A/N: Hello! Even though I'm a devout Ten/Rose shipper, I do love Martha Jones, and I believe that the Doctor treated her so unfairlly when it came to her travelling with him- I mean, he told her so many lies, kept comparing her to Rose... If I was Martha, I would be like what the hell? Stop messing with me! Anyhow, here is a little one-shot that I hope you enjoy.

Reviews! Yes, they would be lovely. Please say if you would like me to write more one-shots if you enjoyed this one- I do enjoy writing them! So, yes, lovely.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognisable.

It had been a whole month since Martha Jones was first welcomed aboard the TARDIS- she could barely believe it herself. A whole month? Thirty-one days? Well, granted, she kind of lost the whole concept of Earth time since they went and met Shakespeare, but she still sort of kept track. Not that it mattered anyway; she could pop home right this very second just five minutes after she left.

But, the point was, no way did it feel like a month. All those things that she'd done over the past four weeks- she didn't think that she'd be able to do that in the 21st century, never mind her lifetime. Yet, she had. She'd visited New Earth, a place billions of years in the future where the human race was still thriving. She'd been to New York 1930 and met the scariest creatures she'd ever seen. She'd flirted with Shakespeare in the new Globe Theatre in the 1500s.

She'd been to the moon and back in a hospital. And met a man who changed her life forever- not just a man, a Time Lord. The last of the Time Lords.

He was sat beneath the mesh platform in which the central column of the TARDIS glowed happily, his black, rectangular framed glasses assembled on the end of his nose. His face wore a serious, concentrated expression while he messed with wires and circuits with his sonic screwdriver.

Martha was sat across from him, a book in her hands- a copy of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It was an original copy, of course, fresh from the Victorian era; but it wasn't new to the TARDIS. Martha had spotted it strewn across the table in the TARDIS kitchen with a dark blue bookmark separating out the final chapter from the rest of the book.

"You planning on finishing this?" Martha asked, flicking through the first few pages of the old-new book.

"What is it?" he pondered, coming over to her, a small frown on his face.

Martha grinned, propping it up in the air. "It's the original A Christmas Carol. I thought I could read it between journeys, you know, while you're fixing things. I haven't got a whole lot of stuff with me. But, I thought to ask, as there's a bookmark in it."

The Doctor took the book from her grasp and examined it carefully. "I wasn't reading it. I've read it a thousand… Oh."

Martha frowned. "Oh?"

For a split second, the Doctor looked like all the hope in the world had been taken away and destroyed. He looked so unhappy, so grief-stricken, that it almost made Martha curl up and cry herself. But it was only for a split second. A tiny fraction of time. "She only had the last chapter left…"

Then Martha knew who this was about. It always came down to her in the end.

"It's fine. If it's hers, I won't bother." Martha said coolly, trying to not let this affect her.

The Doctor frowned for a moment longer before projecting a large grin at Martha and chucking her the book. A large, false grin. The kind of grin that means he's still hurting but doesn't want to show it. "Nah! Knock yourself out. Charles Dickens, what a legend. You'd like him Martha." he waggled his eyebrows, "Authors from the past seem to have a bit of a thing for you."

Martha snorted with disbelief. "Shakespeare was one, Doctor. One author."

"Whatever you say, Miss Jones," the Doctor turned to leave the kitchen, "Just be careful with that book, yeah? It's an original."

He offered her one last smile and she gave him one in return, before he sped off down the corridor.

She looked down at the small, leather-bounded book in her hands. She sort of wished she'd never picked it up.

It wasn't because it was an original, was it? It was because it belonged to somebody else. Someone whom the Doctor kept so close to heart, under lock and key, that Martha could never get close to.

And it killed her. It really did.

She'd flicked through the first couple of chapters- she really wanted to get into it; she really did, even though the Victorian language was slightly confusing; but she kept getting distracted from the tetchy glances that the Doctor was throwing at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She ignored it the first two, three, four times, but when it was coming up to the sixth and the seventh and the eighth she was beginning to get mildly irritated.

When it came up to the fifteenth time, she slammed the book closed between her palms. "Why don't you just say?"

The Doctor continued to work, his brow furrowed, like he didn't know what she was talking about. "Say what?"

Martha rolled her eyes at his deliberate ignorance. The Doctor was incredible, brilliant, and one of the most amazing men she'd ever met- but he was so damn infuriating! Sometimes she really wondered why she stayed with him. He lied to her, so outright and blatant, and she'd forgiven him. But sometimes his actions weren't so easy to forgive. It's like he forgot that she was human. That she had feelings. That she didn't want to be an incessant reminder of what he'd lost.

"That you don't like me touching her things!" Martha countered, angry at how nonchalant he was being. "If you'd just said, I would have left this book alone!"

"I don't mind that you're using her things, Martha," the Doctor murmured quietly, "At least they're being used."

Martha groaned and rubbed her face with her hands. "But it's not that, is it? You lost Rose…" –she noticed him flinch when she said her name- "And I have no idea how that feels, okay? I've never lost anyone, not in that sense, anyway. I can never dream to understand how you felt. But you're making me feel guilty when you keep looking up at me like that!"

"I'm sorry," he apologised, and she could almost hear a crack in his voice.

But that was exactly the point. He was making her feel guilty, again. She couldn't help not being Rose. She couldn't help the fact that the Doctor would always see her as not-Rose. But why did he make her feel so useless? So unwanted?

"Maybe it would be better if you took me home," Martha muttered bitterly. She didn't want to leave, of course she didn't. But what was the point?

"Why would I want to do that?" the Doctor exclaimed, staring straight at Martha.

"I don't want to be the rebound, Doctor." Martha said, "I know that you miss Rose. I know that I can't compare. But I'm still a person! I may not be her, but I'm Martha. Hello. Martha the medical student. Martha the human. Martha with feelings."

"No, Martha. You're not Rose." he smiled at her, "But you're not a rebound. You're fantastic. Don't you doubt that for a second."

Martha's mood lifted a little, but she still had a few things left to say. "Sometimes, Doctor, I can see you looking at me. But you're not. It's like, you're looking past me, through me… Looking for something that isn't there." she coughed, clearing her throat, "But why can't you stop looking for once? Look at what's in front of you? Rose, you made her brilliant. You told me she was just an ordinary shop girl from South London who you showed the stars and in return, she became brilliant. So why can't you do that with me? Me, Martha Jones, the ordinary medical student. I'm not asking for you to forget the past or anything, I just want you to remember the present. Make me brilliant."

The Doctor moved out of his position and walked over to Martha, enveloping her in a tight hug. Even though she was supposed to be angry, she hugged him back. She felt so safe with him.

"Oh, Martha Jones, you don't need me to make you brilliant," he pressed a light kiss on her forehead, "You already are."