Sacrifice

And so New York was left behind, averted from disaster, thanks to the inhabitants of the flying Tardis. But within, the mood wasn't as celebratory as one may have expected. The Doctor was sat alone on the Tardis steps, head in his hands as he stared at the closed door ahead. Martha watched from the other side of the console, quietly concerned. She had left him to his own devices, but he had been sat like that for almost half an hour.

"Doctor?" she said softly, tone as gentle as she could make it. She wanted to help him, with whatever was wrong. In response, one of his hands dropped down to rest in his lap, head turning slightly just to show he was listening. Martha was not entirely sure what she wanted to say next and frowned for a moment, leaving it hanging. Her concerns had been digging away at her ever since they returned to the Tardis, but she hadn't dared to mention them to the Doctor. During their time in New York she had seen a different side to the Doctor, a side that made her feel uncomfortable.

Looking back towards the Doctor, she noticed he had resumed his position as though she had never spoken.

"Aren't you happy that you've saved the world once again?" Martha asked, attempting to inject some light heartedness into her tone.

"Of course I am," he said quietly, though he remained solemn.

Martha sighed quietly to herself, eyes returning to watch the floor at her feet. It had to be Rose. She was the only one who could strike such a sombre, despairing chord within the Doctor. The animated, energetic Doctor, Martha assumed, was the usual Doctor; bright-eyed, quick-witted and always in the mood for exploration. But the sober, reserved and down-right despondent Doctor was something Martha was beginning to realise was a new shift in his personality. A shift she understood had been caused the day he was forced to say goodbye to his previous companion.

Though Martha didn't know the ins and outs of their relationship, she knew it must have been a strong one. Whatever kind of love it was, it was unyielding. It was clear that they had been torn apart, and the Doctor was suffering because of it. She still saw that occasional grin and wide-eyed excitement, but recently it was becoming more and more tainted with frowns and far away looks of regret.

She recalled the fearful tug of panic on her heart when the Doctor has strode forward before the Hooverville crowd to present himself to the Daleks. His arms thrown wide and head tilted back, offering himself as immolation to his greatest enemies.

'Alright, so it's my turn! Then kill me!' he had exclaimed, presenting himself. 'Do it! JUST DO IT!'

The words had been screamed, so loudly and harshly that the desperation had saturated every bellow. Begging, he had been begging for them to do it. He had known that even if the Daleks had shot him dead, they would not have adhered to his conditions of sparing the humans. A part of him, somewhere maybe had a glimmer of hope that despite being selfish, it may help others. It had been a risk he was willing to take.

Martha slowly sank down into one of the seats at the Tardis console, not looking at the Doctor any longer. He had been ready for that blast, to leave the humans, to leave Martha. He had been so desperate to escape the trauma, he held onto the almost nonexistent chance of a failed regeneration, and that after nine transformations, his body may give out completely.

Martha felt her chest tightening with the same horror she felt when the Doctor had offered himself again for a second time, after being initially spared by Dalek Sec.

'The Dalek-Humans, their first blood! Go on, baptise them!' he had fiercely spoken, stood elevated on the theatre seats, alone with his arms spread; targeted and vulnerable. 'What are you waiting for? Give them the command!'

Those encouraging words, angry and reckless as he stood in offer, ready for the several blasts that this time, may finally kill him. His great intake of breath as the order was given, gun barrels aimed, backgrounded by the dry sob of despair from Martha as she clung onto Frank.

Martha knew that she would never be able to forget this trip, for all the wrong reasons. Slowly, she turned her head towards the Doctor, whom hadn't shifted. "What were you thinking?" she asked, realising her voice was thick with tears. She hadn't even noticed she was crying.

"Hm?" the Doctor asked without looking at her.

Standing to her feet, she strode towards him, fist clenched and face contorted in angry tears. "What the hell were you thinking?!" she repeated fiercely, half-tempted to smack him across the back of his head.

At her raised tone, the Doctor looked round at her, staring up at the tearful face that glare down upon him. "What are you on about?" he questioned, face stricken with alarmed bewilderment.

"In New York," she hissed. "Twice you offered yourself to the Daleks. An exchange that was foolish. Did you really think the Daleks would have spared us all after you were gone?"

His face darkened. "No," he said hollowly and promptly turned to face the door once more.

Martha stomped down the steps with a clanging ring of her heeled boots on the metal. She heavily seated herself on the step besides him, ignoring the wet streaks that glistened below her eyes. "I thought I was going to lose you. I thought you were going to die!"

"So did I," he whispered quietly, staring unseeingly at the blue Tardis door ahead.

"You're a bloody idiot," whispered Martha tearfully.

At this, the Doctor managed a weak chuckle. "I know."

"Why did you want to die?" Martha asked quietly, watching him.

His blank stare contorted at her words, head turning to settle his eyes upon her. It was here, at this close proximity that Martha realised the Doctor's age. With the flesh and features of a young man, his dark eyes were deep with a thousand stories, beholding the tragedies that came with them. "I don't know," he replied in a soft tone, avoiding refute. "I just suppose.. I'm tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Living," he said quietly. "Over nine hundred years, Martha.. it can get tiring." Noting the concerned expression cross her face, he sighed quietly, leaning over to nudge her lightly. "Don't worry. I get like this occasionally, every hundred years or so. It's only a blip."

Martha let out a hollow laugh, which came out a little hoarse. "Oh, of course. Occasionally."

"Yeah," he said, a smile beginning to quirk his lips. Martha had never been so happy to see his grin returning.

"I was terrified when I thought you were going to die."

"So was I," he admitted quietly.

Martha slowly lifted her arm to extend across towards his lap, taking the nearest hand of the Doctor's and slowly curling her fingers about his long ones. She was comforted to feel his hand tighten about hers in return, seeking reassurance. "I understand it's time for me to go home," began Martha softly. "But, I think you need someone here, Doctor."

"Maybe," he agreed quietly, eyes having returned to watch the door ahead.

"Though, promise me you won't scare me like that again."

He gave a resigned chuckle, glancing back towards her again. "Martha Jones, I promise." In a split second, his hand had left hers and he was on his feet, rubbing his hands eagerly. "Now then!" he exclaimed, his earlier despondencies vanished as his eyes gleamed with anticipation. Martha stared at him, his sudden mood change something she was still getting used to. "I feel like going somewhere fun. Where should we go, Martha?" He was hopping around the console animatedly, twisting knobs and pulling levers as he began to ready the Tardis for a destination.

Martha straightened to her feet, turning towards him. "How about London, 2007?"

The Doctor quickly looked at her. "What?"

"I think I need a change of clothes before I have any more galactic expeditions, Doctor."

Sharing a manic grin, the Doctor jabbed a button on the console. "Right you are, Miss Jones!"

Just a little ficlet after my ponderings at how ready the Doctor was to offer himself as sacrifice on two occasions. Please leave a review!