Of course, the Doctor had told her about Rose straight off the bat (that blue shirt floating around the control room was once hell of a conversation starter), but it wasn't until all the commotion had died down and Martha had officially signed on, did she realise what being Rose's successor really meant. And that it wasn't just Rose she succeeded.
Martha stood in the control room, watching as the Doctor flicked switches and banged the control panels with a mallet, sending them into the time vortex, before he sent her off to pick out her room.
She glanced to either side of her in the TARDIS corridor. The first room on the left, he'd told her, was his, and the first room on the right had been Rose's, but the other rooms should be free and up for grabs.
Unable to help herself, she opened the door immediately on her right.
Rose's room was soft and pink with a sizeable bed piled high with comforters and pillows. The carpet was grey, piles of clothes making that fact a little hard to discern, and there was a mahogany dresser to the right, drawers open, clothes falling out, make-up spread across the top and a hair dryer lay near the mirror on the wall. Right next to the bed, on the dresser and beneath a lamp, was a black and white photograph of the Doctor, hair slicked back, in a pinstripe suit, with his arm around a pretty blonde girl with a bright smile and too much mascara in a denim jacket and a headband. Martha picked it up, studying the girl she knew had to be Rose. The Doctor in the picture was grinning broadly, his eyes glancing over at Rose. Martha hadn't known him for very long, but she could clearly see how happy he'd been, and what a difference it was from now.
Martha put the photo down and turned to leave the room. Enough snooping for today, time to find a space for herself. Crossing the hall, she opened the second door on the left to take a peek.
The room was absolutely decadent. Draped in lush, rich reds and velvets, with a giant bed smack in the middle covered in black silk sheets, it was a scene for seduction. Almost completely out of place was the ebony desk and chair, with a greenish-khaki jacket draped over the back, a pair of brown boots strewn on the floor nearby.
Martha could only stand a stare at the scene.
"Did you find one okay?" the Doctor's chipper voice came from behind her. And then, "Oh," as he stepped into the room and realised where they were.
She glanced back at him, puzzled expression all over her face.
"Er, this is Jack's room," he explained, awkwardly. "Um, he'll be back... someday. So, you know, not this one."
"Jack?" she parroted.
"Erm, yeah," he replied, unobtrusively leading her out of the room and shutting the door behind her. "He travelled with Rose and me for a while." And that was all that was said on the subject. Martha didn't ask more.
Eventually she found a room, third on the right, blue, with clouds painted on the ceiling and burgundy sheets. And she told herself that she refused to be a replacement for anyone, Rose or otherwise. She was going to find her own space in the TARDIS and that was just the way it's going to be.