Hello! My apologies for not getting this out sooner, I've suddenly found myself INCREDIBLY busy (and the document uploader was being weird...) So, very sorry it took so long, but here it is! Keep in mind that I wrote this before I had seen series three.

This is, in fact, the final chapter of "Dear Tish". I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it (which I did enjoy, quite a bit!) Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, love you all!

Again, I wrote this before I had seen series three, just for the record. Thank you all again, I hope you enjoy the conclusion. Bye!

Dear Martha,

I have some good news and some bad news.

Martha rolled her eyes as she read and boiled pasta at the same time, trying desperately not to get water on her laptop. Tish never was any good at greetings, she hadn't even bother to say hello this time.

The good news is, mum and dad don't hate you anymore, I've gotten that sorted out.

How the hell did she do that? Thinking about it, Martha decided she probably didn't want to know.

The bad news is, they've gone back to just hating each other.

That sounded more like them. Martha took a jar of tomato sauce off the counter and began pouring it onto to dishes of pasta. She was almost done…

I told Leo…

What?! Martha nearly dropped the cheese grater on the floor in shock. She had told Tish to keep it a secret, what the hell had she done?

He said "Nice going, always thought she was a bit spacey," and congratulated you.

Well that was nice, but did he tell…

He didn't tell his wife or Keisha, figured I was making half it up anyway.

Phew. Martha picked up the cheese grater and started covering the sauce-laden pasta with mozzarella. She wondered how much longer this e-mail was.

I have to go now.

That was quick.

I have to be to work.

Typical Tish.

Good luck with your plan, write to tell me it worked and that you're still alive.

Martha hoped she'd be, she couldn't make any promises.

Mum and dad send their love…sort of, and Leo does too. Please try not to get attacked by giant slugs or something and leave me to sort out the family. Keep having a fantastic time.

Love,

Tish.

Martha smiled as she closed her e-mail and shut down her laptop. The Doctor would have a heart attack when he found out she'd had it so close to a pot of boiling water. Although, it couldn't be that bad, if she made one heart die of shock, he still had another one.

The plan she had concocted was partly inspired by something Tish had said after she and the Doctor had come in from the rain. The tea that had followed had been…interesting, to the say the least, but it had gotten Tish to accept the situation and, more importantly, to accept the Doctor. God knows it was better then he had done.

"Martha?" she turned around suddenly, dropping a loaf of bread between plates on the table.

"Hello Doctor," she said nervously. For once, the Doctor looked confused.

"You…" he pointed at the table, "You made us dinner."

"I did," said Martha, smiling and attempting to sound coy, "we're going to conquer your fear," the Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Of what?"

"Domestics," she grinned and pulled out a chair, "care to join me?"

"Doesn't the man usually hold the chair for the woman?" he asked cheekily.

"Never been one for gender stereotypes," she replied, equally flirtatious. The Doctor sighed and walked over to the pulled out chair and sat down. He took a napkin from beside the silverware and spread it on his lap, then sat silently and waited. Martha looked down at him, "Planning on eating anything?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"That's polite," she grinned and walked back over to the counter, "See, you can do domestic."

"Polite doesn't always equal domestic," replied the Doctor simply, "to most people, I'm thought of as being rather rude."

"I'm sure," she took two glasses down from a cupboard, "Do you drink wine?"

"Not usually," he replied, "but I will tonight," she smiled and poured them both a glass, handing him his as she say down across from him. She put her napkin on her lap and lifted her fork, causiously taking the first bite. To her relief, he did the same.

"Any good?" she asked.

"Very," he said grinning, "You never told me you could cook."

"You never asked," she took a sip of wine, "Do you cook?"

"Me?" he looked surprised, "Of course not."

"So there is something you can't do,"

"I never said I couldn't, I just don't like to."

"Then you do cook?"

"Yes, I can."

"Good, then next week it's your turn," the Doctor nearly spit out his wine.

"What?" Martha smiled.

"I've decided to make this a weekly event, well, as close to weekly as you can get in here. Every Thursday we'll have dinner and every other Thursday you get to cook. A little bit of domestic once a week,"

"And this will 'conquer my fear'?" the Doctor asked sarcastically.

"Little by little," Martha answered coyly, "Just so I don't have to be afraid to visit my sister occasionally, even she said you needed work."

"Lovely," said the Doctor, "another family after me," he took a sip of his wine and sighed, suddenly looking extremely sad, "It's not…fear, anyway."

"What?"

"Domestics," he said slowly, "I'm not afraid of them."

"Ok,"

"I mean it."

"I believe you,"

"Do you?"

"Yes,"

"You shouldn't."

"Oh," Martha looked up from her meal. The Doctor's expression was unreadable across the table, his eyes looking intensely at Martha's. He was deadly serious, and absolutely desperate to get something across that just couldn't understand. In the dim, greenish light of the TARDIS kitchen, he looked strange and mysterious, and anything but human. She reached a hand across the table, "What happened?" she found herself asking.

"It…" he began, "She…they…all of them…I became…attached, I suppose…and they left me."

"Who left you?"

"A family."

"Like my family?"

"Yes," he sighed again, the long centuries of his life suddenly showing in his eyes, "A family just like yours, with a London flat and pot of tea waiting every time we stopped. I was hurt there, I drank tea there, I spent Christmas there, and now it's just…" he paused, his gaze regretful and a million miles away.

"Just what…?"

"Empty," he turned back to Martha, his serious expression returning, "You shouldn't believe everything I say Martha, remember that, don't. But what I'm telling you now, that's it's not domestics it's attachment, that's true. I swear to you, that 's true." He stood up, dropping the napkin on his plate before turning towards the door, "Dinner was great," he said before leaving, "thank you Martha," he turned and left, walking towards parts unknown in his ship. Martha say speechless at the table, left with nothing but half a glass of wine and thousands of questions.

"I'll find out eventually," she told herself, "Some day, he'll open up." She had never met a person more in need of talking than the Doctor. He may not tell her everything, and what he does say might not be entirely correct, but whatever happened, Martha knew he needed to communicate. She got up and walked over to the counter, turning on her laptop, and once again, opening her e-mail.

Dear Tish,

Have you ever met someone who talks constantly, but tells you absolutely nothing?

It's good to know you're still willing to e-mail me even thought I've gone "swanning off" with an alien and pretty much abandoned the family. It must take a lot to adjust to that, thank you for doing it. If you could, could you give Leo my new e-mail too? Hearing from you is brilliant, and hearing from both of you would be even better.

I say this because I know what it means to talk now. I know what it means to have secrets that need to be spoken, but have no one to speak them to. I've seen how staying silent can destroy a person, and how hard it becomes to finally talk.

Never stop sending e-mails. Never stop telling me about home, the family, or anything else, and don't you dare leave anything out. Never think to yourself that you might be talking too much, because you're not, and you never will be. With all that happened, all that might happen, never stay silent. Keep writing, keep talking, and always send me letter.

Love,

Martha