Chapter Text
Martha Jones had just started to fade into slumber when she heard the TARDIS whooshing into her bedroom. She sat up, quietly cursing as the TARDIS materialized in the only spare space left in her shared room with Mickey. An assortment of medical textbooks from her interrupted studies, ruined jackets splattered with mysterious liquids, and shredded alien technology lined the floor, dressers, and desk, and she sighed as the final thud of the brakes resounded through the room. She turned on her bedside lamp, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the small set of drawers. She didn't look too exhausted, thankfully. Her hair was all over the place, and while the slight bags under her eyes were certainly not extremely attractive, she didn't complain. She had been through worse.
The TARDIS opened, and Martha’s mouth gaped open as her Doctor peeked out. She wasn't expecting the tall, slender, spike-haired maniacal genius to be grinning back at her if she ever saw the Doctor again.
“Allo,” he cheerfully said, and Martha grinned as her heart rate automatically picked up. “Is Mickey about?”
Martha frowned slightly. Sure, she loved Mickey dearly, and while her feelings for the Doctor had faded from passionate infatuation to tender care wracked with worry, she missed having his undivided attention.
“Not tonight,” she said sadly. “Some of these models from a nearby store have sprung to life suddenly, and Mickey went to investigate. Says he’s had experience with them?” She looked inquisitively at the Doctor, who grimaced.
“Oh yeah… those,” he replied, scratching his ear as he looked up at Martha again. “That was his… initiation into alien life, you could say.”
Martha snorted. “At least it's not Judoon on the moon again.”
“Oh god,” the Doctor responded, and Martha laughed. As she stopped laughing, the Doctor's gaze on her intensified. Martha shrugged loosely.
“So,” she began, “what brings you back to the humble flat that Mickey and I share?”
“Well,” the Doctor rasped, “I want to take you and Mickey on an excursion, but let's go see if he needs any help first--Eh?” He had spotted an interesting round device on the other side of the room, and was now climbing over the bed to grab it. Martha sighed and quickly leaned back, giving him space to clamber across with what she knew was a gyrosp-
“A gyrospheric compass! Huh,” the Doctor exclaimed, kneeling upright in the center of the bed. “Haven't seen these in years.”
“Yeah, although that one time in Calzakar with those weird centipede-jello creatures wasn't that long ago,” she commented.
“Oh, really?” The Doctor pulled a pleased face. “So I've kept with a somewhat regular visitation schedule?”
“If you call every two months with a two-week error margin ‘regular'”, Martha gently snarled back. The Doctor smiled.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you, Martha,” he said. Martha smiled.
“So what have you been up to,” Martha asked, finally inching out of the bed and pulling on a nearby leather jacket-- the one she reserved for trips in the TARDIS.
“Eh,” the Doctor said. “Not much.”
Martha cocked her eyebrows. It was the first time the Doctor had ever responded with such a declaration. Martha raised an eyebrow.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Wrong? No,” he said, tossing the compass in the air before pocketing it in his suitjacket. “Just contemplating legacies.”
“Legacy?”
“Yes. What is…” the Doctor suddenly cut himself off, staring at Martha. “I don't want to spoil too much,” the Doctor said. “I'm going to take you and Mickey to a show.”
“A show?”
“Yes, but we have to pick someone up first,” the Doctor said, grin returning to his face. “Come on Martha, let's go see if Mickey needs help.” The Doctor stumbled back to the open TARDIS door and Martha crawled after him, smiling slightly.
***
Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton sat feebly in her rocking chair, staring at the approaching sunset. Her youthful energy seemed tethered to the presence of the glowing orb, and she closed her eyes as the bright hues of the sky began to fade into grey and midnight blue. Silence filled the room, aside from the slight crackle of the fireplace, but the presence of her late husband resonated in the room best during these quiet moments. She could almost hear his pen scratching away, and she smiled gently.
Suddenly, a quick rapping at the door brought her back, and Eliza started, then sighed resignedly. It was late spring, and it was unusual for guests to visit on Tuesday evenings in order to see her. She lifted up her frail frame, gently leaning on a cane. Eliza was barely 85, but the cane was a comfort to her as she slowly made her way to the door. She opened it, and saw three strangers, in clothes she had never seen before. The tall man was white, with hair that defied gravity dressed in a sharp and close-fitted suit, similar to what young men of the publishing industry wore, but perhaps even tighter than that. Beside him was a black couple: the man dressed in a strangely padded all-black outfit, the woman dressed in loose-fitting--pantaloons? She took in this odd outfit that the woman was wearing before the tall suited man cleared his throat. Eliza peered up at him.
“Can I help you,” she asked, smiling politely. Alexander would be cursing her from heaven above if she knew that she actually listened to a Burr tactic: talk less, smile more.
“Are you Eliza Schuyler, by chance? Sorry for the lateness, we were traveling and-” the man was interrupted by her gentle laugh.
“Why yes, I am,” she lightly responded. She backed away and waved a hand in. “Come in, sit yourselves down, I'll start a kettle.” She turned around and smiled as these three strangers carefully walked in. She heard footsteps behind her as she entered the storeroom next to the fireplace, and the woman in the pantaloons came up next to her.
“Eliza, if you want I can-”
“Don't worry, I may be old but I'm not incapable,” Eliza responded with a chuckle. “Although I would love to learn more about your…” She looked down at the woman's pantaloons, then back up, a small smile on her face.
“Oh!” The woman exclaimed, and Eliza could tell from her timid smile that she was blushing. “About that, I'm sorry,” the woman responded. Eliza smiled and took a kettle of water and set it on the stove and stuck a stove poker into the main coal compartment.
“It's fine, child,” she chuckled as she looked up at the woman. “But you must tell me, where are you from? Your accent are unlike that of any I've heard in recent memory, although I presume that your master-”
“M-master?” the woman asked, stuttering slightly.
“The white man,” Eliza said, beckoning towards the sitting room, “I don't see very many-”
“Oh no, he's not my master,” the woman responded quickly. Eliza let out a breath she had been holding for a minute and smiled.
“I am so glad to hear that,” she responded. “Otherwise I would have probably chewed him out for daring to bring himself here.” Eliza turned back to the stove, muttering “Damn Southerners” under her breath.
“We're not from the South either,” the woman said gently. Eliza looked up at her.
“Oh, are you from Scotland?”
“Er, yeah, I guess you could say that,” the woman said, smiling. “It’s a fair amount more complicated than that, though. But, the Doctor will explain-”
“The Doctor?” Eliza inquired. “I'm guessing the well-dressed one.”
“Yes, that's the Doctor,” the woman replied. “The one dressed in all black, that's Mickey-”
“Are you two married?”
“Who, me and Mickey?”
“Any of you,” Eliza responded, nodding. She was no stranger to strange marriage traditions, and she found that the more unusually dressed someone was, the more prone they were to these unusual traditions. Although John had been as normal and she and Alexander, which perfectly disguised their occasional gatherings as more than friends--
“Oh, no, not yet, at least,” the woman responded, awkwardly grimacing. “The Doctor is just a friend, and Mickey and I haven't talked about it much.” Eliza noticed how the woman’s gaze drifted down to her feet, and Eliza smiled.
“I'm sorry dear, I never caught your name amidst our talking,” Eliza said as the kettle began to whistle. She grabbed a nearby cloth and grabbed the handle and lifted it and began to walk out of the storeroom. “Tell me, what is it,” she asked, and the woman looked up at her.
“Oh, sorry, I'm Martha,” the woman responded. Eliza smiled.
“Excellent,” she responded. “Now, let's go join the men out there, the Doctor seems… curious about me.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Martha replied, following Eliza out into the sitting room. Eliza heard Martha lightly sigh behind her, and she knew that she wasn't going to rest easy tonight.
Better drink a bit more tea than normal, she thought. This night might run late.