She wasn't Rose. That was the big problem, really; he couldn't get over the fact that she was not Rose. Couldn't be. Shouldn't be. And she shouldn't - even had she wanted to and didn't - try to replace Rose. It made her feel inadequate, even more than he himself did, being a two-hearted superhuman brilliant man, as he was. But...
But every so often, he got that look in his eyes. The look that said he missed Rose, but he could live without her. Her memory was no longer the only thing keeping him going. He wanted to live for his own sake. She wondered what had happened to separate them, but when she asked, he closed off, stopped talking altogether, got the other look in his eyes. The look of so much pain. His eyes looked like those of the soldiers she'd treated when they had come back from the Middle East, back on Earth.
Eyes that had seen too much.
"Oi, Martha! You listening?"
"What? Oh, sorry. 'Sup?"
He stopped the little hop and skip he'd been doing as he'd chattered at her. "Something wrong? Wanna go somewhere new? We can try... hmm..." he trailed off as he bounced over the the console and started pushing buttons. She sighed, smiled tiredly at him, and sat on the deck.
He stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" He wandered over and dropped bonelessly down next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders and giving her a casual one-armed hug. She smiled, a little less tiredly this time. "What is it, Martha Jones? Tell me."
She looked into his eyes, searching them before she spoke. She didn't want to hurt him - she was a healer herself - but she knew he'd have to get it out if he was to heal. She took a deep breath, and said, in almost a whisper, "Tell what happened. How you lost her. Please?" The hurt came into his eyes, but it wasn't as... shattered as she'd seen it before. He turned his head, looking away from her. She took his chin in her hand and turned his head back. "Please, Doctor. I don't want to hurt you. But you loved... you love her. I can't know you properly without knowing her. Please tell me." She knew there were tears in her eyes too, now, but she hoped he'd see the concern through the tears.
He told her. About the hole between two universes and how she'd been pulled into another just before the hole closed. About how opening it again would have caused both universes to collapse. About how if his Rose had been in physical danger that wouldn't have mattered; he'd have saved her anyway and let the universes go hang, but as it was, well... he couldn't. And now his was sobbing into Martha's shoulder, babbling that love of Rose had redeemed the evil in his last self, the Ninth Doctor, and that he was so afraid that he, Ten, was just as selfish and horrifying as Nine had been, crying for the moon like a lost child who couldn't have what he wanted, when all that really mattered was that the universes were safe, Rose was safe, everyone was great sobs finally shuddered to a stop, although she still wept silently into his hair as he leaned against her. He finally pulled away from her, red-eyed and rumple-haired.
He smiled at her. He smiled at her. The smile was a lot less the cocky grin she was used to, but at least it was back on his face. "And so, Doctor Martha Jones has given her patient the proper palliative. He can't have what he wants, can he? So she gives him what he needs... friendship and affection and compassion and support. Just what the Doctor ordered."