AN ~ Back again guys and let me say a big THANKS to everyone who has subscribed to, favourited and reviewed my story; I love you guys! And I am so happy so many people are enjoying it! The drama continues with this chapter – it was initially a part II to chapter 3 but I decided to separate them. I hope you are intrigued by this chapter!

Disclaimer: DW is not mine...though I feel really sorry for the Flesh Doctor :( I hope his molecular memory survived. Also, you may notice a reference in this chap to 'The Doctor's Wife' (season 6) – I just thought it was so sweet I had to mention it!

Gotta go; enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 4 ~ Dream

Martha Jones slept peacefully in her room, deep within the TARDIS, but the Doctor was restless. He had a rug and pillow wedged under the TARDIS controls, but next to them sat a pot of tea, and on the other side of that, the Doctor muddled around with the underside of the panel above him, Sonicking here and there, experimenting. The grates weren't particularly comfortable – sometimes he wished the control room had a nice smooth floor, maybe glass, with a big pit underneath it to work in; he felt like a workman fixing an Earth automobile, lying under it like this. The TARDIS grumbled at this comparison, and he put a hand on the solid part of the panel, part of her frame.

"I didn't mean it old girl," he apologised. After a moment, his hand slid down from the panel, back to the Sonic Screwdriver. He gently turned it off and pulled himself up from the floor. Strolling around the control panel with that swinging gait this body seemed so suited to, the Doctor looked around.

"So, where to this time, eh?" he pondered. After tweaking a few controls, his pensiveness met with nothing but further silence, he sighed.

"Look at me. I'm talking to a machine."

The TARDIS groaned. He shook his head.

"Not what I mean!" He defended himself, careful to keep his voice hushed so he wouldn't wake Martha. "You know, sometimes I wish you and I could have a heart-to-heart. A real conversation; none of this I-talk-you-groan rubbish. Even something simple...That'll be the day...when you say 'Hello Doctor, it's wonderful to meet you.' I wonder what kind of voice you'd have..."

The soft sound of a child's laughter interrupted him, drawing him from one imagining to another. This one had been reoccurring lately; nearly every day since he had changed his DNA matrix and become John Smith. He knew that man was him, somewhere, and in a strange way he remembered all poor John had been through. The whole experience had brought to the surface a lot of unwelcome fears and insecurities...and longings. This daydream – or nightmare, it was impossible to tell which - reflected those longings, providing him with joy and inspiration but each time, leaving him burning with pain and regret.

It began with he and Rose, wandering along the top of the White Cliffs of Dover, an albatross circling and wheeling above them, and their child circling and wheeling in the grass not far off. He would begin to recite I wandered lonely as a cloud, by William Wordsworth, but when he got past the daffodil part, Rose would laugh and interrupt him.

"So," Rose would say. "You in a house, eh? Guess I win. What do we do with the TARDIS now?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," he would promise, though to be honest he couldn't think what. If it were up to him, he and Rose and their child would travel the universe all together, but Rose insisted that they at least wait until the child was older. Given his rate of accidental dangerous landings, he could see her point...but point or no, keeping the TARDIS idle for however long it might take was risky – especially since one didn't usually keep sentient police boxes in one's basement.

"Are you telling me you never thought about what would happen if you fell in love, decided to settle down?" Rose would put a hand on his arm, stop him. The sun would be going down, even though it had been noon seemingly a few seconds earlier. Before he could say another word, it was dark, and he woke up on the TARDIS floor. Alone.

This time was no different, and the void of pain and regret was as deep and vacuous as ever. It had been nearly six months since he had last set eyes on Rose Tyler, but she was as vivid in his mind as always. He hoped she would stay that way, so that he might never forget her, but oh it was draining to dream of her; empty whispers of what could have been.

Pulling himself together, he dragged himself to his feet once more and ran a hand over his face and through his hair, half expecting Rose to snort with laughter from behind him and make a witty but somehow touching comment.

"Doctor?" Martha's voice made him jump. He looked up like a startled deer, towards the hallway where Martha was standing; black hair raked into a high ponytail, pale purple pyjamas just a bit too long, but that she had refused to swap because she liked them. Martha rubbed at her bleary eyes and blinked a few times before approaching the Doctor, examining him to make sure her actions were appropriate. He did not object.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking a better look at him now the weariness was gone from her eyes. The Doctor suddenly felt very weary himself, as if the chasm of pain from after his nightmare had been suddenly flooded with fatigue. He sat down, as frail as the old man he was, cross-legged beside his teapot. Martha ducked down the hallway once more and soon returned with two cups. She poured out a cup of tea for each of them and looked inquisitively over the top of them, politely pleading as she offered one to him. He shook his head, just the slightest of movements, and Martha inclined hers, deflated but respectful. Both of them returned their gaze to the large rings of greenish light glowing on the TARDIS walls, the potential for conversation being left untouched.

"Thanks," he said, when at last he had finished.

"What, for the tea? You made it. I just poured." Martha shrugged, but she raised an eyebrow and examined his expression. It was hard to read from this angle, but it bore heavy emotional scars. It wasn't long, of course, before the Doctor patched up a mask over it and insisted that they should both be getting to bed. Reluctantly, she obeyed, although she was tempted to demand to know what the Doctor was keeping so determinedly from her.

The Doctor sighed heavily as Martha left. This night had been even more draining than he had anticipated. Perhaps he should go to bed after all.

Half-dragging himself through the halls, thankful for the TARDIS' ability to manipulate her corridors, the Doctor was already kicking off his Converse and yanking off his tie, leaving them strewn across the floor as he at last approached his bed.

Suddenly, the TARDIS stopped whirring. It stopped clicking and groaning and buzzing. It stopped altogether. Even the lights shut down: never a good sign. Instinctively, the Doctor whipped out his Screwdriver and flicked it on, green light glowing as it awaited further instructions. He wasn't sure what was on his ship or how it got there, but he doubted it was good. His eyes darted around, searching for the intruder, and he saw the thinnest, tiniest wisp of what seemed to be golden light float through the air towards him.

"What are you..?" he murmured, lowering his 'weapon' and feeling around in his breast pocket for his Brainy Specs to investigate. Before he could reach them, the room jolted as if they were going through an earthquake.

"Doctor."

The golden light glowed and dimmed as if it were speaking but the voice was far too resonant and deep to be from a creature – or more likely, creatures – that small. It sounded familiar, actually, now that the Doctor thought about it. It sounded like Rose, when she was filled with the spirit of the TARDIS; with the power over life and death and future and past.

"I am all that you think I am and more," the voice said, though it didn't quite sound like an answer to his question. "You wait in hope, Wanderer, for what lies in store. You will find her again when your number is four."

"When my number is four? What does that mean?" He loved a good riddle, but at a time like this, even a Time Lord mind needs a little help.

"The more you ask of me, the less I can say. One you have met will not stay away. One now beside you will not for long stray."

"Great, very helpful. Thanks." Irritated, he shrugged off his jacket at flung it towards the mysterious light. It dispersed, then regrouped and continued, apparently unfazed by the interruption.

"They all will help you to find what you seek. Those that you search for not so out of reach. The number is four when reality leaks."

Those that you search for...did it know? Had it thought of a way he could find Rose? The Doctor's hearts sped up, excited by the possibility, but the golden light was floating away.

"Wait, I don't understand. No, wait-!" The Doctor spun on his heels, chasing it with his eyes and trying to scan it with the Sonic Screwdriver. The scanner remained inactive; the golden mystery was gone. The TARDIS powered up again, dim night-settings returning. Filled with hope, confusion and fear, the Doctor tucked his Screwdriver under his pillow and prepared for another restless night.