by Cour M.
Martha ceased to smile, but was no less enthralled as she accosted the Doctor, her hand raised out.
“May I?”
“If you need to.”
Martha ran her hand along his chest, then her ear and heard a heartbeat. Then she placed her ear on the other side of his heart and heard the other heartbeat.
“Two hearts,” she gasped.
“Two hearts,” He echoed. Without any trepidation, Martha then raised her hand and ran it along his face. He did not remove her hand from his cheek, but let her do so, smiling down at her all the while, content to be touched.
“You changed, Doctor!”
“You knew me when I was Ten. Now I’m Eleven.”
“Then you died?” Martha professed, wistful.
“All things must die, Martha,” he coaxed, “for if not, then nothing else could begin.”
“But you are the same man?”
“Very much so. Same memories, same hearts, but of course, different screwdriver. Same software, but you know, different casing.”
“Precisely,” Martha stepped away hastily, and turning away from him, but simply to be testy in a playful way. She could not understand it. Whether it was his different face, or the fact that she had the good fortune to no longer be in love with him, she felt a liveliness that she felt she had lost around him since their return to London after they had met the Daleks in Manhattan. She lost any sense of fear, regret, anger and sorrow, and just felt—happy. Therefore, she practically skipped around the consul unit as the Doctor raced around the other side of it and met her, seeing what she was about. “You have a different looking sonic screwdriver. Yours glows green, and my Doctor’s had glowed blue.”
“I’ve made some changes to it,” he replied defensively. “Can’t a man choose the color of his sonic screwdriver? Yes he can, thank you very much.”
“Very well,” Martha grinned knowingly and leaned on the consul unit, folding her arms in mock bossiness, “Prove you’re you. Tell me something that only the Doctor knows about me. Name a past experience that he had to have seen.”
“After we saved the hospital that I met you at,” Eleven reported, “I left you, then I could not help myself, so I came back. But it was in an obsessive sort of way, where I followed you and waited for you outside of the bar for your brother’s party. And then I waited till you came out.”
“Blimey, you were the king of mixed signals back then.”
“No, I was the prince of mixed signals back then. I’m the king of mixed signals now.”
“Still, that sort of information was on a public street, so someone could have eavesdropped on us,” Martha replied quickly, enjoying the game, “come now. You have to do better than that.”
Happy to oblige, the Doctor continued.
“We met William Shakespeare.”
“Anyone could have gone back in time to figure that one out. All they had to do was ask Shakespeare himself.”
“We went to New Earth together and you were attacked by Macra.”
“There are thousands of people who were trapped on the motorway to confirm that to any good assassin,” Martha laughed, raising her gun at him, thoroughly enjoying herself, “Besides, you also took Rose there, so come on, you have to do better than that.”
“We defeated Lazarus.”
“Who doesn’t know that one?”
“You saved me from getting consumed by a Sun that was alive.”
“And that could have been harvested from an intergalactic police report.”
“We met the Master.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“And you left me, here in this TARDIS,” Eleven concluded, wistful, “You said, ‘this is me, getting out’.”
When hearing her words spoken aloud, it brought her back to a graver way, and the playfulness that had existed between them had all but deflated. Martha, her arms heavy, now lowered the gun and stood there, her arms like weights.
“Well,” she propounded, “that killed the mood, didn’t it?”
“Yes, and it did then too,” Eleven said, moving away from her, and talking to himself as much as to her as he paced around the consul unit. “I had thought to take you to Agatha Christie, and I always wanted to see Agatha Christie. I bet you would have, but it was fine because I had Donna to do that with, but of course there were other things, and you know how I get when I think of other things… I never stop thinking of those other things, and I won’t rest until I discover what those other things are, because I hate not knowing things. You know how much I hate not knowing things. Well, what can you do, eh?” He asked, pulling the parking lever on the TARDIS before he rubbed his face, trying to hide his grief. Wiping it away as soon as it had covered his face, but it was not enough, for Martha had seen everything. She very well saw his rambling for what it was; a defense mechanism. Whenever he was ever hiding his pain, he rambled in that way, and this new face and voice made the rambling sound different than before.
“Your eyes,” she interpreted, “They are so very much older now, aren’t they?”
Eleven looked at her, showing her his emotion—his age. After all, if there was one woman who he showed all of his pain and sadness to—and his loneliness, it had always been her.
“Yes, they are, I suppose,” he answered, “Do you believe me now, Martha?”
She stood there, frozen.
“Doctor…”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Simultaneously, they both began laughing, then Martha rushed up to him, Eleven opened his arms and let her in as they hugged. So glad they both were in each other’s embrace, that he lifted her up and twirled her around.
In that moment, neither could fully define their feelings.
He was the face she had never seen.
She was the face that he had no intention of going back to see—due to the regrets, the embarrassment and the pangs of discomfort. And yet, whether it’s because Time had proven to be friends to them both, there were no apprehensions.
He felt warmth in holding her.
She felt security in being in his arms again.
Then again, despite all the pain and agony, one thing that always had felt right was when they hugged one another—even back then.
“Doctor,” she sighed, burying her face in his shoulder while he kissed her hair.
“Martha!”
They were both interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Doctor!” Came the voice, “This is General Sidney of the Shadow Proclamation, and we would like a word with you.”
“Oh yeah,” The Doctor sighed, “I forgot that there’s an army out there waiting to speak to me.”
“What can you do?” Martha shrugged, nonchalant, “it’s just one of those days.”
Chapter 3
The Third Odd Couple
London, England
Christmas Day, 2007
The Doctor watched for a brief moment as Mr. Copper rushed off, with the Doctor just having informed him that the credit card he had, had a million dollars on it, and therefore the man was rich. He watched as the old man practically skipped away, happy as can be while the Doctor went back into his TARDIS. He walked back to the consul unit, he could not resist, and he sat down on the floor of the control room, covered his face with his hand, and gave into despair for a time.
All the images of the last few hours had begun to collide in his mind in flashes.
Flash One: When his TARDIS had crashed into the Titanic Spaceship.
Flash Two: When he had first met Astrid while there.
Flash Three: When they had gone down to Earth and met the old man at the newsstand.
Flash Four: when the meteors had struck the Titanic, and then they had to make their way through the ship and gradually he kept losing the people he tried to save.
Flash Five: When Astrid had fallen and died.
ASTRID!!!!
Flash Six: When all of that occurred, because he was driving the TARDIS with its shields down
, because he was distracted by Martha leaving him.
And that was too much to bear!
Therefore, he jumped up, grabbed the nearest object and bashed it against the seat that she had once sat on. He had never shown much emotion before with her, so why was this anger striking him then?
When she had first left, he had felt little to nothing, but now he was beginning to see that at the time his emotions had been frozen… he had been in a slight shock.
Martha had left him… despite it all, he had never foreseen that. Yet that was not the most painful thing. No, not at all. It was that she had every reason to. There was no excuse he could give himself, no clever theory to give him justification.
It was not her feelings for him that ruined their relationship, or his lacking of feelings—because he did care for her. No! Rather, it was his coldness. He closed the door in between them early on, and then refused to open it. She deserved attention, and love. Not the romantic sort, because he could not give it. No, it was the sort in regards to friendship. He made her his companion, but he never fully became her friend.
He had been broken and he used her as his tourniquet, which was quite unfair, for anyone would break under the weight of being made into a device over time.
Yet what was worse was that Martha had been his justification, and now he saw it. She had been the one thing that justified him, no matter how horrible he became.
After saving London from the Empress of the Racknoss, Donna rejected him and did not wish to travel with him.
After making himself human in 1913, Joan the Matron rejected him and would not be his companion.
After reversing the ending of the world, the Master would have rather died than have been with him.
But Martha was always there. She was the one who he thought would never leave and it made him feel better for all those who did not wish to be with him. He used her to shield himself from the pain of all the rejections he had experienced, but once more that was it. She was his rebound! Thus, when she left, the realization of what he was became clear, and there was no hiding it. He was a problem within himself.
Once more, his heart then cried out for Rose! All was simple when he was with her. If Rose was there, he never would have ruined Martha’s life. He would not be heartbroken now. Yet that was the very problem, wasn’t it? He had spent too much time thinking of what would happen if Rose was there, that he did not fully see the woman who had been beside him when he ran with her. He had not seen Martha for her true self.
Thus, in his mind’s eye, he saw them both.
Rose was to the left.
And Martha was to the right.
Behind them was Susan, Sarah Jane Smith, Leela, Romana, Ace, Vicki, Ian, Barbara, Katarina, Peri and the rest of his previous companions; companions who hurt his heart when they left, but now it was different. Now he felt as if his soul was being shaken. As if it was being brought to the centers of a black hole and being continually sucked through it.
Rose!
Martha!
He wanted them both at that moment, he realized. It took him so long and now he realized, he had nothing to fear from Martha’s feelings, especially when he had begun them with his actions. He had let her in, then closed the door between them immediately after it. So what he could not feel as she did! He could have tried harder to endure it. He needed her now. As he needed Rose. One saved his soul while the other saved his heart.
“Rose and Martha!” The Doctor cried out to no one but the TARDIS itself, “Why did you have to go where I couldn’t find you!”
But his strength left as soon as it had risen.
“A curse of the Timelords,” he whispered to himself, “another curse of the Timelords.”
Raising up his body, he went to the interface, and turned on the TARDIS as it travelled through time and space. He clicked a few buttons, a life-size version of Rose Tyler came up, and he touched her shoulder.
“I will always miss you and… oh, you know the words.” Then he clicked another button and Martha appeared in her place.
“I could never feel as you wanted me to feel,” The Doctor said to her, “but I still should have said this; you saved my life, and you saved the world from me. You were beautiful.” He ran his fingers down her face and then eventually Martha’s figure dissolved as he stood there in silence.
“The man who regrets,” he whispered to himself, about himself.
Until he was knocked off his feet, because behind him was a large blast. He turned around as he was sprawled out on the floor of the TARDIS, with debris all around him and once more he realized that he had been foolish enough to forget to turn on the TARDIS shields!
Yet this time, he was not looking at the Titanic Cruise-liner hull. No, this was even more frightening. This time, through the walls of his TARDIS, he was looking into the face of the Statue of Liberty herself.
“What?” The Doctor roared, completely overcome with surprise as he stumbled to his feet. There she was, the Statue of Liberty—unless it was actually a space version of her, but then on closer inspection, the Doctor saw the age on her, and rust, and could tell by the smell that it was the one from Earth—from New York City itself.
The city that he had taken Martha to not so very long ago.
Once more, to rectify the situation, he rushed around his command room and pulled at the repair wheel. The TARDIS immediately fixed the break in its hull and the Statue of Liberty disappeared. Therefore, the Doctor turned on his receiver and screen to reveal that the TARDIS was before the Statue, but there was something written on it. Once he quickly read it, he could not believe his eyes.
“Oh, no way!” He cried, but this one he had to see for himself as he rushed to the front door of the TARDIS, opened it and stood in the doorway. High above the ground, he saw the base of the statue beneath him and he was looking at her chest where the letters were painted purposely full.
“Honestly, what?” He could not help but ask the air once more, because there, on the chest of Liberty herself, was written the word large and clear:
doctor
Someone had graffitied the Statue of Liberty, just to get his attention! For one split second, the Doctor could not help but smile, completely flattered by whoever went so far as to vandalize one of the most iconic images in Earth’s history, just to get his attention.
He looked around the letters and then at the base of the statue once more in hopes of some clue, and then he noticed two individuals. Far down below, and they were waving at him most enthusiastically.
“Doctor,” he said to himself, “this could all be a trap.”
However, the impulse was too strong, the curiosity too deep and therefore he turned on his engines and flew the TARDIS down to the base of the statue, where he landed comfortably.
With no fear or trepidation, he opened his doors before he even stepped out.
“Oh my god!” Came a fierce Scottish voice that he immediately felt comfortable in hearing. He did not recognize it, but it was clear that she recognized the box. “We got him. Rory, we finally found him! Doctor!”
As he emerged from the TARDIS, he stepped out and came face to face with two strangers. One had deep red hair and an ideal face, and the man with her was her height practically and a very distinct nose.
“Hello, you called for me?” The Doctor asked pleasantly, however his warm welcome was quickly come to an end, for when they saw him, their expressions went from exhilaration to disappointment, and he could not understand why. “What, did I do something wrong already?”
“But…” The man named Rory muttered, pointing at the Doctor while also looking thoroughly confused.
“But what?” The Doctor asked. “And it’s quite rude to point at someone.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Oi!” The red haired woman called, “don’t call him rude, you’re the one who stole our friend’s TARDIS. Now who are you?”
“What? I stole something?” The Doctor intoned, and then he
thought about it. “Oh wait, I have stolen things before. Including the TARDIS, but it didn’t belong to anyone before I stole it. Yes, I’m the first thief. So technically, what level of crime is that really? Yes, a very little one. And do little crimes count really in the grand scheme of things?”
“Yes, they often can,” Rory countered.
“Well, you must really be the life of the party, aren’t you?” The Doctor replied, sarcastic.
“Don’t worry, I make up for his shortcomings at parties,” the red-haired woman put in, to which Rory groaned.
“Oh, brilliant.”
“But you, where is our friend and where did you get this TARDIS?”
“And how do you know what a TARDIS is?” The Doctor inquired.
“We know because we travelled in it with our friend, the Doctor. So how did you get it? And where is he? What did you do to him? Please, don’t make me have to torture you to get it all out of you. And don’t think that I won’t reduce myself to torture, because desperate times, my friend, desperate times.”
“She would do it,” Rory stressed.
“I’m the Doctor,” Ten said with finality.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. You always wear a bowtie.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Yes, you really do.”
“Well, even if I do, which I don’t, then I only do it because I look cool in them. Bowties, much to popular misconception, can be very cool.”
Both Rory and the redhead’s faces dropped when he said that.
“Oh,” Rory said, “so that’s when it began.”
“When what began?” The Doctor asked.
Suddenly, the woman took a step forward, she raised up her arms and reached into his pocket.
“Oi, get off! Do you always reach into stranger’s pockets?” Ten scoffed, though he did nothing to stop her for some reason. Something about her just naturally made him feel susceptible to be ordered and then naturally obey. And quite frankly, he did not like that. Also she moved with such confidence, for she knew exactly which pocket to go to as she pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and she activated it. When seeing her do that, the Doctor scoffed.