Well, here we go again. New madness begins.

This is a story in three parts... or if you will, a play in three acts. It's hard to explain why I chose this format, rather than the usual storytelling style. I suppose partly just because it's experimental and weird, but once you get going, you might see why the normal third-person narrative wouldn't have worked too well. Or at least, would have seemed superfluous somehow. Like I said, hard to explain. And while we're on the subject, I do know some of the conventions of script-writing, but not all, so English-majors at ease! ;-)

It is based on something I've seen popping up on the internet and on TV lately, which I have found extremely intriguing, and have had the inexplicable urge to pursue, though not necessarily for myself. You may recognize where's it's going! Its DNA is 50% fangirl fodder and 50% My Dinner With Andre. I honestly have no idea how it will be received, and at the very least, I hope you find it interesting.

And it should go without saying: if you are reading, please also review! (Play fair!) :-D

Enjoy!

THE EXPERIMENT

Dramatis Personae:

The Doctor - a "Time Lord" from the planet Gallifrey, aged 903, appears perhaps 35. The last of his kind, travelling through space and time in a blue police box known as the TARDIS. Rather unconventionally handsome, charismatic, brilliant, a bit absurd, occasionally broody, possessed of a formidable dark side.

Martha Jones - a human from the planet Earth, the isle of Great Britain, aged 25. A medical student, having agreed to travel with the Doctor for the lifestyle of adventure, and because of amorous feelings toward the man himself. Attractive, athletic, intelligent, intuitive, sensitive and independent.

ACT I

(MARTHA sits atop the seat in the TARDIS console room, staring at a computer screen. THE DOCTOR appears in the doorway between the console room, and the hallway leading to the rest of the vessel. He carries in his hand a thin packet of papers.)

DOCTOR: Oi, fancy doing an experiment?

MARTHA: Don't you want me to continue watching for asteroid debris?

DOCTOR: What? Oh, no, we passed through the Grefeldian Cloud half an hour ago.

MARTHA: Lovely. Thanks for telling me.

DOCTOR: Sorry. Lost track of time - go figure. So, experiment?

MARTHA: (Hopping off the stool,) Sure. How could I refuse? What kind of experiment?

DOCTOR: Oh, well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be sporting. Come on. (He disappears down the corridor.)

(MARTHA follows THE DOCTOR into the kitchen. He pulls a chair out for her. She takes the seat, and allows him to push in the chair behind her. He then goes to the kitchen counter and retrieves a tray with a teapot and two mugs.)

DOCTOR: Cup of tea?

MARTHA: Er, okay, thanks.

(He pours them each a cup before sitting down across from her. He pulls the thin bundle of papers from his jacket and places it on the table.)

DOCTOR: So, for asking, I'll take odds, you take evens, but we both answer them all.

MARTHA: Excuse me?

DOCTOR: (Leaning over to look at the papers.) Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

MARTHA: (Glancing at the paper herself, then back at the Doctor with wide eyes) Am I supposed to answer that?

DOCTOR: Yeah.

MARTHA: Why?

DOCTOR: I told you - it's an experiment.

MARTHA: (Frowns sceptically). All right, erm... I suppose... Shakespeare.

DOCTOR: Aw, come on! That's dead predictable!

MARTHA: No it's not. Maybe for someone else, but I wouldn't have said that before we met him - I might have said Hippocrates or Marie Curie. But now that I've scratched the surface of the real Shakespeare... I feel like I want to know more. Is that an acceptable answer?

DOCTOR: Sure. Did you fancy him?

MARTHA: (Pulling a face.) Oddly, no. I think it's to do with the time period and the hygiene. But that didn't stop me from being fascinated.

DOCTOR: Me, I'd like to have Adolf Hitler as a dinner guest.

MARTHA: What, so you could serve him up as the entrée?

DOCTOR: Not at all. I'd want to know if he's a fixed point.

MARTHA: A fixed point? Like you were telling me, with the ascent of Constantine, and the Oracle of Kandromelios?

DOCTOR: Yeah! Hitler might be one. When people are discussing the consequences of time travel, even when it's just hypothetical, two things come up. One, stepping on a butterfly, and two, killing Adolf Hitler in his crib.

MARTHA: That is true.

DOCTOR: I mean, it goes without saying that doing such a thing would be traumatic to the course of human events post-World War I, and that it would not do anything to halt despotic or bigoted behaviours on Earth by any means. And by most accounts, a holocaust of quasi-marginalised Europeans was due for a reappearance anyhow...

MARTHA: That goes without saying?

DOCTOR: Oh, yes! But the big, flaming, unanswered question is: is there a reason why everyone is so fixated on Hitler, as a pivotal thing, that could possibly change the world for the better? I mean, for a Time Lord to keep grinding on it is one thing, but it's such a common thing for humans to discuss! Wouldn't you want to know, if you were me?

MARTHA: You mean you don't know whether he's a fixed point?

DOCTOR: Not as such. I often wonder whether, if I were in the presence of the man himself, I would know. I reckon I would, one way or the other.

MARTHA: How would you sit through dinner with him, given that he was... well, you know, a raving lunatic?

DOCTOR: Well, fight fire with fire, of course.

MARTHA: So, by acting like a raving lunatic.

DOCTOR: Yep.

MARTHA: What would you serve him for dinner?

DOCTOR: Haggis.

MARTHA: (Laughs) Why is that?

DOCTOR: He was a vegetarian, and frightened of gore.

MARTHA: What? He's one of the most violent men in human history, how could that be?

DOCTOR: Actually, as far as history knows, Hitler never committed any act of violence with his own hands.

MARTHA: (Frowning) I'm not sure how to feel about that.

DOCTOR: Nor am I. Who says we have to feel any way about it? Next question.

MARTHA: (After a pause) Oh, shall I ask it?

DOCTOR: If you would, please.

MARTHA: (Consults the papers) Would you like to be famous? In what way?

DOCTOR: (Smirking) Nah, I don't like to call attention to myself.

MARTHA: Oh, right. Hello, I'm Martha Jones, I don't believe we've met. And you are...?

DOCTOR: Well, I suppose... I don't have a choice in the matter, do I? It's too late - I've already made a spectacle of myself for better or for worse.

MARTHA: Yep. All across the cosmos. The Oncoming Storm!

DOCTOR: That's me - the damage is done. What about you?

MARTHA: Me? No, I don't think I'd want to be famous. It's too much hassle. I'm Miss Independent.

DOCTOR: You are that.

MARTHA: It seems like I'd spend so much time trying to hide, so I could go to the shops on my own... what would be the point? Shouldn't I just have remained anonymous?

DOCTOR: Very good point. What would you be famous for?

MARTHA: (Thinks.) I have no real marketable, entertainment skills, so... yep, it would have to be porn.

DOCTOR: (Laughs.) Brilliant! Next question? (Consulting the papers) Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say, and why?

MARTHA: I do, occasionally. I guess if it's a really important call, I don't want to risk meandering or repeating myself, coming off as daft.

DOCTOR: What constitutes "an important call?"

MARTHA: I dunno - a call to a professor or cooperating physician. Anything to do with business rather than pleasure. Unless... well, that's not exactly true is it?

DOCTOR: (With a smirk.) What isn't?

MARTHA: The bit about business versus pleasure. Sometimes when there's pleasure involved...

DOCTOR: Yes?

MARTHA: You know! If you fancy someone, and you ring them, you don't want to sound like a doddering moron!

DOCTOR: I wouldn't know. I almost always come off like a doddering moron, whether I rehearse or not.

MARTHA: So you do rehearse?

DOCTOR: Please, Martha Jones, you know me better than that! You know I'm just making stuff up as I go! On the phone, in life, in situations that require a lot more bloody organisation than I'm willing to lend...

MARTHA: Oh, I'm sorry. What was I thinking?

DOCTOR: Honestly!

MARTHA: Okay. (Consults papers) What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?

DOCTOR: (Looks off into the distance for a long while, in silence.)

MARTHA: Sorry, would you prefer not to answer?

DOCTOR: The perfect day... was the day I got to say, "Just this once, everyone lives."

MARTHA: (Surprised.) Oh! Wow.

DOCTOR: A few years back, I got tossed into a conflict like always... World War II, gas masks, a little boy with a big problem and a whole lot of people who looked to be lost. And, what else can I tell you? Everyone lived! No-one ended up dead. It was perhaps the best day of my life since the war, and perfection for me, being who I am...

MARTHA: (After a pause.) It means saving everyone, losing no-one.

DOCTOR: It does. I don't know if I'll know that kind of "perfection" ever again. So many events would have to fall into place, so many questions would need answering in the epitome of a timely manner... a neat little bow... (Shakes off the memory.) You?

MARTHA: (Looking down into her lap.) I dunno. I suppose... any day in which I get everything I want, and I don't have to suffer for it.

DOCTOR: Wait a mo'. When have you ever had to suffer for the things you want? Didn't you grow up knowing you could have or do anything? Aren't you the sort that just goes out and gets it? Didn't you just tell me you're Miss Independent?

MARTHA: It doesn't always work that way, Doctor. It's not working that way now. Next question.

DOCTOR: Did I say something wrong?

MARTHA: No, it's fine. Let's just move on, if we're going to. Please.

DOCTOR: (Scowling.) Okay. When did you last sing to yourself? When did you last sing to someone else? Oh, wait, I know the answer to this one.

MARTHA: You do?

DOCTOR: I heard you singing in the shower this morning!

MARTHA: You heard that? Oh, God!

DOCTOR: Yes, I heard it - I loved it! You sang "Smooth," by Santana and Rob Thomas. (Sings.) "Well, it's a hot one / Like seven inches from the midday sun..."

MARTHA: Oh no! Why didn't you say something?

DOCTOR: What do you want me to do? I could walk in on you in the shower and say, "Hey, Martha, that's not the right key!"

MARTHA: No, but...

DOCTOR: I could pull up a chair, but I think that might actually prove a bit on the awkward side.

MARTHA: (Laughs with embarrassment.)

DOCTOR: I don't know what you're worried about. You're a fine singer.

MARTHA: You're missing the point!

DOCTOR: No, I'm not. But, in any case, the answer to both questions is: this morning. You thought you were singing to yourself, but you were also singing to me!

MARTHA: Ugh, just kill me now.

DOCTOR: For my part, I treated myself to a rendition of "It's Raining Men," sometime last week, while I was doing the dishes, and you were sleeping off that Aeodian Draught from the pub on Exolgerac 5.

MARTHA: "It's Raining Men?"

DOCTOR: Well, it got stuck in my head.

MARTHA: Any particular reason, Doctor?

DOCTOR: Well, no. Although, I have seen it literally rain men before. And I'm not talking about Dustin Hoffman look-alikes. But singing to someone else is another matter. Oh, I know! I sang "I Could Have Danced All Night" to Rose and Mickey and some robots. About a year and a half ago. I was good, too, though sadly, it was just a ruse.

MARTHA: A singing ruse?

DOCTOR: Yes, I wanted the clockwork men to think I was sloshed, and possibly flying on a Versailles-flavoured sex hangover.

MARTHA: What? Were you?

DOCTOR: Of course not. It takes me days to get truly sloshed - eventually I just get bored. And sex doesn't give me a hangover. Does it give you one?

MARTHA: Erm... okay, I have to move on, before my head explodes. (Consults papers.) If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or body of a thirty-year-old, which would you want?

DOCTOR: Well, that's not a fair question. I've been looking at ninety in the rearview mirror for over eight centuries.

MARTHA: And you more or less do have both the body and mind of a thirty-year-old. At least the sharp-edge of the mind of a thirty-year-old.

DOCTOR: But there have been times when I have not had the rest, from the neck-down, that is. (Pauses for thought.) This is a hard question to answer because my brain doesn't change much, apart from maturing and getting packed full of more and more crap. I don't really get senile and my mental acuity is not subject to natural entropy.

MARTHA: Must be nice.

DOCTOR: It is, and it isn't. I will say, though, having a younger body is quite advantageous.

MARTHA: I'll bet.

DOCTOR: Well, you know... I can run.

MARTHA: Right. Run.

DOCTOR: Well, in my line of work, if I can't run, I get captured and imprisoned and killed and all sorts of other unpleasantness.

MARTHA: Me, I'd want to keep the body of a thirty-year-old. I'd rather, say, have Alzheimer's and still be able to run a marathon, than be trapped inside a deteriorating body, and be totally aware of the state of things. Being trapped in my own body... it would be like being buried alive.

DOCTOR: I had never thought about that before. I suppose because the prospect of growing old and senile and having my body slow down significantly hasn't occurred to me in a lot of years. It's not that it doesn't, or hasn't, happened, it's just, aging doesn't carry the same implications for me as it does for you. (A pause, a shift.) Ready for the next question?

MARTHA: (Nods.)

DOCTOR: (Consults papers.) Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

MARTHA: Not specifically, but I'd say it's fifty-fifty between, in bed surrounded by grandchildren when I'm a hundred-and-two, and sometime in the next few months in a hail of laser blasts and jostling time machines.

DOCTOR: You know I would never let that happen.

MARTHA: I know you would try your best. But it's a funny old life, this.

DOCTOR: (Solemn.) Martha, I'm...

MARTHA: Stop it. You know if I wanted security I would have stayed on Earth.

DOCTOR: (Frowns deeply.) Don't you trust me?

MARTHA: I hate when you ask me that. It's not about trust. It's about the odds.

DOCTOR: So you're saying, life with me is a gamble?

MARTHA: Isn't it?

DOCTOR: (Stares at her uneasily.) I don't know if I like that take on it.

MARTHA: Come on, now Doctor. You know it as well as I do. And I'm fine with it - look at me! If I didn't love it, I wouldn't be here. Now, come on - secret hunch about your death?

DOCTOR: (Reluctant.) Which one, my next one, or the final one?

MARTHA: I don't know - why are you asking me? I didn't write the questions.

DOCTOR: Well, I don't know why, but I feel as though my next death will be to do with a brick. Whether I hit my head on it or get hit with it, I do not know.

MARTHA: A brick?

DOCTOR: Yeah, a brick. Maybe a significant brick.

MARTHA: How could a brick be significant?

DOCTOR: Well, maybe it's the last brick added to the Parthenon. And then it falls on me and puts my lights out, and thus a new Doctor is born.

MARTHA: This is your hunch? It is surprisingly specific.

DOCTOR: No, the brick is my hunch, the Parthenon is just an example.

MARTHA: Now there is a sentence that not everyone gets to say... like, ever.

DOCTOR: Yeah, I say a lot of stuff that other people don't say. I thought that was why you liked me.

MARTHA: (Smiles.) It is, partly.

DOCTOR: That, and the uneven eyebrows.

MARTHA: Well, yeah, but that's just what clinches it. (Consults paper.) Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

DOCTOR: My partner being you?

MARTHA: I suppose so.

DOCTOR: Well... (Contemplates.) We are both uncommonly clever for our species.

MARTHA: Again, not something you hear every day.

DOCTOR: We both have a lust for adventure. And we are both are inexplicably gorgeous.

MARTHA: What?

DOCTOR: Well, you are inexplicably gorgeous. My gorgeousness is entirely explicable. (Big goofy grin.)

MARTHA: Oh. Well. Th-thanks...

DOCTOR: Don't mention it. Your turn. Three things we have in common.

MARTHA: (Shakes it off.) Oh, okay. Erm, well... (Stares at him intently.) We both sort of wear our emotions on our sleeve, whether we mean to discuss or share them, or not.

DOCTOR: Very true.

MARTHA: Neither one of us can stand to watch anyone suffer.

DOCTOR: Very, very true.

MARTHA: And we are both in the dark, here.

DOCTOR: Beg pardon?

MARTHA: I'm in the dark because I don't know what the hell this little interview is all about, and you're in the dark because, frankly, I'm holding back. And you don't know exactly what I would like to say to you. I reckon if either of us knew the truth, it would change the game entirely.

DOCTOR: (Stares back at her, searching.) I reckon you're right.

MARTHA: I'll spill, if you will.

DOCTOR: I can't, or the experiment won't work.

MARTHA: Right. So much for emotions on our sleeves, then. Let's just move on.

DOCTOR: (Consults paper, with one eye on her.) For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

MARTHA: For you.

DOCTOR: Seriously? All... out on your sleeve like that? Not even going to take a moment to think about that one?

MARTHA: What's to think about? What have I got that's more unique and amazing than my friendship with you?

DOCTOR: Have you looked in the mirror lately?

MARTHA: Thanks, but I stand by my assertion.

DOCTOR: Wow.

MARTHA: Don't 'wow' me. You know it's true. But what do you feel most grateful for? And don't feel obligated to...

DOCTOR: No, I know. I guess I feel most grateful for... well, companionship in general. Especially since the war.

MARTHA: That's nice.

DOCTOR: I'm grateful for you, and Rose, and my friend Jack. For Mickey and Sarah-Jane and Donna...

MARTHA: I don't recognise some of those names.

DOCTOR: (Sombre.) They're just people who have been nice enough to put up with me when I've been at my worst, over the past couple of years. And they weren't just people, either. They - you - have all been the best kind of people. The bravest and the warmest, and the kind that would tell me off when I need it. And I have needed it, believe you me.

MARTHA: You're worth putting up with, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Are you sure?

MARTHA: Most of the time.

DOCTOR: I killed an entire cell of Racnoss infants at the centre of the Earth, and drained the Thames to do it. I dumped off one of my companions in the completely wrong city. One of them, I abandoned on a space station. One of them... well, I guess you might say I stole his girlfriend.

MARTHA: What exactly are you trying to convince me of?

DOCTOR: Martha, I'm a huge pain in the arse.

MARTHA: Oh, I know that much. But you didn't mention the lives you saved during that time, nor the joy you brought, the spirits you buoyed or the introspection you encouraged. No-one is perfect. And it seems to me, after knowing you for a while, the more amazing the man, the more imperfect the imperfections. Yeah?

DOCTOR: Yeah. (Smiles, in lieu of thanks.) Next question?

MARTHA: (Consults papers.) If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

DOCTOR: Oh, blimey.

MARTHA: That's a hard one... for anyone.

DOCTOR: Yeah. Well, I wasn't a very happy child, but I don't know how I could have changed that. No child on Gallifrey is what you would call 'happy.' There's too much regimentation, too many expectations, too much to learn, too much bloody eternity to look into. Some children are wired for that, and grow up to be adults who thrive as Time Lords. I was not one of those children. I guess I could say that I wish I had been more that kind of kid, that I had been more rigidly instructed to be on top of my studies so I could have enjoyed that time of life more, fit in better, passed my flight exams rather than fail them... but do I really wish that? I don't know. Maybe. I would have died in the Time War with the rest of them... maybe that would have been a good thing.

MARTHA: What are you saying? No, it would not have been a good thing!

DOCTOR: You don't understand, Martha.

MARTHA: You're right, I don't understand anything about your past. But what I do understand is that the universe can't live without you, in the present.

DOCTOR: It lived before me.

MARTHA: All right, how about just the Earth? How many times would we have been overtaken by Daleks or Cybermen without your intervention?

DOCTOR: Counting Canary Wharf? Twenty-eight. Or twenty-nine, depending on whether you want to count the Daleks and the Cybermen separately.

MARTHA: See?

DOCTOR: (A faraway look in his eye.) I have saved. I have destroyed just as often.

MARTHA: I believe it must always have been for the best.

DOCTOR: You've only known me for a year, Martha. I've been alive and kicking for over nine centuries. How could you know or believe anything about me?

MARTHA: Well, I've hitched my horse to your wagon one way or the other, and I say... we need you.

DOCTOR: (Whispers.) Thanks. I need you, too.

MARTHA: Us, as in humans? The universe at large?

DOCTOR: That too.

MARTHA: (Stares at him, once again, disarmed and searching.)

DOCTOR: (Still rather sombre.) And, Miss Jones, what would you change about your upbringing?

MARTHA: I suppose, the opposite of what you said. I was fairly strictly regimented - I wish I could have been allowed to live a bit more. I wish I could have been shown that there is more to life than just achieving, achieving, achieving. I didn't really learn that fully until I met you.

DOCTOR: Well, if nothing else, I am quite good at imparting the grey areas of life to those who otherwise think they had it all worked out.

MARTHA: Yes, you are! But that's not a grey area. That's a stark truth!

DOCTOR: (Consults papers.) Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

MARTHA: So does that mean you get forty minutes, because you've lived ten times as long as most humans?

DOCTOR: Please, your life is short enough. I'm going to take up another unnecessary thirty-six minutes of it talking about childhood ceremonies and eight bloody centuries fighting Daleks?

MARTHA: Fair enough. Should we set a timer?

DOCTOR: I am a timer.

MARTHA: (Laughs.) Oh, yes, I forgot who I was talking to. Okay, four minutes. Well, I was actually born in Brussels. Bet you didn't know that, did you?

DOCTOR: Indeed I did not.

MARTHA: My father, when he was starting his publishing company, was trying to drum up the support of a Congolese author who had become an outspoken proponent of women's rights in central Africa, which was part of the reason he'd been exiled to Belgium. This guy wouldn't even consider helping my dad until they could meet face-to-face but he couldn't leave the Benelux countries because of some bizarre condition of his transfer of residency, or some such nonsense. So, dad packed up my pregnant mum, and Tish, who was two years old at the time, and went to Brussels, having no idea how long he would be there. As it turned out, the Congolese bloke had some money to spare, and agreed to seed my dad's company, but again, they had to do a lot of the business in Belgium. So my family were obliged to stay for almost three months. Sometime in that window, I was born.

DOCTOR: Very nice. Nineteen... eighty-two-ish?

MARTHA: Yep, in February. We returned to London a couple weeks later, and that's where I grew up. When I was about four, we moved to the Kensington area because mum was pregnant again, and we didn't have enough bedrooms! Plus, suddenly we had money. My brother Leo was born in eighty-six. And as I said, with the exception of Leo, we were fairly strictly regimented; ballet and piano lessons, church, football, and when we got older, I did martial arts and Tish did pageants. Leo didn't have to do dance or learn an instrument, but he did sports and, dad was insistent that he become the next Bobby Fisher. Needless to say, that did not happen.

DOCTOR: It still could.

MARTHA: I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, I was a mediocre dancer and piano-player... my real aptitude, as you may have guessed, was in science. Specifically, biology. I don't know when, exactly, I decided I wanted to be a doctor, I just know that I knew by the time I was fourteen, and I never looked back. (Crinkles her nose in disgust.) And you know what? I had this uncle who kept talking about how I was going to be a nurse, and it used to just tie me up in knots. I know that's totally elitist of me, because there is certainly nothing wrong with being a nurse but... I think he was being sexist! And I still have no idea whether it was intentional or not. Was he trying to tell me subtly that he didn't think I could, or should, become a doctor, or did his brain just refuse to process the information? It was just so maddening! I had never really faced much sexism in my life, and I guess I was naïve, but I had thought that men in the modern Western world were totally used to the idea of women doing any and every job. Especially any and every cerebral job, you know? But I was wrong, I guess. I think it gave me a complex. I mean, when we dissected foetal pigs in school, I relished in the fact that while the other girls got all freaked out over pig guts, I was cool as a cucumber. It was a great point of pride to me that I didn't ever gag.

DOCTOR: Did he ever get to see you accepted to med school?

MARTHA: No, he passed away while I was at university. He died from kidney failure. It runs in my mother's side of the family. Along with stubbornness and a shellfish allergy. (Pause, sigh.) My grandfather died of it as well, when I was ten. And... I guess since I'm telling the story of my life, I'll reveal this little tidbit: the thing that made me most miss my grandfather was the fact that my grandmother, once she was alone, decided to move to London, and she gave up their cool house in Brighton. Does that make me a terrible person?

DOCTOR: You missed your grandfather because of memories past, experiences that can no longer be shared. What's terrible about that?

MARTHA: We went and stayed with them fairly often... fun times at the beach! I was sad that I wouldn't have that anymore. Also sad that our Pop was gone, but the loss of the beach at our fingertips... blimey, that hurt! But I guess, then, our Gran moved to London and it was just as memorable, in retrospect. That's when she got back into her baking, and taught Tish how to make that chocolate lava cake that gran was hoping would eventually ensnare Tish a husband.

DOCTOR: Because intelligence, a sense of humour and good-looks weren't going to be enough?

MARTHA: Yes, well. The point is that I found it absurd to learn any kind of skill for the sole purpose of roping in a husband, so I wouldn't do it. I mean, it's the twenty-first century! Actually, at the time, it was the late twentieth century, but the point still stands! But then, you can guess the rest of the story. She passed away a few years later as well, and I regretted not spending the time with her. She could teach me the cake, or underwater basket-weaving, or how to build a bomb out of drain cleaner... it wouldn't have mattered, because it wasn't about the cake. It was the time spent that mattered. Tish has never made the cake on her own, but she has a bunch of stories to tell from our Gran. But I wouldn't do it because... I was Miss Independent.

DOCTOR: It's part of being young. Can't see the forest for the trees.

MARTHA: Why was it that Tish could see it, and I couldn't?

DOCTOR: I have no answer for that, Martha. I don't know her well at all...

MARTHA: Is that four minutes?

DOCTOR: Yep, just about. Ready for Tales of Woe and Misery, Abridged?

MARTHA: (Exaggerated smile.) Boy, am I ever!

DOCTOR: Well, I was born on a distant planet that is now no more than chunks of space debris. And that was, what, nine hundred and three years ago...ish? In Earth terms, anyway. And before heading off to the Academy at the age of eight, I think you'd be surprised at what my childhood looked like. My brief - painfully brief - childhood.

MARTHA: How so?

DOCTOR: I don't think it was that much different from a childhood spent on Earth. We learned songs, played games, got tucked in at night. I spent a lot of time at this farm... we played with the animals. We did make-believe, just like you probably did. We even had this bicycle-like thing on which we could amble about. Took some skill, but it was good fun, if you could get on a hill and not, you know, crash and die. It was considered very taboo for a child to regenerate.

MARTHA: Taboo?

DOCTOR: Yes. But, then there were years spent at the Academy in learning to be all austere and Time Lordy. It is an eighty-year course that culminates in a set of exams, most of which, as you know, I failed. The whole Austere Time Lord thing was never quite for me, so eventually I stole a TARDIS. You are sitting within her strange, changeable walls at this very moment.

MARTHA: You stole the TARDIS?

DOCTOR: Yep. Well, first I tried the Austere Time Lord thing, but it wasn't any fun without the flying. So to combat that particular brand of boredom, I got married and had some children and grandchildren, all of whom, I'm glad to say, were much better students than I was. Although, who wound up the better for it... (Eyes are distant for a moment, eventually he clears his throat and returns to the present.) Anyway, parenthood is a surprisingly short gig on Gallifrey, so sooner than I would have liked, life got really boring again. When everyone was grown, I grabbed one of my granddaughters and snuck into a TARDIS to take it for a spin. I kind of never went back. I'm not being exactly literal, of course. I did go back several times, but I kept winding up either on trial somehow, or with some kind of unwanted exaltation. I think the Time Lords had a love-hate relationship with me. For a while, I thought I might go back and settle down again... maybe I thought that I could get this wanderlust out of my system, but you can see how that turned out. Eventually, my body just exhausted itself and died, so I regenerated. After that, going home to stay just seemed sort of... I don't know. It just didn't sit well with me.

MARTHA: I love how you just gloss over the fact that you died and regenerated. Like it's the most normal thing in the world!

DOCTOR: Well, it is normal for me! Part of who I am, part of my life's story. It's happened to me nine times. Well... give or take.

MARTHA: What do you mean, give or take? Are there deaths that you MAY have had? Nine deaths, and some change?

DOCTOR: Sort of.

MARTHA: Do I want to know what that means?

DOCTOR: (Sombre again.) I don't think so, Martha. (Perks up.) Anyway, it's a conversation for another day.

MARTHA: Okay, I'll take your word. But I'll hold you to it. Continue, please.

DOCTOR: Nine times. You know that's no small number.

MARTHA: I know I couldn't have endured it!

DOCTOR: The first death was more or less natural. But since then... I've been shot, I've fallen from a great height, I took a poison with no antidote... once, was doused with radiation by a giant spider...

MARTHA: (With a smile.) You know, if you're going to start making stuff up, then I'm just going to leave.

DOCTOR: I wish I were making it up - would make things a damn sight easier. Anyway, at some point, my granddaughter left to get married, and... I guess I've been, as you put it, picking up strays ever since. People I like, people I love, people who like and love me, and want to stay, for whatever reason. Though I did have one friend who was mightily reluctant to travel in the TARDIS for quite some time. I kept promising to take her home, but, you know, when I was younger, I really was bloody awful at aiming this thing. I'd be lucky if I wound up on the right continent, right planet, even, in the vicinity of the right century!

MARTHA: Oh, lovely. Trying to get home to London, 2007, and you'd drop them in, say, Bombay, in Victorian times? Or Mars, in the year 2107?

DOCTOR: Stranger things have happened, I'm afraid... and that's about four minutes.

MARTHA: Really?

DOCTOR: Well, three and three-quarters, but it doesn't seem practical to start a new sentence when I only have fifteen seconds to go.

MARTHA: Avoiding something? (With a twinkle in her eye.)

DOCTOR: Of course. Also, I've just had a really long life.

MARTHA: So, next question, then: (Consults the papers.) If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

DOCTOR: Oh, now, that... that is difficult. (Thinks about it for an almost uncomfortably long time.)

MARTHA: We could change the question, if you want.

DOCTOR: To what?

MARTHA: Well, maybe it could be... if you could wake up tomorrow, with someone you know having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

DOCTOR: That's intriguing, but... I don't want to change people. If I did, it would be hard for me to travel with them, wouldn't you say?

MARTHA: Yeah. (Averting her eyes.)

DOCTOR: Could it be, "If you could wake up tomorrow, having LOST one quality or ability, what would it be?"

MARTHA: Why not? I suppose, in your case, there are more things you can do, than can't.

DOCTOR: I would lose the ability to remember.

MARTHA: Really? All things?

DOCTOR: Maybe I would put a statute of limitations on memory... like two hundred years, and then the system purges, reboots, resets to factory-settings. Sure, I may have to learn to fly the TARDIS again, but that might be fun. And it would save me from having to... (Now averting his eyes as well, clears his throat, and gestures for her to go ahead and speak.)

MARTHA: Are you sure you wouldn't like to finish your sentence? I mean, I'm assuming that one of the objectives of this "experiment" is to probe increasingly more deeply. To what end, I'm not sure... but it seems like we should play the game properly, as long as we're here.

DOCTOR: The question was about gaining, or in my case, losing, an ability. I answered the question.

MARTHA: (Stiff.) Hard to argue with that.

DOCTOR: So... you?

MARTHA: Well, it's very hard for me to think of anything that wouldn't be just as much a curse as a blessing.

DOCTOR: And therein lies the paradox of power.

MARTHA: Very eloquently put, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Thank you.

MARTHA: I guess... I'd like to be able to keep up with you.

DOCTOR: What?

MARTHA: You know, intellectually. I mean, I don't need to be a Time Lord - that's a whole load of drama I just don't need. But the science, the technology, the thinking ten million miles per minute, the time and space in your brain? It might be nice to be able to share that with you.

DOCTOR: Share it with me?

MARTHA: Yes. To keep up, but also experience those things alongside you, rather than behind you. Maybe even take some of the heat off you.

DOCTOR: (Softly.) Wow, Martha.

MARTHA: And like I said, I know it's just as much a curse as a blessing. I know the lot of a Time Lord couldn't be an easy one, and so much of that is the burden of being faster and cleverer than pretty much anyone else in existence. But like it or not, there's a gulf between us, and there always will be, simply because you're you. And as someone who spends a lot of time with you, and spends a lot of time feeling lost, tagging along... adrift...

DOCTOR: Adrift?

MARTHA: ...it would be lovely to be on your level.

DOCTOR: Do I make you feel adrift?

MARTHA: Sometimes.

DOCTOR: Because I'm clever?

MARTHA: Yes, sometimes, but that part is not your fault.

DOCTOR: That part? Then, what part is my fault?

MARTHA: Never mind, I didn't mean... I let something slip out. Let's just drop it.

DOCTOR: I'll ask you what you asked me. Are you sure you want to drop it? Doesn't it seem like the objective is to go further?

MARTHA: No, it's fine. I said way too much anyway.

DOCTOR: About what?

MARTHA: About sharing, and there being a gulf, and... ugh, I'm doing it again. Next question?

DOCTOR: That's the end of the first set. Fancy a freshening-up of our tea before we continue?

MARTHA: God, yes.

(THE DOCTOR picks up the teapot, and walks to the kitchen.)