Okay, this is an ALTERNATE ENDING! It is NOT Chapter 3! You will find that this posting is remarkably similar to the last posting. That's on purpose!

This picks up right where part 1 leaves off. Please enjoy!

The Doctor had no trouble finding someone to hustle him at billiards. He thought about hustling back, but reckoned that using his computer-like ability to judge angle and force in order to take money from humans who likely couln't spare it, well, it wouldn't be an entirely sporting application of his Time Lord intellect. So he lost a few rounds, by design. No matter – it was a bit of fun, and he was just killing time anyhow. He'd resolved to wait until ten o'clock, then he would leave, and never give another thought to Alesha Phillips. It wasn't right, what he was doing... well, it wasn't really wrong either, but it was certainly a bit on the outside. He should be able to solve his issues with women on his own, without resorting to unsuspecting prostitutes and prosecutors.

But at nine-forty-five, Alesha came in. She was wrapped up tight in a woollen coat, but she was still spectacular. She went for the bar first, and deliberately ignored the Doctor. He could tell by the little smirk on her face. He laid some money on the green velvet, congratulated the winner rather absently, then excused himself, and sidled up next to her.

"Same again?" the barman asked him.

"Yep," he answered. "And hers as well."

"Thanks," she said, nudging him with her left shoulder, still not looking at him. "I'll get the next one."

"The next one?" he asked. "Well, that sounds promising."

"No... not promising. Not promising anything," she said. "Just evening the playing field."

"Excuse me?"

"If you pay, it's a date. If we go dutch, it could be... I don't know, something else."

"I see."

"Besides," she said. "Don't want to leave here owing you anything." She looked up at him slyly, barely, through long eyelashes, then quickly looked away.

"Good, because I'm told choosing a gift for me is murder," he joked dryly.

She smiled and sighed. "I'm breaking the rules just by being here."

"Oh hardly. All you did was come into a pub."

"Oh, you so do not understand just how much I'm breaking the rules..."

"Stop right there," he said, turning to look at her squarely. "If you're uncomfortable, then go. I understand."

She looked at him properly for the first time since entering. "I am uncomfortable. But I don't want to go."

The barman sat two drinks in front of them, the Doctor paid the man, and he led Alesha to a table toward the back.

So they talked. And holy Rassilon, was she clever.

He asked about her background, education, et cetera. She said she had grown up in Hackney, piss poor, and had gone to university and to law school on scholarships and, as she put it, about seven billion pounds in loans. All of her credentials had been earned through sweat and toil, she'd pushed through the sexism, the racism, the classism, and arrived at the CPS four years before.

John Smith was, as always, enigmatic. He was military, special ops, very hush-hush, can't discuss. No family to speak of, a few good friends, married before but not now... and he told her he'd earned his Ph.D. so that she could stop calling him John. He said his friends called him "Doctor," and she promptly and boldly insinuated herself as a friend. It felt right to hear her say it, and he was quite proud of himself for this little ruse.

And after he'd let her pick up the second round of drinks, they went their separate ways, with a plan to meet up the following evening.

As he trudged back into the TARDIS, the machine sensed his unrest, and whispered to him soothingly. She had, by now, worked out that his angst was coming, at least partly, from a place that she could not touch. So she just whispered, and it calmed him.

He wandered back into the now rarely-used corridors of the ship and opened the door to the cold, azure and ivory bedroom that had been Martha's. He switched on the light and illuminated the bright, soft surroundings. He remembered the one and only time he'd set foot in this room while Martha was travelling with him. He had pushed open the door tentatively, and she had been sitting upon the bed cross-legged, wearing light pink fleece sweats and her hair pulled back from her face. She'd been reading a book, and when she looked up and smiled, he'd thought she might be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Something in the softness, the delicacy and naturalness of the situation had stirred him even then.

"God, you were beautiful," the Doctor murmured to the empty room. "And brilliant. Just... oh, brilliant." The words echoed mockingly off the walls, as if to emphasize that the sentiment would never get beyond this room. He drifted sadly back out again, and went to bed.

Alesha's choice for the next night was a book shop, where they perused dusty literature and had tea and biscotti together.

"What's that?" he asked, coming round a tight corning and catching her looking intently at an old cracked leather copy of something.

"Anna Karenina," she said. "It's a 1934 edition."

"I've actually not read that," he said, more to himself than to her. He wondered absently why that was.

"It's beautiful," she said. "Tragic, but beautiful. Imagine loving someone so much, that if you can't have their love in return, you'd rather throw yourself in front of a train."

She looked up at him innocently, and he gulped hard before saying, "It's hard to imagine that."

"Well, I'm buying it," she said, clutching it to her chest. She turned sideways and coquettishly said, "Perhaps if you're nice to me, I'll let you borrow it."

The Doctor chose an Uzbek cookbook for his Oddities of Literature collection, a personal, and highly entertaining endeavour. As they were leaving with their beverages and carefully-selected reading material in-hand, the Doctor leaned his head in one direction, suggesting that she follow. He was walking in the opposite direction of where the TARDIS was parked, in order to avoid the temptation of showing it to her. He took the plastic bag from her and carried it along with his own, and then took her hand. She smiled slightly, but basically didn't react.

"Where are we going?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Nowhere in particular," he said. "Just for a walk."

"Because I was thinking, if you've not got a plan..." she trailed off.

"I haven't. Go ahead, I'm all ears."

"My flat is two blocks that way," she said, motioning with her chin. "I'll make us some more tea, and I'll start reading Anna to you."

"Anna?"

"Yes, I've read her twice. She and I are on a first-name basis now, and we think it's a travesty that you have not been introduced. What do you say?"

"Well, how could I say no to you and your friend?"

"You can't. That's all there is to it."

She tugged his hand to the right, they crossed two streets and found themselves in front of a very typical, brick and white line of flats. She let them into her small dwelling and put the kettle on.

They sat on the sofa with the book, and she began with the immortal first words of Anna Karenina.

"All happy families are alike; but every unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion,'" she read.

After her voice started to feel strained, he took over. But, the reading eventually deteriorated into discussion, and soon the book was tossed aside, and Alesha was sitting sideways on her sofa with both hands around her mug, speaking emphatically about Dorian Gray, while the Doctor listened with delight.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" he said. It had just come out – he hadn't meant for it to. But it gave him a frisson of pleasure just to have said it.

She smiled, surprised, and chirped. "Thanks! You too. It's hard to find a bloke who cares about this stuff."

"Oh, I'm... I'm... I'm of a different breed, Alesha," he said. "You could almost say, a different species."

"I can see that," she said. She seemed to study him, and her eyes narrowed a bit. She reached up and touched his cheek, felt the sandpapery texture of his perpetual five o'clock shadow with the pads of her fingers.

He studied her back, and felt yet another little frisson of pleasure from being touched by her. To his surprise, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Just for about three seconds, then she pulled away. He'd barely had time to register the situation, close his eyes and kiss back.

At last, she asked, "Doctor, would you like to see me again?"

"Yes," he told her, without hesitation.

"Really?"

"Of course."

"And again after that?"

"Yes, I think so." He found that he wasn't lying. This could mean disaster.

She sighed. "I was afraid of that."

His hearts sank. "Why?" He swallowed hard, keeping a certain panic down.

"If you'd delayed, hesitated at all... then I'd know you weren't sincere and I could justify ending this with you. That would be easier."

The panic was rising further. He didn't expect to feel this way when it was over. Whatever "it" was.

She continued. "But the fact that you like me... well, that makes things difficult. Because now I can't end it. I can't bring myself to do it. I like you, too, and have to listen to my own heart, even though we'll have to hide it from James and my boss, and I know you'll hurt me in the end." She was speaking in an even, soft monotone, as though channelling the voice of a wizened spirit.

His mouth opened in shock. He pulled his emotion into check, then asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Your lifestyle," she answered, shrugging sadly, now sounding a bit more like herself again. "How long before you have to go back... you know, into deep cover?"

He almost told her the truth then. He almost said that he was a nomad, a traveller, not a military man. He almost spilled it all, was tempted to take her out into the night once again and show her the TARDIS, tell her about the planets and the aliens and the companions, the whole lot... but in the interest of not scaring her, he held back. Besides, as much as he didn't want to continue the charade, he was not yet sure that he wanted her to know any of that. So he went for non-committal.

"I'm not sure what to say, Alesha. But... I promise..."

He paused.

"Promise what?" she asked. "What can you possibly promise at this stage?" It wasn't an accusation, just an even-tempered pointing out of what she felt was obvious. She was strong, logical and just a bit argumentative. She'd chosen the right profession for herself, without a doubt.

"I promise not to hurt you unduly. I promise I won't leave town without plenty of notice. And when I go back... to wherever it is I need to go," he told her. "I will find a way for us to communicate, and even see each other, if you want. If you don't want, then..." and he opened his hands in an as you like gesture.

Promising not to hurt her unduly was more than he'd ever been able to promise or give Martha, and it felt like an accomplishment to him. But he knew that the average woman wouldn't see this as exactly magic.

"So you're promising to be a nice guy," she summarised.

"Basically," he said, realising she was right. "Yes. Is that so bad?"

"No. And I suppose it's... well, better than..." Alesha said. "It's the second date. I've no right to..."

"Sure you do. Not that we're engaged or anything, but if we're going to get involved, then... yeah, you have the right to protect yourself."

And with these words, he realised that he was now involved.

And this was good. And bad. Oh, he had so many secrets to keep from her. Fortunately, she would probably understand, deep cover and all.

She nodded, and suddenly her face had run to worried. "Yeah, speaking of which..." she said.

"Speaking of...?" he asked, his bottom lip outstretched, looking for confirmation.

"Protecting myself," she whispered, just barely audible. "There's a lot I haven't told you."

Her demeanour had changed so drastically, he began to wonder if she had secrets as large as his. Maybe she was in deep cover!

"Well," he said, covering all of his thoughts. "Clearly. I've got a few doozies myself. All in good time, eh?"

"Well, I've got a big one," she said. "And I feel like I have to tell you now because... I mean, it might affect how... you see, I'm not... something happened a while back and you'd be well within your rights to... oh, God."

"What is it?" Her reluctance to speak was troubling indeed.

It took her a while to stop staring at the floor and begin talking again. "It's just... I've never had to tell anyone about this, since it happened," she said, fidgeting with her shirt collar. "Not in my personal life. I told the police, but that was totally different."

"Whatever it is, I'm listening."

She sighed. She leaned to the side and fished under the coffee table where she'd thrown her handbag. She reached into it and pulled out her iPhone, and handed it to the Doctor.

"Alec Merrick," she said. "Look him up."

He navigated through her internet application and found a London Times archived article about Dr. Alec Merrick, a gynaecologist who had been convicted of nine counts of sexual assault, and four counts of rape. All of his crimes had been perpetrated against his patients. He'd been sentenced to enough years in prison that he'd likely never be free, barring parole.

The Doctor didn't have to ask why she'd had him look up Dr. Merrick, her behaviour had made it obvious. Apart from giving him a protective bloodlust, the revelation made him absolutely sick. Not because of Alesha, but because once in a while, in spite of his being a great fan of humankind, one of them absolutely disgusted him, brought out a side of him that he didn't like.

But he wasn't going to blunder in with some insulting, falsely chivalrous, banal expression of moral outrage, or with an incendiary question. Instead, he looked up at Alesha for a read. She was looking, once again, at the floor.

"I take it you know this man," the Doctor said, handing her iPhone back.

She nodded, taking the gadget, putting it back in her bag.

"Did you help put him in prison?" he asked gently.

"In a manner of speaking," she said.

"I'll assume that it wasn't in your capacity as prosecutor."

She shook her head.

"Are you one of the nine, or one of the four?" he asked, again, very gently.

"I was a fifth. My charges didn't stick. It's kind of a long story. But... thought you should know," she said, a little more clipped than she might have liked.

"And you thought this might make me not want to see you anymore?" he asked.

She stared at him for a few moments, and the Doctor could see she wasn't sure how to respond. "I didn't mean to insult you," she said, finally.

He was surprised. "You haven't insulted me!" he insisted. "I just want to get my head round what you're trying to tell me. I mean, what it has to do with... us. With this. I'm happy to talk to you about it, I'm just not sure which tack to take."

She now stared into her teacup, which was sitting in her lap, clasped tightly in her right hand. "I was raped."

"Yes."

"So, I might not be ready to..." then her eyes shifted meaningfully to the Doctor's. She paused. "Not for quite a while."

"Oh, is that...? I see. Okay," he said.

"I want to. I mean... not right this second, but... I just mean, I do... in spite of it all..." she sighed and looked up at him. He smiled softly, and waited. She seemed to gather herself and continue. "I like you. You're clever and sexy and you've got this mysterious secret life... you're like James Bond only sort of geeky."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," he said, remembering the night of Lazarus' horrible experiment.

"And you're being so nice right now... I sort of want to climb you."

"That's always good news."

"But I won't. I can't. It's so scary, Doctor..."

"The body is willing, the spirit is unable."

"It' just... I haven't tried yet, haven't been down that road, as it were, with anyone since. So I don't know, really, how it would go... all I know is that I can't say with any certainty that it would go well."

"Okay," he repeated. Well, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising. He'd come into this wanting exactly the thing she couldn't give just now, but he wasn't about to walk away because of that. There was too much else to be enamoured of, too many other things to admire and talk about and explore with her.

In fact, this roadblock had caused him, as roadblocks do, to take a turn, and that was brilliant. This was no longer about scratching an itch. It was about being a part of an extraordinary woman's life.

"Okay, what?" she asked.

"Just, okay. I'm okay with it."

"Really?" she asked sceptically. "What if you have to leave again in three weeks, and we haven't... yet? Wouldn't you rather spend your precious off-time with someone who can... you know, do all those things with you?"

"No, I wouldn't," he said.

"Lots of single women out there," she said. "You could have any one of them."

"Nope."

She smiled. "All right. If you say so. Might be a bumpy ride, Doctor."

"Funny, that's what I usually say to people," he chuckled. "Trust me, I'm used to it. I can handle, if anything, the bumpy ride."

"You can handle the tears and setbacks? If we try, and fail, you won't take it personally?"

"Absolutely not."

"I might get you all worked up, then start weeping."

He narrowed his eyes and thought about it. "I can't guarantee that I won't do the same thing to you."

She chuckled. "What?"

"I'm sensitive."

She shook her head in amused disbelief. Then she grew serious. "Honestly. You can handle the waiting?"

"I can." He didn't say that it was because in the past, he'd been known to wait hundreds of years.

"Even though this might only be a short-term thing, and we may never have sex?"

"Even though."

"Okay, I'll choose to trust you," she said. "Somehow, you inspire that in me."

"You're not the first person to tell me that either," he smirked.

The Doctor resolved not to lie to Alesha any more than he had to, but he did still feel it was necessary to omit certain facts about his life. Well, most of the facts about his life, really.

But he did say that he'd done a lot of travelling and that he was prone, as she already knew, to pull a get-up-and-go on a moment's notice. Sometimes people (women) had chosen to go with, sometimes they'd chosen to stay. He even related a few more specific stories of being forced to move on without someone he cared about, because they didn't like the life anymore or because they'd fallen ill or gone crazy or...

He said he'd been known to put loved ones in harm's way, drag them into conflicts they had no business in. And, he said meaningfully, now giving Alesha the chance to bail out, keeping secrets always took its toll. No matter how much people thought they could live with it, eventually, they'd always got frustrated and demanded to know more.

He'd left her flat shortly thereafter, noticing that it was now past two in the morning, but he was in good spirits. It looked now like his stay in London would be much longer than expected. His brooding in a far corner of the universe would just have to wait until he was finished being happy.

They saw each other every night over the next two weeks, Alesha holding her breath to hear the news that he'd be leaving soon, the Doctor holding his breath to hear her ask more about his life and his past. But it didn't come up. She seemed to understand and respect his secrecy, and didn't even ask why they never met at his flat.

So they went out, or spent the evening at hers. They had good food (and some bad food too), and talked about everything under the sun, and a few things beyond it. They saw a couple of films, perused several different book stores, went to a poetry reading, saw a musical and had more than a few good snogs. Each time they went to her flat, they made slightly more headway into Anna Karenina, but it was mostly just an excuse to retire to the sofa with some wine.

For the first time in his life, the Doctor was forging a relationship with someone outside of the TARDIS. For once, he was in her domain, learning to do things her way, rather than the usual vice versa. The adventures of cinema and bookshops and theatre were rarely-held treasures for the Doctor, ones not often experienced in the outer reaches of time and space. What a novelty it was to get to know someone before dragging them into the lion's den or into the line of fire.

Alesha was sexy, though, and she knew it. She didn't try to tease him with it; her attractiveness was just part of who she was. She lived in her skin very comfortably, and he was inflamed, in spite of himself. The Doctor's itch had not gone away, though he had tried to put it out of his mind. He was not made of stone, and couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before Alesha dragged him into the line of fire. Even though he knew he might be shot down, he wanted to try.

On their sixteenth date, he got his answer. It was a Wednesday. They'd met up for dinner with a plan to go to her friend's football match, but after dinner, Alesha said that she was too tired. They went back to her flat, and immediately, she tossed him a corkscrew and excused herself. When she emerged, she was barefoot, and she said, "Sorry, I had to get out of those panty hose. Feel privileged not to have to wear them."

Later, after they had put Anna aside and were almost finished with a bottle of Merlot, her feet were in his lap, and he massaged the high-heel-induced stress out of them, as well as her calves. Her head rested on the back of the sofa, and she hummed dreamily along with the music he'd put on.

Her outburst was both quite sudden, and quite smooth. "Doctor, would you like to make love to me?"

He looked at her with a bit of shock, and her eyes slid open, her head still resting to the side. There wasn't a touch of mischief or irony in her face – it was a legitimate question.

"You know the answer to that," he said, continuing to massage, smiling slightly.

"Tonight?"

"Any time you say."

"I say."

His hearts began to beat faster, and briefly, he wondered if she'd notice them, once they got nice and close, skin on skin. But the thought dissipated in favour of more interesting things.

"But," she said. "Tell me, so I know. I want to hear it."

"I want to make love to you," he said

She sighed and smiled, gazed at him for a long time, almost in disbelief. "I'm glad to hear you say that – very glad. And I'd like that too. But there's something I have to do first."

He smiled a little wider. "Okay."

And to his surprise, she shifted, and crawled in his lap with one knee on either side of him. She never lost eye contact with him as she peeled off the bright blue cardigan she'd been wearing and tossed it into an armchair nearby. She draped her arms over the back of the sofa and kissed him with certainty, letting her tongue dance, as it had many times, against his. He moved to put his hands on her hips, but she caught them and put them back against the sofa, leaning into the kiss.

She pulled away, and gently kissed his ear multiple times, intentionally letting him hear her breath, quite close. Meanwhile, her fingers manoeuvred his tie loose and undid his first two buttons. She pulled the collar aside and planted little kisses all over the sensitive area underneath. She even snaked her tongue outside of her mouth and licked the flesh, eliciting another groan from him. His head fell back against the sofa, a smile having formed on his face. She took this opportunity to attack the rest of his neck with nips and kisses, running one hand through his hair and massaging his scalp.

She leaned back away from him, and she unbuttoned her own black blouse, and he watched, struggling to keep his breathing steady. She shrugged it off, and it joined the blue cardigan in the chair. He ran his fingers over the tops of her breasts, the smooth, round part visible above the black lace bra she was wearing. She gently took his hand and put it aside, and she whispered, "No." Then she smiled, as he gazed at her with understanding bemusement, but not frustration.

She leaned forward and brought her lips very close to his ear. "Tell me you want me," she whispered, panting just a little bit, just enough.

"I want you," he whispered back.

"How much?" she asked, reaching down to feel the bulge she'd noticed forming over the last few minutes.

She squeezed it through his trousers and it stiffened even more against her hand. He slid his eyes closed, and he moaned, "That much."

Very gently, very slowly, she unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers and worked his member loose from inside. She sat back on his knees and stroked him, letting the fingers of both hands slip over the distended flesh. She let the feel of maleness make her desirous, allowed herself to want it again. The length of it, the warmth, the hardness felt good between her fingers, and she found herself warming very much to it. Very, very much. The time was now.

His eyes were shut as he fell deeper and deeper into the pleasure, deeper under Alesha's spell.

"Want me to stop?" she asked softly.

"No," he whispered, entranced. "Please don't stop."

With one hand, she pulled the ribbon loose on her grey wraparound skirt, and pulled the garment away from her body, adding it to the growing pile of clothes in the chair. The only thing between him and her now was a thin piece of black lace, a pair of expensive underwear covering, but not concealing, Alesha's nether regions. She reached down and pushed it aside, and rose up on her knees, and when she came back down, he was inside her.

For a few moments they were very still. She let the feeling wash over her, this, the simplest of pleasures. The purest and most primal, the sensation of interlocking with another body, of the climbing ecstasy, of being filled. It is one of the most needed, most craved feelings in the entire repertoire of human experience, one of the elements of life that can keep us in touch with who we are and where we come from.

And to think she had been dreading this moment for months on end, because it was something that had been taken away from her, marred, she thought, forever, in order to satisfy someone else's selfishness. She'd thought making love would be a process, like wading into a cold pool, where the shock drives one back out of the water at first. She'd thought the first time back would be tearful, fraught with images and memories and feelings she didn't want but couldn't shake.

But no. Not now. Something had been taken, but now given back to her. Something deeply hidden and long-forgotten had returned, to remind her and inhabit her body.

As she began to move on him, she opened her eyes to find the Doctor watching her. The look on his face was one of urgency and desire, pleasure at watching her, boiling from being buried inside her. And she knew now that she was in control. Of everything. Of her body, of her surroundings, her situation and her emotions. She pressed everything she had down on him, into him, around him, and then did it again. The hardness inside her drove to her core and caused her whole being to hum, pulse, light up with electricity. They both groaned as she repeated, repeated, repeated the insistent clinging, grinding. She didn't make large movements, just deep, perfect ones that kept the pleasure alive and bodies with no light in-between.

She felt the explosion rising within and knew perfectly that if she could get there, she could get anywhere after that. She felt she could expel all of the bile, all of the hang-ups she'd collected over the past months, and find a new lease on love and sex and humanity. She gripped the back of his head, burying her hands in his hair. She gently tugged at it, and he let her force his head back. Her forearms dug into his shoulders, her eyes dug into his eyes, she gritted her teeth, and all at once, she let go. She threw her head back involuntarily and let out one short, intense cry as release flowed through her like silken shockwaves.

The Doctor had been on the rise himself when Alesha's moment had come, and as it had, her whole body trembled, and her insides pulsed. Her orgasm tugged at him just right, in every way, and set him on the brink. As she had, he began to grit his teeth, and resisted the urge to grab hold of her. He knew he had to wait for that. So he dug his fingernails into the sofa cushions and braced himself. She smiled at him, did not stop her circular grinding movements, but he could see a little bit of perspiration now forming at her hairline and across her jaw. She was biting her lower lip and panting properly now, spent from the exertion and pleasure... and he was ready to blow.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked him breathlessly.

"You," he hissed back. "Tell me it's okay." He was shaking. Holding back was jarring his system.

"It's okay," she said, taking his face in her hands, with a driving urgency concentrated to a razor-like whisper. "I'm ready for it – do it now."

Now it was his turn. He stopped trembling and in exchange, began to convulse with pleasure as he released into her. He let out a crackling groan, and seemed to come in tide after tide of liquid intoxication, for ages. She pressed her tongue into his mouth once again, and her grip, her kiss brought him down, until his head was swimming with the euphoria and the taste and smell of her.

Through half-closed eyes and a low tone, she asked, "Still want to?"

"Oh, yes."

"Even now?"

"Especially now."

"Well, now you can."

She was exquisite in black lace, and her sigh was music. She was perfect to his eyes and ears. She was, if possible, more beautiful and brilliant in the dark than in the light. Her body clung to him, gripped him in every way. She was gripping, just a riveting woman. Always, but more so after that night.

They'd lit a lavender scented candle and shut the world out of her bedroom, and the Doctor felt a little like he was in his own home. Like in the TARDIS, he could have been anywhere, could have opened the door upon the surface of one of the moons of Sanduvega 17, or atop a cliff in South America, or upon the depths of space itself, and it wouldn't have mattered. They existed in their own little world where all that was important was grasping and pleasure.

She'd sighed, and lain back, looking up at him with fire in her eyes. It was a calm that he recognised she'd not felt in quite a while, a kind of submission she'd had to earn back from herself, for herself. He put his hands on her, his lips on her, his teeth and tongue, his whole body, and she relinquished control. He touched her all over, kissed parts of her that she'd forgotten felt good. He was around her, inside her, he whispered to her, watched her swim in pleasure and release.

And he was in trouble.

He'd known it for a couple of weeks, but he felt it for sure as he heard her breathing steady and she slipped off to sleep against his shoulder. He'd begun this little journey because he was all randy and pining. He'd decided to stay in it because he'd managed to find someone intriguing in a non-fantasy-related way, but who appealed to his... sense of the past. But now he was in it up to his neck. They'd spent weeks together. He'd met a couple of her friends. They had made love, not just had a good, long shag... and now she was asleep against his naked body, and he liked it. He actually didn't want this moment to end.

Yep. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

There was a blue box waiting for him in a park nearby, and a universe full of turmoil. He couldn't just stay here forever.

Two more hours until sunrise. He'd have to decide what to do before the alarm went off and Alesha's day went off and running...

And when the alarm went off, he still hadn't decided. He knew she understood (or thought she did) why someday he'd eventually have to get up and go, but that didn't make it any easier. The longer he stayed here, he knew, the harder it would be for both of them when he left. He began to wonder if, in fact, he would eventually realise he couldn't leave her.

And so he didn't sleep, for fear that someday, he'd forget how it felt to be with her.

He could, of course, sense time. He'd turned off the alarm just after she'd fallen asleep, not wanting a blaring electronic noise to be the first thing she heard in the morning. Instead, he waited until one minute before six, then woke her gently.

They kissed and cooed for a bit before getting up, then reluctantly she headed for the shower and he made some coffee while still in his underwear. He took an undue amount of glee in this act.

He spent most of the day away from the TARDIS, going over his options in his mind. If he stayed any longer, he'd grow attached and would almost certainly have to ask her to come with him. He could show her the universe, but first he'd have to convince her he wasn't mental. If he left tomorrow, it would be heartbreaking, and would look very much like he'd only waited to sleep with her, then split. Even if they kept in touch, eventually, she'd date someone, he'd find a new companion and... well, he wasn't someone who got over lost loves quickly.

At dinner, Alesha suggested that they do something that neither of them had ever done before. The Doctor could think of a planet or two he'd never visited… but she said she'd always wondered about those indoor rock climbing gyms, places where they have funny-shaped walls with places to put your feet and harnesses to keep you from falling.

"Okay," he shrugged.

"It's either that or swing dancing," she said.

"Doesn't matter," he told her. "I'll look equally daft either way."

Inside, he was wondering what the hell he would wear to something like that. It had been several years since he'd worn anything other than a suit or pyjamas (or an orange spacesuit). He reckoned he might be able to scare up something climbing-appropriate…

He asked her to give him an hour, and then meet him at the climbing gym.

"You own jeans?" she asked as they set their things down in the lobby. "And a tee-shirt? Good God."

"Well, yeah," he said. "I own one of everything, really."

"I like it," she said, touching the red t-shirt he'd pulled on solely because it was the first non-ridiculous article of clothing he found in the auxiliary wardrobe. The shirt had a drawing of a Great White, and said Shark Week in bold black letters. "I've only ever seen you in a suit. Well, and… of course, out of your suit."

He smiled as he searched her sheepish little face. "You just made yourself blush! That's got to be a first!"

"Can we go back to talking about your wardrobe?"

"Well, I guess you could say I go through phases with what I like to wear. You just say the word, and I'll drag out the orange plaid tuxedo jacket in a flash."

"Yikes. Why don't you just keep that one to yourself, and I'll just enjoy you in denim. Also, I'll be pretending like you never said that."

He chuckled at this as they found their way to the counter. He paid the clerk and they were shown to the back of the facility where the beginner's wall was located. Rules dictated that they start here and master the "easy" climb before they move on to the harder stuff.

A boy and his father were using the wall, and the Doctor and Alesha were obliged to wait for a few minutes. The child was perhaps ten years old, and was yelling various things to get attention. "Look at me, dad! My foot slipped! Whoa, did you see that? Look what I can do!"

"Jeremy, stop that!" his father called out to him. "You're going to fall."

"No I won't! It's double reinforced, they said so."

The father replied, "Yes, the ropes are double reinforced. But if you unlatch them from each other, there's nothing to hold you up, double reinforced or not, so stop undoing your harness, you daft child."

"You mean like this?" little Jeremy asked cheekily, just before he fell fifty feet, landing on the hard mat at the Doctor's feet. His head hit the surface like a ton of bricks, and the kid was out cold. His leg was twisted halfway round grotesquely.

"Oh my God!" Alesha cried out.

The father was above, screaming for the staff to let him down to the floor.

"It's okay, it's okay," the Doctor said, instinctively trying to shield her from the sight of Jeremy's disgusting broken bone.

She stepped around him, barely even having registered his words or movements. She got to her knees at the boy's side. The father touched down and frantically bent near her, and attempted to pick up his son.

"Don't move him, sir," she said. "If he's got a neck injury, it would be the worst thing you could do."

The Doctor watched in wonder as she put her hands on the boy's leg and felt gingerly with the tips of her fingers. "It's broken in at least two places," she announced. She put her fingers then on Jeremy's eyelids and pulled up, examining the irises, pupils and whites underneath. "Concussion. We're going to need a cold compress."

"I'm on it," one of the staff said, running for a door marked personnel.

"Has someone called for an ambulance?" she asked.

Another staff member whipped out a phone and dialled.

"Tell them to make sure and bring an orthopaedics gurney as well as restraints."

"Why restraints?" asked the father, his face twisted in sympathy pains.

"Because it's not good for a head-injury victim to remain unconscious – he could slip into a coma," she said. "So we have to bring him round, but when we do… he's going to be in a mighty lot of pain. He'll need restraints until they can get some morphine in him."

"Oh, God," the father groaned. Tears were in his eyes.

"Jeremy?" she said loudly to the patient. "Jeremy can you hear me? If you can hear me, move your left hand."

There was no sign.

"Are you sure you have to wake him?"

"Yes. If there's no bleeding to release the pressure, then he could be sustaining brain damage as we speak." She once more called out to Jeremy, to see if he could hear her voice.

"Oh God, oh God," the dad cried once more. "You've got to help him, please!"

"He's going to be fine, sir, you just have to let me do my job. Doctor, will you please give me my handbag?"

The Doctor didn't move – he was too stunned. He stood with his mouth gaping, unable to respond to her.

She looked up at him, and their eyes met. She sighed, and her eyes filled with sadness. "Please."

He turned back to where they had put down their belongings and grabbed the black leather bag she'd brought with her. He handed it to her. As she dug around inside, he squatted down next to her, and whispered, "You've really got some explaining to do."

"I know," she whispered back.

To his amazement, she extracted a stethoscope from her bag. She listened to his vitals and announced that something was obstructing his breathing. The Doctor took the boy and sat him upright, while his companion rooted around in her bag once more. She came up with a vial of white powder, removed the cap and placed it under Jeremy's nose. Immediately, the boy came to, screaming.

She and Doctor and the father did their best to restrain the child, keep him from twitching about too much and worsening the condition of his broken leg. It was clear the child was in great pain, and it hurt all of the nearby adults to hear him cry so.

When the ambulance arrived mercifully, she spoke expertly to the paramedics. She'd seen him fall, had treated him at the scene, and clearly knew what she was talking about, so the paramedics asked her to follow them to the hospital. She began to go with them.

"Oi," the Doctor said.

She turned.

"The TARDIS is in the play park around the corner from… Alesha's flat."

"Okay," she said. "I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done."

When the squeaky door opened two and a half hours later, the Doctor was sitting with his feet up. She came up the ramp and stood with her hands in her pockets. "Got your suit back."

"Yeah. I'm not a fan of Shark Week – I find it alarmist. And denim is constrictive."

"Interesting reasoning for wardrobe choices," she said, smiling.

"How's Jeremy?"

"Fine," she said. "Knocked out on painkillers for the next decade or so. How about you?"

"I'm…" he stalled.

"Confused, I'd imagine."

"Yeah, sort of," he admitted.

"Doctor, I'm sorry. Especially…" now it was her turn to stall out.

"Especially what?"

"Especially for last night. I kind of used you."

He stood up and started to walk round the console toward her. "Yeah, I guess you did. But I don't really mind."

"I'd honestly intended for it never to get to that point."

"You were planning never to sleep with me?"

"Yes. I knew, in light of things, it would be really, really wrong. But I'd been playing a character for so long, I'd started to wonder if I'd be able to settle into eternal life as Alesha Phillips. But you… you'd made me feel like Martha Jones again. And you know what? Martha Jones, she loves the Doctor. I couldn't take it anymore, being with you, seeing that you wanted me… it was like betraying my real self."

"So the stuff about Merrick, was that just an excuse not to…?"

She took a huge, deep, shaky breath, and let it out. "That, unfortunately, is true. It happened six months ago, seven or eight weeks after I arrived at the CPS."

"God, Martha," he groaned, pulling his hand down over his face.

"But don't you see? You went a long way light night in helping me get past it! I never thought I'd be able to… you know? Ever again. With you, there was an opportunity for healing."

"Don't you have a husband who could have helped you… heal?" he asked, a little more harshly than he meant. He knew he was coming off as confrontational, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Mickey's gone," she said, wringing her hands.

"Do you mean… he's not…"

"He's alive. But he witnessed an intergalactic crime committed by the Wodnuricki Tribe from the 4th Pudnolov galaxy."

"Whoa. They are nasty business."

"Yep. The High Priest sent his goons after Mickey in a big way, almost blew his head off in his sleep. It's only because our dog barked that we survived. So UNIT agreed to put Mickey in a kind of witness relocation program, in exchange for my doing this infiltration of the CPS for them."

"Are you sure he's safe? The Wodnuricki can track him anywhere in the universe."

"That's why he's in a different universe," she said, sadly. "Gee, now I know how you've felt all these years."

He sighed. "Is he back in Pete's World?"

"No, the Wodnuricki know he has ties there, so UNIT chose a different one. But that's why it had to be UNIT. We tried to go to Torchwood first, of course, but they've all but disappeared off the map, which is highly concerning to me… but that's a whole different story. So… there it is. And unless and until the entire tribe can be wiped out in Mickey's lifetime, he can't come back. And that's, as they say, not bloody likely."

"You could go be with him after this is over."

"Yeah, that's why I'm so angry with UNIT. The Wodnuricki know I'm Mickey's wife, but UNIT kept me here and wouldn't let me go… which means…"

"The tribe is tracking you."

"Right. And they'll follow me straight to Mickey. So, he and I agreed…"

"To get on with your lives?"

"Yeah," she told him, averting her eyes. "If we have the chance to see each other again, then so be it. If not, then at least we won't have wasted our time waiting for each other."

The Doctor exhaled loudly. "UNIT wankers. What do they want with the CPS?"

"There's a Andulotus Beast working as a Crown Prosecutor," she reported, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, Andulotus, they're very, very patient," said the Doctor.

"No kidding. UNIT suspect that its overarching goal is to take over the justice system insidiously, possibly by getting in judges' pockets, that sort of thing. UNIT had its scent, as it were, but couldn't work out who it was. They'd sent in someone before me, but she cracked under the pressure after three weeks. They were needing someone with long-term field experience. And then, voilà, I turn back up, desperately needed their help."

"Bastards."

"They don't exist to make us all feel warm and fuzzy, Doctor," she said. "They exist to keep aliens from doing nasty things to our planet."

"Why didn't they call me?" he asked.

"Good question. I don't know. I guess it's the long-term nature of it. Maybe?"

"Does anyone at the CPS know you're not really a lawyer?"

"James. That's it. That's why they put me with him, because he's the best, he can support someone who's absolutely clueless, like me. I'm a doctor, not a lawyer, and he can work with me anyway. But even he's been giving me more stuff to do – says I'm a quick study."

"I recall thinking that, myself," he smiled, and she smiled back, and for a moment, it was like old times. "Why don't you let me help you with the Andulotus Beast so you can get back to being a doctor? Or whatever you want to be."

She shrugged. "I'll let you help, but I've got nothing to get back to. James and the CPS have been my life. I don't want to stay with UNIT, I don't have Mickey, and Torchwood's gone kaputt."

"Well," he said, crossing his arms, leaning against the console. "You have me."

She smiled. "I suppose I do."

END