Name: Spreading the word
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Tosh/Martha, mentions of Jack, the Doctor and Owen.
Warning: Violence towards Tosh and implied mentions of rape (though nothing happens, trust me), talk of temporary character death, too.
Summary: Martha roamed the earth, spreading word of the Doctor to every country. So what happened when she reached Japan and met a woman who knew Jack Harkness? Spoilers for DW: Last of the Time Lords and some of TW: Reset.  The prologue is in first person and present tense (it wouldn’t write any other way), the five chapters following it will be in third-person.
Disclaimer:I don't own Torchwood, or Doctor Who, nor do I own Tosh or Martha. The story, however, I'd like to think is rather original and is mine.

You can find the link to the first chapter on my fic master list: Fanfic Master List


Again, this story just begged me to write it. So I did.  There is violence in this chapter (it's set during Last of the Time Lords, what do you expect? haha) and the start of femslashiness. Yay.

 

Martha awoke feeling peaceful, even though she had her left hand clamped around the gun hidden beneath her pillow and her right was holding the key hanging around her neck.  The softness of the pillows and duvet was too much for Martha to move, so, after glancing at the clock and seeing it was half past seven, she hunkered down, reaching for the other pillow to hold over her ear.

However, instead of her hand hitting the softness of the pillow, it thumped something hard and furry instead.

 “Ouch!” Tosh yelped.  Martha rolled over and stared at Tosh, who was lying next to her on the bed. It took her a moment to remember the Master, being in Japan and Tosh’s quiet whisper the night before.

 “I’m going to sleep next to you. Don't worry, I don't have wandering hands like Jack.”

The comment about Jack had put her at ease and she had mumbled her agreement, rolling over away from Tosh’s side of the bed and quickly falling asleep again, dreaming of the days when she was meeting Shakespeare and defeating Daleks. Things were so much simpler there.

 “I’m sorry!” she yelped now, putting her hand over Tosh’s on instinct, feeling bad about the injury she had caused with her ring.

 “It’s okay,” Tosh grumbled, taking Martha’s hand for a moment and moving it, and her own, away from the bump on her head. “No permanent damage done.” She lay back down, flat on her back, turning her head to gaze intently at Martha. “How did you sleep?”

 “Like a baby,” Martha replied, turning onto her side to face Tosh, head supported on elbow.

 “Waking every few hours?” Tosh enquired, with a small smirk.

Martha rolled her eyes. “I slept really well, thank you.  What about you?”

Tosh nodded. “I slept well, too, thank you.” She smiled her little smile, the one that made Martha smile warmly in return.  For the first time she realised their hands were still joined, but she didn’t move to separate them, it was nice to have some physical contact for a change. It had been too long since she had last hugged the Doctor or had her hand grabbed by his as they ran. “That’s an unusual pendant,” Tosh commented, gesturing at the key hanging from Martha’s neck.

Instinctively, Martha released Tosh’s hand and covered the key with her own. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just an old trinket.”

Tosh raised an eyebrow. “I had an old trinket once,” she said. “Made me psychic.” Martha looked shocked. “I’m not physic now,” Tosh assured her, “but I’ve learned that people don't wear ‘old trinkets’ very often, not ones that look that peculiar. Especially not during wartime.”

Martha shrugged. “It’s special to me,” she said, still covering it with her hand.

 “I’m sure it is.” Tosh sat up in bed and swung her legs off. “As we’re both wide awake, I suggest we start our day.  Breakfast?”

Martha nodded, mutely, as she climbed out of bed, suddenly self-conscious of the fact she was wearing only shorts and a shirt. She walked through to the kitchen as she slipped the gun into her pocket, not for use against Tosh but against anything that tried to hurt them.  She could see the Doctor’s disapproving face in her mind’s eye, lecturing her that guns were never the way. She still remembered the way he snapped ‘Jack, don't you dare!’ at Jack when he had tried to defend them at the end of the universe. 

She sometimes thought the Doctor would rather he and his companions die than use even an ounce of violence.  She used to feel the same, until one of her guides had attacked her from behind with a knife.  Ever since then she’d carried a gun on her, not that she ever really, truly, planned to use it, after all, she was training to be a doctor before the Doctor swept her off her feet, and their oath was to do no harm.  She was still holding out hope that she would, one day, complete her medical training.

She laughed derisively at that. Yeah, right, like that was ever going to happen.

Tosh looked round at her, startled by her outburst, probably wondering if the famous Martha Jones was totally insane.  Martha looked apologetic. “Private ... private joke ...” she offered, lamely.

Nodding, Tosh turned away to take some toast out of the toaster, offering it to Martha. “It’s not much, I haven’t got much beyond bread, a little cheese and sandwich spread.” She grabbed a couple of old mugs and rammed them under the tap, filling them with water. Giving one to Martha, they walked through to the living room and sat down on the sofa again. Tosh gazed down at her mug, sadly. “I miss Ianto’s coffee,” she complained. “I’m so sick of water.”  She sighed, deeply. “I’d even take Owen’s coffee at the moment ...” She blinked rapidly and Martha noticed there were tears in her eyes.

 “Who ... who are Ianto and Owen?” she asked, quietly.

Tosh shook her head, trying to get a handle on her emotions. “They ... they were part of the Torchwood team.  Owen died trying to stop Saxon from deporting me ... he was killed by a Toclafane.” She swallowed convulsively. “And Ianto ... he ... he died while we were in the Himalayas ... when the spheres started coming down from the sky he fell off a cliff face trying to see them more closely.  I think ... I think when Jack left he lost reason to live.”

She sighed and leaned back against the sofa.  Martha looked at her, sadly. “I see,” she said. “Why did they deport you?”

 “I was part of the resistance and I was a little too close to Saxon for comfort,” Tosh said, with a shrug. “He knew I was connected to Jack ... so he knew I had a lot of alien technology at my disposal as well as a quick mind.”  She sighed. “I can go anywhere in the world except for England.”

Martha nodded. She was about to say that Tosh could accompany her to Europe and Australia before heading to England when the front door of the house burst open and four men dressed in military uniforms burst in, guns waving. Tosh instantly jumped to her feet, standing between them and Martha, who had stood, slowly, pulled out her gun and retreated into the shadows.  The men looked around wildly before holding a gun to Tosh’s head.

Martha stifled a gasp, resisting the urge to pull her gun and shoot the soldier in the head, knowing it would reveal her location. “Are you Toshiko Sato?” the soldier demanded.

Terrified and shaking, Tosh nodded her head. “Y-yes,” she stammered.

 “We have reason to believe you are hiding Martha Jones here in this house,” the soldier continued.

Martha swallowed as she moved, slowly, towards the kitchen, careful not to attract attention to herself.  As the soldier continued to interrogate Tosh, she slipped into the kitchen and picked up her clothing, piling it into her arms and moving into the adjoining bathroom, where she stuffed them down the toilet, putting the lid down, silently.

When she moved back into the living room, Tosh was on her knees, the gun still pressed to her head as the soldier stood over her, making crude references as the other soldiers looked around the house. “Search for evidence!” the soldier with the gun demanded. “If you find anything we’ll shoot her...” He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, not at all bothered by the tears making their way down Tosh’s face.  He wrenched her head back, making Martha flinch and wish she could help. “...but not before I have some fun.”

Martha’s heart stopped as she fingered the trigger of her gun, carefully. Like hell she was going to let this man ... no ... he wasn’t a man anymore ... this creature hurt her new friend. She’d die first.

She touched the key around her neck as Tosh looked up at her fearfully. She wasn’t sure whether it would work if the soldier followed Tosh’s line of sight.  The solider did so, seeing that she was looking towards the kitchen and snapped at his men, “Check the kitchen!”

The second in command signalled for the others to follow him as they walked past Martha, who pressed herself into the wall so as not to be noticed, placing a finger against her lips with a small smile at Tosh. She watched, worried, as they began destroying the kitchen, wood from the cabinets going flying as they swiped their knives at them to check for hidden compartments.

Finally, they walked into the bathroom.  Martha held her breath, cocking her gun and aiming it at the soldier’s head. One sign that they had lifted the toilet lid and, God help her, she would fire.  She could hear the soldiers moving around, checking the bath and cupboards for any sign of their presence.  After what felt like an eternity they stepped out of the kitchen, back into the living room. “It’s clean. There’s no sign of the renegade here.”

The soldier glowered down at Tosh, fisting her hair and lifting her up by it until they were at eye level, a feat that brought yet more tears to Toshiko’s eyes as the man was at least six foot tall. “That’s a pity,” he spat in her face, “I was looking forward to having some fun with you.”  With a show of cruelty, he threw her backwards by her hair and hit her with the gun, knocking her unconscious.  Martha’s blood boiled, but the sensible side of her resisted the urge to kick him in the balls.  The soldier gestured with his gun and he and his men filed out of the broken door. 

She waited only a beat before surging across to Tosh and dropping to her knees next to her friend, lifting her head onto her lap and testing for a pulse.  She was still alive. “Oh thank God,” Martha breathed.  “I thought I’d lost you.” She bent down and kissed her, even though she was unconscious. It was chaste and gentle, a show of relief.  When she straightened up again she realised what she’d done and groaned internally, but didn’t have time to question her sexuality before Tosh’s eyes fluttered open and she reached up to touch her head.

 “Martha?” she whispered, pulling her hand away to reveal it covered in blood.

 “Shit!” Martha swore, something she’d started doing a lot since the world had ended. With a groan, she put her right arm under Tosh’s knees and her left under her neck, lifting her up and carrying her into the bedroom, where she placed her on the bed.  For a moment she wondered where Tosh kept her first aid kits.

Then she remembered she had one.

Then she remembered where her stuff was.

 “Shit!” she repeated, rushing from Tosh’s bedside and running through the kitchen and into the bathroom. For a moment she was stunned by the damage.  The showerhead had been ripped clean off, the mirror smashed into lots of little shards, a few of which had become embedded in her foot, causing her to bleed on the linoleum, a fact she was yet to notice thanks to the adrenaline still rushing through her system from before.  Snapping out of her reverie, she reached lifted the toilet lid and looked down, sadly, at her ruined equipment and clothing.  She pulled them out of the bowl, glad her first aid kit had gone in last and was yet to become drenched, and, far passed being grossed out by a little toilet water, carried them into the kitchen, sticking the wet items in the sink and turning on the taps.

Once the sink was full, she filled an intact bowl with warm water, turned the taps off and carried the first aid box and bowl through to the bedroom. She knelt beside the bed and looked down at Tosh, who was falling in and out of unconsciousness. She looked up, groggily. “Hey,” she said, weakly. “Why ... why didn’t ... didn’t they notice ... you?”

Martha smiled as she pulled some items out of the first aid box and turned Tosh’s head slightly to see the bleeding wound.  She grimaced as she cleaned the wound. “The pendant,” she admitted. “It makes me unnoticeable.”

 “I notice you,” Tosh said, softly, smacking her lips as she talked, groggily.

 “I want you to,” Martha informed her. “I make myself noticeable to you.” Tosh nodded, causing Martha to poke her wound by accident.  She made a pained noise and Martha hushed her gently.

 “I’m sorry,” Martha offered, kissing her gently on the cheek. “I’m trying to make it better.”

 “I’ve had worse,” Tosh said.

 “I’m sure you have.” Martha looked closely at the cut before putting a sticking plaster on, hoping it would suffice. 

 “I guess we’re not going to be spreading word of the Doctor today, huh?” Tosh asked.

Martha shook her head and stood up, crying out as the glass finally made its impact. “Shit!” she swore again.

 “You swear a lot,” Tosh said, giggling. “You and Owen would get on famously.”

Martha rolled her eyes, ignoring the use of present tense. She didn’t want to upset her. “Oh, I’m sure. We could have a conversation just about swearing.”

Tosh laughed and touched her head. “Ow...” she complained in a small voice.

 “Be glad you don't have to stand on it,” Martha said.

Chapter 3