A/N:Strayed off topic on this one, but I quite liked it so it stays.
I always wanted to love Martha. RTD - as brilliant as he was - didn't always let me do that. Every time she would glisten and shine, that puppy love bug would bite and she'd topple off the pedestal. That isn't to say I didn't like her .. because I did ... I just wish that she'd been allowed to shuck off the instantly in love thing with the Doctor and be the brilliant woman that she should have been.
So that said: She deserves more. ... She needs a wee bit of the right attention...
No Rose and Doctor here, be forewarned. That stuff is coming next. But I wanted to play around in this sandpit for a chapter first.
I'm sorry if it seems like I'm sinking a ship here ...
I really and truly hope you enjoy this snippet.
Time Lord fury of the Ten kind coming up shortly...
~~ooOOOooo~~
Three TARDISes, three very different interior layouts.
That was pretty much the bulk of Martha's thoughts when she stepped over the threshold into Tom's ship. Her Doctor's ship was like an underwater coral reef, brilliant oranges and greens, and an organic hum that waved over her much like a crashing wave above them. Rose's Doctor's TARDIS was like an elaborate turn of the century mansion, lit by soft flickeing candleflame with a hum more like the murmur of a theatre. Tom's TARDIS? Well this one was all white and stainless steel. There was nothing relaxing nor homely about it – especially the large wall of guns at the North end of the craft.
"Oh my," she breathed out with surprise, her hand lifting to cover her mouth. It had been her experience with the Doctor being that guns were not allowed on TARDIS ships.
Tom followed her into the ship, curling around where she had stopped to get to a walkway off the room. "What's wrong?" he queried gently.
Martha's eyes were wide and her head shook slowly. Her hand still covered her mouth as she trailed her eyes over some of the largest weapons she had ever seen. 'Nothing," she croaked out.
He caught the direction of her attention and looked that way himself. He worked out the source of her surprise and let out a soft breath. "The weaponry," he deduced. "Yes, I can imagine that's something you're not used to seeing."
"No," she breathed out. "Not at all. The Doctor doesn't like guns."
"Neither do I," he admitted with a shrug. "But sometimes they're necessary." He walked up to the wall and the weapons, which were held behind lavender-tinted glass, and pressed his hands against the clear wall. "This capsule is a battle capsule," he advised gently. He looked upward to the domes ceiling with a smile. "He's Type-90 model. He and I have been symbiotically linked for nearly three-hundred years – my first day at the Academy."
"Are all type-90's battle crafts?"
He shot her a smile of pride at the question, not unlike one that the Doctor would offer when the right question was asked. "Indeed they are, Beautiful," he answered with a smile. "Specialised ships that are very specifically cultured back in the hyperloom. Their initial block transfer equations differ to those intended only for quiet travel through the vortex." He exhaled long. "These ships are fully equipped for battle, and are designed for immediate and lethal response when a threat is encountered."
"I see," she said along an exhale. It wasn't one of disappointment, nor one of full comprehension to everything that he said. Instead it was one of quiet attention, as a student listening to a lecturer at university. "I didn't know there were so many types."
"Oh, there are hundreds," he clarified with wide eyes and a nod in his head. "All of them very different."
"I'm beginning to see that," she said with a nod of her head. Slowly she shifted her eyes from the weapons to move toward him. "You said you're symbiotically linked? And have been since you were a child?"
"That's correct," he answered with a smile, curious to see where she would go with this.
"I'm guessing that your symbiosis is of a mutualism nature," she mused more to herself than to him as she looked around a little more. "In that you both benefit from the relationship." She looked at him. "taking strength from each other to combat your own weaknesses." He lip curled up into a smile. "Not that I'm suggesting you've got any weaknesses at all."
"Oh I do," he said with a laugh. "Quite a few in fact, but yes, you're correct. In flight and in battle, where I may falter, this old boy picks me up."
"And vice versa," she breathed out with definite awe in her words. Her eyes scanned the room and then shifted back to him, focusing on the stoic and proud nature of his posture – a real soldier. "I'm going to hazard a guess that when you were paired with this capsule, that your fate to become a soldier was set."
He breathed out a long breath of understanding. He could see what she was inferring to with that question, and while yes, his fate was determined, it was not a fate determined by anyone other than himself and this handsome ship.
"Yes," he began with a smile. "You could say that."
"Do you have a choice in it?"
His head shook slowly. "Not really. Well. Well, yes, I did, but that would mean that I would have to reject a bond request…" He shrugged. "And I would never do that."
"Okay," she sighed. "Now you've lost me, I think."
"Put simply,' he said as his arms folded loosely across his chest and he slouched with his hip on the console. "This ship chose me out of my entire class to be his symbiotically linked pilot. Of all the other cadets – many of them born soldiers – he chose me: the smallest and least intimidating of them all. My destiny was more likely toward becoming a sooth or a matrician like other members of my chapter." He looked up again. "But this fellow, I guess he saw that I must've had a little more oomph than my loom-cousins, and chose me as his pilot." He looked back to Martha. "And so my life and the path for which I was set to embark on was instantly rerouted to something so much better."
"And you're happy with that?"
It wasn't a question of incredulity. Nor was she trying to make him think he'd done wrong. It was an honest question looking for an honest answer. He tilted his head, smiled, and nodded. "Very much so," he said. "I get to travel. I get excitement. I get to defend my home and all of her children. What could be better than that?"
"Nothing," she agreed with a smile and a gentle, tender tone. "Nothing at all."
"And better yet," he added with a wink as he took a few steps toward her and tenderly gripped her chin in between his thumb and forefinger. "I get the chance to meet someone as beautiful and as amazing as you."
"Smooth," she said with a laugh as she gently pushed his hand down. "Remember, no sneaky Cerulean hands. Doctor's orders."
He rolled his eyes, light petulance washing over him. "I find it amusing that the Lord Doctor refers to my chapter as being sneaky with such obvious disdain. Particularly when it's his chapter that are referred to as the sneaky ones. Can't take your eyes off a Prydonian," he called out. "Devious, and proud of it, the lot of them. Which explains why most of them move into politics."
"And on that note," Martha said uncomfortably, feeling his frustration. "Let's change the subject." She let out a huff and shook her head. "My mum always told me there are two subjects that shouldn't be brought up between friends and family: Religion, and Politics. Something tells me that I may have hit both of them with the one swing."
"I'm sorry," he said with a light stoop in his back for apology. "There does tend to be some friction between chapters and their members. It wasn't right of me to show that to you."
Martha shrugged. "Nah," she drawled. "No harm done. I'm actually thankful to have a little bit of insight into the people the Doctor came from."
"Yep," he said with a nod and then a wink in his eye. "Best you don't think that all of us are like him. That Lord has quite a coloured history to him, that's for sure. Settling down has done him some wonders, but he's still got a ways to go until I could call him a delightful travel companion."
"I don't know, he tends to get along with most species," she said with a shrug. "Just not Time Lords, it seems."
"That makes him a speciesist," he teased with a breathy laugh. "Discriminating against Time Lords like that." He flicked his hand and tipped his head to the corridor. "Come on, though. We best do what we needed to get done before the old boy send out a search party to find us."
"But we're only in the next TARDIS over," she retorted with a laugh.
He hummed with a smile on his face. "Have you ever gotten lost in a Capsule? You can quite honestly get lost in here for days, weeks, and even months." He held out his hand. "So for your safety, feel free to hold onto me as your guide. I'll keep you safe."
"How about I walk beside you instead," she said with a laugh as she walked to his side and walked with her hands held loosely at her front.
"As you wish." He pointed forward. "The Wardrobe is down here. The Lord Doctor suggested a change of clothing, so we best get to that part of things first. I'm quite glad that you're here to assist, actually." He rubbed at his neck, then pushed open the door to the wardrobe. "Because I really don't know that my ship nor I could get it right."
"I'm sure you'd have done fine," she sang as she walked through the door head of him. She stopped and purred appreciatively at the dual storey size of the room, and all of the clothing, shoes, and accessories on offer. "Wow. A girl would kill for a wardrobe like this."
"Leave the Doctor to travel with me," he offered, "and you can have it. All of it."
She spun as she walked, her eyes glancing around in awe. "I could almost be convinced."
"I'm being genuine when I ask you that," he said softly, sensing the facetiousness in her tone. "Have ship, will travel."
"And have service responsibilities to Mother Gallifrey," Martha reminded him with a smile. "You don't seem to me to be the type to just up and shirk your duties." She turned back to a rack of clothing and started to swipe her way through various outfits. "And besides, you don't really know me well enough to make me an offer like that."
He tilted his head curiously at her, watching the back of her head as she swiped from shirt to shirt on the rack. "How long did you know the Doctor before he made the same offer to you?" He watched her still at the question. "I imagine it was after a particularly exciting adventure, three, maybe four or five Earth hours?" He hummed. "Perhaps you managed to save his life in some way?"
She looked down her shoulder, supposedly to look at him, but not able to twist her neck that far around. "How did you…?"
"It's his M.O.," he said with a shrug. "It's usually how he picks up a companion." His eyes widened and he was quick to amend that. "Oh, it's not always the way he finds them, of course. Sometimes they're kidnapped by the TARDIS – accidentally, of course – and sometimes Companions force their way to him. But most of the time, it's because a potential traveller is captured by the excitement and beauty of the moment and end up at his side."
She finally turned around. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Not at all," he answered with a shrug. He walked to stand at her side and lifted his hand to run down the soft fabric of a silk shirt. "I'm not even suggesting that it makes you somehow less special than anyone else."
Her eyes flashed. "I hadn't even thought that," she said slowly.
"And you really shouldn't, Beautiful," he continued with smile of appreciation as he looked up at the collar of a soft cream coloured silk shirt. "Because you are very special to the old man."
She let out a breath. "You know, Tom. When you have to sell it that hard, you start to become very unbelievable."
"Do you believe," he asked. "That you are indeed special to the Doctor; that you're unique and important to him?" He stepped closer to her, looking down into her eyes with a gaze both soft and fierce. "Does he make you feel that way, every day?"
She blinked at his question, not wanting to analyse any part of it too deeply. She did, however, lift her head with an almost arrogant upward tilt of challenge. "Are you saying that you will?"
"I am saying," he replied slowly, pausing as he drew a shirt off the rack and held it up against his chest. "That I will make sure that you know every single day just how special you really are." He smiled widely and turned side to side with the shirt held at his chest. "What about this shirt? Does it make my eyes sparkle, or my butt look small, or whatever it is that makes clothing so important to you humans?"
She pulled another shirt from the rack and held it to him. "this one's much better. It's hot out there, so cotton or linen is your best bet."
His smile was grateful and he hummed a happy sound in the back of his throat that made her smile. "Wonderful," he cheered as he set the shirt on a side table and quickly started to undo the buttons of the uniform shirt he was already wearing.
Martha knew that she should look away from him as he pulled his shirt off to reveal a light blue undershirt embroidered with a looping symbol on the left breast. She found herself unable to look away, though, and as he didn't seem to mind, there was little point in making a scene. Instead she walked the racks looking for a pair of trousers to match the shirt. She kept him firmly in the corner of her eye.
"Tell me something," she said finally as she pulled a pair of linen trousers from the rack and analyzed them a moment. "We met for only a few minutes back when the Daleks attacked." She held the trousers out to him. "How is it that you're so…. Ehm…"
"Why I adore you as much as I do?" he completed when it appeared she wouldn't be able to do so. At her nod he walked up behind her, speaking to her over her shoulder. "You cant see yourself like I do, so I understand your apprehension."
She turned, gasping at his proximity. Her hands instinctively lifted to touch against his chest. One hand over each of his hearts. "H-How do you see me?"
"As the beautiful foundation of a magnificent tree," he answered without further expanding on that.
She did wait for more, and frowned when he said nothing further. "What kind of tree?"
"A Tree of Time," he answered with a smile. He looked up over her head. "And it is … breathtaking. Everything you were, are, and ever will be. Every choice that you can make. Every possibility."
"That's how you see?" she asked with almost a whimper in her voice. "Everyone?"
His eyes dropped to hers. "Only if I want to. Generally speaking, no. I ignore it. But when I see someone who truly peaks my interest, I take a peek." He drew a finger around her ear to tuck away a wisp of hair. "When we met, I thought I was going to die without regenerating. I wanted to see timelines one more time, and it happened to be yours." He smiled. "Then you saved my life, and I was …"
"You were what?" she asked with a lick at her lip. Only a small shift and their lips could meet…
…But did she want to…?
"Do you want to see?" he asked with a lift of his hand. His fingers wiggled just shy of her temple. "I can't show you how you appear to me, but I can let you see who I am."
She nodded eagerly. "Yes, sure!"
"I will warn you," he cautioned firmly. "The imprinting that the Doctor is so firmly against will be a rather pleasant side effect – at least for me, anyway. I'm not sure that your species are capable of imprinting."
"What does that mean?" she asked quickly, all of a sudden the desire to see him as he saw her becoming an urgency. "Is it dangerous?"
"Not dangerous at all," he assured her with a gentle smile. "It just means that when we meet again in the future, no matter what incarnation I am in, you will recognise me, and know you can trust me."
"What does it do for you?"
His fingertips traced along her jaw. "I will know that you'll know me, and trust me."
"Okay," she breathed out. "Show me."
"Are you sure? The Lord Doctor…"
"Isn't the boss of me," she interrupted. She took his hand and pressed his fingers to her temple. "Show me."
He spoke a word that wasn't translated by his TARDIS and then took a step backward from her. "Open your eyes," he ordered her gently.
The swirling in her head and the warmth of him inside her head made her shake her head softly. "I don't want to," she admitted. "And lose this?"
"It gets better," he assured her.
She opened her eyes to meet his and then continued up to look over his head. Her breath drew in deep with a gasp. "My God, Tom," she breathed with awe at the shimmering web of light above him; paths travelled stood out brightly, whereas decisions not made were paths stopped short. It was, as he had told her it would be, magnificent to behold.
"All I was. All I am. And all I ever could be," he said gently. Her eyes shifted to his and he gave her a smile. "So there I am laid bare for you, Martha. You can't say you barely know me, anymore." He let his finger fall from her temple, lightly severing the connection between them. "Now you can say you've known me all my life."
Martha was shuddering as the connection between them petered out and she settled back to a single mind. What she had seen was indeed beautiful. Who she saw was beautiful as well. The emotion she'd felt … unparalleled.
Without giving him any fair warning except to say: "I'll regret it if I don't do this", she clutched hard at the lapels of his shirt, rolled up onto her toes, and crushed her mouth against his.
