He wonders how long it's going to take him to convince Martha that the kiss he gave her in that hospital on the moon was just the "genetic transfer" he'd said it was. He suspects it might be later rather than sooner, and supposes it's his own fault for kissing her lips instead of her cheek or forehead or somewhere else on her face, but he was in a rush at the time and didn't have time to think. That, plus the fact that memories of the last time he'd been in an Earth hospital with Rose are never far from his conscious mind (OK, in Rose's case it was the cat-nuns on New Earth - but he figures the principle's the same; a hospital is a hospital is a hospital) colouring everything he thinks and does and says and feels, and he's in a wholly foul frame of mind. What's more, since he crossed the threshold of Royal Hope Hospital, that mood is darkening by the minute.
He flinches when Martha mentions her cousin Adeola and Canary Wharf, and although he knows enough of human customs to say he's sorry, he doesn't really mean it. Adeola is part of the reason why he no longer has his love; he used to have so much mercy about this sort of thing, but not now. Not any more.
He curses himself for not realising that going anywhere near Earth in a time-period anywhere near what happened at Canary Wharf would produce unpleasant memories; had he not already become a distinct part of the linear timeline he would happily have disappeared anyway and left them to it. Rose "died" because of these people and it's not something that's endeared them to him – any of them.
Particularly Martha Jones, if he's honest, or at least on some levels. She looks so much like her cousin it's uncanny – he wonders idly if their mothers were identical twins or something, that might explain it. His mind winces every time he looks at her because that resemblance grates upon his memory and brings back full force the thoughts and images and feelings surrounding that little white room in the Torchwood Institute and the "ghost shift". He wonders if it's possible for him to hate anyone more than he still hates Yvonne Hartman. He knows he should pity Yvonne, especially since she ended up cybernised (and the thought of that brings on other nightmares from other places – Rose [again, a maid's uniform and zeppelins), but he can't find it in himself to do so.
He just wants it all to stop, to be able to think of Rose without his hearts contracting in his chest with fear and pity and utter, utter longing. Just wants it to stop. For a little while.
Please?