A/N: There wasn't enough Martha/Doctorness in the finale, so it set me off writing 3 fics, the best one is below. The others need refining, and this probably does too because I wrote it at...well, I finished about quarter of an hour ago and it's 4am now so...basically it's the wee hours. Thanks to those who reviewed Tactless, I was glad that went down well. I think there'll be a splurge of Ten/Martha fics coming from this direction, cos I absolutely adore her, and can't bare to think about the Doctor without her. sigh Even if she does come back every now and then. BAAAH. Beauty of fanfiction though, eh?


by Flaignhan


When she'd had nightmares, he dropped everything.

"What were they?" he asked, playing with her bracelet absentmindedly, his arm slung over her waist as she tried to get back to sleep.

"Flashbacks, you know, the year that never was." He'd held her tighter when she'd said that. Held her while she snored gently, held her while the sun came up, held her while she didn't dream.

At a minute to seven he placed a cup of tea on her bedside table and left, closing the door gently behind him.

When her alarm went off at seven, she was delighted to see the tea waiting there.

She was less delighted when she realised he'd gone.


When she'd split up with the first boyfriend she'd had since she'd met him, he dropped everything.

"He's not worth crying over. No one is. Well, some people are, but the ones that are will never give you a reason to cry." She'd smiled at him tearfully and he'd pulled her into another hug, whispering awful jokes in her ear, feeling quite pleased with himself when the tears of sorrow were soon replaced with tears of laughter.

He'd gone out and bought chips for them, and they'd munched their way through them while watching a detective programme.

"Oh come on! How stupid do they think you lot are? I mean it's obviously the rich bloke who did it!" Martha had shushed him, ignoring his constant criticisms of the programme.

It was the rich bloke who did it. And Martha hadn't been sure whether she ought to laugh at the Doctor or slap him.

In the end she'd hugged him, mumbling a 'thanks for being here' into his shoulder.

He'd told her not to mention it.


When Tish had got engaged, he dropped everything.

"I'm dreading it," she had confessed to him, pulling the cork out of a bottle of wine and pouring a generous amount into both their glasses. "Because the whole family will split their time between saying how wonderful Tish is, and how it'll be me next, but I'll need to find a bloke first. They seem to think I enjoy having my single status rubbed in my face."

"Well, if you want we could play pretend, like 1969." Martha laughed and drank down some of the wine. "No, seriously. I'll pretend to be your...whatever, and you'll only have to put up with 'it'll be you next' instead of 'it'll be you next but you need to find a bloke first'. Besides, I'm brilliant at doing uncomfortable looks. Ideal for when relatives are bringing up your expected marriage." She laughed some more, and then realised he wasn't joking.

"It'll be you two next!" Martha's gran had said at the wedding. "What a handsome young gentleman you've found, Martha!" Tish had snorted at the mention of the word 'young', but the Doctor was too busy with his 'uncomfortable look' to send his 'offended look' in her direction.

He'd held her hand, kissed her, whispered sweet nothings into her ear, danced with her, played the part brilliantly. She'd told him he didn't have to.

He'd told her he wanted to.

He'd also told her she looked beautiful.


When she'd had a bad day at the hospital, he dropped everything.

"I've seen all that stuff, Daleks and witches and Lazarus, all that death and it seems to get worse every time it happens."

"I know," he'd put an arm around her and pulled her close. He could offer no words of comfort. He knew how she felt, which in turn meant he knew that nothing could make you feel better when you were feeling so low.

When the luminous numbers on the video player had shown it was one in the morning, he'd put her to bed, staying with her until it got light, placing a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich on her bedside table at a minute to seven.

He'd also left her a small box of chocolates, a variety she'd found when they'd travelled together. He'd kept some on board the Tardis for times when only they would do, and he'd felt that one of those times was that day.

She'd fallen in love with him a thousand times over when she'd opened her eyes.

She'd also cursed him for his habit of leaving before she woke up.

She'd cursed him for leaving full stop.


When her car had broken down, he dropped everything.

"Ah, I see, just a tweak here and there..."

"I only wanted a lift, I can come back in the morning with Dad and -"

"Nah, might as well fix it," he'd said.

"You blow up my car and I'll fix you," she'd said. He'd laughed and a buzz or two later from the sonic screwdriver, the engine started. He'd pulled his 'I'm so good' face and she'd smiled reluctantly.

"Well while you're here you might as well sort out the heater."

She'd known she was taking the Mickey.

He'd not minded one bit.


When her Aunt had died, he dropped everything.

"They'd brought her into the hospital. I saw her. Nobody realised she was..." she'd choked on her words as she let out a sob and he'd wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, squeezing her even more tightly with each sob that escaped her. "He was three times over the limit. Didn't even think about stopping until he was up the other end of the street."

"I'm so sorry Martha..." he'd said, and after that they'd said no more.

He'd been there when she woke. Bacon sandwich, tea and chocolate at the ready.

He'd stayed all week, holding Martha in those quiet moments when she'd started to cry, helping out her parents as they prepared for all the out of town relatives who would be staying at their house, offering to do anything at all that they needed.

She was quite sure she was in love with him.

It was confirmed when he'd held her hand all throughout the funeral. She'd smiled up at him and he'd brushed her tears off her face, kissing her forehead gently.

When Martha had drunk far too much at the wake, (in a poorly judged effort to cope with the situation, she'd told him later) he'd held her hair back while she brought all the vodka and coke back up, rubbing soothing circles into her back as they sat on the bathroom floor. Francine had come in with a glass of water for Martha, and mouthed a 'thank you' to the Doctor, who had nodded in return before handing Martha a tissue to wipe her mouth with.

He'd stayed for a while after that.


When she'd had the flu, he dropped everything.

"Drink this." She'd drunk the purple fluid and shuddered. "It's not that bad."

"It's is," she'd grimaced. She had lain back on her pillows and the Doctor had climbed onto the bed with her, reading out the more interesting bits from the magazine she'd bought the day before but hadn't got round to reading.

It had been when he was halfway through a very interesting article about the Spice Girl reunion that he'd realised she was sound asleep.

She'd awoken much later to chicken soup and a cup of tea.

She'd have preferred to have awoken to her Doctor, though.

She hadn't known he'd taken the Tardis so he could go and get her some chocolate.

When she'd found out, she'd had work hard to restrain herself from kissing him.


When she'd got her letter about the school reunion, he dropped everything.

"Everyone's gonna be bragging about how amazingly well they've done and then I'll be the one standing the corner, drinking too much and making a tit of myself."

"Well at least they won't be rubbing your single status in your face," he'd said.


"Well, unless you're really against it, I'll escort you to this...whatsit." She'd told him how brilliant he really was. He'd told her that he knew.

She'd lost track of the amount of times she'd told people she was a doctor. She'd also lost track of the amount of times old friends had come up to her and seemed to think she cared about their life. She'd pretended she did, of course.

They'd ditched it after an hour and had walked along the Embankment, eating chips and admiring London at night.

He'd kissed her on the spur of the moment.

She'd known what he'd meant when he'd said it felt like the thing to do.

She just hoped he did it more often.


When she'd called for a chat at lunchtime, he dropped everything.

"I only wanted a chat, I didn't mean for you to come all this way!" she'd said.

"Well I can go back," he'd said. She'd told him not to be ridiculous, tore her doughnut in half and had shared it with him.

He'd asked her how life had been, she'd said nothing had changed too much since he last visited; Wednesdays and Thursdays were normally quite dull.

She'd asked him how life had been, he'd said nothing had changed too much since he last visited, even in the life he led, two hours wasn't enough for him to get into trouble and save the universe again.

She'd said it wasn't fair that it had only been two hours for him.

He'd said that it need only ever be two hours for her, she just needed to say.

The lunchtime chat had carried on for ages, he'd gone walkabouts while she did the last few hours of her shift, and then they'd gone back to hers and a lunchtime chat turned into a dinnertime chat, and a bedtime chat, and an early hours chat.

He'd thought it only fair to hang around for the breakfast time chat.


When he'd landed the Tardis in her living room without warning, she dropped everything.

He'd walked straight out the Tardis and into her arms without saying a word. He was shaking, hands trembling as he clung to her tightly. She'd asked him what was wrong, but he hadn't said. She'd phoned in sick and stayed at home with him all day.

He'd finally said he'd woken up and had never felt so alone.

He'd said it scared him.

She'd held him close and made him cups of tea.

He'd stayed the night, and when he'd awoken he'd not been alone.

When she needed him, he dropped everything.

When he'd admit to needing her, she dropped everything.

The End.