A/N: This is my first foray into Doctor Who fanfiction, though I have been writing Harry Potter fics for quite some time. Thanks for reading.
The Letter
It was late in the evening, and the TARDIS was drifting in the time vortex. The Doctor hadn't decided what their next destination was to be, and so they were floating through time, like a lone piece of flotsam and jetsam with the universe at its feet.
Martha still marvelled over the fact that, at present, she was living in a time machine, and that one day she and The Doctor could be in the sixteenth century with Shakespeare, and the next back at her flat in 2008. It was mad – brilliant – but mad. A bit like The Doctor, actually.
She was lying on her bed, thinking about the fact that at that very moment, they could be passing through hundreds of different time periods as they floated through the vortex, when there was a slight noise behind her, and she felt a prickling on the back of her neck.
Turning slowly, she half expected to see The Doctor standing in the doorway, that inane grin on his face as he announced their next destination. But no, he wasn't there. Nobody was.
She lay back down on the bed, lacing her fingers together and resting them on her stomach, and gazed around her room. She had only really begun thinking of it as her room in the past few days, when she'd started to trust that The Doctor was serious about keeping her around.
She'd picked up a few photographs of her family when she'd insisted The Doctor stop by her flat for a change of clothes, and they were now displayed around the room. She glanced into the smiling faces of her Mum, Dad, Tish and Leo, and felt a pang of homesickness, but this was soon pushed to the side when she saw an envelope on the desk by the door. An envelope that she was sure had not been there moments before.
She stood up, moving slowly across the room to the desk. From a distance she could see that the paper was crisp and white, and something was written on the front in large, looped handwriting. She approached with some trepidation, wondering if this was perhaps a trick of The Doctor's.
The edge of the envelope fluttered slightly in the breeze caused by her movement, and as she put out a hand to lay it flat, she caught sight of the writing on the front.
From Rose Tyler.
Martha closed her eyes and counted to five, before opening them and looking again at the envelope. The name was still there, the R and T curving around the other letters.
She hesitantly picked it up, and edged back towards her bed. She didn't know what to do. Should she take this letter to The Doctor? Or should she open it? Neither option was particularly tempting, but she could just imagine The Doctor's face if she took him a letter supposedly from Rose Tyler. It could break him.
Making a decision, she flipped the envelope over and tore open the flap, careful not to rip the letter within. The paper inside was not particularly neat; it looked like it had been pulled from a ring-bound notebook, and it was filled with the same looped handwriting as on the front of the envelope. Nervously, Martha began to read.
To his future companion,
My name is Rose Tyler. I don't know if you'll know about me. I used to travel with The Doctor, but…something happened and we were separated. I work for Torchwood now, which is how I've been able to send this into the TARDIS. At least, I hope that's where I've sent it! The Doctor was wrong about there being no more gaps in the void between our worlds. There are, but only big enough to send through something small. Not big enough for a person.
This is probably making no sense to you at all, Future Companion. Or perhaps it is. Perhaps The Doctor has told you all about what happened at Canary Wharf, perhaps not. I hope he hasn't forgotten me.
But that's not the point of this letter. I wanted to write…to say to the person who succeeds me…I wanted to tell them, to tell you…well, look after him. He was – is – very special to me, and if there's one thing that I wish for it is that he has a friend, someone to travel with him so that he's not lonely.
I hope that, whoever you are, you can do this for me. For him.
Please don't tell The Doctor about this letter. Don't show it to him. If he knew that these tiny cracks existed then I know he would try and find a way through, and that would be dangerous for all of us. God, that sounds bigheaded of me…to say that he would come through, just to see me…but he would. If you've known him for even a short time, you'll know that he would. But we can never see each other again, not ever.
So please. Don't show him this. Don't tell him. Just be there.
Rose Tyler
Martha felt tears stinging her eyes as she finished reading. Though not explicitly stated in the letter, she could almost feel the love this woman had for The Doctor pouring from the page, and it made her feel determined to do what was asked of her.
She scanned the letter again; curious as to what she meant when she mentioned Canary Wharf. Martha knew that something had happened there – after all, that was where Adeola had died – but she didn't know the specifics. No one did.
The Doctor had never told her what had happened with Rose, and she had never dared to ask. The contents of this letter only left her feeling more confused, but she knew that she couldn't ask The Doctor outright. He'd wonder how she knew that Canary Wharf was involved with wherever Rose had gone, and then she'd have to explain about the letter.
No.
It was best if she remained curious and did as Rose asked. It was funny; every time The Doctor had mentioned Rose before, she'd felt jealous of her. But now…now she just felt sadness.
She stood up and tucked the letter into the top draw of her bedside table, then glanced into the mirror that stood upon it. She tried to arrange her face into an expression that would pass for normal, and then turned to leave the room.
She was going to do exactly as Rose Tyler had asked, and look after The Doctor. And she was going to start by making him a cup of tea.