Just something I came up with as a drabble/one shot thingie. I just find sleep facinating, hence this.
Martha likes to watch the Doctor sleep.
Not because she's immature, or frightened, or insecure, or in love with him, (she's far too strong for that), but because she loves miracles.
And the Doctor, the living, breathing creature before her, was a miracle.
It was a miracle that he was still alive after all he'd been though. Hundreds and Hundreds of years of knowledge and memories and loves and pains all bound up in that brilliant, brilliant head of his.
It was a miracle that he breathed- because with that much guilt and pain filling him to the brim he shouldn't be able to. Lesser things had crushed lesser men, and yet here he still was. Still going on after it all.
It was a miracle that he slept- because the nightmares that slithered through his memories at night would frighten to death most men Martha had known. And yet, he had the strength to push through them.
His entire existence, his being, was a miracle. She watched the muscles on his thin chest flex gently as he inhaled, the covers pooled around his waist, his body laying comfortably on its back. His head was tilted back slightly, and the soft spikes of his hair continued to defy gravity as they teased his pillow. She could see the miniscule movement of his ribs as they slipped easily under skin to allow his lungs to continue their life-giving task, and she could see the gentle pounding in his throat as his hearts faithfully beat on- even though he was oblivious to their dedication.
Life was amazing. It took so little to snuff out, and yet so much. It all depended. And this creature, this man, had beaten all the odds. And here, this man, this god as decided by many, slept like any other man. Even he, the oncoming storm, had to take time to allow his seemingly indestructible frame to recover- and it was in those precious few hours that the inmost part of him was exposed.
It took a lot of trust and security to sleep, and it was amazing the Doctor could find enough to do so. It was thanks to the TARDIS, Martha supposed, that the Doctor could rest so deeply, if only for a time.
Taking one last look at the slumbering Time Lord, Martha silently prayed that he would be spared nightmares for one night, and shut the door with a muffled click, walking down the dim corridor for her room. We'll take care of him together. Martha thought. The TARDIS hummed under her feet in agreement.