Back again guys! This one's a shorty, and a bit angsty. But don't give up on me yet! The angst you guys have been demanding is not too far off!

Enjoy!

xiii

Martha walked into her office and, for the second day in a row, was accosted by a sea of flowers. But today, yesterday's bright, white lilies were a dull and wilting. Sitting at her desk, she scribbled a sign- Free Flowers- and taped it to her door. They had to go.

"Dr. Jones, I need you to d- wow, you look horrible." Colonel Mace said, before he could stop himself and forgetting his manners. He'd only come in for their normal morning briefing, but he couldn't stop his observation from slipping through his lips.

"Good morning to you too, Colonel." Martha said, resting her face in her hands. It was true: She did look horrible. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders, her suit was wrinkled and disheveled, and her face was devoid of makeup- bags framing eyes that held none of their usual light. It'd been a bad night.

After Mickey's rant, he left- slamming the door and leaving a crack across the inset clouded glass of the front door. She'd called The Doctor nonstop. He'd only left this morning but she needed him. She needed HIM, his arms, his words- undoing the damage her soon-to-be-ex-husband had done.

There was no answer. It continued to ring and ring and ring until there came a point where it just didn't. Had the circumstances not been what they were, she might had laughed at the voicemail greeting he'd recorded on her old phone. It was mostly the whirring of the sonic and grumblings about ancient technology. Then,

Oh, hello there! This is the Doctor on Martha's old phone. If the Universe is in danger, sit tight: I'm probably already on it- hence the not answering… If you're looking for Martha Jones, she's not here, and shame on you for not having the n-

Then the message cut off, effectively ending The Doctor's rant. At first, she'd left a few messages, but after a while, she just called to hear his voice. She cried herself to sleep that night, with no word from the man she loved.

Back at UNIT headquarters, she'd been briefed on the day's tasks, and performed them with her usual, mechanical precision. Slowly but surely, the flowers began to disappear from her office- who knew so many secret government operatives were fans of decorative flora? They were already dying, like The Doctor said they would. Calla Lilies were quickly becoming her least favorite flower.

She'd still heard no word from him, and continued to call throughout the day. She knew it had to be some emergency to keep him from her, especially given the cathartic breakthrough they'd had only days earlier. But her sinister insecurities, spurred by the 'Rosebud' Mickey had planted the night before, haunted her.

What better replacement for Rose?

Keeping you hanging on him was probably the smartest decision he ever made…

You're a slave…ass an-call.

He will NEVER look at you the way he looked at her.

Rose… her name was Rose. And we were together…

Don't think that you're replacing her!

I loved her.

The words played over and over in her mind. Even as she made her way home at the end of the day, she still couldn't help but to be tormented by thoughts of him. She was the runner up- Rose wasn't an option, so she became the winner by default. She drowned her sorrows that night in a golden bottle of whiskey, her phone clutched to her chest.

And so it went. A day passed, then two, with still no word from The Doctor. She'd made the effort to look presentable after the first day. Martha pressed her clothes, straightened her hair, and even put on a bit of make-up.

"Alright. Just because you feel like shit doesn't mean you have to look the part," she told herself.

She stopped leaving messages, but still called. Her mind was consumed by the darkest thoughts, but she carried on- holding herself together by a hair during the day while crumbling apart at night. She cursed herself for letting her insecurities get the better of her, but she had no proof of the contrary. Not without him.

Days came and went, and soon it was Friday. She couldn't deny that she was worried. Just because he was a Time Lord didn't mean that he actually knew what he was doing in that big blue box of his. However, her brain had switched to self-destruct. Again she cursed herself- before that wonderful week spent with The Doctor, before Mickey came into her life at all, Martha Jones wouldn't have been so… weak. She couldn't be coming apart at the seams over some guy.

But that's just it, isn't it? He's not just some guy. He's the most amazing man I've ever met. How could I ever hope to be good enough? Rose was good enough. Bleached, blonde, beautiful Rose.

She thought as she stumbled through the still-cracked front door, slipping off her shoes. Before him, Martha Jones would never have fallen apart. She made straight for the liquor cabinet. Tonight was a tequila kind of night.

Hours and an entire bottle of tequila later, Martha was leaned over the toilet- retching what felt like everything she'd ever eaten. She couldn't see straight and walking was completely out of the question. As another wave of nausea hit, she felt something brush the back of her neck. She'd long since divested herself of her work clothes and was only clad in an old tee shirt and knickers. If it was a thief in the night, they could have everything she owned- she was too out of it to notice anyway.

It was a thief, but not the kind she was thinking of.

He knelt down and fisted her hair, gently holding it in a haphazard ponytail away from her face as she gripped the seat and dry-heaved into the toilet. His free hand rubbed her back, and the scents of time, singed hair and smoky cotton clung to him- a byproduct of his latest adventure no doubt. The adventure that kept him away for so long. Her body was too spent to do anything but shudder and convulse and cry. She could barely form a coherent thought, let alone comprehend who was holding her and how. But with eyes shut tight, she buried herself in his chest and inhaled his scent and she knew.

The Doctor simply held her on the bathroom floor, as she cried endlessly- stroking her hair and holding her close. He shushed her, telling her that everything would be fine, though he didn't yet know what the issue was or even how long he'd been gone.

"I got your messages."

I know it wasn't a lot, but if you have ANY thoughts at all, please review! I value all comments (unless it's some kind of flame, hater-type argument about how Martha/10 can't work- blah blah blah cannon, blah blah blah Rose... I don't value those.)

xoxo,LPL