![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
She thinks the man silhouetted in the doorway is a hallucination - it's probably just the night guard with her dinner, or something equally stupid. But the guards don't wear long coats, and she's pretty sure the one on duty tonight is a short, stocky woman, and bringing her dinner at all is nothing but a stupid, silly formality. She closes her eyes and rests her head against the wall again. Maybe her dreams will be kinder to her.
"Martha?" She opens her eyes to see that he's crossed the length of her cell to stand in front of her. She tries to twist her lips into a smile, but they're dry and cracked, and she's not sure she even remembers how anymore.
He crouches down in front of her, closer to her eye level. She can see now that his face is set in an emotionless mask - but she can also see the cracks around his eyes and mouth that reveal the murderous anger that lies beneath. His hands, resting on his knees, are clenched into white-knuckled fists, nails digging crescents into the skin of his palms.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He reaches out and brushes one of her cheekbones with his knuckles; his tone of voice is enough to make her heart break, if that's still possible. "I should've kept an eye on you, but I never though something like this would happen." He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over her shoulders. She supposes it's cold in here; she doesn't really notice it anymore. Martha tugs the coat closed over her jumpsuit. It would have been large on her before her imprisonment, but now she's practically swimming in it.
She presses a hand against the wall to help her stand, refusing his help when he offers it wordlessly. She's pretty sure he would pick her up and carry her if she let him, but she's determined to make it out of here under her own power. She won't let them take that away from her - she walked around the world, and she won't let a few hallways defeat her. She can see the worry in his eyes, but he lets her do it herself. The hem of the coat still pools around her on the floor when she's drawn herself up to her full height.
They make their way through the twisting corridors in silence. Martha just doesn't speak, as it's not something she does much of anymore; she presumes he doesn't want to say anything where UNIT can overhear it. Her steps are uncertain and a little shaky - she's spent most of her imprisonment sitting in her cell - but she doesn't fall. She won't let herself do that.
He stops and looks at her for a moment when they reach the door, and Martha has another brief moment of panic - what if none of this is real after all? What if it's someone's idea of a sick joke, what if it's meant to make her crack? He pushes the door open and holds it for her, and all Martha can do is hope that everything doesn't melt away as soon as she sets foot outside.
She takes one step, then another, and when she looks up and sees the yawning void of the night sky, she instinctively tries to take a step back before she's swallowed up by it all. Martha isn't normally one to be afraid, not anymore, but there's so much space. She feels as if she could disappear in it all and nobody would ever notice.
A pair of strong warm hands grip her shoulders. "It's all right, Martha," he says finally, his voice soothing, though she can nearly detect an undercurrent of white-hot rage - not directed at her, but her captors. "I've got you. Just close your eyes and keep walking."
Being blindly led into the unknown is even more terrifying, but she trusts him. She's got to, because she doesn't have anybody else left.
"Martha?" She opens her eyes to see that he's crossed the length of her cell to stand in front of her. She tries to twist her lips into a smile, but they're dry and cracked, and she's not sure she even remembers how anymore.
He crouches down in front of her, closer to her eye level. She can see now that his face is set in an emotionless mask - but she can also see the cracks around his eyes and mouth that reveal the murderous anger that lies beneath. His hands, resting on his knees, are clenched into white-knuckled fists, nails digging crescents into the skin of his palms.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He reaches out and brushes one of her cheekbones with his knuckles; his tone of voice is enough to make her heart break, if that's still possible. "I should've kept an eye on you, but I never though something like this would happen." He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over her shoulders. She supposes it's cold in here; she doesn't really notice it anymore. Martha tugs the coat closed over her jumpsuit. It would have been large on her before her imprisonment, but now she's practically swimming in it.
She presses a hand against the wall to help her stand, refusing his help when he offers it wordlessly. She's pretty sure he would pick her up and carry her if she let him, but she's determined to make it out of here under her own power. She won't let them take that away from her - she walked around the world, and she won't let a few hallways defeat her. She can see the worry in his eyes, but he lets her do it herself. The hem of the coat still pools around her on the floor when she's drawn herself up to her full height.
They make their way through the twisting corridors in silence. Martha just doesn't speak, as it's not something she does much of anymore; she presumes he doesn't want to say anything where UNIT can overhear it. Her steps are uncertain and a little shaky - she's spent most of her imprisonment sitting in her cell - but she doesn't fall. She won't let herself do that.
He stops and looks at her for a moment when they reach the door, and Martha has another brief moment of panic - what if none of this is real after all? What if it's someone's idea of a sick joke, what if it's meant to make her crack? He pushes the door open and holds it for her, and all Martha can do is hope that everything doesn't melt away as soon as she sets foot outside.
She takes one step, then another, and when she looks up and sees the yawning void of the night sky, she instinctively tries to take a step back before she's swallowed up by it all. Martha isn't normally one to be afraid, not anymore, but there's so much space. She feels as if she could disappear in it all and nobody would ever notice.
A pair of strong warm hands grip her shoulders. "It's all right, Martha," he says finally, his voice soothing, though she can nearly detect an undercurrent of white-hot rage - not directed at her, but her captors. "I've got you. Just close your eyes and keep walking."
Being blindly led into the unknown is even more terrifying, but she trusts him. She's got to, because she doesn't have anybody else left.
