This chapter is longish, and soap-operaish, but hopefully you'll find it juicy, funny, exasperating, and cathartic!

So glad to see people are excited about this... hang on for Hurricane Sylvie!

TWO

The Doctor's eye had been caught by a man entering this part of the restaurant. A smartly-dressed man with a measure of both softness and intelligence in his eyes. He had recognised Martha and started to approach their table.

Martha turned to see what the Doctor was looking at, and spied her fiancé walking forward toward them.

She also saw a woman walking with him. She was dressed in a black lace dress with the shortest possible skirt, and the longest possible sleeves. She wore dramatic, silver makeup on her face, her eyes were heavily lidded and sultry, and her mouth was almost as wide as her whole face. Her hair was flipped out sideways and coloured a bright shade of whitish-yellow at the ends, and black over the rest.

"Whoa, is that Sylvie?" the Doctor muttered.

"Must be," Martha said. "What the hell are they doing arriving together?"

"I don't know, but she's… she's…"

"What? Gorgeous?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Actually, I find her a bit terrifying."

"Terrifying? How?"

But by then, Tom and Sylvie had reached the table. Tom bent and kissed Martha and said, "Hi, sweetheart, sorry we're late."

"It's okay," Martha said lightly. "Gave us a chance to catch up."

"Martha, this is Sylvie Caboche," Tom said gesturing to the heavily-coiffed woman standing next to him. "Sylvie, my fiancée, Martha Jones."

Martha stood up, as did the Doctor, and the two women shook hands.

"Enchantée, I'm sure," Sylvie said.

"Likewise," Martha said.

And then Tom looked at the Doctor and smiled affably. "And might you be John?"

"I might," the Doctor answered, and the men, in turn, shook hands.

All four of them sat down at once – Tom beside Martha, and Sylvie beside the Doctor – and as they did, the server appeared with Martha's wine. Tom then ordered the same.

"I would like the Ouzo, please," said Sylvie to the server, and it was impossible not to notice her accent. As she spoke, the Doctor thought her English was as ornate and heavily-hampered as her appearance.

"So, since you're probably both wondering," Tom said to Martha and the Doctor, placing his hand on the small of her back… rather territorially, the Doctor thought. "We're late because Sylvie had a flat tyre, and phoned me to come find her out on the M4."

"Oh! A flat tyre on the M4? That sounds… dramatic," Martha commented.

Sylvie nodded. "Thankfully Tom come to my rescue. He's definitely still my hero."

Martha looked Tom over. He was wearing a navy-blue suit with a cornflower blue dress shirt, and no tie. He looked crisp and clean.

"You changed a tyre wearing that?" she asked Tom.

"No," Sylvie said. "He simply invited me into his car, and whisked me away to here. So, Martha. Tom tells me you are an internist, working for the government."

"Yes, that's true, though it's better described as an investigative branch of the military," she answered.

"I started out doing nursing for internal medicines, but changed to paediatrics," Sylvie told her. "It was like a calling. Like I had to work with children, and I just couldn't stay away from them any longer! Tom experienced the same calling, didn't you Tom?"

He chuckled, taken off-guard. "I suppose I did, yes."

"I just love children," Sylvie declared. "I always wanted a big family, didn't I?"

"You did," Tom agreed, a bit uncomfortably.

"Tom knows, I adore the idea of lots and lots of children running about the house." At this, Sylvie gave a big, bright smile that, to the Doctor, seemed wholly artificial. She then turned toward the Doctor, though she fidgeted with her hair rather than look him in the eye. "And John, what do you do?"

He turned at looked at her, for the first time, up-close. He was struck by her. And not in a good way.

"I'm… well, also an internist. But these days, I sort of hospital-hop for the NHS, doing administrative consulting."

"Do you not find that limiting?" she asked.

"Limiting?"

"I mean, how on Earth do you find satisfaction in not working hands-on with people who need you?"

The Doctor allowed himself a mental eyeroll. They had been sitting here for just a few minutes together, and already rather disliked Sylvie. She was monopolising the conversation thus far, and she was quite clearly digging in to undermine everyone at the table, and very subtly taking shots at Martha and Tom's relationship.

It was clever, and betrayed a much better command of English than her accent suggested. Tom tells me… she had said. She'd called Tom definitely still her hero because he'd rescued her and invited her into his car and whisked her away. She'd suggested that she and Tom shared the same "calling," to care for children, wanting a big family, suggesting plans made by kindred spirits and myriad other things…

So, in response to her very insulting question, he frowned, feigning thought and consideration.

Then he said, "I find my work immensely satisfying, Sylvie. As a consultant, I can help overworked hospital personnel, such as yourself, find their niche, as you've found yours. I help them get fairer pay, and I help them secure much-needed holiday time with their families so that all patients can be served by well-rested, satisfied doctors and nurses, who have got their head in the game."

"I see," Sylvie said, miraculously stymied, for the first time since she began dominating the conversation.

The Doctor shrugged. "I don't need to be in the trenches, I'll just help keep the trenches safe and pleasant to work in, how's that?"

"Amen," Tom said, with a smile. "Can't argue with that!"

Martha smiled also. The Doctor knew her well, and her smile was one of admiration and appreciation. He winked at her, and turned toward Sylvie again, almost as if to ask, "What else have you got for me?" He felt inclined to engage her, even though she rubbed him completely the wrong way.

She turned directly toward him, as well. For the first time, Sylvie deigned to look him in the eyes.

When she did, there was a very subtle widening of the eyes, and her body pulled back from him slightly. It was not a suggestive gesture. She did not look him over, nor smile, nor soften her gaze, suggesting interest. He'd seen enough of both flirtation and fear to know the difference.

Well, at least I've got her on the back foot, he thought. No idea why, though.

"What brings you to London?" he asked her. "I mean, besides Tom."

"Oh, erm… I'm on holiday," she said. "A girls' week-end."

"I thought you said it was a CPN conference," Tom said.

"Hush, you. I didn't say that," Sylvie told him.

"I'm pretty sure you did, and don't tell me to hush," he retorted.

The Doctor and Martha, glanced at each other in recognition of what they were seeing. The first bit of real tangling, and they hadn't even been seated for ten minutes. Perhaps this was normal ex stuff; but perhaps it wasn't.

"Well, tant mieux. Whatever I said before," Sylvie said, with a taut voice, trying to sound whimsical. "I'm on holiday now with two of my friends. They are both CPNs, Tom, maybe that's why you thought I meant I was coming for a conference."

"That's not why," Tom told her. "But let's not dwell on that. Shall we check out the menu?"

The four of them each picked up their menu, with a bit of relief at being able to concentrate on something else for a bit.

But their relief was short-lived.

"The scallop risotto looks good," said Martha.

"Oh, Tom is allergic to scallops," Sylvie told her, with a quelling, condescending hand gesture.

Martha didn't even look up from her menu. "I know. That's why it's a good thing Tom is old enough to order for himself."

Sylvie then reached across the table and took Tom's hand. "Oh that reminds me, remember Tom, the first time we had dinner at the Ivy, here in London?"

Tom sighed, disengaging his hand from hers. "I remember."

Sylvie turned to address Martha and the Doctor. "He was so adorable – he ordered for me, like a perfect, old-fashioned gentleman. Trying so hard to impress."

"I ordered for you because you didn't speak English then," Tom said, clearly annoyed, also not looking up from his menu.

"Très bien, mon amour," Sylvie sang. "Mais je l'ai appris plus tard, n'est-ce pas ? On a tous les deux appris la langue de l'un et l'autre. Surtout la langue physique."

"J'suis plus ton amour, et tu m'as promis que tu t'arrêterais," Tom said to her, eyes still glued to the menu.

"M'arrêter de faire quoi ? Faire une conversation polie ?" Sylvie's voice started out innocent, but then went low, and a bit sultry. "C'est pas comme si je m'approche à risquer de révéler à ta fiancée guindée ce que tu as fait."

Tom tore the menu away from his face now. With his teeth gritted, he growled, "T'es putain de casse-couilles depuis le moment où tu as ouvert la portière de ma voiture. Je te connais, et je sais ce que tu essaies de faire, mais j'en suis fini. Alors, tiens-toi bien ou fous le camp."

Unfortunately, the waiter had chosen that moment to deliver Tom and Sylvie's drinks. He put two glasses on the table, and backed up. "I'll give you nice people another few minutes."

Martha's eyes were as wide as saucers, as she looked back and forth between her fiancé and his problematic ex.

For a few moments, there was an intense silence hanging in the air, as they all held their breaths, wondering what might happen next.

The Doctor knew that Martha was fluent in German and Spanish, and could "get by" in basic Mandarin, but would have no idea what Tom and Sylvie had been saying in French – and Tom would know it too. Their conversation had revealed something definitely not right about Tom and Sylvie, and the Doctor determined that Martha needed to know, before Sylvie tried to manipulate things any further.

"Oh, Martha, I almost forgot. I have a photo of little Maisie to show you!" he said, cheerily reaching into his pocket. "You wouldn't believe how big she is now!"

"Oh… erm…" Martha asked, having no idea what he was talking about.

To Tom, he said, "Maisie is my sister's little girl. Last Martha saw her, she was six weeks old. Sorry, I can't help but want to show her off – proud uncle and all!"

The Doctor handed Martha a little leather wallet which she recognised held within it the psychic paper. When she opened it, the card inside read, "Sylvie made an innuendo. Tom said that she'd promised she'd stop it. She basically threatened to tell you what he's done. That's when his voice got harsh, and he said she'd been a bloody pain in the arse since she opened his car-door, he knows what she's trying to do, but he's done, so she should either behave herself or fuck off. Martha, I don't know what's gone on between these two, but if I were you, I would want to find out."

A fluttering, sickening brick went thud in the pit of Martha's stomach. She could see that Sylvie was trying to do a bit more than walk down memory lane with Tom, but it had been difficult to put her finger on why she felt the shiny Frenchwoman was trying to undermine her somehow. Now she had proof of at least something untoward going on in Sylvie's mind… and what the hell had she done in the car? More to the point, what dirt did she have on Tom?

Tom leaned over and looked over her shoulder at the psychic paper, and said, "Oh my goodness, she's adorable! How old?"

Martha looked at him with unfiltered amazement for a short moment, before she caught herself. The psychic paper must have been showing him the image of a small child.

"She's three," the Doctor said. "Already a little drama queen."

"I'll bet she's full of mischief," Martha said to the Doctor.

"She absolutely is," the Doctor said, with a flit of his eyebrow.

"May I see?" asked Sylvie.

Martha handed the small folder to her, and she cooed, "Ah, quel trésor! I just love little children!"

"Yes, Sylvie, I believe you already mentioned that," the Doctor said.

Tom laughed. "You'll definitely need to keep an eye on that one!"

Sylvie handed the wallet back to him, and as she did so, the Doctor caught her eye and answered Tom, "Yes, we most definitely will keep an eye on her."

Once again, in her eyes, he read something like fear, or unease, or even revulsion.

She quickly looked away, and he pocketed the wallet.

The waiter came back just then, almost as if he had been watching them to see when the tension would die down, so he could jump on them before it mounted again. Tom ordered the Greek tomato bisque, Martha the mini gyros with tilapia. The Doctor, in fact, quite fancied the scallop risotto, and Sylvie very pointedly ordered raw oysters and a small Greek salad.

Martha sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long evening.

She decided to cut to the quick. Tom had wanted them all together for some reason, and Sylvie had made it clear that she wanted things ugly. So they might as well get to it so they could skip the coffee and dessert and put this evening out of its misery just after the main course.

She put her hand on Tom's. "Sweetheart, was there something specific you wanted to talk about? Something you might want to tell me? Or us?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're the one who… let's say, called this meeting," she said. "You said it would be a good opportunity to hash some things out before we, you know… take the plunge."

"I did say that."

"Yes, and it makes me wonder if you had something in particular that you wanted to tell me, or something you needed to ask John, or… I don't know. This is kind of your show."

He cleared his throat and sat up straight, looking back and forth between the Doctor and Sylvie. "Right, well… I suppose I didn't really have anything specific in mind. I just thought Martha should meet Sylvie, and I should meet John. You both have such indelible imprints upon us, I reckoned it might be purging for us as a couple, to have you both here."

"Like walking through fire," the Doctor muttered. "If you can survive that…"

"We can survive anything," Tom responded. "Exactly."

"Personally, I've never survived walking through fire," the Doctor said.

Tom either didn't register the comment, or was choosing to ignore him. "And, I thought, things to talk about would arise on their own. Thank you, Sylvie, for getting the ball rolling." Tom clasped his hands together and stared at the table in front of him, taking a deep breath. "Clearly there are things between me and Sylvie that went unresolved. Our relationship ended in a hail of… well, tears and screaming, and I won't lie: it haunts me. We have never really talked about it since then. I have never apologised for some of the things that I said, and you have never fully explained yourself."

"Explained myself? Explained myself for being myself? That's a lot to ask, Tom," said Sylvie.

"But that's just it, I don't feel that you were being yourself. I felt at that time that things had changed dramatically, and quite quickly, and I was never sure why."

Sylvie shrugged smugly. "People change, Tom."

He looked at her sideways, with suspicion. "Yes, but after all that time? After all the… everything? With what we'd been through together, that sort of change? Come on, Sylvie. There had to be something behind it."

The Doctor and Martha exchanged another quick look. They both could see that in spite of this little attempt at purging their issues, there was something that Tom was avoiding saying.

"Il n'y avait rien. There was nothing," Sylvie declared. "I am a free spirit. That is the only explanation I have."

Martha studied her fiancé, who was now boring holes into Sylvie's forehead with his eyes. She had absolutely no idea what this cryptic conversation was about, and wondered if it was what was at the crux of all of Tom's "Sylvie Issues." If that was the case, it looked very possible that he would never get an answer, and if he couldn't let go, that was definitely going to be a problem.

She sighed, and sat back in her chair, realising suddenly that both of the men sitting at this table were men she had loved, and even though she had never been in a proper relationship with the Doctor, she'd sat in the same goddamn boat with both of them.

They were very different men, and she had acknowledged long ago within herself that her love for Tom was nowhere near as incendiary, nor as ultimately painful, as what she'd harboured for the Doctor. But what they had in common was the ghosts from their pasts. The Doctor had Rose, Tom had Sylvie. Clearly, post-Sylvie Tom had been much more ready to move on than the post-Rose Doctor, but she wondered in these moments if she'd ever be able to fall for someone who didn't have a frustrating hang-up on his ex.

And then she stopped herself.

Am I seriously wondering if I'll ever be able to fall for someone else?

I guess I am. I'm not sure what to do with that just yet…

As soon as Sylvie had arrived in the restaurant and started talking, Martha realised, she had begun subtly, subconsciously, letting go of Tom. She had known somewhere within the recesses of her mind, in those first few moments, what Sylvie was going to try to do, and could predict the effect it would have on Tom. At present, she really, really wondered if it would turn out to be something she could live with.

She took advantage of the silence. And her growing anger over being made to play second-fiddle to some woman who seemed ungodly difficult to forget. Twice.

"Well, as long as we're going down this road," Martha said, sitting up straight and looking directly at the Doctor. "John, I have a question or two of my own."

"Okay, see? This is good," said Tom, again, placing his hand territorially on the small of her back.

The Doctor seemed completely blindsided, but said, "Okay."

She hadn't really planned on "hashing things out" with "John" during this dinner, but as long as Sylvie and Tom were going to make things difficult, and she found herself at a crossroads again...

Why not? When am I ever going to get this chance again?

She took a long pull off her wine, and then took a leap.

"Clearly, after you lost Rose, you weren't ready to take on a new… relationship. So why the hell did you?"

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "That is a question I've asked myself at least a hundred times, every day since you left me. No lie." This last bit, he said quite pointedly, seriously, so that she would know that he was now not speaking in the guise of her fake ex-boyfriend John, but as himself.

"And how do you answer yourself?"

"I just keep going back to that first day at Royal Hope," he said. "And realising that I was, in the end, just dazzled by you. Again, no lie."

"Really?"

"Of course. Have you met you?"

She chuckled.

He continued, "We had a hospital-wide crisis on our hands, and you were the coolest customer in the building. Not to mention, you had these deep, dark eyes that made my knees weak."

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Are you…"

"Serious? Yes. Absolutely," he told her. Then his tone changed slightly. "But to be fair, Martha, I did warn you that I was on the rebound."

"Yes, I suppose you did."

"And you chose to move forward with me."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"Why did you do that?"

She chuckled. "Really? You don't know?"

"Maybe I do," he sighed, leaning back in his chair again.

"I was a bit dazzled myself, I think," she confessed. "You saw to that."

She remembered resisting him in the alley after Leo's twenty-first birthday disaster, but being wooed into coming aboard the TARDIS. She now realised, he had played completely unfairly.

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.

"I guess, I fell prey to the folly of many women: I thought I could change you," Martha mused. "Or, at least, I thought I could make you move on from her."

"Honestly? I thought you could too," he said. "But make no mistake: my inability to move on from her, that was never about you. It was never because you were not enough. It was because I was not enough."

Martha frowned. "Doctor, that's crazy."

She realised then that she had slipped, and forgotten to call him John, but she didn't much care just now.

"It's not crazy. I lost Rose in a moment of personal weakness, and I spent years punishing myself for the things I never did, never said… I began to realise that I couldn't risk anything like that happening again. It's daft, I know. But it's the daft, raw, irrational fear of a man who is just not ready. If you'd given me enough time, I reckon I could've got ready. But I realise that you, Dr. Jones, don't have that kind of time."

"So you shut me out?"

"Not consciously. But I also know that I didn't make any conscious effort to remain open to you, or reassure you, and for that, what can I say? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She smiled sheepishly. "You always say that."

He smiled back at her. "It's always true."

"You see?" Tom interjected. "This is fantastic."

The Doctor took a deep breath, suddenly wishing he'd ordered alcohol like everyone else. "Yeah, it's a bloody picnic."

"I'm sorry John, but this is why we asked you here. This is precisely the sort of thing that Martha and I need, and I would like to thank you so very much for giving us this," Tom said.

"You're welcome," the Doctor said, sincerely.

"Yes," Martha said, looking at him quite meaningfully. "Thank you."

Tom turned to Sylvie. "Would it kill you to do what he did? Give me a few answers?"

"No," said Sylvie. "But I don't have the answers that you're searching for, chéri. If anything, I think it is I who should be asking why."

"Okay. How's that?" Tom wondered, incredulous.

"Why, when the change occurred, would you not change with me?"

"It doesn't matter why, anymore," Tom told her. "The important thing is, if the tables were turned, and it was me wanting to change, and trying to force you to do it too… it would be a much different story. If I had done what you did, I'd be in prison! But you… you haven't ever even apologised. You've never even acknowledged that what you tried to do was wrong!"

"Jesus, what the hell happened with you two?" Martha asked.

Sylvie ignored her. "All right, so, I'm confused, you're confused. Can't we just say it's down to a difference of opinion, and leave it?"

Tom sighed. "We could, except, in spite of myself, I loved you. I am, as you know, a sensitive person. And to feel, for lack of a better word, violated by someone I loved… it could have destroyed me."

Sylvie pointed out, "But it didn't. You've been able to get back on the horse?" Then she looked at Martha and nodded toward her. "With her, I mean."

"It's not about getting back on the horse, Sylvie. It's about what's happening inside me."

Sylvie's voice dropped low again, and she practically whispered, "What happens inside you is no longer my responsibility. Just as you've made clear that what happens inside me is no longer yours."

Again, there was a thick silence. All four of them stared at the table in front of them, not saying a word. Their dinner had still not arrived – they had another hour or so, either to sit and eat in terse silence, or continue to try to navigate conversation, which, thanks to Sylvie, seemed only to make things more tense.

The Doctor racked his brain, for a clever way to diffuse the situation.

Ultimately, clever failed him, so he went for practical.

"Okay, should we just take a step back for now, and try to talk about something else?" he asked.

"Yes, let's," Tom agreed.

"Tell me about your stint in Africa," the Doctor said.

"Oh... er, yeah, it was amazing," Tom told him. "I mean… rough as hell working out of a tent, trying to treat patients in the middle of a jungle. Just keeping everything sterile is a nightmare, but it's so soul-satisfying, you know? Have you ever done anything like that?"

"Getting outside my backyard, and trying to do some good? Yeah, I've done that, a time or two. You worked with Doctors Without Borders, yeah?"

Tom nodded. "It's a wonderful organisation – I'm trying to get Martha on-board for the next tour I'm planning on doing in 2010. This first time out was in the DRC, but there's no telling where we'll be needed next. The Middle-East, Southeast Asia..."

The Doctor looked at Martha. "Not interested?"

She said, "It's not that I'm not interested. It's just that I find I'm a bit of a home-body these days, you know?"

The Doctor smiled. "I get that."

"Oh, Martha, you should reconsider," Sylvie said. "It's a wonderful experience! In fact, I'm thinking of going back out in 2010 as well. So rewarding."

To the Doctor, it felt like the first non-poisonous thing Sylvie had said. Except that Martha latched onto it in a different way.

"You've done it?" Martha asked.

"Yes," Sylvie answered. "They were in need of French-speaking paediatric nurses. Have you heard of the Invisible Children? Such a sad story, that. And though the conflict is mainly in Uganda at the moment, it is starting to spread into the DRC, and there are thousands of children affected already. I decided to go – I've got no obligations left in France – why not?"

Martha blinked at her a few times, then said, "You were in the DRC as well?"

"Erm, yeah," Tom said, then he chuckled nervously.

Martha glared at him with absolute daggers in her eyes. "In the same camp?"

"Did I never mention that?" he asked.

Oh, Tom, the Doctor groaned inwardly. Bad, bad, BAD thing to say.

"You know bloody well you never mentioned that," Martha said remarkably calmly. But the Doctor knew her voice when things were about to blow, and this was it.

"Martha, listen…" Tom tried.

Martha's voice continued in its quiet, trembling hiss. "We are here, in this restaurant, supposedly to hash out hang-ups that you have with your ex because for some reason, which I'm still not clear on, you are not over her, or what she did to you. You say that she was the love of your life before you met me, and she's left an 'indelible' print on you."

"Martha…"

"It's hard enough to accept that kind of baggage, as you know, Tom. But now I find out that during our relationship, you spent four months in a remote outpost in the jungle, and she was there the whole time, and you never said a thing about it?"

Tom sighed. "Yes."

Martha removed the napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. She stood up. "I've suddenly lost my appetite. Please enjoy your dinners. John, thank you for coming, and for acting like, ironically, the only sane human being at the table. I won't forget it. Maybe we can have coffee soon. Good night."

She pushed her chair out, picked up her handbag, and walked away from the table, toward the exit.

"Martha, please don't do this! We can talk this out!" Tom called to her, until realising he would have to get up and go after her, which he did, but not before pointing a finger right at Sylvie, and practically spitting, "I really fucking hate you, you know that?"

Sylvie smiled at him in a way that left no doubt whether or not she had innocently told Martha she'd been in the DRC with Tom.

After another few moments of terrible silence, the Doctor asked Sylvie, "Okay… well, can I help you get back to the M4? I'll change your tyre, if you'd like."

Obviously, he found her more disgusting than ever now, but he was keen to find out more about her. For some reason, she seemed to feel threatened by him, and he had no idea why. In his experience in knocking about the universe as a Time Lord, that didn't often mean good things.

She stood up from the table and looked at him directly, for only the third time since the whole thing had begun.

This time, her breath hitched a bit, along with the same fear he'd seen before, flashing across her eyes.

"No," she said. "Non, merci. I will call a taxi."

"Or one of your mates?"

"Pardon?"

"You said you're in London on a girls' week-end."

"Oh. Yes, right. Maybe one of them can come collect me. Nice meeting you. Goodbye."

Stiffly, she walked away from the Doctor, and out of the restaurant, and once again, he was alone at the table, with his left shoulder pressed to the fish tank.

The waiter appeared then, though not yet with the food.

"Sir?" he asked, looking at the three empty chairs.

"Bit of a tense dinner," the Doctor said. "I'm the last one standing. You can cancel the orders, and bring me the bill. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Wow. Sylvie. Almost a caricature of a terrible ex, eh?

Let me know what you think... thank you for reading!