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AND THEN THERE WERE FOUR

A tall, thin man in a brown pin-striped suit and a tan trench coat entered a Starbucks in London. He moodily bought a Pellegrino and sat down with a newspaper.

He wasn't so much irritated about having had to banish a Podromass Parasite, invisible to the naked human eye, to a pocket of the universe where even black holes are afraid of getting lost. He was irritated about having had to do it alone.

And it wasn't so much that it had been difficult to do without a partner.

It's that it had been no fun without a partner.

He tried to concentrate on the Times but his powers of focus were shot. He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and poked his tongue, annoyed, into the inside of his cheek. He let out a big, throaty sigh and watched with a scowl as the Business of Being English passed on the street outside.

Normally, he observed as an outsider and marvelled simultaneously at the mundane nature of it, and at how brilliant it all was. The work-a-day humanness of it, the way people moved and cared about things! Sometimes it drove him mad, and sometimes he wanted to shout huzzah at it.

Today, he actually wished he could be part of it. How rubbish was that?

Because the truth was, he was lonely.

The period just after the departure of a companion always brought some turmoil with it, but this was the first time in recent memory that he knew beyond a doubt that he had messed things up, just him, and that was the reason she had left.

And so, he was aimless. What to do? Besides sit in this chair at Starbucks for the rest of his life?

Fight something? He squirmed at the thought. With no backup, it wasn't just unfun, it could get dangerous.

Wander around the TARDIS for a few months? The idea of that made his soul feel like lead. He pictured himself being pulled to the floor in a flat, liquid heap of brown polyester, and possibly never moving again.

Find someone new? This made him feel dirty. Which he knew was just a little bonkers, but it honestly would feel like cheating. At least for now.

A companion's recent absence brought with it a fierce loyalty, and the odd wondering whether he'd ever find someone so brilliant ever again. And breathtakingly beautiful, and patient and loving and clever and poised and knowledgeable and intellectual and sexy...

Actually, a companion's recent absence had never before brought on this type of loyalty... but it was bringing it now. What was that about?

And what was all that about beautiful and wonderful and goddess-like, or whatever? And sexy? Really?

"Yeah, really," he said aloud.

He looked about self-consciously, but found that no-one had really noticed.

Well, it's not like it was entirely an epiphany. He had admitted to himself long ago that he hadn't just chosen Martha Jones because she was a good runner and had a cool head in a crisis. She had pitch dark eyes that had pulled him in from the first moment, and a flickering, crackling, mischievous, flirtatious smile that left so much to speculation. She looked as amazing as anyone he could think of in a pair of painted-on jeans, but she had a grace about her that said, "Of course I'm gorgeous, but it's hardly the point, now is it?"

And it wasn't. But it was. Both.

Because, as was true of just about any truly alluring woman, the most tantalising thing about her were the possibilities. The white lab coat had hidden so much of her, and after that, being on-guard all the time had hidden the rest. He had felt, for three explosive seconds, worlds of promise in one kiss, and juxtaposed against all that concealing, it was like a powder keg in the TARDIS... in a good way. And yet, for some reason, he had pushed it all away. If only he had more time.

More time? Blimey, he had a time machine! How much more time did he need?

But the universe doesn't work that way, and timelines cannot be crossed. There would be no easy second chances for him...

He literally tried to shake it off at that point, and sat up straight in his chair, popped his neck muscles and made a groaning noise that, this time, actually did make a couple of people take notice. He downed his Pellegrino in one go, and tried to force himself to read the paper. He resolved he was not going to leave until he had learned something about current British pop culture, no matter how ridiculous. Even if he had to read the phrase "sex-tape" twenty-eight times.

After he'd been sitting for about ten minutes, a thin blonde woman sat down at the table beside him. She pulled a laptop from her bag, and switched it on, and plugged in a flash drive. She smiled at him, and opened her mouth to speak. For a horrible moment, he thought she might try to flirt with him, but all she said was, "I'm going to pop up the counter and get a lattè. Would you mind watching my things?"

"Oh," he said. "No. That's fine, go ahead."

"Great. Can I get you a biscuit or something?"

"No, thanks," he assured her with a slight smile.

As she walked away, the Doctor stole a look at her personal effects. The computer was a Samsung, relatively new but lived-in, and the flash drive was red, and had the words "Merck Manual" on it. A medical student.

This wasn't helping the melancholy.

After a few minutes, the blonde woman came back, thanked him, sat down with her coffee and started to work, no fuss no fanfare.

Just as the Doctor was miraculously finishing an article about the illustrious Kerry Katona, and actually feeling dumber for having done so, he heard the blonde woman's voice pipe up.

"Professor Franks?"

"Hello, Emily," said a large man named, apparently, Professor Franks. The Doctor noticed that "Emily" seemed to surprised to see him, but the reverse was not exactly true.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, the meeting I had did not last as long as anticipated, and I decided to say hello to my friend Rolando - your professor Sobol." The Doctor noted the slight accent of a native German-speaker.

"Oh. How did you know where we'd be?"

"You mentioned you were on your way to Rolando's discussion group. When I realised I would have some extra time, I decided to text him. I speak a tiny bit of Arabic - I might be able to join in, if your group doesn't mind."

"Okay, well..." Emily said, clearly trying to wriggle clear of the conversation. "I have some..."

"May I join you?" he asked.

Emily was immediately uneasy. "Erm, sure. Why not? Any friend of Martha Jones should be a friend of mine."

The Doctor nearly choked on air at that moment. Fortunately, he coughed a couple of times, and managed to pretend that he was still engrossed in the news. He realised internally, of course - the university is just down the street!

"So, if you don't mind my asking, Emily," said the professor, after settling into a chair. "Are you attending the Vogelsong lecture tomorrow evening?"

"It is required for our three hours of weekly seminar," she answered flatly. "I guess the good news is, it leaves only two hours in the lecture hall."

"So, you're not a fan of Vogelsong's ideas, I take it."

"They're not wrong, per se," said Emily. "But truth be told, I'm not sure a Western medical school is the proper place for hawking his wares, as it were. And, the video he sends out is rubbish."

The professor laughed. "True enough. Perhaps the West is simply not ready. But rest assured, Dr. Vogelsong is a brilliant man."

"I'm sure he is," Emily said politely. "Maybe he just needs a better video-editing staff."

"Mmm, indeed. And is Martha in said seminar with you?"

"Yes," Emily said.

"Then I'll see her at the lecture," said Franks, rather absently. Then he seemed to remember himself and recover. "And you, of course. Lovely ladies."

The Doctor was not fooled. He heard the tone of the professor's I'll see her there, and the quick back-pedal. What was this character up to?

There was an awkward, hanging silence, and then the professor took a deep, quick breath and asked, "Emily, may I pose a question that is not related to medicine, or medical school, for that matter?"

"Sure," Emily said reluctantly.

"What is Martha's... situation?"

"Her situation?" she asked, her voice higher than normal.

Emily was playing dumb. Even the Doctor knew what the question was about, and he could tell from Emily's chirp that she knew too.

"Yes, her... romantic situation?" said Franks. After a pause, he added, "I know it's quite personal, but... well, has Martha told you..."

"Yes, yes, she has," Emily said somewhat frantically, not anxious to hear a story rehashed. "She told me."

"How I pursued her?"

"Yes."

The professor sighed. "I'm afraid I made her uncomfortable."

"It happens... in situations like that sometimes."

"It was inappropriate of me," he confessed. "I was her instructor, and I was married."

Emily nodded, searching for something to say. She was unable to find anything.

"But now," the professor said, his face brightening. "I am neither. I am still quite a bit older than she, but it is the twenty-first century. Who cares about such things these days?"

Indeed, thought the Doctor.

"Well, I think you're out of luck. She's dating someone right now."

Again, the Doctor coughed in his surprise, though managed not to give away the fact that he was listening.

"Really? Who is he?"

"I'm not quite sure, I've never met him. I only even know his first name." From the way she trailed off at the end, the Doctor could tell that Emily regretted that last bit.

"Which is?" Franks wondered.

"Erm, Tom."

"Tom. Tom," Franks said, trying on the name for size. "Do you think that Martha could be... persuaded otherwise?"

"Persuaded otherwise? You mean stolen away from him?"

"Exactly."

"Oh, I don't know professor, I think it's fairly serious," Emily answered, practically squirming in her chair with the awkwardness. The Doctor noticed that Emily was cornered, literally and figuratively. She was sitting in a chair against a wall and a window, the professor's large body blocking her from exit. It was likely that Franks hadn't done it on purpose, but he wasn't about to back off to give her an exit either.

"Fairly serious, eh? How long has it been going on?"

"A month, maybe."

Franks laughed. "That's hardly enough time to get serious."

"That's for Martha and her beau to say. But professor, I do have reason to believe that it is serious, or will be very soon, so..."

It was clear to the Doctor that Emily was just trying to deflect the professor's attention from her friend. He did not know whether she was telling the truth about Martha in a new relationship. Come to that, he couldn't be entirely certain that she was talking about the same Martha Jones!

But something in his gut felt decidedly not-right. It was her - he knew it. He just knew.

"What reasons?" the professor asked, rather harshly.

"Professor Franks, I'm sorry, but I would not be at liberty to say," Emily said, evenly. "It was something personal, told to me today in confidence by a dear friend."

"I understand," Franks said, retreating. "I apologise, Emily. What happens in girl talk stays in girl talk, am I right?"

"Right you are, sir," she told him with a slight smile.

Reason to believe that Martha and her beau were about to become quite serious.

Told to me today in confidence.

Girl talk.

The Doctor could read between the lines, and he reckoned that Franks probably could, as well. In the way of romance, something was about to change for Martha, and he could guess what it was. He decided to assume that the addition of the word today meant tonight.

Something sickly bubbled up inside. Upon examination, the Doctor realised: it was jealousy!

Again, he didn't know why he should be surprised, given the circumstances, given what had been going through his mind over the last few minutes.

Although, if he was honest, he'd been having those thoughts since she left three months ago.

Although, if he was really honest, he'd been having those thoughts since they met, over two years ago.

"Well, Miss Emily, I think I'll be going," said professor Franks, getting suddenly to his feet.

"Oh. Okay. What about professor Sobol?" asked Emily.

"Please give him my regards, and tell him that I just realised, I had a prior appointment."

My eye, thought the Doctor. You got the information you needed out of Emily, and now you're on your way. To scheme? To come up with a battle plan?

Only you won't just have her new beau to compete with.

The Doctor realised with this thought that he himself was, in fact, about to complicate Martha's life even further.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow night, then," Emily sighed.

"You can bet on it," said Franks. "Especially if you are anywhere near our lovely Miss Jones. Guten Abend."

With that, the large professor stood up and left the Starbucks. Before he was even out of plain view, Emily was digging in her bag and dialling. Again, the Doctor could guess at whom she was phoning.

"Martha!" she practically shouted. "You'll never guess! Professor Franks just tracked me down at Starbucks and was asking if you'll be at the Vogelsong lecture tomorrow night!"

There was a pause, and then, "I know! That's two in the same day that want to know if you'll be there... oh seriously? Have you forgotten about poor old George Perris? Oh, this will be amazing! I'm looking forward to watching George and Professor Franks circle each other like caged tigers. You'll have some interesting things to contend with at that lecture. It's too bad you can't just build a Y-chromosome forcefield for the evening."

Another pause, then Emily said, "Well, he said he texted Professor Sobol to find out where the group was meeting, and when he first arrived he said he wanted to say hello to his old friend and maybe join the discussion group, but I think he was trying to find me so he could pick my brain about you!" The Doctor was relieved that Emily had reaIised the professor's ruse.

"Anyway, I just wanted to warn you, because he said he's not married anymore, and seems fairly intent on stealing you away from Tom... yeah, I told him, I'm sorry. I got sort of put on the spot... are you two still going out tonight? Oh, staying in?" At this, Emily's face and tone brightened. "Well, I guess you'll find out if he's a good cook or not. FYI, this is another good way of deciding whether to move forward in a relationship, along with, you know, that other thing. Oh, and if he cooks naked, you're golden - hang onto him forever." Emily laughed.

The Doctor's face grew hot, and he found his hands clutching the newspaper so hard, it was crumpling.

He had missed part of the discourse, but he heard Emily say, "I'd go with something South American, but only because I'm not that keen on French wines. Merlot is the official wine of loosening-up for sex, but Argentine Malbec is my actual favourite, so it's your choice... they have some good ones at Alfred's Cellar, but that's across town from you. Although, if you're not due at his flat until eight... well, it's just a little after three now."

At that moment, the Doctor made a decision. It was a big endeavour, but he'd moved worlds in a lot less than five hours.