InsaneJournal

narrative and journal to Rose T, Clara O

[Christmas. Oh, for a normal Christmas. As a child, Christmas was filled with...fighting parents, attention-seeking siblings, being paraded in front of extended family and friends, and then those few precious hours of taking whatever book was her present and curling up in her bed away from it all.

Okay, so Martha Jones had never loved Christmas.

But she was older now, and after traveling with the Doctor, you started to appreciate what you had more. Her family still squabbled in the way that families do, but they had all been forced to test the limits of their relationship. They had all been tortured and would have died for one another. They were the only ones to remember what happened. They got along now a lot better now than they used to. And Martha really wanted a normal Christmas with them.

But there weren't normal Christmases in London. There had been years ago, before she had traveled with the Doctor and before her cousin had died at Canary Wharf. That was the first time that she could remember the problem at Christmas, the Santas. If she were going to be stuck dealing with this, couldn't she at least call her mother or Tom?

She sighed and shut down her computer. She needed a break. Wallowing wasn't going to do her any good.

But just as she was getting to her feet, she heard a distant crackle and pop, a series of small glass explosions not too far away, and she flicked on the news about the Santa attack at Leadenhall Market. That was less than 10 minutes from where she was.

The answer of what to do was obvious. She ran towards it.

She grabbed her journal and ditched her labcoat in her office before sprinting towards Leadenhall Market. And oh, it was a mess. Martha had to cover her nose--bits of broken glass and electric fires were here and there, ruining meats and cheeses for sale in the market there. There was no sign of the Santas, but there were plenty of people hurt. Martha immediately headed to the closest person looking for help.]

Don't worry, I'm a doctor. [She assured him with a smile, helping him take a seat to look over the injury until the ambulance arrived.

Happy. Christmas.]

[Later that evening, she wrote this quick journal entry to the other companions.]
These grinches are erratic.