A/N: From the prompt: kissing - not a consolation prize. Thanks to thekatebeyond for betaing.
It took a little over four months for Martha to contact Jack. She always thought he would be the one who broke down first and called or emailed or texted, but he didn't. And four months passed without a word.
Broke down wasn't even really the right term. It wasn't like they were having a contest to see who could prove they were moving on with their lives the best, but in some ways she thought they kinda were.
She didn't want to forget that year, but she didn't want to remember it either. So much happened in that horrible, exhausting, terrifying year that never was.
It's not like she could forget even if she wanted to. She saw the memories etched in the faces of her parents and Tish. A trailed off sentence during Sunday dinner, a brief vacant stare during a conversation. They didn't go out of their way to talk about it anymore - they did their postmortem the entire first month, got it out of their systems, moving on and all that, but they didn't avoid it out of hand either.
At first she didn't contact Jack because it was too raw. Leaving the Doctor hurt and Jack, well, Jack made her think of him. Made her think of something she had wanted so badly but would never have.
Then she didn't contact him because, well, why should she? She knew he knew she was on earth. He knew everything. If he wanted to talk to her then it was up to him to get in touch!
Finally she didn't contact him because it was a test. She had to find out whether or not she could do this, go back to her normal life, move on from the wonders of traveling through space and time, having adventures, and Jack was a string tying her to that life. That life that wasn't hers anymore. That life she gave up.
Four months, five days, and approximately six hours after the world rewound and righted itself she realized that she was full of shit. She was avoiding him because he was the one person on earth who truly understood. She could fake it with her family, they were all too willing not to delve deeper into why she stayed behind because they were so happy to have her back. But Jack, she couldn't fake it with Jack.
Jack who died over and over again and had eyes that said more than his lips ever would. He was flirtatious and silly and serious and wiser than someone who looked his age should be, but he was still Jack.
So she called him. Not because she had to talk to him or she needed him for closure. She called him because she missed him.
Five hours later he showed up on her doorstep, grinning from ear to ear, saying all the silly things she had come to expect from him, flirting with her shamelessly. When the greetings were over and they moved on past the pretense of who he pretended to be and who she wanted to be, they talked.
She told him everything she hadn't told her family and everything she knew she would (could) never tell the Doctor. Because he was Jack.
Many hours and many cups of tea later they were sprawled across her floor in companionable silence, her head resting on his belly, one of his hands absently rubbing her hip and the other holding her hand. She was comfortable and felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, curled on her side into this impossible man.
He tugged at her hand and nudged her hip so she scooted up until his chin was resting on the top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her and used the floor for leverage to roll her on top of him.
Jack was warm and alive and real and felt so very wonderful. She tiltled her head up to look in his eyes and he smiled at her, a smile that said so much more than words ever could. She moved up until her nose was touching his and she gave him a light kiss on the lips. When she pulled back he was still smiling but his smile morphed into that grin of his that promised debauchery and delight.
Then he had her on her back and he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him and for first time in over four months, she forgot.