Author's Note: This story idea would not leave me alone. A particular line just popped into my head one day, and then it kept building and nagging at me until I finally wrote it. I always felt bad for Martha. I liked her character and I knew if The Doctor had ever been able to explain to her what Rose meant to him, she would have understood and that hint of underlying bitterness toward Rose would have vanished. I feel like I could have done a lot more with this, and I'm not sure it packs the emotional punch I was intending, but I wanted to share it with other Doctor Who fans.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its associated characters or properties. I could do with owning David Tennant, though.

Shadows Linger

Footsteps heavy, The Doctor approached the TARDIS's console. Exhausted, his emotional defenses worn thin, and the events of the past year – The Year That Never Was – weighing heavy on his mind, he let his head fall into his hands. The thought that broke him – that always broke him – was Rose.

Rose. Rose Tyler. Rose Marion Tyler.

How that one name could give him so much strength while cutting so deep baffled him. In all his nine hundred plus years, he could never remember another making such an impact.

If she'd been there, could things have been any different?

He found himself doing that more of late. Wondering what Rose would think. What she might have inspired him to do. Ever since first taking her hand, she began changing him for the better. Losing her not only shattered both his hearts, it almost decimated the man she had made him. Rose Tyler, a shopgirl from London, possessed the power to both create and destroy, even from a universe away where Bad Wolf had no meaning.

Oh, what The Master would have thought of her! he found himself musing.

In the part of his mind that wasn't consumed by thoughts of Rose, he heard Martha enter. Feeling tears dangerously close to the surface, he dragged his hands down his face, swallowed, and plastered on an open-mouthed grin.

"Martha!" He spun to face her with a flourish. "Shall we set off?"

Before dropping off Jack, she'd changed out of Resistance Black, he dubbed it, and into something much more Martha. White tank top, dark jeans, maroon leather jacket, some type of black, low-heeled boot. Her black hair was down, earrings back in, jewelry back on. Some make-up. And a hint of perfume. Something flowery. It registered only because he never could shut out the observations and analyses. Always traveling at the speed of light, his brain.

"Are you all right?" The clang of her feet on the metal grating accompanied her path toward him.

"'Course I'm all right! I'm always all right." Inside his hearts continued to ache – for The Master, for everything Martha had seen and been forced to do, for Rose – but the universe could never see that side of him.

Martha cocked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?" he asked, scrunching up his face and sounding scandalized.

"You didn't look all right. Back there on The Valiant."

"Really, I'm okay."

"You're sure?"

"Right as rain." He gave her his best convincing grin, feeling anything but in that moment. Unable to bear the weight of her gaze, he turned to the console and began pressing buttons and pulling levers. "Where shall we go?"

"I'd like to see my family."

"Oh."

"They're still shaken up and I need to talk to them."

"Say no more." He flashed her another smile, hoping it conveyed the reassurance he intended and not any of the other emotions he felt swirling beneath the surface.

He couldn't watch her with her family. Not when it brought to mind happier times of a small flat in a London estate, surrounded by laughter and—

Stop it. She wouldn't want you doing this to yourself.

But he couldn't just forget; he wouldn't want to.

He forced his thoughts elsewhere; tossed his coat on the coral strut near the door. I really should bring back the coat rack. Maybe some more of the round things. Those were always nice. A good smattering of round things, that's what the old girl needs. Of all things, it was the bubbling fluid of his jarred hand that broke him out of his ramblings. With an internal sigh, he plopped himself on the jump seat, lifted his feet onto the console, and leaned back. The ever-constant hum of the TARDIS exuded comfort, warmth, home, and he latched onto it, even if he felt like crumbling.

What could I have done differently? He could have been redeemed, but what could I have done?

The Doctor didn't blame The Master. Whatever his issues, they originated from the Untempered Schism. His failure to save his old friend would stick in his mind, like all his other failures. Over seven hundred years of failures. At times he wondered if he'd lived too long. The words he spoke to Professor Richard Lazarus never rang more true. A longer life could indeed feel more like a curse.

As if Rose sat right next to him, he heard her voice in his head. "But what about all the good you've done?"

Before he could dwell on it any longer, the door creaked and in stepped Martha. He hopped to his feet, clapped his hands, and busied himself with the console.

"Right, then. Off we go. The open road. There is a burst of starfire off the coast of Meta Sigmafolio. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look?" Martha didn't respond. He continued his dance around the console. "Or . . . back in time. We could . . . I don't know – Charles the Second? Henry the Eighth? I know! What about Agatha Christie? I'd love to meet Agatha Christie! I bet she's brilliant!"

Silence. Martha's expression said everything he needed to know. He accepted her decision with a soft, "Okay." At least she got to choose how she left. Not like Rose.

She gave him a sad almost-smile. "I just can't."

"Yeah."

"Spent all these years training to be a doctor. Now I've got people to look after. They saw half the planet slaughtered and they're devastated." She took a step forward, determination in her gait and tone. "I can't leave them."

"Of course not." They locked eyes and shared a genuine smile. "Thank you." He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug. When he released her, his expression filled with pride. "Martha Jones, you saved the world."

"Yes, I did. I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best. But you know what?" She gave him a poke in the stomach and he rocked back on his heels. "I am good."

He couldn't resist the chuckle her words inspired. She was right. She saved the world and deserved to be recognized for it. At least by those who could remember.

Martha laughed with him, but then turned serious. "You gonna be all right?"

The nod was for her benefit. These words were always a lie. "Always. Yeah."

"Right, then. Bye."

And with a quick kiss on the cheek, she made her exit. Martha Jones was gone. Just another in the long line of companions to leave him. But she would do something with her life. Her experiences would shape her into something great. The Doctor would always be proud of her, regardless of her decision to leave now.

The door creaked again, and he whirled around, eyes wide in surprise, to see Martha closing it with a familiar click. She started talking before he could say a word.

"'Cause the thing is, 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." Up the ramp she walked; stopped a few feet in front of him.

"Is this going anywhere?" he wondered aloud, an eyebrow cocked.

"Yes!"

Arms crossed, he offered her an apologetic nod.

"'Cause he never looked at her twice."

Guilt caused him to look away.

"I mean, he liked her, but that was it."

Head bowed, he understood too late how his grief over Rose had affected Martha. He'd never intended to hurt her, but talking about his pain was never a strong point.

"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.'"

A nod was all he could manage. He understood; wished he could make her understand.

"So this is me, getting out."

Thoughts surged through his mind while she rummaged in her pocket. Out came her mobile, and she tossed it to him.

"Keep that. 'Cause I'm not having you disappear. If that rings – when that rings – you better come running. Got it?"

"Got it."

She turned and walked a few steps, but turned to face him halfway to the door. "I'll see you again, mister." Without waiting for a reply, she continued down the ramp.

Say something, idiot. Don't let her think you never cared.

"Martha, wait."

She froze, her hand ready to pull the door open.

He ran a hand through his hair; blew out a heavy breath. "I never talked about her." Martha gazed at him with interest. "I never knew how— Never wanted to—" Face scrunched in defeat, he admitted, "I am utter rubbish at this."

Martha laughed. "Never thought I'd hear those words from your mouth." She returned up the ramp, took him by the elbow, and sat him down on the jump seat. Settling beside him, she draped an arm over his shoulders. "She was lucky."

Eyes focused on the floor, he corrected, "I was lucky. I found her so soon after The Time War. When I needed somebody the most. Never even knew it until I saved her life. And she saved mine right back."

"And she was blonde," Martha joked.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Knew I'd rue the day I ever met Captain Jack Harkness again." A playful bump in the shoulder from Martha brought a smile to his face. "Rose was so much more. Yes, she was blonde," he conceded, "but Jack cheapened her with that comment. She was full of compassion, willing to risk her life without a second thought. Brave, clever. And her smile – brighter than any supernova."

Reminiscing always wreaked havoc on his emotions. Guilt, anger, hatred, pain, and above it all, the crippling sorrow that stole the breath from his lungs. Not even superior Time Lord biology could stop the building tears. But with Martha beside him, a little of the weight that pressed down on him was relieved.

"You told Jack she was trapped." It wasn't a question.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "In a parallel world. There's nothing I can do. I tried, searched and searched for a way," desperation edged his tone, but he didn't care, "but all I could do was find one last crack and talk to her."

That day haunted his memory. Every time his guard dropped, he saw her face, streaked with tears, silently begging him to bring her back.

For the briefest of moments after the gap closed – the fraction of a second it took the tear to roll down his cheek – he considered tearing apart the universe just to see her again. But that was selfish. Instead, he picked himself up, like he always did, and continued right on adventuring. Mad and dangerous and reckless – anything to keep his mind from settling on her. He would run forever if only to relieve the pain of her memory. But it wouldn't. Because he could never stop himself from dwelling on all his missed opportunities to declare everything she meant to him.

"I never got to tell her," he said aloud to Martha.

"You still love her." Again, not a question.

A small nod was his confirmation. "Never stopped. Never will."

"And just what would she think of all this moping?"

Martha's words surprised him. Mouth hanging open, he looked up her to see her eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Doctor, I never even met her, but I know she wouldn't want you crying in your tea every morning."

He wrinkled his nose. "Wait a minute, I do not—"

"Don't give me that."

The glare she leveled on him caused him to snap his mouth shut, his next protest dying in his throat. Words he never thought of voicing came unbidden. "My life has been filled with so many shadows. Dark places I try not to remember but can never forget. Rose made it easier. She was always the beacon that guided me out of those better-left-abandoned corners."

"And just because she's not right in front of you, she can't do the same thing now?"

With those words, he realized how much of his grief had consumed Rose's memory. He wouldn't tolerate it any longer. From now on, he would remember every one of her blinding smiles, every laugh, every touch, every shared moment with all the love both his hearts held for her.

"Martha Jones, you are utterly brilliant."

She gave him a bright smile. "Don't I know it."

He couldn't stop his thoughts from turning inward. Introspection was a hard thing to ignore when one found oneself alone as much as he. But the words summed up his time with Rose better than anything else he could ever say.

"The universe is a cold, cruel, and unforgiving place. Just when you think it's finally allowed you the tiniest scrap of something, everything gets ripped away in the blink of an eye. But it's also brilliant, wonderful, and fantastic for creating such beauty, both inside and out. And for the honor of ever having known her at all."

Martha didn't contradict his statement; didn't push for him to slough off his melancholy. Instead, she squeezed his forearm, drawing his eyes to hers. "You'll be all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be all right." For the first time in as long as he could remember, he meant it.

"Right, then." She stood up and straightened her jacket. "Back to the family."

The Doctor rose from the seat and embraced her tight against his chest. "Thank you." One of his genuine, wide smiles greeted her when they drew apart. "I have high hopes for your bedside manner."

"Just don't let me catch you pretending to be a patient again," she teased.

"Do my best."

With one last smile, Martha turned and made her way out of the TARDIS. The Doctor felt her loss, but her life was on Earth now. In her last moments aboard, she reawakened something long trapped behind the walls of his grief, and he would forever be grateful to her. All of time and space lay at his fingertips, waiting for him to experience it with the same exuberant glee Rose loved.