Time's Reluctant Lovers (Across Time and Space)
Chapter 1:
Martha Jones was not where the Doctor expected her to be. She should've been; Martha was a reliable girl like that. Always trustworthy, incredibly competent; she'd never needed him to become the bright star she was meant to be.
So it didn't make sense that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, where he expected her to be. Right where he left her, carrying out the task he wouldn't trust with anyone but her.
For several Earth weeks, the cloister bell had been ringing. At first, the Doctor was sure it was the usual calamity and that he'd have it fixed in a week, tops. But the more he looked into the problem (and the more solutions he tried that inevitably failed), the more certain the Doctor became that the problem was rather outside of his skill set. SuperReal temporal mechanics was never his strong suit, and with Gallifrey and the Time Lords gone, the Doctor was resigning himself to living with the infernal sound.
That's when he remembered Martha and the task he'd given her.
'Of course!' He thought as he rushed into the console room, setting the coordinates for London, a still sleepy and thus highly annoyed Donna in tow. 'Martha Jones has my answer.' He intended to land in the living room of Martha's flat, the one he'd paid for using the salary UNIT was still hilariously paying him.
The entire scenario played across his mind, even as he hastily explained some of the details to Donna. The Tardis would slowly materialize, and he would throw open the door just in time to see Martha rushing from her bedroom. She would immediately smile his favorite smile before flying into his open arms, where he would catch her up into one of their patented big hugs. He was already savoring the sensation of her slight body colliding into his when the Tardis snorted and materialized, not in a carefully selected, cozy flat in London but across the street from an admittedly charming cottage in Dalbeattie, Scotland. Of all places!
The pair spilled out of the ancient spaceship, Donna's eyebrows raised and the Doctor's mouth slightly agape. This wasn't where he'd left Martha! Last he'd seen her, from a distance, mind you, she was slogging away at a desk job for UNIT while her guest worked the perfectly inconspicuous and (more importantly) non-memory jogging job as her research assistant. She'd promised him she would stay put because she understood the gravity of the favor he asked of her. Martha knew that she was the only one he could trust to look after-
"Unless you've accidentally dropped us into another timeline, this isn't London," Donna said dryly, breaking his train of thought.
"That timeline was negated ages ago," the Doctor replied absently, still staring at the cottage with a deeply furrowed brow. Donna looked at him askance, her mouth opening, no doubt to grill him about that, when movement from the cottage caught and held both their attention.
A man was approaching the cottage. He was pale, had brown hair, and was slightly built. Dressed in a red jumper and dark jeans, he was tunelessly whistling as he pushed a pram that held a chattering toddler. A backpack was slung across his shoulders, and the leafy heads of vegetables poking out of the top spoke of a trip to the grocers.
"Impossible," the Doctor whispered as the man's eyebrows dipped, dark, clever eyes narrowing as he caught sight of them, only for his attention to be drawn away as the child in the pram began to kick up a fuss, "absolutely impossible."
Donna, her ire now tinged with concern, stood flush with the Doctor and asked, "What's so strange about a man grocery shopping with his baby?"
The man, as suspicious now as he'd ever been, hurriedly unlocked his front door and pushed the pram, with its now screaming toddler, inside.
"That's just it," the Doctor said, wincing as the front door slammed and undoubtedly locked, "he's not supposed to have a baby."
~~~
Sam Tyler knew right down to the marrow of his bones that he was a lucky man. He had an interesting job at an interesting place. It didn't exactly wear him out intellectually, but it kept him on his toes. He liked when his research called for him to go out in the field and interview people. There was always a challenge in wheedling information from reluctant subjects, from charming his way into places he wasn't strictly allowed in. And he couldn't deny that he derived a certain odd pleasure in watching his coworkers, especially his wife, overcome the latest planetary catastrophe.
Speaking of his wife, six years ago he'd somehow managed to convince the incredibly smart, completely stunning Doctor Martha Jones to marry him. Two years later, she'd given birth to their daughter, and Sam felt that his life really couldn't get any better. A job he liked, a wife he worshiped, and a daughter he adored - no one could ever blame him for feeling like he'd stolen a prize that didn't belong to him.
Maybe it was that sense of you-don't-deserve-this that kept him always slightly on edge. That tinged his subconscious and inner thoughts with a deep sense of alienness and unease, as though he was wearing a suit that didn't quite fit. That was the source of that blasted drumming that always seemed to be just out of his hearing, as if he was catching snatches of a song playing low on a radio two rooms down. Just loud enough to catch his attention and annoy him.
Whatever it was had woken him up at 3:33 a.m., the drumming loud enough that he noticed the rhythmic nature of it for the first time. He'd cut his eyes to Martha nestled in the curve of his body, wondering if she could hear the drumming too. But his subconscious balked, as it always did, when he thought of asking her, and feeling the sting of the rebuke like a physical strike, Sam let his attention be turned to the loveliness of Martha's breasts rhythmically rising and falling beneath one of his old shirts.
He managed to resist temptation for an hour before sliding down her body, gently coaxing her awake with nips and kisses across the thighs he draped over his shoulders, waiting with the same old familiar yet strange giddiness for her eyes to open and notice him between her legs. He could never understand why, but Sam adored the way her eyes would widen and then flutter into half-lidded surrender, her body softening and hips tilting up towards his eager mouth, her quivering clit a glistening pearl he couldn't wait to devour. His pretty little doctor, all spread open and hungry for him. There was nothing better.
They were both showered and dressed by the time Missy woke. Normally as early a riser as her father, it was nearly seven before she could be heard stirring. Martha's furrowed brow as she carried their child into their bedroom let Sam know he would not be in to work that day.
He ambled into the kitchen to make up Martha's lunch while she coaxed Missy into taking her medicine. Twenty minutes later, he traded lunch box for cranky child, snagging one last parting kiss from his flustered wife on her way out the door. He puttered around the cottage for a few hours, still strangely unsettled but trying to ignore it. But the feeling only grew as the day dragged on. Sam found himself again and again staring at the open field across the road, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his fingers tapping an angry and restless beat against his thigh.
Eventually the feeling grew too large to be contained in the cozy house, and Sam escaped to the shops, a complaining Missy in tow. They killed about two hours this way. Sam always had to keep a sharp eye on his daughter when they left home because the girl had a bit of a devious streak in her even at her young age. Though it wasn't her fault people were so easily manipulated, Sam had developed a sense for when to be firm or else he would find himself constantly lugging home bags of toys and sweets gifted to his child. If only Martha found it as hilarious as he did!
Spirits lifted (he did so love a good haggle), Sam had quite managed to forget about the unbearable foreboding that earlier chased him out of his home. Until he saw the police box and the two weirdos standing outside it.
The redhead could've been just another of the chatty mums he dodged when picking Missy up from daycare, but the man she was with…a feeling slammed into him, like rage and panic and fear all rolled up into one and expanding into a throbbing knot just to the right of his heart, and he wanted to yell; he wanted to scream that it wasn't fair, it wasn't time yet; he'd only just got here…!
He didn't do that. Instead, knuckles white around the handle of the pram, he murmured soothing nonsense to Missy as he walked the rest of the way home. Always keenly aware of her parents' moods, the once calm Missy began to fuss, and by the time he got them safely inside, she was fully crying and reaching out for him. At first he ignored her, preoccupied by the irresistible urge to text Martha a frantic, "He's here. Come home now," text that was forgotten as soon as he hit send.
He scooped Missy up, needing the comfort as much as she did, pressing her wet face into the crook of his neck, the hard bite of her hair barrettes in his skin grounding.
"Daddy, what's the matter?" She asked, unwinding one of her arms from around his neck to pat his cheek. Despite the sickening Feeling still roiling in his guts, Sam couldn't help the crooked smile this action caused. His little Missy, always wanting to help others even when she was scared. Just like her mother, she was.
"Nothing, sweetie. Just thought I saw someone I knew." He said, swaying side to side while rubbing her back. She sniffed, confusion written in the play of her muscles.
"Is that bad?"
Sam chuckled, the sound turning sour as a series of knocks faintly rattled the door. "Maybe. I suppose we'll see, won't we?"