bakerstreet | insomnia

insomnia

the i n s o m n i a meme

It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?

i n s t r u c t i o n s

• Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!

o p t i o n s

01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.

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"Time," he scoffs. "Right." Time Lords hate waiting, don't you know? Or maybe it's just him. He'd certainly rather take a trip in his time machine and skip the waiting period, except that machine in the problem right now. "Maybe we should tell her a story. 'The Brave Little TARDIS.' 'The Little TARDIS That Could.'"

Some of his sarcasm has actually started to fade. Waiting. Sleeping would be nice, while they wait. He really does think he's done all that he can physically do to ease the TARDIS. She just needs rest. She'll get better. She has to. He doesn't want to think what will happen to them if she doesn't.

"What's the worst injury you've ever gotten, Martha?"

"Have you got any nice picture books in the library? I'm sure she'd love those." Except that the pictures would be wasted on an unconscious TARDIS. Probably. She really doesn't know the first thing about TARDISes, or if they even can see, as such.

Martha hesitates for a moment, pausing in her mindless hair-stroking, thinking of the unnaturally straight furrows of scar tissue that stretch across her back. A car crash, she'd told Tom when he'd inevitably asked. She doesn't remember much of crossing Australia; it's all been lost in a haze of pain, heat, and feverish delirium.

"I broke my arm when I was seven," she lies. Well, it's true - it's just her second-worst injury. "Leo pushed me off a swing at the playground 'cos he got tired of waiting for me to finish, and I fell all wrong." Martha smiles a little as she remembers. "The paramedic distracted me in the ambulance by teaching the names of the bones in my arm and hand, and I thought the ambulance ride and getting my arm plastered at the hospital was the most interesting thing ever."

"There's a few," he answers, voice distant as he remembers why he has them, and he doesn't offer up more of a comment.

"I hope Leo got properly scolded. Or felt bad. Or both. Both, I think." He nods his head against her, which feels slightly strange, and slightly confusing; it's not a position he's used to.

"And I'm sure you got him back at some point, when you were older. Seven, huh? That's a rough age." And there's that distant voice again.

"He was just acting out." 'Just acting out' describes the majority of Leo's life; he's only recently settled down and started acting like a responsible adult. Parenting has actually been good for him, she reflects. "But he was the one who ran for Mum after he realised I was hurt. Didn't save him from a scolding, but I think he felt bad about it."

That wasn't long after Francine had gone back to work - once all three of them were old enough for school, she'd gone right back to the hardworking lifestyle she'd had before Tish was born.

"I was always the good kid." Martha wrinkles her nose. "Someone had to be, I reckon." Tish hadn't been bad, per se, but she engaged in her fair share of misbehaving. And Martha? She'd always been the studious, hard-working one. The dull one, as Tish always called her. She's not dull, but she knew what she wanted from a young age, and knew that she'd have to work hard to get there.

(At least he's believing her lie. She tries not to think about the inch or so of scar tissue that pokes up past the back of her tank top. He won't notice it.)

"Then you became a troublemaker," he jokes. 'Troublemaker' being his companion. It makes perfect sense to him, even if she might see if differently. "Must've been all built up over time, waiting to burst free."

He stretches his legs out and shifts his head off her, shaking feeling into the rest of his limbs until he stops suddenly, tense. "...What's that?" he murmurs, then vaults forward towards the console, makes it to his knees, then falls to his elbows with a groan. "Martha, 'little help..."

"I like to think I keep you out of trouble," she huffs, pretending to be disgruntled. But, honestly, he's the one who gets into trouble. She's too busy taking care of him to get into it.

Martha watches him as he leaps for the console, then falls forward again. "Doctor?" She furrows her brow with confusion and concern, moving forward and slinging one of his arms over her shoulders. She drags him towards the console. "Grab the edge there," she tells him. "Can you pull yourself up?" He's skinny, but it's still hard to manhandle him.

He'd argue that her being around only encourages him getting into trouble, but he's too busy focusing on pulling himself up with her assistance. He's passed the point of being annoyed at being seen like this. Five days takes a toll, even on him.

He hangs there for a moment before limping around the console and reaching into her innards, pulling up a light like he's holding a pulsating firebug. He looks over at Martha, grinning cheekily. "I think someone's starting her bouts of recovery." If he really thought about it, he'd say he was feeling better, too, just talking to Martha about everything and nothing.

Funny how symbiosis works out.

"Good." She feels relieved when she sees the little light. She doesn't know how it really represents the recovery as a whole, but it's something, more than they've seen for five days. Hopefully it won't take the TARDIS another five days to heal enough to get them somewhere.

"Maybe she needs some soup to help her recover," Martha suggests jokingly, patting the coral of the console gently. "Though I'm not sure where you'd put it." Maybe through the grating? Who knows.

"Tea, maybe," he hums, delighted. "Tea fixes everything. Or, well, most things. She's not really into that sort of thing though." Which is really just him saying that no, he's not sure it'd even work and if it did, where he'd put it. He treats his TARDIS like she's sentient and like she's always listening, and though there's a link between them, he's not actually sure how much sentience is there.

So don't call him out on it because he'll probably just lie.

He places the small light down and bounces backward, a skip to his step. "Give it a few hours, and she should have more of her systems back online! If we can get her back into the vortex, we can land her 'round Cardiff."

He sways and quickly finds himself leaning against another coral column and laughs, acting like it was completely on purpose. "Maybe I should go back to bed."

"Who doesn't like tea?" Martha jokes. "I bet even the TARDIS likes a cuppa now and then." Maybe there's a little spout in the console to pour things down. She wouldn't be entirely surprised.

"Excellent. We can drop in on Jack, make him take us out for breakfast. Or lunch. Dinner. Whatever meal it happens to be then." Honestly, at this point she doesn't care, just as long as it's a meal. And even if the Doctor doesn't want to go out to eat with Jack, Martha has absolutely no problem taking advantage of it and dropping in on her other best friend.

Her practiced eye catches that sway, the exhausted ashen tone to his skin, the slightly clumsy movements. "Yeah, you probably should." Not that she's doing much better, but at least she hasn't been up for five days running.

He definitely doesn't want to go out to eat with Jack, but he supposes he can play nice and act like it isn't completely disorienting to look at Jack face-to-face. If he manages sleep, he'll be able to do it, and act like nothing's wrong.

And anyway, it isn't like he can park the TARDIS down and hope Torchwood doesn't notice. She'll need longer than usual there.

"Sounds good," he agrees with some reluctance. He straightens carefully and stares at the console. Concussion. Rest. Time. There's nothing he can do for her waiting around here. A watched pot never boils sort of thing. He rubs at the back of his neck, not looking at Martha. "Mind giving me a shoulder to help get me back to my room?"

Martha reckons that if they don't pop in to see Jack, he'll appear anyway, and it's better that they visit than have a repeat of the last time. So as long as they're there, she's going to take advantage of Torchwood's budget so she's not the one paying for them to eat (because it's not like the Doctor ever has any Earth money).

"You know, I'm not going to be able to keep dragging you around like this," she teases him, but she slings an arm around the small of his back anyway. "You might be a string bean, but you're still bigger and heavier than I am."

"You're a hearty, strong woman, Martha, but I'll try not to make a habit of it," he grins and is careful not to lean too heavily onto her. He doubts either of them will be able to move again easily if they end up toppled onto the floor. He'd stubbornly sleep wherever they landed at that point.

So it's slow and steady. He uses his room next to never, and it's sparse compared to--he assumes--his companions' rooms, past and present. But it's times like these which call for the necessity.

They get to the door and it's the only one in the long hallway, at least for the moment. Sometimes his ship places random rooms nearby, whether they be storage, or rooms he's forgotten about. She's never moved a past companion's room near him though, so at least she's never cruel about it.

"Home sweet home," he says to the door, a strangely simple wooden one, which matches no other part of the ship. "Thank you, Martha."

"Flatterer," Martha snorts. She doesn't feel very strong right now; she feels like she just wants to fall over and sleep for about a week.

She tries not to stare at the Doctor's door, but it's hard. She's spent a fair bit of time exploring the TARDIS, and she's never seen it before; she has no idea where they are. (Of course, she's fairly certain the TARDIS keeps the rooms she uses easy to find, out of courtesy to her.) It's so out of place compared to every other door she's seen in the corridors - simple and plain, but somehow fitting for him.

"Er-" She hesitates. "How do I-" Martha gestures vaguely to the hallway, indicating that she has no idea where the hell they are.

"...Um." He looks around them, unsure. "That's a really good question, actually." One that'd be easy to answer if the TARDIS was fully operational. "One that has a very good answer."

If he knew it. He frowns. He can't lead her back, because then he'd be stuck. She can't just wander, because the risk of getting lost has increased tenfold. He can't expect her to sleep out here. He glances at his still-closed door. It isn't like they haven't shared a bed before, but that was in Elizabethan London... not his bedroom.

"Uh."

"I can sleep in a chair or something," she offers, in a tone of voice that clearly implies that he's being a complete idiot. What she wants to say is that she's obviously not going to be overcome with lust and start groping him in the middle of the night and she's sure they can share a bed perfectly platonically like two adults. "I've slept in worse places, believe me."

That doesn't mean she wants to, though.

As though there is a chair.

"No it's... It's fine. You're fine."

He opens the door and it really is just a bed, the dark blueish sheets only askew because he tried to sleep hours before.

He stands there a little awkwardly. He's never had anyone in his room, can't you tell? Thousand or so years (give or take a hundred) and he's still barely ever in it.

He gestures silently into the room in offering, then draws the hand back to scratch at his hairline. "Not much," is all he says, then crosses the room in a few strides and pulls back the sheets.

Her own room on the TARDIS is cosy - furnished by the ship herself, she reckons, but the TARDIS must somehow know what she likes, or is at least good at guessing. There are things she's never seen before in her room, books she's never read, and a few trinkets of her own she's picked up here and there.

The Doctor's room? It's sparse, barely even a room. It doesn't even look lived in, and Martha finds that incredibly sad. He's got an entire TARDIS to live in, yeah, but a bedroom is something personal, a space you're meant to make your own. That's not what this is. She's been in hotel rooms with more personality.

"Least we won't be sharing it with the fleas this time," she points out wryly. "You don't kick, do you? Or steal the blankets, or put your cold feet against other people's legs?" All questions you should probably ask before you decide to share a bed with someone else.

Martha takes the side that's against the wall, nestling in and trying to make herself as small as possible. Suddenly, she feels awkward about this, like she's invading what little privacy he's got.

Telling her that he literally "sleeps like he's dead" is probably not the best thing to say, even if it's true. He also had to be able to fall asleep, first, to sleep that "soundly" and that's a completely different struggle. The TARDIS will be fine--that's all he has to keep telling himself.

"Can't say I've ever slept next to myself, so I don't know." He grins and flops down next to her, burrowing under sheets since they're not infested with fleas like the last time. "Just don't kick me off the bed and we'll be good."

"If you do steal the blankets," she informs him bluntly, "I bloody well will kick you off the bed." Blankets are serious business for Martha Jones, apparently.

Martha doesn't ask him how he doesn't know what sort of bed partner he is; it's probably the sort of thing that changes with every regeneration, and it's doubtful he's allowed anyone to get that close...well, certainly not in this lifetime, and although she hasn't met the one just previous, she bets it hasn't happened since the Time War.

It's incredibly sad, she thinks, to not even allow yourself that much intimacy with another sentient creature. The Doctor is lonely; she knows that. She's known that practically since she met him. She even understands, on an objective level, why he does it. Subjectively, though, it breaks her heart, and she doesn't understand why it doesn't break his.

Maybe it does.

Can't break hearts that are already broken.

He's shared a bed with other people before, sure, but it's always been... impersonal. Like it had been with Martha that first time, before he really knew her and he was just trying to show off, while not thinking of... well.

"Right. No stealing of blankets." He settles on his back and doesn't roll towards her, trying to give her space, like she's giving him. He wants to tell her she doesn't have to, but he keeps the words in.

He's asleep before he realizes it. He even sleeps like the dead for a good ten minutes, but without the TARDIS to soothe him, he shifts somewhere along the way and ends up pressed against Martha.

Hey, at least she still has blankets.

She doesn't wake up, just feels a body pressed against her and instinctively nestles into it, throwing an arm over him. She hasn't shared a bed with anyone since Tom - probably subconsciously thinks he is Tom, even if he's too skinny and tall. Though it hasn't been as long for her as it has for him, Martha likes physical contact, and she's felt a bit starved for it lately.

This probably explains how her head ends up pillowed on his chest and both an arm and a leg are slung over him a few hours later. She'll probably be incredibly embarrassed when she wakes up, but right now, she's blissfully comfortable after a rough few days of trying and mostly failing to sleep.

The Doctor only stirs some time through sleeping because the TARDIS hums through his consciousness, delighted and rested, much the same as himself.

Except when he tries to move to check on her, he can't. Which is very weird, because this isn't supposed to be a problem for him. Is never a problem for him, so why? Did something break aboard his ship while her defenses were down? Was he captured? Did he need to launch a rescue mission for him and Martha--

Martha.

Feeling a bit foolish, he supposes his ship wouldn't seem so happy if there were intruders boarding her.

He remembers that there's another body in his bed, and realizes that some of the fault in the entanglement is on him, just as much as Martha. He also realizes that he's awfully comfortable, and doesn't really want to deal with the awkwardness of pulling apart yet.

Besides, humans need more sleep than Time Lords. He's just doing Martha a favor. It'd be rude to wake her up so early in her sleep cycle.

So he doesn't move and goes back to sleep. It's the right thing to do, after all.

She stirs after a couple more hours, nuzzles his chest sleepily, brushes her lips against his neck - a neck that's too thin -

Oh god.

Martha jerks awake with a start and pulls away frantically, pressing against the wall. "Sorry!" she apologises quickly, in a bit of a panic. "I didn't mean to, I swear, I just-"

Actually felt comfortable while sleeping for the first time in ages?

If he was more awake, he would likely be mortified from the gesture, thinking that he did invite the risk of... of... well, this. But he's still half asleep and he doesn't freeze stiff as a board, instead reaching down and brushing her hair back just once.

"Don't panic," he murmurs, "I know you didn't," and he seems very certain in his words.

Edited (giolkmnbgh) 2016-06-14 05:12 (UTC)

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