Greetings, all! I know it's been awhile, but my plot bunnies laid into me with this one, so I had to write it up. Thanks to school, my desire to write seems to plummet, giving the plot bunnies free reign over my head.

So, this one is set during the Doctor and Martha's stint in 1969. It's my take on why Martha was so against having to get a job in a shop. Written because I like to think that Martha is deeper than what the series 3 writers chose to show us.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, I just play with them before UPSing them back to Cardiff.

Enjoy!

The Doctor and Martha stormed back into their flat, quietly fuming at each other. They'd just gotten done taping the message to Sally Sparrow, which Billy swore he'd keep in a safe place till it was time for him to do his part. But something had been off between the two all the way home, and it wasn't until they got back and the Doctor flopped onto the couch that it began to come out in the open.

"I just don't get what you have against working in a shop," he said. "I've known lots of fine people who've worked in shops. Shops are great. I met Rose in a shop."

Martha took a controlled breath as she began to lay out her clothes for the next day. "I know you don't understand, Doctor. And to be honest, I don't expect you to." Her tone was quiet, but tense, as though she were holding back on a torrent of emotion that was threatening to break loose. There was no good in them having an argument over this, she told herself. It was one of those things that was pointless to fight over, because the fact was that she had to work to support them until the TARDIS was returned to them, and if that meant working in a shop, then so be it.

"But I just don't get it," he retorted, not quite hearing what she had said. "I mean, you stand there, take people's money, help them find things…it's hardly a mentally demanding job…"

"Do you think I don't know that!" Martha threw down the blouse she'd been unfolding to iron. The Doctor looked up at her, confused by her outburst, but he stayed silent, waiting for her to speak. She dropped her gaze to the blouse, and spoke in a low voice.

"I'm a medical student, Doctor. I've got my A levels, and a real future waiting for me back home. I have worked so hard, my entire life, to avoid ending up where I am right now. Stuck in a dead-end job that's never going to end." She picked at the blouse, avoiding the Doctor's gaze.

"It's not that I think I'm too good to work in a shop. It's that people look at me here, and as far as they're concerned…that's all I'm ever going to be good for. Some invisible person to be fussed at and talked down to just because I'm standing behind a counter." She looked up at him then, a sad smile playing on her lips.

"I know you don't understand, Doctor. Because you don't see the world the way anyone else does. You don't see the petty stuff. But even at home, there were people who thought I should settle for being a nurse, because that's what women are better suited for. Especially…someone like me. They might not have said it, but that's what they thought. And you might not see it, Doctor, but out there, it's 1969. And when people look at me, there's only one thing they see. And it's not Martha Jones, the medical student. They just see some girl behind the shop counter, doing exactly what she's meant to be doing." She picked up the iron and started attacking the shirt with it. "At least I knew in 1913 that it was just for those three little months. Didn't even end up being that long. But here…"

The Doctor stood and walked over to her, feeling more than just a little bit guilty about the situation he'd put her in. "Oh Martha Jones. My brilliant, wonderful Martha Jones." He smiled and pulled her into a hug. "You know it won't be like this much longer, right? Any day, now that Billy's here. It'll be any day now, and then we'll be right back on the open road, going wherever you please. Maybe we'll swing by Praeclarus Stilli. Gorgeous beaches. And when it rains, the rain water turns different colors! Pinks, purples, green, all sorts of stuff! It's brilliant."

She smiled up at him, the tension breaking. His enthusiasm was infectious. "That a promise?"

"Oh yes." He grinned, before stepping back from her. "And you know that I always keep my promises, Miss Jones."