LONDON GIRLS
London Girls: Early Morning Titanic? What? Disclaimer: A copy of Titanic. That's it! Author's Note: Indeed, I have done it again; I've made this chapter too long so I've had to divide it into two. If this leaves you confused...then that's good :) Expect the next bit to be up soon! I think I'll pause my other stories for a week though, because I've been bitten by 'The Stolen Earth' muse...SO many ideas! Anyway. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) Almost tripping over her own feet in her haste to get to the door, Martha raced out of the living room, down the passageway and flung open the front door happily, standing waiting for them in the doorway with her arms folded, a huge, genuine grin on her face. Seeing Martha standing in the doorframe, with the light of the hallway behind her illuminating her like some kind of dressing-gowned angel, the Doctor and Donna both broke out into warm smiles and ran across the road and up the remaining path towards her. The Doctor reached her first, pulling her into a tight hug and as always, lifted her off her feet. "Dr. Jones," he said happily, setting her back down and beaming at her, his eyes crinkling. "Hello, Doctor," she grinned at him, standing aside so he could march past her into the house. "Kitchen," she added, before hugging Donna, who looked noticeably slimmer than the last time she'd seen her but even happier, if that were possible. Her green eyes were shining and her smile was absolutely real. Traveling with the Doctor must be doing her good, mused Martha, beckoning her inside. "What on earth are you doing up?" asked Donna, bluntly, sounding faintly scandalised as she walked inside and waited for Martha in the hallway as she shut the door. "It's only about five-ish isn't it? I told him we shouldn't come this early but he said you'd be awake and…" "And I was right, wasn't I?" called the Doctor from the kitchen. Martha smiled at the doubtful look on Donna's face and led her towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I've been up for a while," she reassured her, brushing her messy hair out of her eyes. "Tom's gone away on business so I got up to see him off." The pair of them entered the kitchen to see the Doctor casually leaning against the kitchen table with Martha's Brides magazine in his hand, flicking through the glossy pages with an expression of mild distaste on his face. "Martha," he said warningly, looking up as she and Donna walked in. "Please tell me you are not getting married wearing a giant meringue?" he asked her, looking pained as he held up the page that her mum had turned over. "No," she told him with a laugh, clearing a space at the cluttered table so that Donna could sit down. "Good," said the Doctor, brightly, throwing the magazine aside haphazardly. "I was just checking," he told her, holding up his hands as he pulled out his chair and sat down. "So how are you? How's Dr. Tom?" "Fine," Martha said brightly, readjusting the throw around her shoulders and sitting down beside Donna. "We're both fine. UNIT's been keeping me busy and Tom's gone off to Paris so…yeah." Martha fixed her gaze on the table, aware of how unsatisfactory her answer had been. She'd sounded far unhappier than she'd intended. Looking up quickly, she saw Donna shoot a warning glance at the Doctor; a look that plainly said 'Behave yourself." "So," Martha hurried on, doing her best to sound light and cheery, desperate not to show them how tired she felt. "What brings you back to Earth? At five o'clock in the morning?" she added, with a glance out of the kitchen window at the hazily brightening sky. "Well," he said slowly after a minute, as if deliberating the point. He leaned back in his chair so that he was resting on just two legs and clasped his hands behind his head. Classic Doctor pose. "All manner of reasons, really. We came at about lunchtime this afternoon but you weren't here so we came back earlier. Now, actually. Timey Wimey stuff and all that lark. Didn't think you'd be out doing your shopping at five in the morning so here we are." "It didn't occur to you that although I wouldn't be shopping at five in the morning, I might actually be asleep?" asked Martha disbelievingly, resting her chin on her hand. "Well are you?" he said simply. "No but…" "There you are, then," he said cheerily, drumming his fingers on the table, before the plan of Tom's report caught his eye and he pulled it towards him, nosily. "I made him park round the corner," butted in Donna helpfully. "'Cause I didn't think your neighbours would be overly thrilled with his blue box popping up at five in the morning like a wheezy alarm clock and waking everyone up." Martha nodded at her, but the Doctor looked distinctly affronted. "Popping up?" he repeated incredulously, raising his eyebrows across the table at his companion. Martha stifled a smile at the patronising, offended look that the Doctor was directing at Donna, who unsurprisingly, was glaring back at him unperturbed. "My TARDIS doesn't 'pop up; she materialises…and she doesn't wheeze either she…" "Whatever," interrupted Donna in a bored voice. " She doesn't wheeze, she splutters; will that do you?" Martha looked from the Doctor to Donna in amusement. She was so unlike him it was uncanny; it was impossible to meet any two people who were more ill-suited…which was what made them so good for each other. She'd never seen the Doctor look this relaxed; it was completely obvious that he was having the time of his life with this new woman. Their teasing was gentle and good-natured; he'd never bantered like this with her, she thought, a pang of loneliness and homesickness filling her stomach just for a second. Maybe, all he really had needed was a best mate; no romance, no strings attached…just a mate, and Martha hadn't been able to be that for him; she'd been too preoccupied with her own adoring feelings for him… "Anyway," interrupted Martha quickly, seeing that the Doctor had opened his mouth to retort furiously. "Your reason for being on Earth?" She looked expectantly from Donna to the Doctor, who seemed to be having a silent, furious conversation with their eyes. There was lots of eyebrow wiggling going on. "The Doctor's doing a house visit," said Donna at last, regarding Martha carefully, without trying to make it look like she was staring. "Just a check-up," agreed the Doctor quickly, tipping her a friendly wink. "Thought we'd call on Dr. Jones!" he quipped, causing Martha to groan loudly. "Don't start, Mister! I get that enough thank you!" she moaned, rubbing a hand over her tired face. "Mmh," replied the Doctor, with a smirk. For some reason, the table fell into quite an awkward silence. Donna examined her painted blue nails, critically and the Doctor picked up Martha's magazine again, his attention wandering and needing something to occupy himself with. Even if it was a woman's wedding magazine. Martha had a nagging feeling that she should probably say something. Anything. Comment on their journey, or ask after Donna's family or ask them where they'd been, but she felt strangely lost and tongue-tied. She didn't have a clue what to say to them, to be quite honest. What do you talk about with two time travelers, (one of whom you used to be in love with) when they turned up on your doorstep (interrupting Little Women!) at five in the morning for a 'house visit'? The weather? Martha clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. "Do you want a cup of tea?" she offered, sounding scarily like her mum, more as something to say than actual courtesy, at the exact time as the Doctor came across a page crammed with sumptuous-looking wedding cakes and favours and exclaimed, "Ball bearings!" at the top of his voice. Martha and Donna stared at him for a moment, forgetting their shared awkwardness and Martha's offer of tea. "Ball bearings!" repeated the Doctor happily, glee spread across his face as he showed them the page of creamy frosted wedding cakes studded with silver ball bearings, as if he were showing them one of the wonders of the world. Or the moon, which he had in fact, shown both of them. " Yeah, that's err lovely," said Donna stiltedly, as if she were humouring a two year old who had found a snail in the garden and had proudly brought it in to show his mum. She gave him a look that suggested that she was fearful for his sanity and raised her eyebrows at Martha, who felt just as nonplussed. " You're a weird little stick man," she informed him, bemusedly, shaking her head at him. This of course, wasn't strictly true since the Doctor was extremely tall, but 'little' sounded far more derogatory. "Anyway, Martha," she continued breezily, turning her chair slightly so she could look at her properly from where she was sitting at her side. She had the air of a woman who had a very clearly set out purpose, but who felt less than confident about how she was going to reach it. She shot a slightly unsure look at the Doctor, who nodded in encouragement but stared determinedly down at Martha's magazine. Without really reading it, though. "Just out of curiosity right? This is completely random ok? But what would immediately come to mind if I were to say 'Jack and Rose'?" she asked cryptically. Her words hung in the ensuing silence, sticking out like a sore thumb. Martha stared at Donna in confusion. The red haired woman looked so businesslike and patient, yet there was a hint of desperation behind her eyes too, as if her answer had the power to bring down worlds or start wars, and she was sitting absolutely still. The anticipated silence in the kitchen was acutely uncomfortable. Martha felt like a student who had been picked on in class when her hand hadn't even been up. The tingling pressure to say the right thing…she'd been asked a question that she didn't know the answer to. Jack and Rose? Who? At the mention of 'Rose' her thoughts had leapt immediately to the mysterious, absent woman who had traveled with the Doctor. The woman whose shadow she'd constantly found herself living under. The woman to whom she'd always been second best. When she'd been with the Doctor, her presence, her memory had lingered in the TARDIS, standing between Martha and the Doctor like a brick wall. Martha was an extremely intelligent woman; she knew that throughout the entire time she'd accompanied the Doctor, his heart had stayed with this unmentionable Rose. He'd mourned her…despaired over his loss, fallen into bouts of depression whenever he was reminded of her. A tiny, selfish part of her still maintained that in some way the Doctor had used her as a sort of rebound, even if he hadn't been consciously aware of it. It was far from the Doctor's fault, but at the mere mention of anyone called Rose, Martha was reminded of the hopeless inadequacy and frustration that she'd felt whenever his eyes had glazed over in the middle of a conversation, when his brow had furrowed at the memory of this blonde Rose and Martha stood forgotten and ignored…of course Martha's mind would immediately jump to the Doctor's Rose if some one said 'Rose.' How could it not? As for 'Jack'…well Donna had only had to say the name for images of the charming, dashing Jack Harkness to come dancing into her mind. The week (because in total it probably had in fact only been a week) that she'd known him she'd realised that Captain Jack Harkness tended to have that sort of an effect on people. No one could forget Jack… "I think of…" she said reluctantly, gesturing helplessly at the Doctor, who was gazing at Donna, looking horrified, his eyes wide. They all knew that Martha's words needed no embellishment. From the strained expression on her face and the way she now fiddled uncomfortably with a handful of the throw that she'd draped around herself like a bag lady, it was clear exactly who she had immediately thought of. "She knows someone called Jack," the Doctor told Donna shortly, his voice harder than was strictly necessary. He shifted his weight forwards so he was sitting on his chair properly, the chair legs coming to rest on the floor with a loud thud. Unsurprisingly, he made no reference to Donna's mention of 'Rose.' Donna flushed a bright scarlet with embarrassment, aware that she had put her foot well and truly in it. She looked mortified with herself. "Err yeah erm. Bad example, sorry," she flustered, avoiding the Doctor's eyes and waving her hands about in the air, as if she could rub out her last sentence. "Kate and Leo, then?" she said desperately. "What do you associate with them two?" Martha frowned. Kate and Leo? What on earth was Donna rambling on about? Her brother was called Leo, of course, but she didn't know anyone called Kate. "Kate and Leo who?" she asked, feeling very much out of the loop. She looked at the Doctor for some kind of inkling as to what Donna was talking about, but he just looked resigned. Honestly, the pair of them; they just turned up and started spouting utter nonsense…ball bearings…Kate and Leo? Her lack of sleep meant that Martha was in no mood to be messed about. She was too tired to want to listen to rubbish. If they had something to ask her, they could come straight out with it. No dressing it up…just get to the point, please! "Kate and Leo who?" she repeated irritably, not at all liking the fact that Donna was gaping at her as if she'd just asked her who the Queen was. "Winslet and DiCaprio," she answered at once, like the seasoned celebrity expert she used to be, with the air of someone explaining two plus two equals four to an overly emotional five year old. At her words, Martha had a mental image of the red-haired, flighty woman from Sense and Sensibility, and the good-looking blonde man from Romeo and Juliet with the floppy hair. Still…she could not understand what Martha was getting at. On seeing her blank expression, Donna sighed exasperatedly and threw up her hands. "Martha," she said forcefully. "What do the words "flippin' great big ship and iceberg" mean to you?" "I don't know," murmured Martha, feeling foolish. She didn't understand what Donna was trying to ask her. Ships and icebergs? It was five o'clock in the morning, she didn't want to think about ships and icebergs or floppy-haired men or dishwater or…ball bearings. She didn't want to have to engage her brain in any kind of mental activity for at least another two hours. What did the Doctor and Donna want? Why were they asking her such bizarre questions? In annoyance, Martha pulled both her hands through her tousled hair, messing it up even more and glared at the Doctor and Donna with frustrated tears in her eyes. "I don't know what you're on about, Donna," she said prickly. "Really, honestly I don't know." "All right, all right," said the Doctor soothingly, stretching out a placatory hand towards her, seeing that she was on the verge of tears. Martha gripped the edge of her chair shakily, staring in confusion form the Doctor to Donna before she buried her face in her hands, blotting out the brightness of the kitchen and the blurs of the Doctor's and Donna's faces. "I'm sorry…I'm just tired," she mumbled into her hands, as she felt Donna's reassuring hand on her arm, looking up at her through half-closed eyes. "Are you…" began Donna, kindly, but the Doctor spoke over her. "Martha," he said briskly, tapping her hand to make her look at him properly. "Martha, this is important. Tell me," he implored her, his eyes serious. "Have you heard of the Titanic?" Martha sat up straighter, studying him closely through blotchy eyes. "No," she told him finally. "Is it an alien species, or something?"
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