OKAY, I'M BACK - AND THIS FIC IS A FAIRLY DIFFICULT UNDERTAKING, I SHOULD THINK. I'M NOT SURE HOW IT'S GOING TO GO. IT'S RATHER EXPERIMENTAL.

THIS IS NOT PART OF THE TEN/MARTHA SERIES I'VE BEEN WORKING ON, IN WHICH THEY ARE A COUPLE. THEIR RELATIONSHIP HERE IS MORE CANONICAL - AT LEAST IT WILL START OUT THAT WAY, AND HONESTLY, I CAN'T SAY WHERE IT WILL END UP. AFTER THE PROLOGUE, YOU MAY SEE WHERE I'M GOING WITH IT, AND WHAT I MEAN BY "NOT BETTER, JUST DIFFERENT."

AND I REALIZE IT DOESN'T PACK QUITE THE PUNCH OF THE FIRST CHAPTERS OF MY LAST TWO EPICS, BUT I LIKE TO THINK IT'S SLEEPILY INTRIGUING. :-)

FEEL FREE TO OFFER CRITICISMS - BUT BE KIND! I'M FRAGILE. ALL ALONG THE WAY, I WILL WELCOME YOUR SUGGESTIONS! PLEASE!

PROLOGUE

She shut her phone and smiled – medical school had taken up so much of her time lately, she hadn't had a chance at romance in over a year, even before she met the Doctor. But she vowed, not anymore. And bollocks to whatever her mum said about being too aggressive. She liked Tom Milligan, and in this reality, he was still alive, as were tens of thousands of others, thanks to her and the Doctor.

And then she looked up and saw the police box. She had always known that when one door closes, another opens – life had a way of working itself out that way. But then the reverse must also be true. In order for a door to open, another must close. Perhaps that was pessimistic, but she chose to think of it as realism. If she was going to be a doctor, she had to deal with real life now.

She went inside. He saw the spark of sadness on her face straight away, but chose to ignore it. He thought he could talk his way out of it, as he did everything else. This, he always saw. When she was sad or scared or homesick or worried about her sister, he could practically read her mind, and usually knew what to say (although sometimes, he spectacularly did not). And she loved that about him.

Actually, she sort of loved everything about him.

Which is why she also felt something other than sadness when she went inside. It was something she always felt when she saw him. Blue suit today, dark shirt, dark tie – interesting choice, but dapper as always. And oh, achingly handsome… brutally. Nothing new, at least not to her, but God how was she going to walk away from this?

That little surge of lust or love or whatever it was… that, he didn't see. That, he had never seen in two years, including one that had been erased. And whether he was simply thick or chose not to notice, it no longer mattered. Either way, she couldn't live with it anymore.

But before she could walk away, of course, he had to make it hard.

He peeked out from behind the console. "Right then! Off we go! The open road!" he yelled. "There is a burst of starfire right now off the coast of Meta Sigma Polonia. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look?"

She walked toward him, her face unchanged. She was determined. No more starfire.

"Or, back in time! We could… I dunno, Charles II? Henry VIII?" he suggested, now firing up the magnificent machine. "I know! Agatha Christie! I'd love to meet Agatha Christie, bet she's brilliant!"

And that's when he couldn't sustain it. She actually thought he'd go on for a lot longer than that. His face fell, and she smiled a bit. She wasn't sure why.

"Okay," he said.

She nodded in agreement. "I just can't."

"Yeah."

"Spent all these years training to be a doctor, now I've got people to look after," she said. Even as it was coming out of her mouth, she knew it was just an excuse. It was the truth, but it was an excuse. Perhaps even he knew it too. "They saw half the planet slaughtered and they're devastated. I can't leave them."

"Of course not," he said, clenching his teeth. At last, he smiled. It was that crooked half-smile that always made her knees weak. She was determined not to show it, not that he'd ever notice. "Thank you."

And he moved to hug her. For a split second, she thought of telling him it was better not to, just have a clean break, blah blah blah. But it was their last few moments together, and she knew she needed to allow them both some closure, it was only fair. So they hugged, and it felt amazing as always.

After a long moment, they pulled away from each other, and he said, "Martha Jones, you saved the world."

"Yes, I did," she agreed. "I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best, but you know what? I am good!"

He chuckled, as did she.

"You going to be all right?" she asked. She was genuinely worried that he'd eventually die of loneliness. He was a man of many friends, many faces, but he was always lonely. If she lied to herself really well, she could convince herself that that's why she travelled with him.

"Always, yeah," he told her, not very convincingly.

"Right then," she whispered. "Bye." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked away. Through the door, out of his life…

In the ten seconds she was gone, he finally saw it. Or at least he thought he did.

Oh, God, no wonder she's leaving.

I am a daft old man. I can see through time and space. I can probe the minds of man and beast, I can spot a glitch in a transmetaversal remainderant anticircuit even when its pulse monitoring tones haven't been wielded or even adjusted. But I can't see when I'm completely trampling on the feelings of someone I depend upon.

"I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best," she had said. Oh, she had said some other stuff before and after it, but… had he really made her feel that way? Second best? She might have been the cleverest human he'd ever known – had he really never told her that? Had he been so bloody wrapped up in… yes, he had!

She'd accused him of being on the rebound when they were in New New York. He thought she was mad. But let's examine.

The very first night they met, he'd been very harsh with her. He made very clear that she was no replacement, and had reminded her over and over and over that she'd be sent home as soon as this trip or that trip was finished. Come on – who wants to travel that way?

When they were together at the inn with Shakespeare, she looked at him wistfully, and what had he said? "Rose would know what to do." Martha had turned over in a huff and blown out the candle.

When he was out of his mind as John Smith, he had shown her, at one point, a drawing of a woman that kept popping up in his dreams. What was her name again? Oh yes. Hell, and he'd even invited Joan Redfern to come along and "start again" with him, whatever that meant. What kind of gratitude was that toward the woman who had looked after him for three long months and been treated like a servant?

Blimey, he was lucky she hadn't blown up the TARDIS with him inside.

But, to his surprise and relief, she came back. Without a bomb in her hand.

"Cause, the thing is," she said, bursting back in. "It's like my friend Vicky. She lived with this bloke. Student housing, there were five of them all packed in, and this bloke was called Sean. And she loved him. She did! She completely adored him, spent all day long talking about him!"

As Martha told the story, her face lit up remembering her friend. But he couldn't help wondering aloud, "Is this going anywhere?"

"Yes!" she insisted. He felt quite put-in-his-place, and nodded awkwardly, waiting for her to continue. And then she dropped the bomb. "'Cause he never looked at her twice."

So that's what it was about.

SO THAT'S WHAT THIS WAS ABOUT??

I knew I was old and daft but am I really that old? That I can't see when a woman fancies me? Someone I like? Someone who's brilliant and funny and beautiful? I see everyone else in the universe flirting with me now that I'm… well… but the person I'm closest to who actually loves me, and knows me? Noooo, that would be too easy.

Oh, the Joan thing was a huge bullet-dodge. If she had said yes, Martha would have killed them both in their sleep.

Calmly, she continued her story. "I mean, he liked her – that was it. And she wasted years pining after him, years of her life, 'cause while he was around, she never looked at anyone else. And I told her, I always said to her time and time again, I said get out."

There was a pause. He waited for the fatal blow – he wondered if she would stop speaking in third person soon and lay it out on the table. She was talking about herself, and she loved him.

"So this is me, getting out," she said. Well, there it was.

Some sort of knot was forming at the base of his neck, where the throat meets the shoulders. It was like she was pulling a burlap cord around him, and choking his hearts as well. She was "getting out," now, and it was his fault. She'd leave, and she'd always harbour some feeling there, whether it be love or doubt or resentment, and he couldn't let her walk away with that. He couldn't have her go on with her life thinking that he'd let her go after he knew all this. She was pouring her heart out here… what kind of friend would he be if he didn't try to stop her? Promise to make things better… or at least different?

"Martha, no," he said, stepping forward.

She was surprised. Had she not expected him to try and stop her? Apparently not.

But her surprise turned quickly to a sad resignation. "Doctor, I have to. Staying with you would be like… I don't know, walking around with a soiled bandage or something."

"Thank you," he said flatly.

"Sorry, bad analogy. I just mean if you keep wallowing in the thing that's hurting you just because it's easier or it feels good, then," she shrugged. "You'll never get past the hurt."

"I've been hurting you," he said. It was a statement, a confession.

She looked at him with a bit of pity and a lot of regret. She wished she had chosen her words more carefully. "Not on purpose," she assured him. "I know that."

"I could have been more…"

"Don't do that. Just leave it. I love you, but I have to say goodbye, okay?"

"It's not okay," he muttered. He felt like a child and like a boiling pot of oil, all at once.

"Doctor, what I want from you, you can't give me. I have accepted that."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know that I can't give you what you want?"

"Do you know what I want?" she asked.

"I can guess."

She put one hand on her hip. "Really? Amaze me." She expected the worst. She expected him to sputter and hem and haw and get all awkward…

"You want to be the centre of my universe," he said. "You want to know that you're the favourite, that there's no one in Creation I'd rather travel with."

Another surprise. "Yes," she said. "That's what I want. Partly."

The Doctor seemed at a loss now. He knew very well what she meant, but it seemed he couldn't bring himself to say it. So she did.

"Yes, I need to know that there's no one in the universe, including Rose, who is as important to you as I am – there I said it." She took a long sigh. She had named names!

She went on. "I need to be your favourite, the one you need, the one you depend on. I want to believe that I'm indispensible to you. Just like you said – all of it." She took a deep breath. "And… I want you to love me. I want you to take all that need, all that dependance, all that centre-of-the-universe stuff and wake up one day soon realising that you're madly in love with me, and you can't live one more second without telling me so or your heart will burst. I want you not to be able to keep your hands off me. I want you to feel so empty when you're not with me that you're distracted by it, and so on fire when you are with me that you're biting your fingers to keep from tearing my clothes off. And do you know why? Because that's how I feel about you. And to feel that way and not have it returned is awful. Horrible. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," he told her simply.

"Yes? And?"

"Okay," he said.

"Okay what?" she asked, more than a little annoyed that he had merely responded to the question rather than show any sign that he understood or had been moved by what she'd said.

"Okay. I will make you the centre of my universe."

"Doctor…"

"I do need you, Martha. I do depend on you. You are indispensible to me. And if you walk away now, whoever takes your place will only live in your shadow. Give me a chance to make it right for everyone."

"You can't force yourself to make me the centre of your universe, you just can't," she said to him, almost whining now.

"But you already are!" He blurted this out without thinking, and then acted almost as though he were embarrassed about it. It was one of the most genuine emotions she had ever heard him express.

This choked her up, but she didn't want to show it. She crossed her arms defensively and looked away. She leaned on one hip, and said, "It's not enough."

"I know. All that other stuff – I can't promise it. But I swear on my life, I will never make you feel second-best again."

"I don't know if I can live with not having the other stuff."

"I can try."

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at this. "You can try to love me?"

"Give me a chance."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. If that's what it takes, then I will do anything. You made your way into my life and put yourself at the centre of my universe – now that I've got my eyes open, who's to say you won't make your way to the centre of my heart?"

"Which one?" she asked. "You've got more than one."

"Where these things are concerned, I've only got one."

"It belongs to someone else right now."

He thought about that. "Oh Martha," he sighed, leaning against the console. "If you count that fake year, I've been away from her now longer than I was actually with her. Every day, it fades. I'm not sure that she's not just a fond idea these days. I love the idea of being with Rose, but…"

"Do not finish that sentence. You know it can't be true."

He sighed. "Please let me try. I promise, it will be better."

"Better," she scoffed.

"Okay, for a while, maybe not better," he conceded. "Just different."

"You can't force it."

"I won't. I'll just be aware."

"You can't do this just as a challenge to yourself – you failed at something and now you're making it right. I'm not your project."

"I know that. And I'm not just challenging myself – I want to be with you. I need to be with you."

"What if I stay with you for another year and you never feel anything for me?"

"I promise I will tell you."

"One year from now, you will be perfectly honest with me?"

"Yes."

"All right. You have 365 days to make me want to stay forever."