Title: Just the Sound of His Voice
Characters/Pairing: Martha/the Master, mention of the Doctor and Tish
Word Count: 748
Rating: PG
Summary: "He spoke about…I can’t really remember, but it was good. Just the sound of his voice."
Notes: Written for whoniverse1000. Yes, I have other things I should be writing, but given the choice between that and SKETCH, which would you pick? ...Oh, never mind.
Disclaimer: Martha and the Master both belong to the BBC. I am not connected to the BBC in any way and am making no money from this whatsoever.

Martha Jones is not particularly interested in politics. Sorting out her family drama is politics enough for one lifetime. Studying takes up enough of her time, and she has dreams of one day having some semblance of a social life. In all of that, she doesn't have time to be particularly interested in politics.

She knows Harold Saxon is speaking, not far from the hospital, if only because the preparations for it meant she had to take a detour this morning and arrived at the hospital late. It's over by the time she leaves the hospital, the crowd gone, for which she's very grateful. She just wants to go home right now, have a cup of tea, watch stupid television and maybe take a nap before she absolutely has to study.

Instead, she bumps into someone, walking down the street, and stumbles back, the apology faltering on her tongue when she sees the man, realizes she recognizes him. He smiles in a way that makes her breath stop momentarily, and tells her it's quite alright, and asks her name.

Martha Jones tells Harold Saxon she's not particularly interested in politics, and that she's already voting for him. She's a little surprised, honestly, when that doesn't give him pause at all, when his smile doesn't change in the least as he mentions that she looks tired, and asks if she's alright, and God, she can't help but be charmed by it.

*

For some reason, Harold Saxon likes her. He thinks she's bright and interesting, or at least gives a very convincing impression of it. He listens when she talks. He takes her out to lunch, once, and asks question after question - innocent questions, not prying, and maybe because of that she somehow ends up telling him the story of her life, silly things like childhood games she and Tish used to play, important things like her parent's divorce...

She just wants to keep talking to him. She wants him to keep talking to her, she just wants to stay around him, because the world somehow comes into sharper focus when he's around, while at the same time sidling away so it's merely a background for him. Harold Saxon isn't in the world, he is the world, and everything else is merely an accessory to him.

Before he leaves, he passes Martha a card with his number on it, tells her to call him if she needs anything at all. Her fingertips brush his, and she draws a startled breath despite herself – his touch is like ice.

*

Harold Saxon has a wife. Martha Jones has no interest in being second best to anyone, and she's not going to be some politician's mistress. She has better things to do with her life than be someone's dirty secret, or the person he turns to when he's tired of pretty and sweet and blonde.

Somehow, she forgets all of that when he's in her flat, which always seemed a comfortable size before but with him here suddenly seems too small, too cramped, like now that he's here, there's not enough air to breathe. Or maybe it's just that he's always left her breathless.

Martha opens her mouth to tell him that maybe he should leave.

Harold Saxon steps forward and kisses her instead, before the words even reach her lips, and like some stupid cliche, she goes a little weak at the knees. Eyes closed, Martha rests a hand against his chest, just to steady herself, and tells herself she's imagining the steady, four-beat heartbeat she feels under her palm, on the wrong side of his chest.

*

The Doctor says he'll recognize the Master when he sees him. Martha has the sinking feeling she already knows, growing more and more certain with every second that ticks by.

She swallows hard, eyes flickering over the stark black and white Saxon posters on the wall of every building, the T-shirts, the...

Martha Jones knows the voice she heard at the end of the universe. She's heard it hundreds of times, on television, on the street, sitting across from her at lunch, murmuring in her ear while they're both lying in her bed...

"That was the voice of Harold Saxon."

It's a realization that comes several hundred billion years or just a few months too late, depending how you count.