First and Foremost: It's my first ficcy! Yaaay! Please be kind. This story actually started out as something completely different and with different tenses, so If I've forgotten to change anything, please let me know. =]

Second and... uuhhh.. secondmost I don't own BBC or the characters, only the words. Sue me if you like, but all you'd get is the dust bunnies under my bed.

Read, review and enjoy!

Chapter I

She was young, but she's accomplished more than most people her age; probably more than most people on the planet. By the age of 23, she'd graduated top of her class at Oxford, earned herself a top position as chief medical officer at UNIT and associate member of Torchwood. Oh, and traveled throughout time and space. She'd operated on both aliens and humans alike. She was beautiful, brilliant and fabulously wealthy. It would seem that she had everything she could ever want.

So why would she sabotage her perfect life? It's the question that the 23 year old widow and "all-but- divorcee", asked herself every day.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Naked, groggy, and ever so slightly confused. 'Usual Saturday night', she thought to herself. 'Think, think, think,' as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings.

She remembered a lot of apple martinis. And even more shots. Of what? She couldn't say. She leaned up on her elbows and looked around: it was dank and dark and vaguely smelled of sweat. In her drunken stupor, had she climbed into a cave? Complete with big, angry bear. Or is it? She looked around to find the source of the incessant snoring that had ultimately led to her rude awakening. To her right, the culprit: oily, olive and bald headed with a pencil thin mustache and a thin trail of drool hanging from his lip is the bear. He called himself Jim…or Slim. She couldn't remember, nor could she force herself to care.

She winced, both at the sight and at her aching head. She slid quietly out of the unfamiliar bed. She quickly gathered up her black pumps and the thin sliver of fabric that was her dress and tiptoed to the small bathroom, making sure not to disturb the stranger still snoring on the opposite pillow. None of that post-one- night- stand- banter for Martha Jones.

Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, there was no toilet paper. Nor was there any soap. She pulled on her dress, and rummaged through the cabinets. Finally, she found the pot of gold: the last of the toothpaste. She squeezed it onto her index finger and cleaned her teeth the best she could. She rinsed her mouth out and stretched- the pain in her back, as opposed to between her thighs, was a clear indicator that whatever happened between the grizzly and herself obviously wasn't worth it.

She had her keys but didn't remember driving. She had her phone but it long gone- Dead for hours, she assumed. She carried her shoes back out of the bathroom, stealing a glance at the alarm clock on the floor as she passed-it was 10:37am .What's- his- face was still snoring and snorting as she slipped out of the door and into her shoes. As she click-clacked down the corridor of the dusty apartment building, her embarrassment was being held firmly in place by her pride. She stepped out of the front doors and into the late summer sun. No sign of the car, but luckily she'd picked up an impeccable sense of direction somewhere between space and time.

She walked briskly down the cracked sidewalk two blocks to the subway station and pretended not to notice the holier-than-thou church ladies as they whispered. Her pink shimmery dress was all of a sudden too bright, even for her eyes, ablaze in the mid-morning sun. It seemed like such a good idea last night.
The subway ride was short and she got off just a block away from where she'd parked her car- her silent prayers answered when I saw it was still there. She pressed the button, unlocking the red sport car and snatched the traffic ticket off of the windshield. It's the only car on the small block. She revved her engine, finally relaxing, and drove across town barefoot.

She'd hardly expected to see him in front of her house. She hardly expected to see him anywhere anymore. Of course, he still came around once in a while- sometimes by "accident", mostly on "business". He'd been sitting on her stoop, a large brown envelope in hand. He hadn't heard her approach. He'd been staring down at the envelope in his hands. "You know, it's illegal to open someone else's mail." She'd meant it as a joke, but her flat tone conveyed her misery through her fake smile. He'd have been able to tell anyway. He could always tell. And she hated it. The way he looked at her. The morbid way he breathed her name as she approached. She hated that too. "I'm sorry," he said softly. It was just barely above a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry." She hated the pity in his voice as his eyes dropped down her divorce papers. And above all else, she hated the way he could still make her heart skip a beat.

A/N: Hmmm... that was pretty short. I'll update soon. In the mean time, leave me some feedback people!