(My first Doctor Who fic... woo hoo!)

"It's… it's been a while, I'm sorry." she hears, a mumble, down the hall, and she tries not to let curiosity get the best of her. Martha Jones changes into her usual nightly attire; sweatpants with holey knees and a loose tank top. It doesn't exactly catch the Doctor's eye, but at least she could change out of that stuffy, red leather jacket. She swears if she stuck her hair up like that for that long again, it'd stick up for good.

She hears a cough, a clearing throat and wonders to herself who the hell is he talking to? It could be the TARDIS, he's always talking to her about whatever he wants the ship to do, but, this was different. There's something… calmer, more timid, the way he speaks quietly, yet with purpose. The urge to listen claws at the back of her mind, until she finally gives in.

The TARDIS grates blow cool air on her bare feet, tickling them with the cold metal. She tiptoes quietly, hoping TARDIS wouldn't tell on her, but all she hears is the gentle, steady hum that's lulled her to sleep the past few nights.

She's about to turn back as she sees his door ajar, peeking to see him only lying on his bed, when she hears something that glues her feet right where they are.

"Her name's Martha; she's smart, resourceful. Heck, even saved my life a fair share of times."

He shifts in the bed, lying on his back, with his hands folded neatly over his stomach. Something is on the bed beside him, something relatively small but from this angle she can't see what. He turns to it, as if addressing it for a short period, until deciding to talk to the ceiling instead.

"I took her to New New York, though, it was much different than when you remember it. The whole city was trapped underground! We, uh… we saw the Face of Boe, again. I remember when we first met him. The end of the world, our first date, eh? We got chips and you did that little pout you do to get me to say yes. Course, I would've said yes anyway. Who could say no to you and free chips? Well, the Face of Boe… he, he died… Long life, though, so he was alright. He… told me something; something about me not being the last of my…"

"Well, back to Martha. She's a real doctor. Not like me, but she knows all that medical pish-posh stuff that people say I should know to call myself a 'Doctor'. What do they know? I'll call myself whatever I please, thank you very much! Martha never questions it, just like you. I think you two would get along well. Though, it'd be hard, having three ladies ganging up on me," he chuckles softly, his hand gripping the object beside him, "You girls could easily overthrow me and have us travel to some land of puppies or a day-spa planet. How would we go on saving the world if we had a repeat of you and Sarah Jane, gossiping and giggling behind my back? I still have to figure out what you were laughing at… was it my hair?"

His laugh sounds again, but it's strained, as if he's in pain.

"Ah well, guess I'll never know. Doesn't matter anymore. Besides, I have more important things to worry about than my still-not-ginger hair. Oh, yes! I went to the real New York, with the Statue of Liberty and everything! It was the 50s, I wish I could've taken you, I know you love to dress up. But, there were," he gulps audibly, "Daleks."

Martha absolutely hates the way his voice breaks.

"I thought they were gone. You gave your life away here to destroy them, but it just wasn't enough. One still exists. In the entirety of time and space only one exists. I swear to you, I will find it. And, I will kill it. I'll do it in your name. I won't let you have gone in vain. You'll be avenged, I promise."

"Martha's brilliant with this kind of stuff, very practical and on-her-feet. She killed all the Daleks' slaves without me! I know you'd know exactly what to do in a situation like that, but, for a new mate, she's pretty impressive."

And, now his eyes are closed, fingers drumming his chest.

"I miss you," he finally sighs, teeth scraping his bottom lip in almost a nervous way, "I miss how you could smile and the whole universe seemed brighter. I miss your cockney accent, and how you held my hand. I miss your hugs, the way you always held on for longer than necessary, but I would too, so it'd even out just fine. I miss you. And, I love you, Rose Tyler."

Martha stands in the doorway, unable to think of anything rational to do, so, naturally, she acts on impulse. Her steps are small, but she walks on, unsure of what will happen. She knows he senses her in there, but he makes no movement to prove so. Martha hesitantly sits on the bed, and it hits her what he's been holding.

A woman's purple jacket lies on the bed next to him, and she knows immediately who the owner was.

She takes his hand slowly, unraveling his fingers one by one, desperate not to be yelled at for intruding. His brow furrows slightly, not understanding her intentions. Martha grasps his more relaxed hand, limp in hers and cool to the touch. Leaning back against the pillow, she closes her eyes, and does something that has the Doctor in pure awe, squeezing her hand and smiling quietly, eyes still shut.

"Hi, Rose. My name's Martha, Martha Jones. The Doctor's told me a lot about you…"