The day Rose Tyler appears in her original universe is a…an interesting day for Martha, as she thinks of it, later.
"Wow," says Martha, after the hubbub has died down a bit. It's only taken a few hours (or a few years, but who's counting?), but Rose and the Doctor have finally stopped hugging and laughing and crying and laugh-crying long enough for her to get a word in edgewise. "I finally get to meet the infamous Rose Tyler. Big day for me."
Rose's smile wanes only the littlest bit as she steps back from the Doctor to take Martha in properly, her eyes making their first departure from the Doctor since she first showed up beaming outside the TARDIS doors. "Big day for me, too," she replies. "Martha, was it? What's your story?"
It's a friendly enough question, the shell of it, but Martha can see through to the meat. There's distrust, too, and suspicion, and the vague scent of someone threatened, though Martha hasn't any clue why Rose would feel any of those things. She herself doesn't have much experience with this sort of behavior, but she's watched enough of her friends prowling around each other, catlike and narrow-eyed and hackles raised, to recognize this primal behavior when she sees it.
She shrugs—she figures it's noncommittal, non-threatening. "No story," she says, honestly enough. "Nothing much anyway. Got caught up in some funny business at hospital, the Doctor offered to take me on a trip after."
"And one trip became two became a whole bunch," Rose supplies.
"Oh, Martha's brilliant," says the Doctor, flashing that stupid-pretty grin of his as he loops one arm around Martha's shoulders—and is Martha imagining things, or has a shadow fallen across Rose's face? "Brilliant, astonishing, molto bene, a fantastically clever physician-in-training with brains for centuries, slick as an otter covered in oil!"
"Erm, thanks?" says Martha uncertainly.
"A quality addition to Team TARDIS, don't you think?" the Doctor continues, and without waiting for a reply, goes on to say, "The two of you will get on wonderfully. Actually, why not start now, take a few minutes to get to know each other?"
He takes off before the words have finished leaving his mouth, long strides taking him out of the console room before either woman has time to blink.
"Wait," Rose calls after him, frowning. "Where are you going?"
"Just a routine trip down to the basement, got to check a few things after that rough landing. Be back in a tic!" the Doctor shouts over his shoulder. "Come on, now, time to make friends!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" Martha calls after him with a mock-salute.
"Right," says Rose, quietly. "Friends."
She doesn't turn around to face Martha.
Fidgeting uncomfortably, Martha taps one pointed-boot-toe on the grating after a few moments have passed, and it becomes increasingly apparent that, no, the Doctor won't be back in a tic after all; whether he found something in the basement that genuinely needs work or he's stalling for some unknown reason, it's just going to be her and Rose for a while. And Rose doesn't seem too interested in that.
Martha grimaces behind Rose's back. She hates to be petty, but something about Rose is—well, unlikeable seems just a little strong, doesn't it? Especially since they've only just met. But maybe once she gets her talking, Rose will surprise her with some hitherto-unrevealed good qualities. Surely she has one or two.
"So, Rose," Martha starts. "Heard a lot about—"
"Sorry," interrupts Rose with a sigh, and Martha watches as one hand flies up to rub tiredly at her temple. "I'm a little worn out. Maybe we can do this later?"
("Or never?" she adds under her breath, as if she thinks Martha won't hear.)
Biting her tongue and anything that might roll off it without her permission, Martha nods and slaps on a smile, even though Rose won't see either. "Sure," she says. "Later. When you're less…worn out. All that universe-hopping has gotta be pretty exhausting, right?"
"You have no idea," says Rose, not bothering to turn around even once before she stalks off from the console room.
Martha grumbles under her breath. "Oh, I've got an inkling," she says mutinously.
"…so then the Face of Boe gave up his remaining energy to open up the Motorway, and the Doctor and I finally had a proper chat about what happened with you, and the Time War and Gallifrey and everything, and then…"
Martha trails off, watching Rose as she drinks in neither her tea nor a word Martha has said, probably not for some time now. Instead she stares blankly into the middle distance, eyes glazed and unfocused, stirring her spoon round in her cup. It's a series of lazy circles, a flash of silver in a tiny beige-brown vortex that's growing cooler by the second, much like Martha's attitude.
"…then the Doctor asked me to carry his children, and we had a procedure for it on Neptune, and I'm expecting a litter of his tadpoles in seventy-three months," Martha finishes drily.
"Good, good," says Rose, her tone as absent as her expression. "So do you think you're done now, or…?"
Martha frowns. "Done what?"
"Traveling with the Doctor. When do you think you'll be done?"
Eyebrow piqued with surprise, Martha sets her tea down on the galley-table, gently. "Dunno. Guess that's up to him, isn't it?"
"Sure, I just don't want things to get awkward for you or anything."
"Awkward?"
"Oh, y'know." Finally Rose takes a sip of her tea; whether or not she registers how tepid it is at this point is anyone's guess. "That whole third wheel thing isn't any fun, is it?"
Martha's smile grows somewhat strained. "I wouldn't know."
"I mean, nothing against you or anything, I'm sure you're lovely once you let that whole superiority complex die down a little bit. But the Doctor—"
"Superiority complex?" Martha tries to say, but Rose won't stop talking, what a surprise.
"—the Doctor and I just have all this shared history, you see," Rose continues, "and that's not gonna feel great for you, is it? Listening to us with all our stories, feeling out of the loop, all that."
Gritting her teeth so loudly she's surprised Rose can't hear her molars cracking, Martha forces her mouth into a smirk. "Oh, it's so nice of you to worry," she says, "but you needn't bother. The Doctor and I have plenty history all on our own."
"Sure, I bet you do," replies Rose, and her smug little grin makes Martha want to shake her by the shoulders.
"Oh, yeah," says Martha. "Loads of stuff. We really bonded, y'know. Actually, I was a little concerned for you when you came onboard, because you've missed so much, you see."
Rose nods. "Sort of a pesky little side effect of saving the universe, sometimes you miss out on things. What's a girl to do?"
"I'd recommend some grip-strengthening exercises, for starters," Martha mutters.
Rose's eyes flash with hurt, and Martha instantly regrets the words leaving her mouth—cow or not, Rose only slipped into the other universe, only lost her grip on that lever, because she was trying to help the Doctor, and the memory is clearly quite painful for them both. Some blows are too low and Martha suspects this was one of them. Besides, it isn't like Martha has any idea how hard it was to hang on to that lever, especially with all those Cybermen and Daleks whizzing past.
These cheap jabs are starting to make Martha feel sort of queasy. But before she can apologize, Rose downs the rest of her lukewarm tea in one gulp and fixes Martha with a bright-eyed stare.
"So how's your little crush going anyway?" she asks sweetly.
Martha chokes on the air in her lungs. "S-sorry?" she splutters.
"Your little crush on the Doctor," Rose replies, all friendly innocence.
"Oh, but I'm not—I wouldn't say—it's not that he's not, but he's not really—and I don't—"
Laughing gaily, Rose flashes Martha a wide grin, one Martha suspects is normally quite charming when she doesn't smell blood on the air. Right now, it's positively shark-like. "No worries, mate. I won't give your secret away. Besides, I think it's kind of cute, the way you trail after him like an adoring kitten."
Martha's immediate impulse is to bristle, but instead she returns Rose's grin with one of her own. "What can I say?" she asks, sipping delicately at her tea. "I guess I was just kind of a goner after he kissed me."
Rose's grin slips by millimeters. "Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste."
"That how he justified picking you up that first time?"
"Wow, you really do know a lot about our time together. Just how much did the Doctor talk about me while I was gone? What's it like, hearing your crush constantly talk about another woman?"
Martha glares at Rose. Rose glares back.
"Ah, there they are!" interrupts the cheerful voice of the Doctor, only just preceding him before he pops into the galley, all confidence and bouncy heels and cheeky grin. "How are my two favorite twenty-first century women today?"
"Fine," says Martha, just a little too loudly.
"Tremendous," says Rose, just a little bit louder.
"Never better," Martha shoots back louder still.
Glance flickering between them, the Doctor steps back, eyes wide. "Right," he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. But soon enough the grin returns as bright as ever. "Anyway, I was just thinking, how does a trip to Broadway sound, eh? But wait, it gets better! How does a trip to the Golden Age of Broadway sound? I'm thinking flappers and gangsters and top hats and white ties and tails, feathers and sequins and music and pastiche galore! Seems like just the ticket, doesn't it?"
"Sounds just as good as a spot of Dickens in 1869," chirps Rose.
"Or maybe even as good as Shakespeare himself in the 1500's?" chimes in Martha.
"Or even Elvis in 1953!"
"Or," says the Doctor, "very possibly it's related to none of those things in the slightest! Except for the stage bit. And the fun."
He flashes them both an encouraging (if a bit expectant) smile. "Remember fun? Doesn't that sound nice?"
Crossing her arms, Rose stares at Martha. "Sounds great."
"Just spiffy."
Rose's cheek twitches. "Positively smashing."
Fingers drumming nervously against his thighs, the Doctor looks between the two of them once again, his eyes narrow and suspicious as if Rose and Martha make up two pieces to a puzzle he can't quite solve. But he just shakes it off and turns to leave the galley, grabbing Martha's teacup on the way. "Do you mind?" he asks, even as he downs it.
A flush blossoms across Rose's face as a wicked grin spreads over Martha's. "Not at all, darling," she says, fluttering her lashes when he pushes the empty cup absentmindedly back into her hands.
(Rose squeezes her own cup until the handle snaps off.)
"Ah," says the Doctor, drinking in a deep lungful of ocean-salty air, "Smell that Atlantic breeze. Nice and cold. Lovely."
Turning back toward his companions, plimsolls scuffing the pavement, he beams. "Martha, Rose, have you met my friend?" he asks, gesturing to the scene before them. Stepping outside the TARDIS, Martha follows the line of the Doctor's pointing finger, up, up, up, until she sees—
"Is that…?" she starts to ask excitedly, and the Doctor nods, urging her onward. Martha's eyes travel slowly over the figure, taking a moment to soak it all in, the massive and intricate craftsmanship before them. A giant statue of a woman fills her vision, clutching a stone tablet in one hand, a torch in the other; a crown adorns her head, and her face is calm, impassive, inscrutable as a Roman sculpture of old.
"Oh my god," Martha breathes. "That's the Statue of Liberty!"
"Nothing gets past you," mutters Rose as she pushes past, but Martha ignore her.
"That's right. Gateway to the New World," says the Doctor. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."
"That's so brilliant," says Martha, grinning. "I've always wanted to go to New York. I mean the real New York, not the new, new, new, new, new one."
Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Rose glance at her darkly (dear god, what could she possibly have done to offend Her Highness now?) but she decides to ignore that, too.
"Well, here's the genuine article," says the Doctor, pocketing his hands as he rocks back on his heels. "The Empire State, the Big Apple, New York, New York. So good they named it twice," he adds, clicking his tongue and sending a wink Rose's way.
Rose laughs delightedly and the two of them beam at each other like a pair of idiots.
Martha rolls her eyes and keeps walking.
None of them are smiling by the time they reach Hooverville.
"What happened here?" asks Rose, aghast at the shanty town laid out before them. Granted, it's not like Martha particularly enjoys the sight of the slipshod tents and rickety clotheslines poking out of the mud, or the widows huddling together for warmth around chicken-wire-bonfires, or the dogs fighting for scraps or runaway children running around barefoot in the cold evening air. But Rose—she doesn't look concerned in that way that polite middle-class people do when they hear about those poor unfortunate Third World countries on the news. She looks positively stricken.
It makes it really, really hard for Martha to do what she really wants to do, which is to explain to Rose all about the finer points of the Roaring Twenties and the Wall Street Crash and the Great Depression, thereby demonstrating to both Rose and the Doctor that at least some people managed to pay attention in history class, so instead she swallows her pride and shelves her knowledge for later, when it won't make her look so horribly petty in the face of Rose's famous perfect compassion. Dammit.
"Hard times," she finds herself saying. She half-expects Rose to bite back with some sarcastic retort, so she's surprised when instead, Rose just nods.
"Yeah," she says, her voice quiet.
And then Martha watches as, with a tentative step forward, Rose sheds her leather jacket and offers it to one of the more underdressed children, a small boy who eyes her with no small measure of distrust.
Confused, Martha turns to the Doctor. "Can we do stuff like that? I mean, help people, like, with jackets and money and stuff?"
"Erm, generally best to keep that sort of thing to a minimum, just for the sake of timelines and fixed points and all that," the Doctor admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But don't worry. Rose knows the rules."
"Even if she breaks them?" Martha asks jokingly.
Both of them look on as a small herd of children slowly swarm around Rose, some of them plucking at the leather jacket now adorning the boy's shoulders, others looking up to her like she might have something else to offer. She's only got the one jacket—not everyone can have the Doctor's bigger-on-the-inside pockets, Martha supposes—but she unwinds the scarf from round her neck to give to one child, peels off her gloves for another.
Martha frowns. How can one person be simultaneously so nice and so awful at the same time? It just doesn't make sense. Stupid Rose. Stupid, saintly, self-sacrificing Rose.
"Sorry," Martha says to the Doctor, willing her eyes not to roll—if she keeps rolling them, surely they're bound to get stuck that way. "That was petty of me. I'm sure Rose doesn't break the rules."
The Doctor bursts into a peal of laughter so loud it scares off the pigeons grazing nearby.
"The sewers," Martha mutters darkly as they trudge underground with people they just met, sloshing through damp stuff she doesn't want to think about. "Why's it always got to be the sewers?"
"To be fair, it's not always sewers," counters Rose.
"No?"
"Nope," she says brightly. "Sometimes it's tunnels, ship corridors, prison hallways…"
"Lots of running down hallways, isn't it?"
"An astonishing amount of running down hallways," Rose agrees, and the two of them share a brief laugh. Rose seems a little softer, now, after encountering the folks from Hooverville; Martha wonders why that is, but she's smart enough not to ask. Besides, she's still waiting for the next lightning-fast snake strike.
(She doesn't have to wait long.)
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rose snaps at Tallulah, and if her eyes could stare daggers, Tallulah's cute little chorus-girl dress would surely be riddled with dozens of bloody little holes by now.
If Tallulah feels the bite behind Rose's words, she doesn't show it. "Just sayin', your friend here's got herself a nice little hotsy-totsy fella, that's all. She's sweet and all, but she doesn't know how good she's got it with him."
"No, no," Martha stammers, her face turning to ice as the blood rapidly rushes from it. "We're not—"
"Oh, no, they're not together," Rose laughs, and for some reason, it's not the words so much as the laugh—the Dear me, how absurd of it all—that makes Martha grit her teeth together and ball her fists in her jacket-pockets.
Pushing her anger down (deep, deep down, where it belongs), Martha turns to Tallulah with a dangerous smile plastered on. "No, not together like that. We're just really good friends. Really, really good friends." After a pause for emphasis, Martha's smile deepens, widens, like a Cheshire cat's. "I can see why you might think that, though. There's a closeness, isn't there?"
"Trust me, sweetie, I get it," Tallulah says with a knowing nod. "Close but no cigar, right? But don't worry, you'll get there. I've seen the way you look at him—hell, I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's clear as could be."
With a lovelorn sigh that's only slightly over-exaggerated (only the littlest, tiniest smidgen of a bit), Martha places one hand dramatically over her heart, the other on Tallulah's shoulder. "Aww, bless," she says fondly. "Did you hear that, Rose? Sounds like wedding bells any day n—"
She turns just in time to see Rose disappear out the dressing-room door.
It only takes Martha half a minute to track Rose through the backstage crowd, thick with chorus-girls and blokes and stagehands.
"Oh, come on, Rose," she drawls, because she's cold and impatient and she's absolutely done with this weird indirect dancing-around-precious-Rose's-precious-feelings bullshit. "It was just a joke, can't you even take a stupid joke?"
"God, I get it, all right? You don't have to beat about it anymore, you can just come and say it, come out and tell me how much you hate me!" Rose snaps.
Stunned by the outburst—what, does Rose have some kind of telepathic-whatsit now? Can she read minds now? Should she just give up and worship at the feet of the all-seeing, all-knowing Rose?—Martha just stares.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me!" Rose hisses.
One of the stagehands whirls around with a finger pressed to his lips, silently but sharply telling them to hush. Mouth opening and shutting again wordlessly, Martha looks all around at the other stagehands and performers, as if one of them could come to her aid, but of course, no one can, and the Doctor's nowhere to be seen.
"What kind of—?" she finally stammers. "I don't have a problem with you—you're the one who has a problem with me!"
"Don't give me that, you've had it out for me from the very beginning," Rose argues in a heated whisper. "From the very first second I stepped back onboard the TARDIS, you've been nothing but snarky and passive-aggressive and just flat-out mean!"
Now all the blood rushes right back to Martha's cheeks, burning them with a vengeance. Denial is the first thing that comes to mind, but the frustrating thing is that Rose is right. Even if she started it all, Martha hasn't exactly risen above the fray, and that just makes her even angrier. "You think I've been petty and mean? Well, you've easily been just as bad!" she retorts.
Pointing her finger in accusation, Rose opens her mouth with a reply that Martha can practically see scalding the tip of her tongue, but instead of letting it fly, she swallows it. Something in her seems to wilt, deflating like a pin-pricked balloon.
"Shit," she says, quietly, to herself just as much as Martha. Then, resigned, "You're right."
And again, under her breath, harsher, "Shit."
Drawing in a deep breath, as if she's rallying her strength for some grand action, Rose bites her lip. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice curt.
Martha feels it again, that spark of childishness urging her to say something unpleasant in return—Wow, that's big of you, Don't strain yourself there, Don't do me any favors—but no; she drinks in a calming lungful of her own. She hasn't risen above the fray yet, but now's her chance. She can do it. She can.
"Me too," she says, only a little grudgingly.
And now neither of them can meet each other's gaze. Great.
"It's just," Martha starts to say, and she closes her eyes, because it's easier that way, somehow, "I'm just afraid you're gonna replace me. Like it's pretty clear that the Doctor's only keeping me around for—for stupid reasons, now that you're back."
"No, he wouldn't—" says Rose, but Martha cuts her off with a sharp shake of the head.
"It's okay, you don't have to defend him, I already know the truth," Martha says, sadly. "Cos see, you don't know what he was like, while you were gone. He—I don't know what he was like before, but even I could tell he was broken. He missed you, Rose. He missed you so, so much."
She opens her eyes to find that Rose's are glittering with the hint of tears. "I mean, I think it was a little better by the time I came along, I think having me around helped with the loneliness," Martha rushes, "but it was like there was still this huge, gaping hole, that absolutely no one else could fill, no one but you. You know?"
Rose thumbs her would-be tears away. "I thought maybe he'd already done that with you."
Eyebrow raised, Martha laughs shakily. "Right, that's a good one. Tell me another."
But when Rose doesn't reply, just wraps her arms around herself protectively, Martha starts to wonder.
"Wait," she says, realization dawning. "You didn't honestly think I had replaced you…?"
"Well, why not? Even if there's nothing romantic going on there, it's like the Doctor said—you're brilliant, Martha."
Dumbfounded, Martha isn't sure how to reply to that, so she doesn't.
"You're smart, you're quick on your feet, you're able to take his nonsense in stride," Rose counts off. "Not to mention you're clever and posh and educated and beautiful."
"Beautiful?" Martha repeats, incredulous.
"Uh, yeah," Rose replies, as if it's obvious. "Don't act like you don't know you're a babe."
Now Martha's cheeks are warm for an entirely different reason. "Are you in love with the Doctor, or with me?" she jokes feebly.
"You're even training to be a doctor yourself. You're learning how to help people, how to fix them. How to get to the heart of the problem and make it better. That's just like him—the two of you have so much in common."
"Well, maybe, but—"
"You said he told you all about the Time War," Rose continues quietly. "And what was that other thing you mentioned, Gallifrey? I don't even know what that is."
A pang pierces Martha deep in her gut. "That's the name of his home planet. Gallifrey. You mean he never told you…?"
Lips pursed together, Rose shakes her head.
"Well, that's just him being an idiot, then. It doesn't mean he has feelings for me. Any kind of feelings. Definitely not like what he had for you."
"Yeah, but that's just the thing," Rose says. "The feelings he had for me. What if he's moved on now?"
At that, Martha can only blink in surprise for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, heedless of the dirty looks any stagehands may throw her way.
"I'm serious," Rose insists, but Martha just laughs harder, until she's doubled-over from the strain of it.
"I'm sorry," she wheezes, "It's just—that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"
She fears that Rose might bristle at the remark, but instead the corners of her mouth quirk upward like she might smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Martha chuckles, wiping a tear of mirth out of the corner of her eye. "I've heard some pretty stupid things, but that takes the cake. He bloody loves you, all right? It's obvious to anyone who's got two eyes and a heart."
"I don't know, though, I just—"
"Yeah, back there, in Tallulah's dressing-room?" Martha continues as if Rose never spoke. "She's a nice girl but she had no idea what she was talking about. If anyone's making moon-eyes at each other, it's the two of you. I'm not even in the picture."
Martha quiets, her laughter subsiding into wistfulness. "Oh, Rose, I'm not even in the same universe," she says. "It was nice of you to chuck all those compliments at me earlier, but we both know the Doctor's only keeping me around so he doesn't have to be alone with you. He doesn't want to have to face up to everything he felt while you were gone, doesn't want to admit how much he cares about you. He's just keeping me around cos he's scared."
"That's not true," Rose says stubbornly, taking Martha's hands in hers. "And even if that does play any part of it—Martha, the Doctor doesn't suffer fools. He doesn't ask just anyone to travel with him. Regardless of anything else that might be going on, and regardless of any nasty thing I might have said to you, the Doctor only keeps company with people he thinks are special. Period. He only chooses the best."
She squeezes Martha's hands in reassurance. "So that means you're one of the best. Even if the Doctor doesn't say it—cos let's face it, he's wonderful, but he's also an emotionally-repressed prat—you, Martha Jones, are one of the best. Better than he deserves, even. Okay?"
Martha's heart swells in her ribcage, expanding at such a rate she's afraid her lungs might rupture. This absolutely is not the outcome she expected from this conversation—nor, indeed, from any conversation with Rose, ever—but if she has learned anything from her travels through time and space, it's that things are rarely what they seem on first glance, one may find allies in even the unlikeliest places, and damn, but Rose Tyler can be really convincing when she wants to be.
"Okay," she says, and she and Rose beam at each other, identical smiles spreading slowly over their faces. "So, erm, did we just become friends?"
"Oh, we totally just did," Rose laughs before pulling Martha in for a hug. (It's not a bad hug, either; soft and warm, and even from a strictly platonic viewpoint, Martha can understand why the Doctor likes it so much.)
And then she notices the pigman skulking around in the shadows backstage, staring longingly at Tallulah as she dances and glitters in the limelight. And just before it disappears in the direction of the sewers, even though Martha doesn't get the best look at it, she notices straightaway that it's different from the other pigmen somehow…
"Rose, how do you feel about a trip back into the sewers?" Martha asks.
Rose chuckles. "Why, Martha, I thought you'd never ask."
After a day well-saved and a job well-done, the three of them stroll back to the TARDIS, Rose and the Doctor walking happily hand-in-hand. Martha is pleasantly surprised when Rose holds a hand out to her, too, and she takes it. Rose wasn't half-bad in their little adventure, after all. And she's not half-bad as a friend, either.
"Do you reckon it's gonna work, those two?" asks Martha, to nobody in particular.
"Sure it will," replies Rose. "Beauty and the Beast, Lady and the Tramp, the pig and the showgirl. Love conquers all. Don't you think, Doctor?" she asks, nudging the Doctor's shoulder with hers.
The Doctor hesitates, and for a brief second, Martha could swear he was about to say something else, something optimistic and bright, but it's as if his thoughts turn on a pin, and suddenly he's saying, "Maybe. You'd like to think if they could make it anywhere, it'd be New York, but I suppose one never knows."
"Nah, I think this just proves it," Martha insists. "There's someone for everyone."
"Perhaps," the Doctor murmurs.
Martha feels Rose's grip slacken at that; she squeezes her fingers, offering comfort, but Rose doesn't squeeze back.
"Hey, maybe we could catch a quick bite before we turn in, yeah?" Martha says quickly—they've only just all become friends, and she isn't quite ready for the merriment to end, yet. "Get a slice of authentic New York pizza—have they got pizza, now?—or we could nab something from one of those famous New York diners?"
But Rose is already pulling ahead, slipping away until both Martha and the Doctor are left empty-handed. "Sounds brilliant," she says, turning around just long enough to flash them both a wan, tired smile. "Catch up with you later?"
"You're not coming with?" Martha asks, and she's surprised to note that she actually feels a little disappointed at the thought.
"Nah, I reckon after all that time in the sewers, I'm overdue a good, long bath. Besides, you can fill him in on our end of things, right?"
They stop just outside the TARDIS doors, Rose shooting Martha a meaningful look over one shoulder, a look only Martha can see. And, ah. This isn't only about Rose and the Doctor, then; she's also giving Martha a chance to see for herself that she's not just a third wheel, after all. That she and the Doctor are friends on their own.
"Okay," says Martha, a little reluctantly. She appreciates the gesture, but now that she and Rose are friendly, well. It doesn't exactly feel good to see her so down, does it? "Want us to bring you anything after?"
"How about some pie?" asks the Doctor, rocking back on his heels. "Nice piece of pie, two-crust, extra whipped cream on top, just the way you like it? Any flavor but cherry?"
Rose smiles softly. "Sounds perfect, yeah."
She unlocks the TARDIS doors and slips inside, leaving Martha and the Doctor to themselves.
"Right, then, a brief culinary adventure with Smith and Jones," says the Doctor, taking off again down the street at a jaunty pace. "Now, did you see a particular placed that piqued your fancy, or—"
"You need to talk to Rose."
The Doctor turns around but doesn't stop walking; Martha has to jog after him if she wants to catch up. "What's that?" the Doctor says, holding a hand up to one ear as he walks backward. "Sorry, you'll have to speak up."
"I know you heard me, so don't play stupid, all right? You've got to talk to Rose."
"Fairly certain I spoke to Rose just now."
"You know what I mean," says Martha, offering the Doctor a proper glare. "Like a proper sit-down. I don't think you've had anything like that since she came back, have you? Maybe not ever."
"And this is your concern, how?" asks the Doctor, voice mild as he turns round to walk normally.
"Because Rose and I are friends, okay? And it's not fair to her, having to guess at your thoughts all the time. She can't read your mind, she doesn't know what you're thinking, doesn't know how you feel."
The Doctor doesn't reply to that, but Martha swears she can read the response plain enough on his face.
(She doesn't know how I feel?
She should.)
"And quite frankly, it's not fair to me, either," Martha finishes.
The Doctor quirks an eyebrow in question.
"Look, I'm not your buffer, all right?" Martha blurts out. "I don't want you to keep me on the TARDIS just so you don't have to be alone with Rose and, y'know, God forbid, actually own up to how you feel. Own up to her, I mean. You don't have to talk to her tonight, or even tomorrow, or however that works in the TARDIS, but you do have to talk to her. Okay?"
Shoving her hands in her jacket-pockets, Martha stares stubbornly forward, refusing to let herself be cowed by anything she might see playing across the Doctor's face.
"She's been through a lot, and she needs you," Martha says quietly, and she wishes she could say she's only talking about Rose here. "And she needs you to tell her how much you care. She needs to hear it. Humans need to hear stuff like that. It doesn't matter if you think it's stupid or unnecessary or not. It's still what she needs."
Now she looks up at him, jaw set and gaze sharp. "Got it?"
At least the Doctor has the decency to look the littlest bit abashed before his trademark grin slaps back in place. "So you're properly friends, then?"
"Yeah," says Martha grumpily, crossing her arms with a hmph. "We are."
"Good, I was starting to think you two might not fancy each other's company all that much."
"Well, I like her a whole lot better than I like you right now."
The Doctor chuckles. "Fair enough."
Beaming down at her, he extends an elbow. "Now, I believe we were discussing the possibility of obtaining some local delicacies, Miss Jones?"
Martha eyes his arm warily. He winks at her.
Ugh. He's such an arse sometimes. But still, he's an arse who's happy to grab a bite with her, with or without Rose. So maybe that counts for something. And pie doesn't sound half-bad.
(An irresistible arse, then. And doesn't he know it.)
"Fine," Martha says grudgingly, threading her arm through his. "But you're paying, Mr. Smith."
"Fair enough," the Doctor says again, laughing.