Chapter Text
There was tension, of course.
She looked at him with starry eyes, her spirit slowly being chipped away by his longing for a girl no longer there, and the smiles he gave her when she did something brilliant. Travelling him was glorious. Travelling with him was a curse. Martha had pined—did pine, continued to pine—over this man, this alien. He’d kissed her on the moon and apologised for it. In retrospect, Martha often wondered if it wasn’t her she was apologising to, but himself.
The tension though, she was the one who felt it the most. The Doctor didn’t do touch, so when he did, it was a surprise. Sharing a bed in 1599 had been a brief affair marred by Rose and I’ll take you back home tomorrow, but when she’d been ripped from his side in the undercity of New New York, the distance only buoyed her faith that he’d find her. He didn’t touch her. They’d been reunited by teleport and maybe, if they’d had more time to simply revel in it past one lingering look as he introduced her to the Face of Boe and Novice Hame, Martha thought that he’d see her differently. As it was, he barely even looked at her, after—which Martha couldn’t fault him for, even if she almost hated him for it. The Face of Boe had revealed a secret he’d been keeping.
‘I am the last of my kind, as you are the last of yours, Doctor.’
And it made her fed up, pushed her to grab that plastic chair in the dirty, fucking alleyway of New New York’s undercity, and demand answers. She’d asked so many questions about him and his people, and he’d answered none of them, because he was grieving a civilisation destroyed in a war—The Last Great Time War—but when the guilt set in as she demanded answers, he finally gave them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said later, when the artificial rain came on and soaked them to the bone. The Doctor had rushed her inside the TARDIS, and didn’t run away when she asked him to keep telling her about Gallifrey over a mug of hot chocolate, liberally spiked with alien liquor that tasted like hazelnut and maple syrup.
The Doctor shook his head slowly, his own drink in hand. The glass tilted from side to side, the last mouthful of cold tea with ginger and cloves swirling around the base.
‘Don’t be. There are a lot of things I should have said, if I didn’t want to talk…none of which I said to you.’ He admitted it with only the barest hint of shame, feet nudging her hip, ‘I should have, Martha. So we didn’t end up like this.’
‘This,’ Martha gestured lazily to the never-ending library, and the small couch they were entangled upon, legs slotted around the others, ‘is fine. Sweet, even. Doctor- Doctor, you’re my friend. And I am sorry, even if you don’t want to accept my apology, because I shouldn’t have pushed.’
The Doctor’s lip twitched, but his smiles had become fleeting hours ago. Martha shivered at the sight—and the Doctor frowned, leaning forwards to look at her.
‘Are you cold? I can get the TARDIS to warm the place up-’
‘No!’ Martha interrupted, cheeks flushing as the warmth in her belly spiked at his care. ‘No, I’m fine.’
He hovered, putting down his glass, rolled-up sleeves shifting past his elbow. ‘It wouldn’t be a bother-’
‘No,’ she said again firmly, swatting his shin where it laid in easy reach of her free hand. ‘It’s just…you stopped smiling.’
Silence.
Numpty, she called herself, knowing what was about to happen next. The Doctor would undoubtedly make some comment, and whether smart or depressing, it would make Martha even sadder. The genocide of his people wasn’t a conversation so easily brushed off. Bolstered by whatever the Doctor had poured into her drink earlier, she set it aside and started climbing, ignoring his widening eyes so she could settle herself in between him and the sofa cushions, arms wrapping around his torso. If they were in love, she might have kissed him instead. But they weren’t—so a hug it was.
He breathed her name. ‘Martha…’
‘I’m here for you,’ she promised him, and then promised herself not to make it awkward as she said, ‘And I don’t know if Time Lords do hugs, but I’m giving you one.’
‘This Time Lord does hugs,’ the Doctor whispered, before his hand settled on her neck, gently stroking a stray bit of hair by her ear, the other resting—clutching—Martha’s arm, where it rested on his stomach. ‘It’s been a long day. You were kidnapped.’
‘They needed a third person, so they could access the fast lane.’ She snorted, feeling the reverberation against his ribcage. With only the thin material of his shirt against her cheek, Martha reckoned that if she tried, she’d be able to hear his hearts. ‘Six years, they said it’d take. Only ten miles. They would start their kid in school when they finally got there.’
‘At the expense of you,’ the Doctor said harshly, holding her tighter. Martha looked up and saw his eyes trained on her, dark and not quite unforgiving, but definitely in the region of resentment. He cares, she thought. The realisation hit her like a truck. He cares about me.
But Martha had learned that endorsements came hand in hand with the mention of the dreaded Rose Tyler, right on the back of a caring comment and lesson about the nature of the universe, so she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The Doctor didn’t say another word, unblinking as he stared at her. Martha stared right back, heart pounding; when was he going to mention Rose?
He isn’t, she eventually came to the conclusion, looking away, resettling her head against his side. Martha was swarmed by the idea that she’d become herself in his mind, a real living person who had no connection to his former companion. It was a relief. It should have made her feel better about her stupid crush. She’d known him for three days and she was a twenty-four year old medical student, which was clearly old enough and wise enough to get over a crush.
Beneath her ear, in the quiet of the library, Martha heard his dual heartbeats and knew from the depths of her own that she was screwed.
‘Oh, it’s freezing!’ She exclaimed as they stepped out the door, clutching herself. The Doctor laughed, and Martha looked back at him in confusion, the thoughts dawning on her escaping instantly. ‘How are you not freezing to death in that coat?’
The Doctor, tugging at his lapels, looked at her snugly and boasted, ‘Time Lord biology. I can manipulate my system to increase blood flow and self-regulate temperature and hormone fluctuations.’
‘Well, Mr Self-Regulate,’ Martha ground her teeth, hopping back inside the TARDIS, ‘I need better clothes than this!’ And I don’t have any, she finished in her mind with a small huff and flare of disappointment that he’d think it was okay to bring her somewhere she wasn’t prepared for.
The Doctor stepped back inside, closing the door. ‘Bit different from the cargo ship.’
Her huff this time was quieter, but agreeable as Martha muttered, ‘Bit, yeah. So much for ice skating on Kur-Ha.’
‘Aw, do you not want to go anymore?’ he whined, pleading for her to change her mind. Martha glanced at him, still able to feel the cold they’d arrived to, despite the TARDIS’s central heating.
‘It’s way too cold out there for me.’
The Doctor offered, ‘I have clothes that would fit you.’
The hell if I’m wearing Rose’s clothes. ‘No, thanks.’ He was clearly disappointed, but Martha hadn’t exactly come with much, and she didn’t know how to bring that up without him thinking she wanted him to take her shopping.
‘No, really—the TARDIS has a wardrobe, it creates things all the time. My old girl,’ he glanced up just in time to miss Martha’s surprised expression, fondness radiating from him along with glee. A second later, he looked back at her and winked. ‘We’ll get you warmed up, Martha, don’t you worry. Come on.’
He strode towards her, without fail finding her hand to tug her further into the TARDIS, through corridors Martha hadn’t braved, except to sleep in the first bedroom on the left he’d led her to after giving her a key. That wink, though! He was so infuriating! Martha thought to herself about how unfair it was as he led her forwards and left, then right against, pausing outside what looked like a wooden door set into an airlock. He grinned at her.
‘TARDIS wardrobe at your disposal,’ he said, before opening the door to reveal a towering room more suited to a skyscraper, cement floor littered with antique furniture full to bursting with accessories, and spiralling staircases all the way to the ceiling bedecked with railings of clothes. When the door slid shut behind them, Martha was made aware of the heat, which seemed to radiate outwards from an ovular basin in the centre of the room, a crystal glowing blue in its centre.
‘What’s that?’
‘Huh? Oh, that,’ the Doctor continued to hold her hand, swinging it gently between them, ‘Marwellion crystal. Absorbs light and sound, then puts out radiation waves to induce rapid heat. Completely harmless, unless you’re made of light. Or sound. Or both. Anyway, we’ll certainly be able to find you something suitable for Kur-Ha weather.’
‘Definitely,’ Martha agreed, before forcing herself to let go of his hand, beelining for a rack of long-sleeved t-shirts that looked vaguely thermal. Picking one out on whim—thankfully, there was an M for medium on the collar, right next to an alien-looking logo—she felt the forest green sleeve and applauded herself for choosing correctly. It was thermal, for sure.
‘Here,’ the Doctor said from behind her, and when Martha turned, he was almost unreasonably close, dangling a pair of matching black leggings between them. ‘Found the rest of the set. They’ll give us skates by the lake.’
‘Thanks. I’ll just get changed, then. Can you find me a coat? Warm, but not too bulky.’ Martha instructed him as she took the leggings, getting a swift nod before the Doctor bounded off towards one of the spiral staircases. Martha watched him disappear up the stairs, then looked around for some kind of shelter, struggling for a moment before finding a tall wardrobe. ‘There,’ she whispered, discarding her jacket on a bureau and hiding behind the wardrobe. Then it was off with her jeans and purple tank top—and Martha was so grateful for it, it had been through its fair share of adventures at this point—and figuring out which way round the leggings went on.
‘Martha, I found a jacket-’ came the Doctor unexpectedly, jumping as Martha shrieked at the sight of him, eyes wide as he took in her undressed state. ‘Martha!’
‘Doctor!’ Martha panicked, embarrassment hooking its way into her lungs, stealing the breath away from her. She was standing in front of her crush in her underwear. How on Earth could her day get any worse-
He was staring at her.
Clutching the thermal leggings, Martha tried to save face, and maybe snap him out of his shock. ‘Wasn’t expecting you to be so quick.’
‘It wasn’t far away,’ the Doctor said, voice distant as he scanned her up and down, eyes trailing along her legs and the curve of her breast. Martha saw the appreciation there, that didn’t dim as he leant against the back of the wardrobe, still holding the jacket. ‘Humans. It’s funny, but I never get bored of you. Like Time Lords in so many ways…oh, the internals are completely different, and psychically, we’re on different planes of existence, but externally…’
A flicker of annoyance burned in her chest. ‘Oh?’ She hoped he could hear the derision there, but like always, the Doctor’s skill in recognising tones was deficient, and he proceeded to dig himself further into his own grave.
‘Same everything, mostly.’ He said, then surprised her by tucking his finger under her chin, trailing his thumb beneath her jaw, as if searching for something. ‘We have a few other glands that help with scent recognition, but that probably counts as an internal change. It’s just a bit more recognisable that, say, the number of livers. Eyes. Time Lords have a tendency towards using ocular control panels, rather than touch-based, so the appearance of our eyes can change, dependant on our individual needs and wishes.’
‘Like- like your temperature?’ Martha stuttered through her question, gasping when she saw the Doctor’s eyes, usually a dark brown, morphed into a pale orange, then red, then pink and purple and blue. They rolled through the entire colour wheel, sometimes staying on certain shades longer than others—he probably went through colours Martha couldn’t see, was her best guess—before revolving back to his usual dark brown, that were briefly tinged gold before he smiled, thumb brushing her earlobe.
‘Like a lot of things,’ he said diplomatically, and when he glanced down at her lips, it was so much more obvious, because he’d just spent the last ten seconds staring into her eyes. Looking at my lips, she thought, before he confirmed it. ‘Did you like him?’
Martha had no idea who he was talking about. ‘Who?’
‘The cargo hauler, Riley Vashti. We just saved his crew from a living sun,’ said the Doctor, prompting Martha to remember the guy she’d made out with. At the time, it had been nothing but a farewell after nearly dying, but now, standing in front of the Doctor in her underwear with his fingers brushing her cheek, it- it was…
‘Did you like him?’ the Doctor asked again.
‘I mean,’ Martha swallowed the lump in her throat, ‘he was nice. Sweaty.’
The Time Lord made a small noise of amusement. ‘We all were.’
‘We nearly died in that escape pod. I never lost hope that you’d save us, but it was pretty hard. Riley gave up. Told me to phone my mum, while I still could. He was a good guy.’
‘Oh, Martha Jones,’ the Doctor murmured, ‘You trust me that much?’
‘Yes,’ said Martha. Nervously, she looked away, wondering if the declaration of trust was too much. The amount of adventures they’d gotten into so far had proven that nowhere in space-time was safe, and intellectually, she knew that unfettered trust, without limits, could make or break relationships—whether romantic of platonic. And while the Doctor definitely didn’t know he was stealing Martha’s heart, bit by bit, she still trusted him to do right by her, the best he could. Breezily, trying to reduce the tension, she reminded him, ‘You said you’d save me. Then you did.’
‘And then I did,’ he repeated back at her, before leaning forwards. This time, when their lips slotted together, it wasn’t with the crush of their previous kiss, but with a gentle softness that turned into a hot passion as Martha opened up her mouth and their tongues swirled. The fingers at her cheek became a supportive hand by her jaw.
She could almost read his thoughts. Thank you thank you thank you for trusting me thank you for everything for listening for being you thank you thank you. And then reality hit, through all the passion and adoration Martha felt, her stomach lurching sickeningly as she pushed him away, swaying with the force.
‘That’s not fair!’ She gasped, blinking rapidly as her eyes stung with tears. ‘You can’t kiss me like that.’
The Doctor’s expression was being overtaken by panic. ‘Like what?’
‘Like that,’ Martha hissed, fists curling. ‘Don’t kiss me while you still have other people on your mind.’
‘Who would I be thinking of?’ the Doctor asked, but rather than the guilt she expected from being right, from guessing that he thought about Rose when he kissed another woman, something…curdled in his expression. ‘You’re the one kissing random space pirates.’
‘…Riley?’ Martha’s jaw dropped. ‘What? Is that why you kissed me? Because you’re jealous?’
‘Shakespeare caught your eye, too,’ he said, before reciting the sonnet they’d both heard from Will’s lips. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’
‘Doctor.’
‘Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date.’
‘Doctor, stop.’
‘Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed; and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed,’ he continued, unfaltering. The words spilled from his lips like honey, but there was a whine there, a childish, jealous whine that made Martha want to slap him. Her hand grasped at his jacket, but the Doctor delicately drew his thumb over her cheekbone, his demeanour changing into something remarkably more sober and honest.
‘But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st. Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, when in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.’ Soft as a breeze, he finished the poem. ‘So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’
‘Reciting poetry won’t make me forget you kissed me,’ Martha said, hating how weak she sounded.
‘I wouldn’t want you to. I kissed you for trusting me, to thank-you, Martha—but I don’t think you do.’
‘Do what?’ she asked stupidly.
‘Trust me,’ said the Doctor, searching for something in her eyes. ‘You’re afraid of something, I can practically taste it. You’re my friend, Martha. I don’t want you to be scared of me.’
And what could she say to that? Oh, it’s because I’m afraid of being hurt emotionally, more than normal when it comes to unrequited love, because you can be an arse about your ex. No way. Martha allowed herself to laugh, to get out all her nerves, and accidentally letting loose her pain and frustration, too.
‘I,’ she said, feeling better for their shared honesty, and braver, too, ‘am not scared of you. Not like that. And I do trust you, but kissing me is crossing a boundary, one you know. And I know you know it,’ she said before he could interrupt, ‘because you apologised on the moon, Doctor. So unless you just want to have a one night stand, because you saw me in my underwear and couldn’t get the words out, then this never happens again.’
Martha breathed.
Before her, she saw the Doctor thinking, but she didn’t pretend to know him well enough to know what he was thinking. So it hurt, yes, when he dropped the coat to kiss her again. Yes, it hurt when she kissed back and let him pick her up, carrying her to the nearest table. But she never expected him to take up her offer, and now that he had, she couldn’t bear to say no.
‘Gorgeous,’ he said when they drew away from each other at the table, grinning at her. It was like a dream. A really, really good dream. When the Doctor knelt down in front of her, hands sliding down her thighs to draw her knees apart, she knew it was only about to get better. ‘And what do we have here…’