would inevitably be one of the most stressful events in the most recent history of her life…Steve's first Christmas with the Jones family. She was almost thankful to have work as a distraction.
Being back with UNIT on British soil required a bit of an adjustment on Martha's part. After working stateside for so long, she had grown accustomed to the quiet predictability of maintaining the eastern seaboard. The UK may have been smaller geographically, but the threat level was higher, especially around Christmas. On the plus side, there was also a greater chance of seeing the Doctor and Clara.
After their adventure in Brooklyn, Martha had developed a fast friendship with Clara, who kept her abreast of the Doctor's activities, including the news of his latest regeneration. Martha had only just adjusted to the baby faced Doctor in the bowtie and now she had, as Clara described him, a greying Scot with angry eyebrows to look forward to and a lost planet of Time Lords to be on guard for.
Of course, the Doctor wasn't the only thing they chatted about. Clara was eager for updates on Martha's relationship with Steve and her life in general. The fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. was global news, but the bit about Bucky's survival left her stunned.
"If I would have known Sergeant Snogwell was still around in this century, then I would have helped you search," Clara joked.
"Still thinking about that kiss, are you, Connie?" Martha teased.
"It was a bloody good kiss," Clara insisted. "And we did mention a double date."
Martha knew that romance would be the least of their concerns, if and when they found Bucky, but it still was a pleasant thought. As it were, Clara ended up with a new man of her own to chat about.
Danny Pink sounded like quite the man to hear Clara describe him and he was a soldier, not unlike Steve. The ladies made plans for that aforementioned double date once Martha and Steve were back in London, but by the time Martha returned home, fate had intervened. A sudden tragedy claimed Mr. Pink's life and robbed Clara of her happy ending. Worst of all, Martha didn't even have a chance to properly try and console her grieving friend before she found herself in the middle of a tragedy of a different sort.
Martha was never overly fond of Cybermen. Their lack of humanity was unnerving enough, but the death of her cousin Adeola at their hand cemented her distaste for them. Now that the Master was back and the dead, Adeola likely included, had been risen as Cybermen, Martha felt sick full stop. But there was no time to mourn the dead when the living were at risk.
Martha hunched over Kate Stewart's supine form between tombstones in the graveyard checking her vitals. "She'll be fine in time," she informed Clara, who hovered nearby. The Doctor was there as well, but Martha was having a hard time looking him in the eye.
"And what about you?" The Doctor questioned, in a voice that Martha had yet to become accustomed to but a tone she'd know anywhere.
Martha made herself meet his eyes and an unspoken understanding passed between them. No matter the changes to the package, he was still the same man inside. The one she had once loved and, in her darker moments, occasionally hated. "I'm always fine," she lied.
"Not fine…brilliant," he countered. Martha forced a smile and pressed on with her work.
By the time she returned to her flat, her whole body ached from the tension. She took a hot shower to loosen her muscles, ignoring the burn as her tears mixed with the falling water. She emerged feeling and looking like a drowned rat. Tracking around her apartment in a towel, she took some ibuprofen and chased it down with half a bottle of Moscato.
A few hours later, she was curled up on her sofa with the now empty wine bottle next to her on the floor when she wrenched herself up into a sitting position, griping her slipping towel with one hand and rubbing her throbbing temple with the other.
Once she was certain that she could proceed without vomiting or blacking out, Martha planted her feet firmly on the ground and took a calming breath. Sam had taught her a grounding technique following her panic attacks in Washington D.C. Now was as good of time as any to put it to use.
With eyes focused on the photo of her family on wall across from her, Martha began to recite the poem she had chosen at her mantra. "Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul." She paused momentarily and lowered her hand from her temple and placed it flat against her navel as she threw in another deep breath through her nose. "In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the Horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."
She repeated the poem a few more times until she felt strong enough to stand and dress herself. After several bottles of water, a small dinner and another dose of painkillers, she felt enough like herself to check on her family. She needed to tell them about Missy, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Not now. Not while her emotions were so raw. She couldn't risk her mum worrying. So she needed to find her strength again before she revealed the truth.
With her family squared away, the next call she made was to Clara. It was a short conversation since they had only just parted hours before. Still, Martha needed her to know that she had her support. Clara shared the sentiment.
After Clara, she rang Sam. His voice was always a welcomed sound. She quickly thanked him again for his help with her anxiety and asked him about his day to get her mind off of her own. She needed his calming influence before she made her final call.
Steve had barely said hello before Martha unloaded all her burdens on him. Cybermen had risen in New York as well, but she filled in the blanks with the parts he wouldn't have known about, namely the Master's return as Missy.
"Martha," Steve's voice was tense on the other end of the line as she knew it would be.
"I'm fine," she said automatically.
"Don't lie."
"I'm…I'm…" Her voice wavered. "I'm…scared," she admitted to both him and herself. "Truly and properly scared that if she can come back once…then she'll keep coming back again and again. I'm scared that she'll hurt my family again. That she'll hurt you." Her thoughts drifted to Clara and Danny and her resolve crumbled all at once. "I can't lose you."
"I know you're afraid, but you're not alone," Steve insisted.
She closed her eyes and fought back her tears. "I need you here. Is there any way that you could…"
"Stark lent us his jet," Steve cut in. "Natasha set the whole thing up. As soon as the threat level was lowered and we got clearance for takeoff, Barton had it gassed up and ready to go. He says we should have wheels down in another couple of hours."
She choked out a chuckle between sobs. "They're always in the thick of it, aren't they?"
"Yea." The tension left his voice and Martha envisioned that shy smile of his starting to creep up at the corner of his mouth. "When we became a team, we swore to protect each other's lives. And they all know that you are my life."
Martha felt the tears start up again, but for a different reason completely. "I love you."
"I love you too," he answered, voice as tender and gentle as if he were right there whispering into her ear. "Get some rest. I'll be there by the time you wake up."
"Promise?"
"As you wish."