Secrets and Fears
Who_Daily Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/144613.html">Secrets and Fears by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Ten/Martha | RATING: G | Spoilers: S3.03 to S3.06)
Title: Secrets and Fears
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor, Martha Jones
Rating: G
Spoilers: S3.03 to S3.06
Summary: The Doctor's not sure he wants Martha around.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Author Notes: This fic was written for fleurette for the dw_quotememe - the prompt offered was Ten/Martha -- "...you see a man who's raging, and he's jealous and he fears that you've walked through walls he's hid behind for years" from the "Hold On" from The Secret Garden musical by Simon/Norman [book by Burnett].
(Yep, second fic today - but the first one I posted was written yesterday!)
~~~~~~
After their visit to New Earth, the Doctor had semi-reluctantly agreed with Martha that they could take the 'scenic route' home, and he'd set the coordinates for somewhere new without really paying too much attention to what he was doing. He was distracted, thinking about the way Martha had got him to talk about Gallifrey, something he'd never done with Rose. It scared him: she was getting too good at slipping through his defences and he didn't want her to do that, didn't want her uncovering his secrets and fears, didn't want her sympathy either. He couldn't let her get too close, or let himself get too close to her, not after what had happened with Rose. He'd made that mistake once, he wasn't going to do it again. Better if he kept her at arms' length: she'd thank him in the end.
He looked up from fiddling with the console's bits and bobs as Martha came in carrying two mugs. She'd gone to have a hot bath, at his suggestion, after their lengthy conversation in the cold, dank alleyway in New New York: he hadn't wanted her to catch a chill as the last thing he needed was a sick companion on his hands.
"I thought you might like some tea," she said softly, holding out the orange mug with silver leaves on it that she knew he favoured.
"Thanks." He took it from her without making eye contact, careful not to even brush his fingers against her hand.
She settled on the seat behind him and he heard her blowing on the drink to cool it down. "So, where are we going?"
He shrugged a shoulder without turning round. "Don't know yet. I left it up to the TARDIS to choose."
"Do you often do that?" she asked, and he could hear the ever-present curiosity in her voice.
Martha was always asking questions: how did the TARDIS work, what was his home planet like, how many other people had he travelled with? It frightened him, but at the same time it excited him: her thirst for knowledge seemed to match his own, but the more he told her, the more questions she asked, and he found himself becoming evasive, offering her half-truths, and then outright lies. He winced inwardly as he recalled the eager expression on her face as she had asked if they could visit his planet, and the ease with which he'd lied about not wanting to go there, and then her hurt expression when he'd later admitted that he'd lied to her.
The worst thing about that, though, was that her hurt had quickly turned to sympathy and understanding once she realised just why he'd lied. She was far too forgiving and he didn't want her forgiveness, he didn't deserve it, or her sympathy either; this next trip would definitely be her last.
* * * * * *
"Just proves it, I suppose. There’s someone for everyone."
The Doctor felt his smile slip from his face at Martha's words; he wasn't sure if she meant him, or them together, but either way his hearts seemed to clench in response.
"Maybe." He walked across to the TARDIS, turning his back on the New York skyline.
He heard her sigh before she spoke again. "Meant to say - sorry."
"What for?" he asked. She had nothing to be sorry for: she'd been brilliant, as usual.
"Just 'cause that Dalek got away. I know what that means to you. Think you'll ever see it again?"
He unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter. "Oh yes. One day." He followed her inside, pulling off his coat as he went. He was certain that he and Dalek Caan were fated to meet again.
He tossed his coat over the support strut, then walked over to the console, still lost in thought, until a small hand settled on his arm and a head rested gently against his shoulder.
"I'm glad the Daleks didn't kill you," she said softly.
He swallowed hard knowing that he'd been wrong to goad them as he had; if they'd taken him at his word, Martha would have been stranded out of Time and in a foreign country, and while he didn't doubt she could have survived, because it was obvious that she was a born survivor, that didn't excuse his behaviour.
"Thanks," he said, his voice husky with suppressed emotions.
She slipped her hand under the hem of his jacket and rubbed his back like a mother soothing a fractious child.
"What are you doing?" he asked, startled.
She bit her bottom lip. "I - uh - " She looked slightly abashed. "I just - I thought you might need comforting," she answered in a rush, looking up into his face and seeing the stormy expression in his eyes fading.
He closed his eyes, then wrapped his arms around her. "Thanks."
They remained wrapped in a hug for several minutes. The Doctor knew he ought to move away so he could see about getting her back home, but he stayed there quietly relishing her softness and warmth, and feeling the tension that had been nagging him since he'd first spotted the Dalek in sewers slowly draining away.
To his surprise, Martha was the first one to pull away. But his surprise was even greater when she stood up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his lips.
He felt his eyes widen and he couldn't help a tiny gasp escaping. "W-What was that?" he stammered, shocked.
She gave him a slightly mischievous grin. "You did say I could kiss you later," she reminded him.
He'd forgotten about the throw-away remark he'd made when he'd caught up with her in the sewers after the Daleks' pig-slaves had captured her in the theatre.
"I think I've rendered you speechless," Martha said, still grinning. "That's a first."
He pulled away from her quickly. "Well of course," he said, his voice harsh now. "I wasn't expecting you to take me seriously."
He moved around the console and began preparing the TARDIS to take her home. When he glanced up quickly he saw she was standing with her arms folded across her chest and a stormy look of her own on her face.
"You're the limit," she said. "It was just a kiss between friends. It didn't mean anything."
He hunched his shoulders and went back to his task. It might not have meant anything to Martha, although he doubted she was being entirely truthful there, but it did to him, or it would if he let it.
She stood glaring at him a few moments longer: he could feel the burning heat of her angry gaze on his neck, then unfolded her arms and stalked out with an angry huff. The moment she was gone he rested both hands on the console, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. The sooner he got her home, the better, for both of them.
* * * * * *
The Doctor hated saying goodbye: it hurt too much, and it was worse now than it had been before the Time War, but he felt he owed it to Martha to offer her a farewell now he'd finally brought her home. Not that she was happy about it: he hadn't missed the shock in her voice or her face when she found herself in her own flat; he found himself looking away, desperate to escape her hurt expression, as he looked around her flat. And then he began babbling because that was one thing this incarnation was good at: talking when he was nervous or anxious. He was terrified she was going to make a scene, but he was also terrified that he would. Now it came to the moment of parting, he desperately regretted pushing her away, but it was too late now.
And then salvation arrived: Martha's mum rang and suddenly there was a mystery to puzzle over. It didn't take much to persuade Martha to use the invitation to the launch at LazLabs that she'd found amongst her mail, and if she thought his sudden change of heart suspicious, she didn't say anything. But he reasoned he'd be safe enough since this adventure was happening practically on her doorstep: he was just indulging her. He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that he was indulging himself far more.
Later, when Lazarus was finally dead and she came rushing down from the bell tower, he wrapped his arms around her and realised that he couldn't let her go after all. When she agreed that she would continue to travel with him, but not as a passenger (not that she'd ever been a mere passenger), he gave a quiet sigh of relief. No matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, the Doctor needed Martha Jones in his life.
Title: Secrets and Fears
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor, Martha Jones
Rating: G
Spoilers: S3.03 to S3.06
Summary: The Doctor's not sure he wants Martha around.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Author Notes: This fic was written for fleurette for the dw_quotememe - the prompt offered was Ten/Martha -- "...you see a man who's raging, and he's jealous and he fears that you've walked through walls he's hid behind for years" from the "Hold On" from The Secret Garden musical by Simon/Norman [book by Burnett].
(Yep, second fic today - but the first one I posted was written yesterday!)
~~~~~~
After their visit to New Earth, the Doctor had semi-reluctantly agreed with Martha that they could take the 'scenic route' home, and he'd set the coordinates for somewhere new without really paying too much attention to what he was doing. He was distracted, thinking about the way Martha had got him to talk about Gallifrey, something he'd never done with Rose. It scared him: she was getting too good at slipping through his defences and he didn't want her to do that, didn't want her uncovering his secrets and fears, didn't want her sympathy either. He couldn't let her get too close, or let himself get too close to her, not after what had happened with Rose. He'd made that mistake once, he wasn't going to do it again. Better if he kept her at arms' length: she'd thank him in the end.
He looked up from fiddling with the console's bits and bobs as Martha came in carrying two mugs. She'd gone to have a hot bath, at his suggestion, after their lengthy conversation in the cold, dank alleyway in New New York: he hadn't wanted her to catch a chill as the last thing he needed was a sick companion on his hands.
"I thought you might like some tea," she said softly, holding out the orange mug with silver leaves on it that she knew he favoured.
"Thanks." He took it from her without making eye contact, careful not to even brush his fingers against her hand.
She settled on the seat behind him and he heard her blowing on the drink to cool it down. "So, where are we going?"
He shrugged a shoulder without turning round. "Don't know yet. I left it up to the TARDIS to choose."
"Do you often do that?" she asked, and he could hear the ever-present curiosity in her voice.
Martha was always asking questions: how did the TARDIS work, what was his home planet like, how many other people had he travelled with? It frightened him, but at the same time it excited him: her thirst for knowledge seemed to match his own, but the more he told her, the more questions she asked, and he found himself becoming evasive, offering her half-truths, and then outright lies. He winced inwardly as he recalled the eager expression on her face as she had asked if they could visit his planet, and the ease with which he'd lied about not wanting to go there, and then her hurt expression when he'd later admitted that he'd lied to her.
The worst thing about that, though, was that her hurt had quickly turned to sympathy and understanding once she realised just why he'd lied. She was far too forgiving and he didn't want her forgiveness, he didn't deserve it, or her sympathy either; this next trip would definitely be her last.
* * * * * *
"Just proves it, I suppose. There’s someone for everyone."
The Doctor felt his smile slip from his face at Martha's words; he wasn't sure if she meant him, or them together, but either way his hearts seemed to clench in response.
"Maybe." He walked across to the TARDIS, turning his back on the New York skyline.
He heard her sigh before she spoke again. "Meant to say - sorry."
"What for?" he asked. She had nothing to be sorry for: she'd been brilliant, as usual.
"Just 'cause that Dalek got away. I know what that means to you. Think you'll ever see it again?"
He unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter. "Oh yes. One day." He followed her inside, pulling off his coat as he went. He was certain that he and Dalek Caan were fated to meet again.
He tossed his coat over the support strut, then walked over to the console, still lost in thought, until a small hand settled on his arm and a head rested gently against his shoulder.
"I'm glad the Daleks didn't kill you," she said softly.
He swallowed hard knowing that he'd been wrong to goad them as he had; if they'd taken him at his word, Martha would have been stranded out of Time and in a foreign country, and while he didn't doubt she could have survived, because it was obvious that she was a born survivor, that didn't excuse his behaviour.
"Thanks," he said, his voice husky with suppressed emotions.
She slipped her hand under the hem of his jacket and rubbed his back like a mother soothing a fractious child.
"What are you doing?" he asked, startled.
She bit her bottom lip. "I - uh - " She looked slightly abashed. "I just - I thought you might need comforting," she answered in a rush, looking up into his face and seeing the stormy expression in his eyes fading.
He closed his eyes, then wrapped his arms around her. "Thanks."
They remained wrapped in a hug for several minutes. The Doctor knew he ought to move away so he could see about getting her back home, but he stayed there quietly relishing her softness and warmth, and feeling the tension that had been nagging him since he'd first spotted the Dalek in sewers slowly draining away.
To his surprise, Martha was the first one to pull away. But his surprise was even greater when she stood up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his lips.
He felt his eyes widen and he couldn't help a tiny gasp escaping. "W-What was that?" he stammered, shocked.
She gave him a slightly mischievous grin. "You did say I could kiss you later," she reminded him.
He'd forgotten about the throw-away remark he'd made when he'd caught up with her in the sewers after the Daleks' pig-slaves had captured her in the theatre.
"I think I've rendered you speechless," Martha said, still grinning. "That's a first."
He pulled away from her quickly. "Well of course," he said, his voice harsh now. "I wasn't expecting you to take me seriously."
He moved around the console and began preparing the TARDIS to take her home. When he glanced up quickly he saw she was standing with her arms folded across her chest and a stormy look of her own on her face.
"You're the limit," she said. "It was just a kiss between friends. It didn't mean anything."
He hunched his shoulders and went back to his task. It might not have meant anything to Martha, although he doubted she was being entirely truthful there, but it did to him, or it would if he let it.
She stood glaring at him a few moments longer: he could feel the burning heat of her angry gaze on his neck, then unfolded her arms and stalked out with an angry huff. The moment she was gone he rested both hands on the console, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. The sooner he got her home, the better, for both of them.
* * * * * *
The Doctor hated saying goodbye: it hurt too much, and it was worse now than it had been before the Time War, but he felt he owed it to Martha to offer her a farewell now he'd finally brought her home. Not that she was happy about it: he hadn't missed the shock in her voice or her face when she found herself in her own flat; he found himself looking away, desperate to escape her hurt expression, as he looked around her flat. And then he began babbling because that was one thing this incarnation was good at: talking when he was nervous or anxious. He was terrified she was going to make a scene, but he was also terrified that he would. Now it came to the moment of parting, he desperately regretted pushing her away, but it was too late now.
And then salvation arrived: Martha's mum rang and suddenly there was a mystery to puzzle over. It didn't take much to persuade Martha to use the invitation to the launch at LazLabs that she'd found amongst her mail, and if she thought his sudden change of heart suspicious, she didn't say anything. But he reasoned he'd be safe enough since this adventure was happening practically on her doorstep: he was just indulging her. He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that he was indulging himself far more.
Later, when Lazarus was finally dead and she came rushing down from the bell tower, he wrapped his arms around her and realised that he couldn't let her go after all. When she agreed that she would continue to travel with him, but not as a passenger (not that she'd ever been a mere passenger), he gave a quiet sigh of relief. No matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, the Doctor needed Martha Jones in his life.