Let Somebody In
Title: Let Somebody In
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Tenth Doctor
Rating: G
Spoilers: AU for The Last of the Time Lords
Summary: Martha and the Doctor talk after the YTNW.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/126777.html">Let Somebody In by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Martha, Tenth Doctor | Rating: G | Spoilers: 3.13)
Author Notes: This fic is for dirgni19 as she's entirely to blame for this fic since I've been listening to her Ten/Martha fanmix (The Space Between) and the bunnies grabbed "Let Somebody In" by The Magic Numbers... I wrote it for the Footsteps Project at Life on Martha.
This story presumes that UNIT took care of getting Martha's family home and that Ten dropped Jack off in Cardiff whilst Martha was trying to get some rest.
~~~~~~
Martha lay on her bed in the TARDIS, utterly exhausted but unable to sleep; not that she hadn't been trying for the last three hours. She looked over at the clock on her bedside table, and scowled in frustration just as there was a quick tap on her door.
"Come in." She didn't look directly at the Doctor as he came in, but her senses began tingling when she smelt hot chocolate in the mug he was carrying: she couldn't even remember the last time she'd tasted chocolate.
"I thought you might need something to help you sleep," he said quietly.
She pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Thanks." She took the mug from him without making eye contact, and he noted that she was careful not to touch him either.
"Martha - "
"Don't," she said curtly.
He gave her a startled look. "Don't what?"
"Don't babble on at me," she answered, her eyes fixed on the mug she held in her shaking hands.
The Doctor noticed her trembling and realised that the bed was in danger of being swamped by her drink. "Here."
He took the mug from her and put it on the bedside table, and she immediately clamped her hands together between her knees; her shoulders were hunched and it looked as if she was trying to make herself smaller.
He reached out tentatively to touch her, but she jerked her arm away immediately.
"I think we should talk," he said, trying not to show much it hurt when she rejected his touch.
"I don't want to talk. I've just spent a year talking. I only want to sleep.
"Talking might help you sleep," he said, wishing she would look at him.
"I don't want to talk to you."
He felt a stab of anger and pain at her words. "Why not?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"You wept over him when he died," she answered. "He tore my family apart, tortured Jack, tortured you, and turned me into a wanted person for a year." She turned to look at him now, anger blazing in her eyes. "And you wept and wailed over him."
He swallowed down a surge of emotion, forcing himself to answer calmly. "I have known the Master almost my entire life," he told her, "and as you know, I've lived a very long time. I wiped out my entire planet, and I thought I was the last of my people. Then he turned up and I was no longer the last. We were friends once, long before we were bitter enemies, so of course I wept when he refused to regenerate just to spite me. I though he'd stop me being lonely."
Martha looked, if possible, even angrier at his last words. "You don't have to be lonely," she said bitingly, "not when there are people like me and Jack around. But you won't let us in, will you? I can't work out whether it's because you see us as no more than pets, or if it's because you just enjoy wallowing in your misery."
The Doctor gaped at her, shocked by the bitterness in her voice. "I - "
"Oh get out!" she snapped. She stretched out on the bed again, lying on her side with her back to him.
After a moment she felt him get up from the bed, and then heard her door clicking shut; she waited a few minutes before giving way to wrenching sobs, anger and despair filling her. Eventually she fell asleep, exhausted physically and emotionally by all that she'd been through, not just that day, but during the past year.
The Doctor hadn't gone far when he left Martha's room - just out into the corridor. He sat with his back to the wall and his legs bent up in front of him, his head resting on his arms on top of his knees. He could hear Martha crying in her room, not because she was sobbing very noisily, but because the TARDIS chose to let him hear; he sensed disapproval for himself and compassion for Martha in his ship's mind. He knew the old girl was fond of his companion: Martha had visited the ship regularly when they'd been hiding in 1913 and the two had bonded in a way he'd never known the TARDIS bond with a human before.
What am I supposed to do? he asked, frustrated; he cared deeply about Martha, far more deeply than he'd ever dared to show her, because he knew that she wouldn't - couldn't - stay with him forever. Martha had her own life and a burgeoning career as a brilliant doctor (and he knew that she would be brilliant: she had exactly the right combination of passion, intelligence, curiosity and compassion) ahead of her. And despite what she currently thought of him, he wasn't so self-centred as to think she'd want to stay with him forever.
He wondered how he could convince her that he didn't think of her as a pet. Then he realised that there was only one thing he could do, the one thing Martha had accused him of not doing: let her in and talk to her, tell her something about himself and his life. He trusted her after all, that was why he'd sent her to walk the Earth in order to save it from the Master.
Thinking about it, he suddenly realised that Martha might not know that was why he'd sent her: she might even think he'd sent her because there'd been no one else to send, but that wasn't true. He could have sent Jack, who wouldn't stay dead, even if the Toclafane got him, and who was a former Time Agent-turned-conman and therefore knew a good deal about being sneaky. But at that point he hadn't trusted Jack quite as much as he had trusted (and still did trust) Martha: the revelation that Captain Jack Harkness was now running a branch of Torchwood had been a blow to his hearts and he had felt less inclined to trust Jack as a result.
He closed his eyes, lost in his memories of the year that he'd rewound, and soon fell into a light doze as he waited for Martha to wake again.
* * * * * *
Martha woke several hours later with a feeling of surprise that she had slept so deeply, and without any of the anticipated nightmares. She stretched, then climbed out of bed to take a shower, even though she'd had a bath a few hours ago. The luxury of being able to have a bath or shower exactly when she wanted it was something she intended to indulge in after a year of mostly brief cold showers, or even briefer sponge baths.
As she showered, Martha tried to work out how long it would be before she regained her former health: case studies of anorexic women and those who'd gone on hunger strike were probably the most relevant to her situation. She knew it would be some time before her monthly cycle was restored, and that she would need to increase her calorie intake. She also knew that she'd been lucky to have enough reserves of body fat to keep her going through the last two lean months of her trek when food had been scarce and rarely fresh.
She was dressed again and brushing her hair when there was a knock on her door; she sighed, then put the brush down.
"Come in."
The Doctor opened the door and stood in the doorway, looking at her, and she immediately noticed that he looked exhausted and even paler than usual.
"Hello. How did you sleep?"
"Fine." She looked at him expectantly, wondering what he wanted.
"I wondered if you wanted something to eat, and if we could talk. I mean," he said hastily, before she could answer, "I want to talk to you. There are some things I need to tell you."
She shrugged. "Fine."
He sensed that she had retreated into herself emotionally and felt a pang of guilt, knowing that it was his fault.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked, turning back into the corridor and carefully not looking back to see if she was following him.
"I don't much care," she answered, "so long as it's hot and not out of a tin."
"How about a nice piece of fresh salmon, baked in the oven, and served with stir-fried vegetables?" he suggested. "I think there should be something chocolatey by way of dessert, if you want it?" He guessed she probably hadn't eaten chocolate for some time.
"Okay." She swallowed, almost tasting the food already.
They walked the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence, Martha recalling the hasty, mostly cold meals she'd eaten during the last year, and the Doctor remembering the meals he'd cooked for them when they'd been stuck in 1969.
"Take a seat," he suggested as he pulled off his tie and jacket, then rolled up his shirt sleeves before pulling on an apron. She recognised it immediately as the one they'd had in 1969 and hastily clamped down on the memories that arose; she didn't want to be reminded of those few weeks when they'd shared a tiny flat and been so happy in one another's company.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Fruit juice, please."
The Doctor poured a glass of apple juice and set it on the table, then began getting out food, pans, and all the other things he needed; she watched him as he worked, moving about the small kitchen in a graceful manner that always surprised her, given he was all elbows and long limbs.
"Who taught you to cook?" she asked, surprising herself as much as him with the question: she had intended to be strictly neutral and impersonal with him.
"My mother, initially, and then chefs and cooks I've met on my travels," he answered without turning around from chopping vegetables. "I can usually persuade people to share their recipes with me." He smiled to himself, unseen, as he remembered various rather haughty chefs whom he'd buttered up just enough to learn their various secret recipes.
"What about you?"
"My Gran," Martha answered. "Mum was always too busy, and Gran said everyone should know how to cook for themselves. She taught Tish, Leo and me: we'd go over to her house on Saturday afternoons for cooking sessions." Her voice was warm with the remembrance of her solemn, seven year old self, wrestling with ingredients and mixing bowls, and all the paraphernalia of cooking.
The Doctor continued chopping vegetables in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "Do you know why I sent you on that ridiculous but necessary trek around the world? I mean, why I sent you, rather than Jack."
"No. I quite often wondered why you didn't send Jack, given his immortality would have been a considerable advantage."
He tipped the vegetables into a pan, then turned to look at her. "I didn't trust him as much as I trusted you."
She stared at him, astonished by his answer; she could see he was sincere in what he said: there was that expression in his eyes that she'd seen in a damp, grimy alley in New New York.
He turned his back on her again to concentrate on his cooking, and Martha sat tracing patterns in the condensation on her glass as she thought about what he'd just said. As she had told him, she'd quite often wondered why he'd sent her instead of Jack, and it simply hadn't occurred to her that he hadn't trusted Jack enough to send him, not when the Doctor had known him far longer than he had known her.
He left her to think over what he'd said and concentrated on cooking their meal, and it was soon ready. They ate in silence, Martha deep in thought, and the Doctor watching her covertly from the other side of the table.
"That was very good," she commented when she'd finished eating.
"Thank you. Dessert?" She nodded, so he cleared their plates away, then raided the fridge for some chocolate cheesecake.
"Oh god, that looks good," she commented when he set the plate down in front of her and settled on the other side of the table again.
"I actually didn't make that one," he told her.
They began to eat and he wondered if she would talk to him now. He reached out tentatively and touched her arm. "Martha, will you tell me what happened to you during the last year?"
"Why?"
"Because I'd like to know," he told her. "You saved the world by telling people a story, now I'd like to hear yours. I missed you every day that you were away, even as I exulted that you were still alive and telling the story."
"How did you know I was still alive?"
"Because I could sense people's reactions to you. As you reached more people on Earth, I was able to reach more people through the Archangel network, and they were aware of you."
"Why wasn't he aware of me, of what I was doing?"
"Because I was shielding you," he answered.
Martha looked at him properly in surprise. "You were?"
He nodded. "I couldn't let you risk everything for me without doing my best to protect you."
He didn't tell her that protecting her, mentally shielding her from the Master, had left him vulnerable to the renegade Time Lord's thoughts, or that there were days when he'd been too exhausted to eat and Francine Jones had risked her own safety to look after him, knowing that he was looking after her daughter. Nor did he tell her of the occasions when Jack had quite deliberately provoked the Master in order to draw his attention from Francine and the Doctor. He pushed from his mind his memories of Jack being tortured and abused for the entertainment of the Master and Lucy. Martha didn't need to know: she was carrying a heavy enough burden of her own from all she had witnessed during the year he'd erased.
He focused his attention back on Martha and found her steady gaze on his face.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You're quite welcome." He moved his hand down her arm to clasp her hand in his. "Tell me a story, Martha Jones."
She took a deep breath, then began to tell him of her journey across the decimated Earth.
It took several hours, but the Doctor's attention remained fixed on his companion, and she gradually relaxed, the tension easing slowly from her small frame. When she came to recount the events in Japan, he pulled her into his arms and held her as they both wept for those who'd been killed that day. He remembered the Master forcing them all to watch the unfolding events as the Toclafane had brutally murdered thousands, and then destroyed the island. Tish had collapsed, and the Master had killed Jack when he'd tried to go to her side to help her. Francine had gone deathly pale, her eyes blazing with fury, and the Doctor had known for certain then that she would try to kill the Master if the chance arose.
The Doctor had experienced several hours of severe anxiety after the attack on Japan, not knowing if Martha had escaped being killed, and the relief he'd felt when he knew she had survived had almost prostrated him. Fortunately for him, Jack, and the Joneses, the Master had retired to his quarters with Lucy almost immediately afterwards to indulge in a sexual frenzy, and the group had been able to help and console each other in the aftermath.
Eventually Martha's account drew to a close with her arrival on board the Valiant. She felt limp with emotion and exhaustion, and didn't object when the Doctor picked her up and took her back to her room where he tucked her into bed.
He brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Sleep well," he said softly.
"Mmm." She was already half asleep before he moved away from her bedside.
He headed back to the kitchen to wash up, glad that Martha had talked to him, and hopeful that they might be able to move forward together.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha, Tenth Doctor
Rating: G
Spoilers: AU for The Last of the Time Lords
Summary: Martha and the Doctor talk after the YTNW.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/126777.html">Let Somebody In by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Martha, Tenth Doctor | Rating: G | Spoilers: 3.13)
Author Notes: This fic is for dirgni19 as she's entirely to blame for this fic since I've been listening to her Ten/Martha fanmix (The Space Between) and the bunnies grabbed "Let Somebody In" by The Magic Numbers... I wrote it for the Footsteps Project at Life on Martha.
This story presumes that UNIT took care of getting Martha's family home and that Ten dropped Jack off in Cardiff whilst Martha was trying to get some rest.
~~~~~~
Martha lay on her bed in the TARDIS, utterly exhausted but unable to sleep; not that she hadn't been trying for the last three hours. She looked over at the clock on her bedside table, and scowled in frustration just as there was a quick tap on her door.
"Come in." She didn't look directly at the Doctor as he came in, but her senses began tingling when she smelt hot chocolate in the mug he was carrying: she couldn't even remember the last time she'd tasted chocolate.
"I thought you might need something to help you sleep," he said quietly.
She pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Thanks." She took the mug from him without making eye contact, and he noted that she was careful not to touch him either.
"Martha - "
"Don't," she said curtly.
He gave her a startled look. "Don't what?"
"Don't babble on at me," she answered, her eyes fixed on the mug she held in her shaking hands.
The Doctor noticed her trembling and realised that the bed was in danger of being swamped by her drink. "Here."
He took the mug from her and put it on the bedside table, and she immediately clamped her hands together between her knees; her shoulders were hunched and it looked as if she was trying to make herself smaller.
He reached out tentatively to touch her, but she jerked her arm away immediately.
"I think we should talk," he said, trying not to show much it hurt when she rejected his touch.
"I don't want to talk. I've just spent a year talking. I only want to sleep.
"Talking might help you sleep," he said, wishing she would look at him.
"I don't want to talk to you."
He felt a stab of anger and pain at her words. "Why not?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"You wept over him when he died," she answered. "He tore my family apart, tortured Jack, tortured you, and turned me into a wanted person for a year." She turned to look at him now, anger blazing in her eyes. "And you wept and wailed over him."
He swallowed down a surge of emotion, forcing himself to answer calmly. "I have known the Master almost my entire life," he told her, "and as you know, I've lived a very long time. I wiped out my entire planet, and I thought I was the last of my people. Then he turned up and I was no longer the last. We were friends once, long before we were bitter enemies, so of course I wept when he refused to regenerate just to spite me. I though he'd stop me being lonely."
Martha looked, if possible, even angrier at his last words. "You don't have to be lonely," she said bitingly, "not when there are people like me and Jack around. But you won't let us in, will you? I can't work out whether it's because you see us as no more than pets, or if it's because you just enjoy wallowing in your misery."
The Doctor gaped at her, shocked by the bitterness in her voice. "I - "
"Oh get out!" she snapped. She stretched out on the bed again, lying on her side with her back to him.
After a moment she felt him get up from the bed, and then heard her door clicking shut; she waited a few minutes before giving way to wrenching sobs, anger and despair filling her. Eventually she fell asleep, exhausted physically and emotionally by all that she'd been through, not just that day, but during the past year.
The Doctor hadn't gone far when he left Martha's room - just out into the corridor. He sat with his back to the wall and his legs bent up in front of him, his head resting on his arms on top of his knees. He could hear Martha crying in her room, not because she was sobbing very noisily, but because the TARDIS chose to let him hear; he sensed disapproval for himself and compassion for Martha in his ship's mind. He knew the old girl was fond of his companion: Martha had visited the ship regularly when they'd been hiding in 1913 and the two had bonded in a way he'd never known the TARDIS bond with a human before.
What am I supposed to do? he asked, frustrated; he cared deeply about Martha, far more deeply than he'd ever dared to show her, because he knew that she wouldn't - couldn't - stay with him forever. Martha had her own life and a burgeoning career as a brilliant doctor (and he knew that she would be brilliant: she had exactly the right combination of passion, intelligence, curiosity and compassion) ahead of her. And despite what she currently thought of him, he wasn't so self-centred as to think she'd want to stay with him forever.
He wondered how he could convince her that he didn't think of her as a pet. Then he realised that there was only one thing he could do, the one thing Martha had accused him of not doing: let her in and talk to her, tell her something about himself and his life. He trusted her after all, that was why he'd sent her to walk the Earth in order to save it from the Master.
Thinking about it, he suddenly realised that Martha might not know that was why he'd sent her: she might even think he'd sent her because there'd been no one else to send, but that wasn't true. He could have sent Jack, who wouldn't stay dead, even if the Toclafane got him, and who was a former Time Agent-turned-conman and therefore knew a good deal about being sneaky. But at that point he hadn't trusted Jack quite as much as he had trusted (and still did trust) Martha: the revelation that Captain Jack Harkness was now running a branch of Torchwood had been a blow to his hearts and he had felt less inclined to trust Jack as a result.
He closed his eyes, lost in his memories of the year that he'd rewound, and soon fell into a light doze as he waited for Martha to wake again.
* * * * * *
Martha woke several hours later with a feeling of surprise that she had slept so deeply, and without any of the anticipated nightmares. She stretched, then climbed out of bed to take a shower, even though she'd had a bath a few hours ago. The luxury of being able to have a bath or shower exactly when she wanted it was something she intended to indulge in after a year of mostly brief cold showers, or even briefer sponge baths.
As she showered, Martha tried to work out how long it would be before she regained her former health: case studies of anorexic women and those who'd gone on hunger strike were probably the most relevant to her situation. She knew it would be some time before her monthly cycle was restored, and that she would need to increase her calorie intake. She also knew that she'd been lucky to have enough reserves of body fat to keep her going through the last two lean months of her trek when food had been scarce and rarely fresh.
She was dressed again and brushing her hair when there was a knock on her door; she sighed, then put the brush down.
"Come in."
The Doctor opened the door and stood in the doorway, looking at her, and she immediately noticed that he looked exhausted and even paler than usual.
"Hello. How did you sleep?"
"Fine." She looked at him expectantly, wondering what he wanted.
"I wondered if you wanted something to eat, and if we could talk. I mean," he said hastily, before she could answer, "I want to talk to you. There are some things I need to tell you."
She shrugged. "Fine."
He sensed that she had retreated into herself emotionally and felt a pang of guilt, knowing that it was his fault.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked, turning back into the corridor and carefully not looking back to see if she was following him.
"I don't much care," she answered, "so long as it's hot and not out of a tin."
"How about a nice piece of fresh salmon, baked in the oven, and served with stir-fried vegetables?" he suggested. "I think there should be something chocolatey by way of dessert, if you want it?" He guessed she probably hadn't eaten chocolate for some time.
"Okay." She swallowed, almost tasting the food already.
They walked the rest of the way to the kitchen in silence, Martha recalling the hasty, mostly cold meals she'd eaten during the last year, and the Doctor remembering the meals he'd cooked for them when they'd been stuck in 1969.
"Take a seat," he suggested as he pulled off his tie and jacket, then rolled up his shirt sleeves before pulling on an apron. She recognised it immediately as the one they'd had in 1969 and hastily clamped down on the memories that arose; she didn't want to be reminded of those few weeks when they'd shared a tiny flat and been so happy in one another's company.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Fruit juice, please."
The Doctor poured a glass of apple juice and set it on the table, then began getting out food, pans, and all the other things he needed; she watched him as he worked, moving about the small kitchen in a graceful manner that always surprised her, given he was all elbows and long limbs.
"Who taught you to cook?" she asked, surprising herself as much as him with the question: she had intended to be strictly neutral and impersonal with him.
"My mother, initially, and then chefs and cooks I've met on my travels," he answered without turning around from chopping vegetables. "I can usually persuade people to share their recipes with me." He smiled to himself, unseen, as he remembered various rather haughty chefs whom he'd buttered up just enough to learn their various secret recipes.
"What about you?"
"My Gran," Martha answered. "Mum was always too busy, and Gran said everyone should know how to cook for themselves. She taught Tish, Leo and me: we'd go over to her house on Saturday afternoons for cooking sessions." Her voice was warm with the remembrance of her solemn, seven year old self, wrestling with ingredients and mixing bowls, and all the paraphernalia of cooking.
The Doctor continued chopping vegetables in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "Do you know why I sent you on that ridiculous but necessary trek around the world? I mean, why I sent you, rather than Jack."
"No. I quite often wondered why you didn't send Jack, given his immortality would have been a considerable advantage."
He tipped the vegetables into a pan, then turned to look at her. "I didn't trust him as much as I trusted you."
She stared at him, astonished by his answer; she could see he was sincere in what he said: there was that expression in his eyes that she'd seen in a damp, grimy alley in New New York.
He turned his back on her again to concentrate on his cooking, and Martha sat tracing patterns in the condensation on her glass as she thought about what he'd just said. As she had told him, she'd quite often wondered why he'd sent her instead of Jack, and it simply hadn't occurred to her that he hadn't trusted Jack enough to send him, not when the Doctor had known him far longer than he had known her.
He left her to think over what he'd said and concentrated on cooking their meal, and it was soon ready. They ate in silence, Martha deep in thought, and the Doctor watching her covertly from the other side of the table.
"That was very good," she commented when she'd finished eating.
"Thank you. Dessert?" She nodded, so he cleared their plates away, then raided the fridge for some chocolate cheesecake.
"Oh god, that looks good," she commented when he set the plate down in front of her and settled on the other side of the table again.
"I actually didn't make that one," he told her.
They began to eat and he wondered if she would talk to him now. He reached out tentatively and touched her arm. "Martha, will you tell me what happened to you during the last year?"
"Why?"
"Because I'd like to know," he told her. "You saved the world by telling people a story, now I'd like to hear yours. I missed you every day that you were away, even as I exulted that you were still alive and telling the story."
"How did you know I was still alive?"
"Because I could sense people's reactions to you. As you reached more people on Earth, I was able to reach more people through the Archangel network, and they were aware of you."
"Why wasn't he aware of me, of what I was doing?"
"Because I was shielding you," he answered.
Martha looked at him properly in surprise. "You were?"
He nodded. "I couldn't let you risk everything for me without doing my best to protect you."
He didn't tell her that protecting her, mentally shielding her from the Master, had left him vulnerable to the renegade Time Lord's thoughts, or that there were days when he'd been too exhausted to eat and Francine Jones had risked her own safety to look after him, knowing that he was looking after her daughter. Nor did he tell her of the occasions when Jack had quite deliberately provoked the Master in order to draw his attention from Francine and the Doctor. He pushed from his mind his memories of Jack being tortured and abused for the entertainment of the Master and Lucy. Martha didn't need to know: she was carrying a heavy enough burden of her own from all she had witnessed during the year he'd erased.
He focused his attention back on Martha and found her steady gaze on his face.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"You're quite welcome." He moved his hand down her arm to clasp her hand in his. "Tell me a story, Martha Jones."
She took a deep breath, then began to tell him of her journey across the decimated Earth.
It took several hours, but the Doctor's attention remained fixed on his companion, and she gradually relaxed, the tension easing slowly from her small frame. When she came to recount the events in Japan, he pulled her into his arms and held her as they both wept for those who'd been killed that day. He remembered the Master forcing them all to watch the unfolding events as the Toclafane had brutally murdered thousands, and then destroyed the island. Tish had collapsed, and the Master had killed Jack when he'd tried to go to her side to help her. Francine had gone deathly pale, her eyes blazing with fury, and the Doctor had known for certain then that she would try to kill the Master if the chance arose.
The Doctor had experienced several hours of severe anxiety after the attack on Japan, not knowing if Martha had escaped being killed, and the relief he'd felt when he knew she had survived had almost prostrated him. Fortunately for him, Jack, and the Joneses, the Master had retired to his quarters with Lucy almost immediately afterwards to indulge in a sexual frenzy, and the group had been able to help and console each other in the aftermath.
Eventually Martha's account drew to a close with her arrival on board the Valiant. She felt limp with emotion and exhaustion, and didn't object when the Doctor picked her up and took her back to her room where he tucked her into bed.
He brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Sleep well," he said softly.
"Mmm." She was already half asleep before he moved away from her bedside.
He headed back to the kitchen to wash up, glad that Martha had talked to him, and hopeful that they might be able to move forward together.