The Runaway Bride
Although still in mourning for Rose, I've been wondering how the Doctor's going to meet Martha Jones. And as I seriously can't wait until Christmas, I had a sudden and brilliant idea. So I decided to write it down.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
xxx
The Doctor felt a familiar feeling of satisfaction as he left the hall. He'd reunited a bride and groom, and they were now husband and wife. It was that sort of thing that made him happiest - helping people. He was nearly full of pride. Except for one spot.
The spot where Rose had been. And it was somewhere in between his hearts. Or at least very close to them.
He was still unable to face up to the fact that she was gone. Never to be seen again. If she'd left by choice, it wouldn't be so bad. But it hadn't happened like that at all. They'd been ripped apart like a plaster from a cut.
That was a very good simile to describe it. Rose had literally been pulled away from him. Against her will.
Do plasters always want to be pulled off?
And if Rose was the plaster, the Doctor was a cut. No, he didn't really like that simile. Not if it meant he was a small injury. He needed a nicer one. Mentally, he added it to his to-do list. He wasn't in a very poetic mood at the moment.
The party was just getting started. The Doctor sadly followed one of the bridesmaids to the drinks table. Alcohol might just be the temporary solution. And the red wine - ruby-coloured and glistening as it was poured into glasses by a waiter - looked like the best bet.
He accepted a glass and turned back, only to walk into the bridesmaid. His arm jerked, and wine cascaded down her creamy frock like blood from a fresh cut. The Doctor winced at the imagery.
The bridesmaid gasped as wine soaked into the skirt. The Doctor's hand was over his mouth in shock. He was extremely thankful the hall wasn't full of people to gawp at him. Yet.
"Sorry!" he gasped, at exactly the same time as the bridesmaid.
She looked up at him, smiling slightly.
"Don't apologise, it was my fault. I got in your way -"
"No, I wasn't looking where I was going," the Doctor sighed, "And I've spilt red wine all over your dress. I'm so, so - so sorry."
"It's alright. I don't really like the dress anyway, I didn't get to choose it - I was just about to change..."
"Really? I - erm - I think it's very pretty."
There was an awkward silence.
"You're - err - supposed to put white wine on red wine stains ... aren't you?" The Doctor said nervously, picking up another glass full of lighter liquid, "Hold still -" he poured yet more wine over the already soaked dress, "What's your name, by the way, seeing as I'm sort of - spilling something all over you?"
"Martha. Martha Jones."
"Nice to meet you, Martha."
Martha Jones laughed as she watched the strange man pouring wine all over her.
"What's yours?" she asked.
The Doctor tipped the last drop of wine out of the glass.
"It's not important," he replied, "You go and get changed."
Martha gave him a strange look before she hurried off. She bumped into some relative or other who began fussing over the stain on her dress, but she quickly shook them off.
The Doctor was watching her go. It was strange - Martha seemed familiar.
It was either that or she reminded him of someone.
xxx
Just a quick one-shot. Please review!
Oh, and by the way, the ruler thing's broken. Which is why there's x's everywhere.
