The Wrong Doctor

Tom wrapped his arms around Martha, kissing her gently, "I missed you," he announced. He had literally just returned from Africa, dropped his bags in the hallway and kissed her. "And that cute uniform of yours."

Martha rolled her eyes, she was still in her UNIT uniform, she returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Shut up, Doctor." She said teasingly, freezing slightly at the words she used.

Tom took no noticed, laughed slightly and said "No, I don't think I will."

Martha forced herself to smile back.

That night she couldn't sleep. Tom has fallen asleep practically as soon as he was in bed, exhausted from travelling, but Martha just lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, noticing patterns in it the way she had as a kid and just thinking about everything. Tom was amazing, he was kind and loving and always put others before himself, he was a doctor, like her, a role that made their characteristics necessary and he travelled a lot. She had her own travelling doctor.

She turned on her side and watched Tom sleeping; she liked him, she really did and he was a lovely guy. And she thought she loved him, no, no, she did love him, the only problem was she wasn't in love with him. And he deserved someone who could give him the level of love and care he gave and she wasn't that person.

She had been so sure that leaving the Doctor would make her be able to move on and yet she allowed herself to fall into the same thing. She used Tom, she hadn't mean to, but she had used him to kid herself that she had what she wanted. And she knew that had to stop. Right now.

Well. In the morning. She wasn't going to break his heart in the middle of the night. She hated that she was going to at all, watching him sleep was one of the most calming, peaceful things she'd witnessed, she hated the thought of that changing. She mentally shook her head, she needed to sleep, she turned over and looked at the red numbers of the digital clock telling her it was 2:22, before closing her eyes and not opening them again until morning.

Martha was up, showered, dressed and almost finished packing before Tom even opened his eyes. "Morning, Martha." He said, yawning as he joined her in the kitchen.

Martha laughed, just slightly, but it was a nervous sound "If you can call it that," she said nodding to the clock telling them it was 11:40.

"Well it's not afternoon and it's not evening so to me that's morning." Tom responded with a cheeky grin.

Martha smile back was clearly forced and, despite his tiredness, Tom picked up on it.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Tom…" Martha began slowly, "I've been thinking…" she struggled with the words.

Tom sat down at the table and gestured for Martha to do the same. She didn't, she just stared straight ahead and spoke quickly.

"Tom, I'm really sorry, and I never meant to do this, I really didn't want to hurt you. You're a great guy, you really are, you're amazing, and you deserve someone who'll notice that and-"

"Martha slow down," Tom told her, "no actually just stop. I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."

"Tom, please, just listen."

Tom shook his head, laughing quietly, humourlessly "It's ok, I saw it coming, I just kidding myself that it wouldn't."

Martha stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"You're in love with someone else." Tom told her. "Someone who isn't available."

Martha stared at him dumbstruck.

"It's obvious, you've got that distant look, like there's someone else you're thinking of."

"Oh." Martha said simply.

"Yeah." Tom smiled sadly, "I hope you're happy, Martha."

Martha swallowed, trying to stop the guilty tears "I hope you are too…" she whispered before leaving.

That night, in a lonely bar at the other end of London, she met Mickey Smith.