Disclaimer: I clearly don't own Doctor Who, nor any of its characters.
How I imagine Martha and Tom met and their relationship progressed. This is abstract from anything we might have learnt about how they met; sorry if this has been explained in the show and I am being ignorant! Many of the details are also my imagination entirely. This occurs under the assumption that Martha and the Doctor don't meet up for about a year after she left him.
I couldn't believe the irony of it when he walked in to the laboratory. I'd been working for UNIT merely two months and had been sent to a community hospital to inspect some suspicious blood tests they'd been registering that involved unusually high levels of haemoglobin – so high that the doctors thought they were fatal; counter productive. So here I was, sorting out a way to save people's lives, when the one life I had failed to save walked right through that door, ready to be consulted about the case.
Naturally, he had never met me before and had no idea who I was. He probably wondered why I grinned maniacally when I saw him and had tears in my eyes when I shook his hand. I brushed it off with an explanation about hay fever. In November. But still, in spite of my gawkiness there was definite chemistry between us and by my third meeting with him, Tom had asked me to dinner.
Our date, aimed to take place at an Italian restaurant in Fulham, ended up being cut short when one of his car tyres went flat and we had to call out the AA. We sat on a wall just by where the accident had taken place and talked for the forty minutes it took the 'rescue' truck to arrive. The weather was bitter cold and he put his leather jacket around my shoulders to keep me warm and told me that my eyes were luminous – that they seemed to carry the stars. I smiled until my face felt close to splitting and didn't know what to say. What is it about 'doctors' that make me feel as if I'm about twelve years old again?
After that we saw each other at least three or four times a week. It could be difficult to find the time with such as job as mine but we made it work somehow. After three weeks he told me he loved me and I didn't even hesitate to respond – I loved him too. We moved in together the week after. My mother thought we were moving too fast, but I'd lost him before and knew not to take chances like that again. One warning was enough; you never know what the future holds.
We were blissful. He was a wonderful lover and we would spend lazy Sundays lying in bed, him making me giggle and me fetching us breakfast. The golden yolks of our boiled eggs and soldiers would always end up staining the bed sheets when I couldn't resist kissing him. But I didn't care – not a single moment could be wasted. At night he'd lie peacefully and I would hold him, stroking his face; a face I easily became lost in. In the early hours of the morning, the light spilling through the cracks in the blinds in shafts of dust and radiance, we would stare in to each other's eyes and talk; talk about everything. It was on one of these occasions that he proposed. He didn't even have a ring, but I couldn't care less.
It was eight months after I met him that he got the job abroad – five months, working in a village community in Libya, minimal pay. He worried that we'd become lonely and distant, but I encouraged him to take it. I had allowed myself to fall in love, reasoning my voracious passion with the excuse that I couldn't lose him again, but this love had begun to scare me. The last time I had loved a man with such whole-hearted, unconditional affection it had ended with me in tears. I had to learn to let go, so I told him to see the world. After all, I had seen beyond the world and never regretted it. He deserved that, too.
No more than ten days after Tom's departure, the Doctor came back in to my life with all of the fast paced action and finesse that he always had. I had never been gladder to see him but even so, I couldn't help but think that had I never let him go, I would never have found nor loved the only doctor for me.