Title: Five Times Martha Jones Smiled
Rating: T
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Spoilers:So incredibly minor there's none worth worrying about
Warnings: Implied sex
Summary: Jack isn't the only one with a winning smile and he finds that Martha can use her so devastatingly to mean so many things.
One
Jack insists that if she's is going to be working with his team then Martha Jones must know how to fire a gun. It's a prerequisite he says, both for her own protection and for his. After all he doesn't want her to pick one up in a moment of danger and accidentally shoot him in the backside or something. As he reminds her, non fatal wounds don't heal as quickly as fatal ones and he really doesn't relish the prospect of not being able to sit down for a week. Even if it would give him an excuse to ask her to treat it.
She indulges him, following him to the large gun range in the bowels of the Hub, deep down so not even the noise of the massive generators running the place can be heard. Silence except for the piercing interruption of gun shots as Jack demonstrates what says is perfect technique.
Martha laughs at the Weevil patterned targets, asking Jack where he got them from. He just grins and reminds her that he spends too many nights here alone and doesn't to sleep as often as he once did. She knows he's joking and shakes her head in amusement.
As she steps up to the spot he indicates, she once again tells him that she disagrees with this on principle, that she's a doctor and she has a duty to save life, not take it. But, she adds steely, she has enough experience of how wrong things can go to understand that one day she may need to know how to do this. She prays that day never comes but will be ready for it all the same.
She holds the gun in her hand and Jack steps closer to her, positioning her how he says is best. She clearly isn't surprised that he's not exactly shy when it comes to manhandling her. Once he's satisfied he steps up close behind her, bodies completely flush. He can feel the tone and the readiness in her muscles, honed from a year of rough travel. When his hands are on her hips, holding her steady she laughs a little and says that she bets he does this with all the employees just to cop a feel. He won't admit that she's half right.
Her heart is pounding a little stronger but she keeps it mostly in check, even when he whispers in her ear how best to aim, his lips so close that it verges on a kiss. He tells her how to breathe. He tells her when to pull the trigger. The bullet rips into the target, the aim perfect. He's impressed.
She tells him to step back, that she wants to try it without his help.
He obliges and she empties the entire clip into the target, every bullet hitting its mark before she swiftly reloads with practiced hands.
She smiles broadly at his suspicious look and then relents, explaining that some resistance members in Kazakhstan taught her. She'd been caught out during a fierce blizzard in one of the mountainous areas, days after barely escaping Russia. Thankfully, before she froze to death, the men she was going to meet had found her and had brought her back to the cave system they were using as a base. Before they'd let her leave however they had taught her how to shoot, saying that they didn't like the idea of her going out there without being able to protect herself. She hadn't really wanted to learn but it'd felt somehow rude to refuse.
Jack asks her why she didn't tell him this.
Her smile returns again and she simply said he didn't ask.
After a moment he smiles too. She's been playing him. He kind of likes it.
Two
With his broadest grin Jack teases her that she should wear pretty dresses more often. She suggests that perhaps he should try running around Cardiff in high heels and a skirt if he thinks it's such a good idea.
The 1940's theme dance is in full swing by the time they arrive and it's going to make their job trickier. So much noise and movement makes it hard to keep focused and to pick out an individual in the crowd. Still, the alien shape shifter they're hunting has a fondness for the era - much like Jack she points out, noting how ridiculously easily he fits in – so he must be here. They just need to find him before he drugs another girl and takes her ovaries. Which, Martha states, is just wrong on a level she doesn't even want to contemplate.
They make a quick tour of the room but can't see the suspect. Fortunately his ability to shift is limited and they know what his human form looks like. Even more fortunate, Owen's bullet, an item usually considered nothing more than an irritation to such a hardy species, was coated in a chemical that will soon disable the ability to shape shift at all. And, as Jack points out, a yellow skin guy with a big red ridge on his head is going to stand out, even in Cardiff.
As time passes Martha wonders if perhaps they got it wrong, if the alien knows they'll be there and is purposefully avoiding the place. Jack says that won't be the case, that he remembers from experience how much the guy likes these kind of dos.
She has the instant suspicion that he's come across this alien before but decides not to mention it.
When the band strikes up 'Have You Met Miss Jones?' Jack grins in deep, bright eyed amusement and drags her to the dance floor, telling her that they should really try to fit in so they don't look suspicious and that the song is clearly a sign. She shakes her head in mock weariness, pointing out that it's 'Doctor Jones' actually as her twirls her around with consummate easy. He tells her just to humour him.
Shortly he's singing along ('And all at once I lost my breath, and all at once was scared to death, and all at once I own the earth and sky') and she says he's actually got quite a good voice. Her smile is fond and affectionate and it warms him, a total distraction from near everything until a scream is heard and they immediately bolt off, the adrenaline of the chase carrying them on once more.
Three
She would wake up. She would. Soon.
And then?
Well then he was going to kill her.
He wasn't really of course. But he was going to shout at her until she promised never to do something like that again, even if she only said it to shut him up.
Still, as usual he is proud of her, has been impressed by her bravery and by the fact that she could so easily have put others lives before her own. The two drunk teenage girls had been way too interested in giggling and squawking at one another to hear the Weevil bounding towards them. When Martha had barrelled into the side of them, even from a distance as he ran to make up ground, Jack had heard the tirade of abuse they'd given her, still oblivious to the threat. That was until they'd seen the Weevil who, having missed his lunge, had turned back round and was heading straight for them. Then they'd screamed.
Martha had dragged them to their feet by handfuls of skimpy clothes and had pushed them towards a gap between two chained shut wire gates. She had obviously rapidly surmised that even a Weevil would think twice about climbing up and having to negotiate the vicious barbed wire at the top.
Still they were tenacious and it hadn't been about to give up entirely. As Martha had squeezed through after the rapidly fleeing girls it had taken a swipe at her and she had fallen back onto the rain soaked concrete with a cry of pain and a hard thump.
Torn between two priorities, Jack had been grateful when Gwen had made the choice for him, barking at him to 'Check her' whilst she'd sprinted off after the Weevil.
He'd shaken the fence with angry frustration when, after a few moments of trying, he'd realised that he was way too big to get through the gap and that climbing it was an impossibility. Not for the first time he'd told himself that he should have asked for a sonic screwdriver from the Doctor as a swap for the Vortex Manipulator.
Stuck with picking the lock the old fashioned way he'd only moved briefly when Tosh had batted him aside, small enough to get through the gap herself. She'd sat there, putting pressure on Martha's wound and muttering reassurances until Jack could get them out.
He forcefully ignored the sight of Martha's off colour skin and the puddle she was lying in darkening as her blood mixed in with the rain water, knowing he needed to work fast.
Now it's the small hours of the morning, the Hub defies its name and is silent and Jack is most grateful. Everyone has gone home on his insistence. The Weevil is safely contained and they'll be more use to him fresh next morning. Besides they can't help here.
Ianto had said that he could probably get the blood out of Jack's shirt but Jack had shaken his head and had told him just to chuck it out. Owen had reassured him that she'd be fine. That he'd lost some blood and she'd be sore for a while but there was no permanent damage. Jack will believe that as soon as she wakes up.
Gwen had left with a simple nod and Tosh a sympathetic smile and little squeeze on his arm, both realising that he wanted to be alone.
He stands off to the side of the medical bed, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his own chest as he watches Martha's rise and fall with every breath. Steady, calm and peaceful, whilst he rages inside with a mixture of anger and fear churning him up. He realises now that he's guilty of putting her up on too high a pedestal. She's Martha Jones – the woman who'd saved the world. The woman who had walked across countries and who had escaped places alive when no other had. But human bodies were fragile and mistakes all too easy to make. She isn't invulnerable. More smart and lucky. Maybe he hasn't looked out for her as well as he should.
The clock tells him it's just passing dawn when she finally stirs and her eyes flutter open. He walks over, thoughts of anger dying amongst the warmth of relief, and he holds her hand reassuringly in case she's uncertain about what has happened. After a moment of mild confusion she seems to remember. Then she smiles, soft and weary, but pleased to see him.
"Alright," she says quietly, an ineffectual greeting in the circumstances. She sounds half out it still and Jack attributes that to the cocktail of drugs Owen has left her on.
"Fine," he softly reassures, "Everything's fine. Sleep."
Four
Jack stands gingerly, surprised to find nothing broken, not even a rib. The blast has thrown him a good fifteen feet though and even without breaks everything feels bruised and sore. Still since he'd only just realised in time that the machine had been laced with explosives he tells himself that he can hardly complain. Had he not run he doubts very much he'd be in the one single piece he is so he's thankful for small mercies.
Besides, he might have mended but his coat certainly wouldn't have and that didn't bear thinking about.
He would have sworn that this was the last time he would help the Doctor with any of his 'little, teeny tiny, hardly worth bothering about' problems, if he didn't know that'd be a lie.
Coughing in the acrid smoke he staggers towards the door, sleeve over his mouth and still a little dizzy. When he reaches the open he draws in great lungfuls of thankfully clear air. Most of which is knocked out straight of him again as Martha runs round the corner and half throws herself at him.
"Thank god you're alright!" she exclaims with utter relief, squeezing him tighter than he would have given her relatively small frame credit for.
As she releases him her hands skim fretfully up and down his arms as though checking he really is there and wants to reassure but she barrels on without letting him get a word in edgeways.
"We heard the explosion and I kept thinking that you couldn't die so it'd be alright," she says, still half frantic, "But then I thought if you got blown up, did that count? I mean, would the little bits of you crawl back together and rebuild or something? What if you couldn't? And besides, dying over and over again can't be good for you, I don't care how immortal you are. And what if you'd got blown up and little bits of you did get back together except for some? You might have been missing a finger or an ear or-"
He kisses her before she mentions something that truly would have been a tragedy.
When he pulls back she looks at him carefully, biting her lip as though contemplating something.
"Just happy to be alive and have all my bits?" he offers as an explanation, wondering if she's annoyed at him or just a little uncertain. He's never kissed her like that before and maybe it is not what she wants. Heck he isn't even sure if it's what he wants but it just feels kind of right.
After a small moment she nods, seemingly having made up her mind.
"I'm pretty happy about that too."
Her kiss is a sudden mix of need and want and sheer relief and when he takes charge, cupping her face as his tongue brushes hers, there is that beginning spark of excitement that tells him that not only is he very much still alive but that he needs to stop before he's overwhelmed by it and ends up taking her against a filthy wall in a smoky 1780's Manchester.
Fortunately they are both saved by a man with no sense of timing. Or an excellent sense of timing, Jack realises, whichever way you chose to look at it.
"Oh for goodness sake!" comes an indignant voice and they hurriedly part to see the Doctor rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at them.
"Don't you two start!" he warns as he points a scolding finger at them, "We've got the Industrial Revolution to save here and all you can do is stand there snogging. Honestly! Priorities people!"
And with that he's running off again, a force of nature on a mission.
Jack shakes his head in mock seriousness, "He has his priorities all wrong."
"Oh I don't know," Martha replies bumping him with her hip as her eyes watch the Doctor go, "All this 'saving the world' stuff can get a girl worked up. Gotta find some way to put all that extra energy to good use afterwards."
Her smile is full of teasing promise before she runs off after the Doctor. Jack soon runs after her them, her hint having the desired effect as he realises it's in his best interests to get this sorted out as quickly as possible and discover if she really means what he's implying.
Five
The first thing he does is run a finger up the plain of her back as she lays face down, eyes still closed. He wonders if she is as asleep as she looks. The way she shivers slightly and gives a satisfied half smile suggests that that isn't the case.
He kisses the full way up her spine then, leaving behind a trail of wet warmth that soon evaporates in the cool air of her bedroom.
"Stop it," she mutters in protest, "I have to get to work."
Still, she makes no effort to move.
"We're working right now," he insists, lips on her neck, his voice a close, deep seduction in her ear.
"Really?" she asks with unconvinced scepticism.
"Strengthening inter-departmental bonds," he explains, pressing his body closer to hers once more, "I think it's important that UNIT and Torchwood have a deep understanding of each other."
She shakes her head fondly, telling him he's incorrigible without saying it. She wriggles away from him and pulls the sheet around her as she sits up, a ward against the chilly morning air.
"You don't know me as well as you think Mister," she says, purposely aloof," I think I've still got a few surprises for you."
"Really?" he asks, a broad grin settling on his face as he sits up too and shuffles closer to her, thoroughly intrigued by the prospect.
His lips are on her neck again, lightly trailing the spot he knows makes her shiver.
"And you're not as charming as you think either," she adds, although her closed eyes and slightly parted lips beg to differ.
"Obviously not," he says in a flippant manner, arms around her now, fingers trailing up and down bare skin, "I'm actually more charming. I tend to underestimate myself."
"Yeah right," she said, barking a laugh.
"Okay so I'm not charming," then challenges, "Then how'd I get you here?"
"You didn't get me here," she reasons teasingly, "This is my bedroom. I got you here."
"And how'd you manage that then?"
"Wasn't that hard actually," she says, hands slipping slowly under the covers towards him. A low groan leaves his lips and he leans forward into her slightly, hands clutching at the sheets just to stop himself falling backwards to the bed and away from such wonderful fingers.
"No it was," he corrects, his eyes closed and lips hovering over hers, their breath mixing in a way he's becoming increasingly accustomed to, "Otherwise you and I would have both found ourselves sorely disappointed."
He kisses her with passion until he can take her ministrations no more and then he pulls her to lie down, flipping her onto her back.
A while later he looks at her between kisses, contemplating her fingers that are so tenderly stroking up and down his back, her legs that are wrapped around his and one heel absently rubbing his calve. With anyone else he may have felt a little scared – loving people was becoming so much harder the longer he lived – but he trusts Martha and that makes it somehow easier.
Forever was a fallacy whoever promised it but her warm, loving, devoted smile at least tells him that it is worth making the most of what they have.
If you were going to live an eternity you needed some damn good memories to hold on to after all.