Martha Jones: Cement Mixer

"I knew her," Martha said when the Doctor told her about Rose. "It was complicated." Rose/Martha.

"Tell me about Rose."
"Clearly you need to talk. So I'm giving you a choice. Tell me about Rose or I'll force it out of you. I don't even know her name proper, for Christ's sake."
A sigh. "Rose Tyler. Her name was Rose Tyler. Rose Marion Tyler. She was beautiful, she was. She was my life, she brought me to life. Rescued me after the time war, she did," he reminisced.
"Sorry, did you say Tyler?"
"Yes. I did. Why?"
"I knew her."
"Did you just?"
"It was complicated," Martha told him, smiling nostalgically.

"Look, Mrs Jones, it's just not healthy. Martha needs to spend time with children her age," the teacher lectured. "And the other parents don't like it, to be frank."
"I don't understand, what's wrong with my daughter having friends who are younger than she is?"
"It's not normal. She's already withdrawn as it is, what she needs is to be around children her age who will just pull her out of her shell."
"My daughter will have any friends she wants to have," Clive broke in angrily.
The teacher shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The parents of one of the children has expressed a concern, and asked that we keep her daughter away from Martha. It's the same as with your daughter – she's already alienated from her peers by her shyness, she doesn't need another thing marking her out."
"That's just not fair," Francine raged. "When we enrolled Martha, we were told that the children were encouraged to have relationships with children in other years."
"Not to this extent. Martha is nearly ten years old, and all she does is sit in the sandpit with seven year olds and pretend her hands are cement mixers. And if she's not doing that, she's got her head stuck in a book. We've done all we can to encourage her to join in with the other children's games of hide and seek, or skipping, or handball. But she just interacts with the seven year olds. It's stunting her own mental growth, Mr and Mrs Jones, and it needs to stop."
Francine and Clive nodded. "We'll talk to Martha."
"See that you do. If she doesn't listen, I think it might be wise to send her to another school. She's a bright pupil, but she won't reach her potential like this."
Francine and Clive looked at each other grimly as they left the office.

Francine looked at her daughter worriedly. The ten-year-old chewed her lip miserably and a tear spilled from her eye.
"Martha, I'm sorry, but that's how it has to be."
"But Mum, I like Rose and the others."
Francine pursed her lips. "You're not to go near them anymore, Martha."
"Can I say goodbye, then?"
"No, Martha." Clive answered this time. "You need to find some friends your age."
"But I don't understand," Martha sniffled. "I don't do them any harm. And they like me better than the other kids, anyway."
"Please, Martha, don't go near Rose Tyler again. She's trouble, sweetheart."

"But she's my best friend," Martha whispered into her pillow as her parents left her room. "She listens to me, and likes me and doesn't 'sclude me."

"Martha, you were supposed to keep away from the Tyler girl." Francine sighed exasperatedly.
"She's my best friend, Mum, and you can't take her away from me!" Martha responded angrily, slamming the door in her mother's face.
"Martha, don't you slam that door on me!"

Martha snorted inside her room, and switched on the radio. "Martha, you come out here now"
"Martha, this is enough. Please. Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? It's been six years, Martha, six years since we told you to keep away. Why won't you listen? You're sixteen, Martha. Get over it."
Martha swallowed back tears. "She's my friend. Why can't you accept that?"
Francine pulled the door open, and wrapped her daughter in a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart,"
"It's not fair," Martha sobbed. "Not fair."
"I know, I know. Life's not fair, my Martha."
Slowly, Martha calmed in her arms. "Martha, I've been looking into other schools. I think you should go to a different one. You'll make new friends in no time!" Francine said hopefully.
Martha just sobbed loudly.

"Doctor," Martha said suddenly, "Take me to December 15 2000, London, please?"
The Doctor looked at her, confused. "Why? You aren't planning on warning yourself about something, are you? Because that can't be done."
Martha shook her head. "No, no, I'm not. I just need to watch something. That's all. It won't take long, I promise."
Moments later, and there they were. Martha bounded out of the TARDIS happily, waving at the Doctor as she headed off. When he was sure that she wasn't going to look back, he got out and followed her. Eventually, she stopped at a basketball court, covered with graffiti and litter. She sat down on the bench and looked at her watch.
Moments later, a blonde girl walked onto the court and stood, shivering. She wrapped her coat around her tightly and looked off in one direction. Minutes later, a black girl came jogging into sight. "Martha!" the blonde girl said, in a voice that was all too familiar to the Doctor. He gaped in realisation: this was Rose Tyler when she knew Martha Jones
Martha came running up to Rose and their arms flung around each other in a tight hug, sobbing. "Rose," Martha whimpered. "Rose, they're taking me away."
His Martha, the one who'd asked to come back here was watching with something akin to longing.
He couldn't have been more shocked when the younger Martha drew Rose into a passionate kiss, tongues and all.
Rose was fourteen years old, and she was tonguing a sixteen-year-old Martha.
They drew away, panting. "I'm gonna miss you," Rose told her, smiling at Martha.
"I know. But this isn't goodbye, Rosie. In five years time, come here. To this day, this time. Okay?"
Rose nodded, "I'll be here."
Another kiss, another hug. Finally, they separated.
"Five years," Rose called as Martha walked away, then walked away herself.
His Martha watched the empty court for some time, before standing up and walking back in the direction she had come from.
"Doctor!" she said, startled. "Umm… did you see all that then?"
He nodded. "You and Rose were like that then?" he asked. He'd never thought about either of his companions being anything other than heterosexual.
But to his surprise, Martha shook her head. "Nah, our relationship was perfectly platonic," she told him with a grin.
"There is no way that kiss was platonic," the Doctor told her, incredulous.
"Like I said, it was complicated."
The Doctor didn't seem to get it, but Martha didn't mind. "I came back, you know. Five years later. Rose wasn't there, but a poster was. It told me she was missing."
The Doctor had the audacity to look sheepish. "My fault," he said.
"And now she's dead, or as good as, and I never got to say goodbye."
"I might be able to help with that."
So they found themselves at the Powell Estate, one of the days where he recalled Rose had been home, the closest date after the five years that he could manage.

He watched the reunion from the sidelines. Like in the deserted basketball court, Rose and Martha seized each other in a hug. Their arms wound around each other until they could no longer tell who was who, and slowly, it melted into a kiss. Moments passes as eternities, and Rose's hand reached up to Martha's cheek, as Martha balled Rose's hair in her hands and pulled her in tighter, lips crashing against each other and tongues invading each others mouths. Eventually, Rose drew away. Her lips were bruised and swollen, not unlike Martha's. "I've met someone," she informed her, her eyes sparkling. "A Doctor. He's good to me, Martha."
"I know." Martha laughed sadly as Rose realised what she was saying. "I just needed to say goodbye."
"Oh," was all Rose could manage.

Martha could see what she wanted to ask. "We're all fine, Rose. You're happy, and you saved the world." Rose knew that it was a lie, but smiled gratefully anyway. Tears stained both their cheeks by now, and they parted with a last, fiery kiss, salty tears mingling, before turning their separate ways and going back to their own respective doctors.