Jack had found him again, even dramatically traveled through the vortex clinging to the TARDIS like a madman. He should have been happy to see him, but there were too many reasons for him not to be.

He sat in the abandoned warehouse they were hiding in — himself, Jack, and Martha — in front of a fire in a barrel as the others slept nearby. They were on the run from the Master now - his reemergence a stark and painful reminder of the darker days of his past, a reminder of a side of himself he never wanted to show them, especially Martha.

As he watched the flames and sparks twisting and swirling from the light wind catching them, he thought how Jack was also a painful reminder of his past, especially of Rose.

He knew that he was always sort of backward with Martha - the closer her got to her, the more harsh he'd become toward her, even fervently pushing her away with all he had to give on some days, which only led to more and more resentment on both sides. He never liked to admit it to himself, but sometimes he felt as if he might be punishing Martha for his feelings for her — for letting himself bask in the compelling heat of her wondrous fire — when perhaps he still should be mourning the loss of Rose instead.

He'd withdrawn from Martha that night, withdrawn when he should be comforting her over the events with the Master, her family, the destruction of her home — but no, he pushed her away because there was something, some voice, deep inside him that didn't want him to show affection for her in front of Jack because of his connection to his past, to Rose, as if it might be a betrayal.

He could hear Martha crying throughout the night, her tears tempting him toward her as he wanted to somehow assuage her fears (and his own), but he stayed back, sitting still in front of the other fire (which did not remotely compare to

her fire), and trying not to let his stomach turn in regret and anger and envy when he saw Jack move toward her in the shadows, and hold her instead.

Jack and Martha had been drawing together more and more since they'd met on Malcassairo, a small tight unit forming of them-against-him it seemed from the outside, so he knew that it was only a matter of time before Jack would make his move. That is what Jack does after all, and honestly, could he really blame him?

No, his arms would remain woefully empty that night, unable to enjoy the closeness of Martha when feeling the most frightened and alone he had in a long time. Still, he knew that despite his sadness, his longing, he only — as always — had himself to blame.

The cab arrived and he reluctantly moved to pay the driver (not wanting to pull from Martha's embrace, but succumbing to the necessity of it). The two of them then made their way outside of the vehicle to stand in front of her building. Part of him was not surprised to find that her flat seemed to be at the same address in this universe and it made him wonder for a moment how many more similarities there would be as he came to know her better.

"Here we are," she announced, taking his hand as she led him toward the front door. She was being a bit more assertive than he had imagined her to be, intriguing him.

Once inside and up the stairs, she fumbled for her keys in her pocket before opening the door to her flat to let them both in. The first thing that he noticed was that the size and shape of her flat on the inside appeared to be the same, if not very similar, to the flat he remembered from the other universe, but there were a few major differences in the décor, such as this flat's burgundy-colored walls and slightly different shaped couch.

"Let me put on the kettle," she offered, releasing his hand. She hung up her coat on a peg by the door and then strode across the living room toward the kitchen.

He watched her walk away and then, feeling a bit self-conscious about staring, he looked around him to take in his surroundings. His gaze lingered on a few pairs of her underwear hanging up on the clotheshorse by the door, but he quickly shook any lascivious thoughts from his head and slowly followed her into the kitchen to distract himself.

"Sorry it's not that tidy," she called out, jumping a bit as she turned to find him right behind her.

He'd not meant to startle her, of course, he'd only hoped to be closer to her again — already feeling the slight pang of emptiness of their separation since they'd exited the cab. He immediately felt embarrassed about his intrusion into her personal space, though, chastising himself inwardly, and took a few awkward steps backward.

"You should see my place. I've got papers, books, and gadgets everywhere," he answered, leaning against the counter just a few feet from her, while trying to seem nonchalant and ignore the steady the rush of nerves mounting within him. "My flat mate hates me sometimes, in fact, but I do my best to try to keep my mess contained to my bedroom and office."

"So, you live with someone?" she asked, pulling down some tea from the cupboard, her back still mostly to him.

"Yeah, he's called Owen. He's a doctor actually."

"A doctor? Which hospital does he work at? Maybe I've met him."

"Oh, he's not at a hospital. He, well, he works for the government as well — medical research and all that — "

"More hush-hush stuff, then?" she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah, basically," he replied with a chuckle.

"So, does he work with you or is there some sort of flat mate match-up service I'm unaware of for people with hush-hush jobs?"

This time he giggled — giggled and giggled. Perhaps the wine was going to his head, but it took him a good long moment before he could breathe again from the fit of laughter.

"No, but that's good, I like that." Holding his sides, he finally replied. "But yeah, he does work at the same place I do, that's how we met."

"Such a wonderful mystery you are, John," she said with a big smile, handing him a mug of the tea she'd just prepared. "Sugar's right over there and I have milk if you need. I also have some chocolate digestives to nibble on."

"Thank you," he replied, taking the proffered mug and stepping over to the sugar bowl to scoop a few spoons into the tea.

He was behind her again, practically leaning over her to reach the sugar in small space of her kitchen. She was so close, in fact, that he could smell her hair again — the faint scent of jasmine teasing his senses — and her neck was so close, so tantalizing, that he wanted to kiss it (too afraid to do so when he was still in the car with her).

She turned around in front of him, so very close as she looked up at him with an expression that he couldn't read, and then quite suddenly, grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him downward. She pressed her lips against his and he almost stumbled into her from the unexpected shift in his balance, but he was thankfully able to safely set his mug down on the nearby counter to return her kiss.

Her fingers found his hair and caressed his scalp while his own hands reached upward to caress her cheeks as the kiss deepened. He let out a light moan as he felt her tongue slide past his lips and tease the roof of his mouth, but any embarrassment quickly gave way to the simple pleasure of her kissing him — fingers slipping down to the nape of his neck, her nails scratching faint circles against the sensitive skin there.

It had been a long time since he'd kissed anyone (his separation from Rose had occurred several months before and he'd not been romantically involved with anyone since) and definitely the first time he'd kissed Martha, at least in this body. His body's reactions were warring between his growing nervousness and his growing arousal, but he wanted to do everything right. This kiss was unexpected, but that wonderful type of unexpected that leaves you elated and amazed. The last thing he wanted was for it to end awkwardly.

They finally pulled from each other, winded from the kiss as they pressed the foreheads together. "I think the tea's getting cold," she panted.

"Bugger the tea." He bit his lip, surprised by his own words, a bit of his Donna-self slipping through the cracks of his own persona.

"But it was meant to warm you up."

He laughed, surprised that she somehow didn't understand that her kiss had warmed him more than any liquid might. "Oh, you've already done that, I assure you," he whispered, feeling suddenly shy.

What if she is already regretting the kiss? he thought, What if she is trying to get out of the situation by changing the subject at hand?

"Have I?" she asked, her tone seemingly playful. He pulled from her to look down at her, desperate to read any sort of reaction from her, some indication of where things should go next. No mistakes, he wanted no mistakes.

"Yes," he breathed and then reached up to draw the back of his knuckles lightly over her cheek. "And would it be horribly inappropriate of me to ask if I could kiss you again?"

Martha opened her mouth, looking as if she was about to answer when they heard her phone, interrupting them. She looked toward its shrill ringing in the living room and then back up at him. "Just ignore it, the answerphone will get it," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm not expecting any calls."

A few rings later, Tish's voice rose from the answerphone's speaker. "Martha, are you there? Just checking to see if you made it home all right. You were acting a bit odd at the pub, but I bet that was probably because of that sexy John bloke. He really seemed your type, you know, perhaps you should've given him your number…"

"Oh my god," Martha exclaimed, a blush colouring her cheeks as she pulled from him and darted across the room to pick up the receiver. "Tish, hello, how are you?" she said, turning her back to him.

He could make out that she had her hand on her forehead, most likely embarrassed, but he had to admit that Tish's words had thrilled him a little — 'sexy John bloke' — and he gave a smug smile.

He then picked up his tea, still warm enough to savor, and began to drink it as he looked around the kitchen, trying to distract himself from eavesdropping on her conversation. Besides, what he could hear wasn't making much sense anyway, just a series of 'yes' and 'no' and 'yellow' and 'green.' He could tell that her tone was now a bit exasperated, though, and he worried that perhaps the disruption might have derailed things between them completely.

In a way, he supposed he was relieved for the distraction though, if he were honest. Things had begun to surprisingly move very fast between them and while he was certainly finding himself interested in more…'passionate endeavors' with Martha, he didn't want seem like just a 'bloke on the pull' with nothing else on his mind —

Perhaps the interruption was what the both of them needed to bring them back to their senses.

So, he sighed deeply before taking a long sip of the tea — jasmine, just like her hair, he mused — and decided that if she were in fact having second thoughts and asked him to leave after her conversation with Tish, he would be a gentleman and do so without reserve.

"Sorry about that," she finally said, now off the phone and approaching him in the kitchen. She seemed almost business-like with him now.

"No worries," he replied simply, still unsure of his footing in their current predicament.

She walked over to him and picked up her own mug of tea and sipped it, frowning immediately. She then walked over and dumped the tea into the sink and returned to make some fresh tea for herself. He'd started to back away as she moved around the kitchen, not wanting to get in her way and also mentally preparing himself for his inevitable exit. There was a tension hanging in the air between them and he wasn't sure — unable to read her social cues enough yet - if it was positive or negative in nature.

"Let's go sit on the couch," she said, grabbing a tin of biscuits before walking back into the living room.

He tentatively followed her and when he sat down on the couch, he left a large space between them, not wanting to make any assumptions about how close she wanted him. She smirked at him as she placed the biscuit tin on the coffee table before them. "Tish wants to know if she should send Leo over," she stated simply with an embarrassed laugh.

"Leo?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Yeah, my older brother."

He furrowed his brow, "Older brother?"

"Yeah, he's 25. I'm 23," she replied with a shrug. "Older."

"Oh."

He was trying not to look too surprised, for he knew from experience that things in this universe were often not the same as the other. He remembered quite vividly how upset Rose had been when she'd found her counterpart in this universe was essentially a terrier with the same name, so birth order changes were probably comparatively low on his list of strange differences between the parallels.

"So, why would Leo need to come over?" he added, feeling nervous around her again.

Martha laughed again, placing her mug down on the table before pressing her hand to her forehead. "Because you're here," she said awkwardly. "Older siblings, always so over-protective."

"Oh," he said again, shifting on the chair, as he suddenly felt too hot in the layers of clothing he was wearing. "Should I…leave?"

She dropped her hand to her lap and regarding him curiously for a long moment. "Do you want to leave?"

"I…well," he paused. He hadn't expected that question. In fact, in that moment, his feelings seemed practically irrelevant. "Does it matter?"

"To me, it does."

"Well, then," he paused again, taking in a deep breath and pulling the small throw pillow by his side into his lap to grasp for emotional support. He squeezed the small cushion tightly, blowing out the breath. "No, I don't want to leave. Not yet, anyway."

"Good," she said, a small smile slowly lighting up her face as the mood between them began to lighten as well.

"Good?"

"You're such an enigma, John."

"So, you've said."

"There's just something I can't work out about you." She turned to sit sideways against the armrest as she gazed at him, her deep brown eyes so obviously analyzing him, scrutinizing him, and feeling as if she was penetrating him to his very core. He felt oddly exposed.

"And that is?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly from nerves.

"Tish was really interested in you tonight, flirted with you, charmed you, but you showed no interest back. I'm not sure I've ever seen a man, well, a straight man, immune to that. My sister's not used to getting a no when it's something that she wants. It was truly odd to witness," she paused, narrowing her eyes at him as if her analysis was deepening, as if trying to see into his soul. "Even more odd though, was that I might've written you off as just gay or asexual or something, I don't know, but the way you've been around me is quite the opposite."

Her gaze broke and she looked down, as if suddenly self-conscious about her line of questioning. "Why's that so odd?" he asked, somewhat confused.

"Tish," she looked up and pointed up to a framed picture of her sister on the wall beside her. She then pointed the finger at herself, "Me."

"I'm not following."

She groaned. "Do I have to spell it out? Oh, who cares? It's not like I'm likely to ever see you again after this, is it? Tish is the pretty one, the one all the boys like and I'm…well, I'm not."

"I'm not trying to dissolve your apparently grand theory of your existence, but I honestly have to beg to differ."

"Sorry?"

"Tish is pretty, yes, and she's a lovely woman from what I can tell, but she isn't you. I don't know about 'all the boys' as I can only speak for myself, really. I mean, I never understood things like 'all the boys' anyway, what does that mean, really? No matter, not important, what I'm trying to say, trying and probably failing, is that you're the one that turns my head, Martha. I, well, I wouldn't be here otherwise."

He gripped the pillow tighter, his fingers almost numbing with the tension that was moving through his body and continued, "I mean, I'm quite sure it's weird for you to have a stranger in your house the first night and all after you've met them, but trust me, it's truly just as weird for me to be that stranger. I'm the type would have usually left you at the pub and, well, maybe, perhaps, shyly given you my phone number if I'd been able to get up the nerve, or whatever it is that people do when they want to see someone again, but probably not. The thing is, though, I like you, I really do and I didn't want you to get away so easily. I don't know what that means after tonight, and god I'm regretting all that wine from earlier making me say all of this, but it seems, I suppose, that it needed to be said."

Martha's expression softened and she laughed again, shaking her head. "Grand theory of my existence?"

The tension was definitely starting to dissolve between them. "It sounded good at the time?" he offered awkwardly.

"It may've been one of the more bizarre chat-up lines I've heard in my day, but I have to say it was pretty effective."

"Effective?" he asked, feeling a sudden sense of wonderment.

"Come here," she summoned him to her and he immediately dropped the pillow onto the floor, crawling over until he was above her, his back arched and his hands on either side of her on the armrest. "I don't know how I managed to turn your head, John, but I really like you too. In fact, I think I might like that other kiss now, that is, if the offer's still on the table."

He smiled widely down at her, the feeling of elation that swept through him dissolving all of the remaining tension from the moment before. "Oh yes, indeed it is," he leaned down and captured her lips with his own, enjoying a long languorous kiss with her.

The goodbye kiss — so quick and chaste — almost felt like a punch to his gut.

He'd dreamt of this moment with Martha again and again during that year they were apart, nightmares plaguing him while she was still traveling the Earth below in his honor, but he still hoped that it would somehow never come.

He'd held on so tightly to the console in the TARDIS when she walked back in through the doors - doing his best to just stay standing, to somehow brace himself for her departure - that he thought ruefully that he might break his ship as well as his hearts. And when she held him a few moments later, he worried that he might never be able to let go.

"Martha Jones, you saved the world," he'd said, but what he left out was that she'd saved him too. In all the bitterness and all the angst, she'd always been his one beacon of hope.

"Are you going to be alright?" she'd asked him and he lied to her — lied as he so often found himself doing, even when it shamed him — "Always."

And then she was gone from him.

She came back a moment later, of course, and his hopes rose momentarily at her return, but after a few words he knew she was still saying goodbye as she finally said, "This is me, getting out."

And then she was gone for good this time and he had nothing left of her but her mobile. Nothing left of what they'd had together, what he'd gone and destroyed between them.

For months he would memorize that mobile, memorizing every centimeter of it as he stared at it for hours on end, wishing for it to ring. When it finally did though, his worst fears were confirmed — she had moved on from him completely.

She led him into her bedroom, walking backward and pulling him by both of his hands - her mobile chirping in her pocket the only thing stopping them once in through the doorway.

He momentarily cursed inwardly about the repeated ill timing of phone calls that evening, but then as she took the call, he also tried not to stare at the mobile in her hand, which he knew, with the greatest certainty, was the very same mobile her other self had — the same mobile his other self had mourned over for so long.

He started to the feel traces of His sadness deep within himself at just seeing it again, but soon felt his heart flutter lightly instead when she looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and simply said 'Green' before ending the call and slipping the mobile back into her pocket.

"Tish?" he asked, letting her pull him again until they stopped near the bed.

"Yes."

"Can I ask why you speak in mysterious colours?"

"Codes."

"Codes?"

"Yeah."

"And green means?"

"Can't you guess?" she replied with a wink. He smiled and leaned down to press his lips against hers in response.

Her hands were on his hooded sweatshirt now and he broke the kiss to help her pull it off over his head. "So many layers," she murmured, running a hand over the green and grey long sleeved t-shirt he was wearing underneath and then pulled both it and the white vest he was also wearing off as well, leaving his chest bare.

(Layers of clothing was one of the few things that he still shared in common with Him, hiding himself such layers to not only deal with the inborn traces of shame of his body culled from Gallifreyan culture — where exposing your body in public was considered a dishonor to your family — but also the shame of this body's figure — 'skinny streak of nothing' he could hear his inner-Donna-voice say in revulsion, a voice he often heard when looking at his body in a mirror.)

He started to worry what Martha would think of seeing his body, started to want to put all his clothes back on again to cover up. She'd never said if she liked His body, what if she didn't like his?

No, he was feeling far too exposed standing before her - he crossed his arms over his chest to hide himself.

"What's wrong?" she asked sweetly, her fingertip trailing along the length of one of his arms, causing him to tremble. "Are you cold again?"

He looked down at himself self-consciously. "Just a bit uncomfortable," he said, his voice only just above a whisper.

"Should we stop?" she asked, pressing a hand to his chest beneath his crossed arms, her hand so close to his heart that he worried she might be frightened off by how fast and hard it was now beating.

(Rose had pressed her hand to the same place on his chest that first time at Bad Wolf Bay, his first day on this world, and he remembered quite vividly how she ran away from him just afterward, ran for Him instead, repulsed by him. Maybe Martha would run too?)

"I…don't know," he stammered.

"Is it me? Am I going too fast for you?"

"No, no, I just, I don't know — "

She looked up at him and her eyes seem to focus on his with a glimmer of recognition. "Are you hiding yourself from me?"

He blew out a deep breath. "Yeah," he whispered.

She leaned forward, placing a kiss on his chest between his arms. "Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't believe they're beautiful."

Her hands slid up to his arms and she slowly uncrossed them, placing them at his sides. He felt the urge to stop her, to keep himself hidden, but he felt powerless to do so as he looked down at the soothing expression on her face.

She pressed more kisses to his chest, taking care to suckle and lick his nipples, causing his legs to almost buckle from the electric bolts of pleasure. Her fingers slid down his sides to find the button and zip of his jeans and she slowly opened them, releasing the hardness that was now achingly pressed tight against the denim there.

She pushed his jeans down over his hips to pool at his feet and then her fingers wrapped around his erection, slowly moving up and down along its length. He moaned at the delicious juxtaposition of her touch and the light nibbling she applied to one of his nipples — the flesh caught so pleasurable between her teeth — and focused all his will on just keeping upright as his legs threatened to buckle again.

"Martha, why're you doing this?" he breathed, surprising himself that he'd stated his wonderment aloud.

"Because I think sometimes people should have what they want. And this," she squeezed his cock slightly, causing him to growl in response, "is what we both want tonight."

They were both naked now, the soft light from the small lamp on her bedside locker beautifully illuminating the contours of her skin as he looked down at her from above on her bed. He was kneeling between her legs, just taking in the extraordinary sight of her for a long moment, but he quickly shifted to his belly there, to lick and nibble the insides of her thighs instead.

He'd felt suddenly consumed with the desire to taste her with this body, with this mouth, with these senses. She might not have the taste of the time vortex on her skin, but her own natural taste, he quickly found, was no less addictive.

He pushed his tongue inside the heated wetness at the apex of her thighs, a heat that beckoned his body just as it had His, yet still so very different. He was not cold against her heat, or alien against her humanity — a love borne of opposite extremes was fading rapidly to be replaced instead by a love borne of similarities and compatibilities.

He suckled and licked her sex, coaxing the pleasure from her, enjoying all the wonderfully soft, human sounds she made in response. He understood how He could have been so entranced by her other self in such moments, the firm swell of power blazing within him as her climax drew nearer and neared until her essence spilled against his eager tongue and her body writhed against him in release.

He continued to move his mouth against her, unwilling to move just yet, contemplating the possibilities of just staying there for hours, just delighting in her. That was the problem with Him, he mused, he never stayed around to bask in the bliss of such things, but instead always ran away too soon.

Martha let him continue to pleasure her for a few minutes longer before her fingers, now threaded tightly into his hair, pulled him upward toward her. He eased along her body, moaning as, once he was arched over her again, she had pulled his head down to passionately kiss her again, the hard peaks of her nipples now pressing against his chest.

He pulled from the kiss a few moments later, his forehead pressed against hers as they both caught their breath again. "I want you inside me," she panted and he felt a resultant throb in his groin at her words.

He reached over to grab the condom they'd set on the bedside locker — which he'd been pleased she had, as it hadn't even occurred to him to bring one along himself — and then shifted back upward onto his knees again to put it on. He noticed Martha was watching him intently as he rolled the latex over himself and he blushed slightly at the look of near-concupiscence glittering in her eyes.

He then shifted himself down to press his hardness between her legs, the tip pressed just tantalizingly against her entrance, as he began to kiss her again. His kisses soon trailed down along her neck and over to her ear, where he pulled the lobe between his teeth and bit down lightly.

She arched upward against him in response, causing the head of his cock to enter her very slightly with her movement and the two of them to moan.

He then released her ear and whispered, "I just want you to know that I'm not going anywhere, not until you ask me to - " He paused to fully push himself inside her, causing them both to gasp and groan from the deepened penetration, " - for you're more beautiful than you know."

He began to move against her, his arms slipping beneath her to hold her to him as her legs wrapped around him to apparently do the same. He was feeling almost overwhelmed by how wonderful she felt, the heat of her seeming to push outward and engulf both their bodies with its fiery blaze. He knew he wasn't going to last long — no, months of longing in this body, dreaming of her, remembering His Martha, feeling so lost, only to finally feel so connected again, only to finally feel so very right — was enough to just about undo him on the spot -

"I'm not going to last much longer," he whimpered and then was surprised as she shifted her weight against him, pushing him onto his back.

She sat above him, looking down with a smile. "Then perhaps we should slow down a bit," she said, pausing as her hips began to move ever so languidly against him. He gasped at the sensation, the pleasure causing his limbs to tremble beneath her, but he held fast and held back his climax. "I do want you to enjoy this after all."

He simply watched her moving atop him — taking in the beauty of the curve of her breasts, the slight swell of her body, and the way she bit her lip in ecstasy as she rode him. He couldn't look away for she held his human heart in the palm of her hand and, after months of desiring nothing but the chance to be near her, here she was so close, so intimate, that it was as if their souls were touching.

His thoughts went back to his words, so open, so laid bare — 'I just want you to know that I'm not going anywhere, not until you ask me to.' — and he suddenly worried that he'd said too much, not held his cards close to his chest for long enough. Even in His most vulnerable moments, He was always able to keep his mask secured, divert her attention from what was really going on between them. Did he need to don such a mask? Would she love him or hate him if he dared to try?

The staccato of her moans drew his attention and he could feel the sensual tugging against his hardness from inside her as another climax rose within her. Her body writhed wonderfully against his, coaxing his own pleasure as well until she looked down at him with so much aching tenderness that it caused his own climax to hit with such force that he pushed upward, rutting against her like an animal. His hands held her hips tightly as his body spasmed and trembled beneath her and he felt lost to the sensation as wave after wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him.

No, he couldn't bear to ease such mask over himself now, not when she made him feel like that, not when she — not His Martha, but perhaps, maybe, his Martha — looked at him like that. This was a new beginning after all, not a useless retread of His misjudgments and omissions, since to embark on such an erroneous journey between them would be unfair to them both.

He looked up into her eyes — eyes at once so familiar yet so unknown — and knew in that moment, with utter clarity, that he wanted to know everything about her and, quite to his surprise, he wanted her to know everything about him. No secrets or masks. No cryptic lies or being otherwise recondite —

They were two strangers on the precipice of something that had the potential to be so much bigger than either of them could comprehend. It was at once frightening and exhilarating.

He smiled widely up at her, his one human heart racing in elation as he reached up to her and stroked the side of her face with his (trembling) palm. For a moment, he felt cold again - he always felt so damned cold in this body, but she lay across him now, capturing his lips with her own as her body pressed to his.

She kissed him with words flowing between them caught in the net of curling of tongues and the movement of teeth, words that were simultaneously spoken, yet unspoken. And then the cold retracted from him, now dominated by the warmth — her warmth - surrounding him suddenly, a warmth smoldering between them, skin against skin. And he knew he was finally where he needed to be, where he belonged.