Author's Note: Wow! I already have almost one hundred followers. You have all just blown me away with your support and praise of this story. So with that in mind and because I went so long between updates while I was sick, here's a little something extra for all of you. Thank-you, my faithful followers!

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She followed closely behind him as he walked quickly through the labyrinthine corridors of the half coral, half metal ship. For every one of his strides, she took three of her own. And she spent her time answering all of his remaining questions on their adventure—the Doctor was a thorough journaler (the life of a time traveler demanded it) and he wanted all the facts when wrote this adventure down later.

When he pause his questions to take a break she quickly inquired, "Aren't you going to give me a tour of your ship?"

He looked over his shoulder at her as they passed by another room, which looked to be filled with storage shelves full of unopened boxes of jelly babies. "Nah, it's not necessary. If you want to be some place, you'll find it; and if it doesn't exist, the TARDIS can make it for you."

"What? How can I just find it if I don't know where it is? And how can your spaceship make me a room?" She looked at him as though he might be insane.

"'My spaceship' is called the TARDIS, remember. She can do all of those things because she's alive—sentient. She was hatched and she grew from a pod into her current size, and she'll never stop getting bigger on the inside. Even I don't know how big she is, and I could never navigate her if I did. Just think of a place and walk, the room you want will show up eventually. Same thing if you need to find me or Rose."

She continued to look at him strangely. Surely he didn't expect her to believe—but apparently he did. Well, I guess some technology can be artificially intelligent. It must be like that. "So where are we going now?"

"Well, I figured you'd probably like a room for the night. I wasn't going to wait, but Rose could sleep for English—actually she did once, in the 5022, but she didn't place—ANYWAY, wouldn't want to go without her. Oh, the slap that would follow if I left her he—OW!"

The hallway in front of the Doctor shrunk suddenly during his monologue and Martha's poor tour guide came forehead-to-solid oak door. He rubbed the point of impact, which only served to make the spot redder than it already was. Grumbling under his breath, he tried the knob, which opened up immediately in to a sparse, but cheery room.

Martha joined him at his side. "Well, this'll do for one night, don't you think?"

She frowned at the reminder that she was only a temporary traveler. "Yes. It's nice," she said, making a slow circle to take in everything.

The floor was the same dark oak as the door, and the moldings. The walls were solid lavender, and on the desk against the far wall of the room was a glass vase full of lavender; above the desk were empty book shelves, and to either side there were two windows with their deep purple curtains drawn. The furniture was a of a lighter color, and the contrast was pleasant—it gave the room a touch of hominess—a subtle state of imperfection it would have otherwise lacked. In another corner there was a large wardrobe and a coat rack, from which dangled a fluffy white towel; and just to the left there was a door which Martha assumed led to a bath. 'I'll have to do a thorough check later.'

The full-sized bed was opposite the desk. It had a high-backed headboard with empty cubbies in it, to hold knick-knacks for its owner. To either side of the bed were two small tables, both of which were empty, and hanging over each, dangling from the ceiling, were two small lights with white and mustard zigzags running across them.

But it was the bed itself which Martha could not take her eyes off of. Suddenly exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to jump on the fluffy dark purple comforter, remove all the beautiful sunshine yellow and lavender throw pillows and snuggle her head into the dark purple and white pillows buried underneath.

"Righttt," the Doctor said from beside her. She'd been so focused on her small examination of this room—her dream room if she were ever to have one—that she had actually forgotten the Doctor was in here with her.

"It's great, thank-you. I really love it," she told him honestly, hoping he'd never make her leave. She couldn't say that, yet anyway; she didn't know how he felt about her.

He smiled brightly at her approval. "Thank the TARDIS; she made it up for you."

"Umm," she said looking toward the ceiling of the room, wondering how to thank a machine. "Th-thanks! I really like it."

The Doctor's lips turned down a bit, but then the pitch of the humming in the ship changed, startling Martha, but prompting a return of his serene smile.

"Right, well, I'll just let you get to it. Join us when you're ready in the morning, and remember, just think of where you want to be or who you want to find…and if you can't find it, that means it doesn't want to be found," he ended vaguely.

Martha's face scrunched up in confusion, but then he was gone. Instead, she walked over to one of the windows to pull back the curtains. "Outside" the sun had set; just a sliver of it remained, peaking up over the horizon, but never setting any further, regardless of the birds and planes that flew past, or the general white noise from the street below, but Martha barely noticed this. Her attention was on the buildings erected around her; she was apparently in one of these herself. It confused Martha to no end that she seemed to be looking out upon a counsel estate…

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Rose had left the console room quickly. She hadn't meant to be rude and hoped Martha wouldn't hold it against her—she'd learned from her experience with Sarah Jane and she'd never again treat another person the way they'd treated each other that first day.

But learning from it was different from not being affected. She could tell herself to behave like a rational adult and treat Martha with kindness…she could even look past her jealousy of Martha and concern about what the future will bring for her if Martha becomes a companion, because she found she did like the woman. But she couldn't tell her heart not to be jealous, and she couldn't help but feel incredibly intimidated by the beautiful and intelligent woman either.

So she'd decided to go back to sleep for the night—she was still very tired from the day they'd just had. She hadn't cried when the Doctor had kiss Martha, nor when he'd almost died, though she had wanted to. She hadn't cried when they'd agreed she should be invited along, or been angry or mean when she'd fallen asleep and he'd gone and done it without her; she hadn't cried when Martha had begun to flirt with him right in front of her (though she couldn't have known how much that hurt, and hopefully never would—it would be too embarrassing), and all the Doctor had done was frown and tell her "one trip" even as he continued to step closer to her, like they were in a private conversation…

No, Rose had not cried then; she left and come to her room, changed into pajamas, laid down under her bed, picked up her history book and opened the page to where she'd left off at…and burst into long restrained sobs.

The TARDIS hummed mournfully along with her, but otherwise allowed her to continue crying undisturbed.

Rose cried for a lot of things: her parents, Mickey, the sibling she'd never know, the friends she'd lost and left while running from place to place; but mostly she cried if brilliant, beautiful Martha was on the TARDIS to stay, how long would it be until Rose wasn't anymore?

'Where will my Aberdeen be?'

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The Doctor walked down the corridors for over an hour. The old girl refused to help him, she wouldn't even answer him. 'Is she mad because Martha doesn't believe she's alive? It takes some people time…no that's not it, or she wouldn't have given her that room…WHY ARE YOU MAD?!' he demanded telepathically. She didn't acknowledge she'd even heard him.

All he wanted was to find Rose's room. She usually stayed up a couple of hours after she "went to bed" to read. He thought maybe they could watch a movie, or he could fiddle with the toaster in his pocket while she read, but he'd been at this for an hour and the TARDIS wasn't stopping him from finding her, but neither was she helping him find his way.

He was about to find his way back to the galley or console room (without the help of the TARDIS) because Rose might very well be asleep by the time he found her; but on his way back, he spotted a familiar door—his door—and from there it was easy to follow the familiar path down the winding corridors to her bedroom.

He was about to revert to him familiar, knock-and-walk-right-in routine, when he heard her crying and stopped himself. Instead he slid to the floor and rested, crouched, with his head against the wall beside her door, feeling like an intruder, but unwilling to leave her alone when she sounded so devastated—even if she didn't know she wasn't alone.

He didn't know exactly why she was crying, but he knew it probably had something to do with him, like the kiss, or dying—didn't it always? So he stayed there, and forced himself to listen to the damage he'd caused her this time, and the comforting, mournful hums of the TARDIS as she, and not the Doctor, assured Rose that she wasn't alone; and when her cries had tapered into hick-ups and sniffles, he still remained right where he was. He didn't leave until he heard her breathing even out. He straightened with sore legs, rubbing at his sore knees, and returned to the galley to destroy his toaster.

Neither of them will speak of this in the morning, or ever again. She'll never tell him what's wrong, because he's made her feel like she can't come to him. He'll never tell her he heard her, because until he can tell her the truth about how much she means to him, he can't do anything to stop her tears…and that's the one thing he just cannot do.

Eventually, the old girl takes pity on him and a jar of marmalade appears before him on the galley table, amidst the remains of the toaster he'd been storing in his pocket. He eats the entire jar, and by the first rays of light of the TARDIS's morning cycle, three more toasters have found their way onto the kitchen table and been reduced to shambles.

He clears them away before she wakes up and sees them. 'Just another one of the many things I'll never tell you…'