Thanks for all the reviews and messages guys! They mean a lot to me! Just to clarify some confusion, some of the songs I put up are not the original versions, but remakes. That doesn't mean I don't love the originals, but that I just happen to be listening to that particular version when I wrote the chapter. Please keep sending your questions and comments! - R
My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key – Arcade Fire, My Body is a Cage.
The door was shut. That was her first clue that there was something behind it that she wanted to see. Generally, as a rule Martha liked to respect boundaries and privacy, but she had another rule: to learn as much as possible. She was curious and she had a million questions about life and the universe and although traveling with the Doctor had answered some, it had also created so many more. A few months ago she never would have believed in aliens and time travel and men with two hearts. But now she saw things differently and she wanted to know. She wanted to know him most of all but he seemed adamant that she never would, always keeping himself at a distance, all cryptic messages and shifting eyes. So she pried and she asked questions and refused to give up and sometimes, very, very rarely, he would see her, actually see her instead of looking through her in search of someone else. And in those moments, when he was open and honest and she was Martha Jones, a brilliant medical student and not some temporary replacement, she loved him.
The Doctor was like fire, capricious and consuming and breath-taking, and those who stood too close, who got in his way, were sure to be scorched. But Martha wanted to get burned. She had spent her entire life being the responsible one, the sensible one, making good marks, soothing battles between family members, putting romance and fun aside for textbooks and lab coats. She was ready now to be devoured, to lose herself in the thrill of running hand-in-hand and lying side by side. She had a lot to offer, she knew. She wasn't bad to look at and she could be quick with a joke and, let's be honest, she was sharp as a whip, even when she was being modest. Yet after all these days and weeks of travel, he was no closer to her than he had been on day one. His eyes were so haunted and though he give her glimpses of the ache he so obviously carried, oh yes there had been a time war, and yes his last companion was gone, he seemed to hold onto his hurts with such tenacity, such ferocity, it was as if no matter how much they made him bleed he'd rather the pain than the contentment moving on could offer him. He thought she didn't know, that his bright smiles and energy could disguise the emptiness within, but she saw. And she wanted to know more. She wanted to help him, to understand what he needed because after all he'd done he deserved to be happy. And if she were a little jealous of the mysterious Rose, if she wanted more information if only to compare, to recognize where she fell short, could she be blamed?
The door never moved. Doors were usually open here, with the Doctor so quickly racing to and fro, and they never seemed to be in the same place she'd left them. The TARDIS, she knew, was not just another piece of machinery, but a living being with thoughts and emotions and ideas and often a sense of humor. On more than one occasion, Martha had rushed to the loo, desperate after all that time on some planet running around, only to find herself in a broom closet or the library. She'd gotten used to it, and even liked it, but this one door, this simple plank of wood never moved. Something important was in the room, something treasured by both the Doctor and the TARDIS, and since she was sharing her life with them she supposed she deserved to know on some level.
The Doctor was off doing repairs in the console room, an "all day project" he'd chortled. So, Martha was left to her own devices and feeling a little mischievous and more than a little fed up with all the secrets lurking in every corner.
With a glance around, 'not like he pays attention to me anyway,' she grasped the doorknob. It felt warm to the touch, and she almost withdrew, feeling slightly disturbed by the sense of life emanating from the object. Realizing that this was probably a good sign, an indication that the room was even more special than she'd imagined, she steeled herself and turned. It was locked. She pushed with her shoulder but there was no give.
"Can you help me out here?" She said aloud to the air, feeling foolish. The Doctor always spoke to the TARDIS as if it were alive and his friend, 'she,' he always called it. 'She's not feeling well,' or 'She's got a lot of fight in her today!'
"Hello?" Martha said looking around. "I just want to see. Can you open it?" She tried the door again but it remained locked. The TARDIS seemed to hum a little louder or had she imagined that?
"You don't want me to see either? You're in it with him; one big conspiracy to shut me out." Frustrated, she dug into her pocket for her ID, hardly ever used now but always with her in case she ever needed proof of who she was, what species. "My brother taught me this," she bent and bit her lip, jiggling the card at the bolt. "I've got skills neither of you know about." She wondered for a moment if the TARDIS would react in some way, put on another deadbolt or alert the Doctor that she was mucking around where she shouldn't be, but no, the locked clicked open and the echoing clangs of the Doctor's fiddling continued.
"Right then," she stood and took a breath, straightening out her shirt. "Here we go."
The room was dim but she could make out vague shapes in front of her. What was this place? Not the Doctor's room; that moved around. Though hardly ever used, she'd seen him going in and out a few times, always shutting the door behind him and never inviting her in. Valued his privacy, that one. So what was this? An office, a supply area? It smelled faintly of perfume and the effect was not unpleasant. Was this a place where the Doctor brought suitors? Wooed them and romanced them? She snorted aloud at the thought. If only she could find….there: a light switch.
The room flooded with a glow and Martha blinked. This was not what she had suspected. It was a bedroom. A simple, typical, slightly messy bedroom. Probably a woman's, she noted, what with all the gentle colors and artwork. The bed, a large wrought iron one, was in the far corner, pushed against the wall. It was unmade; the dark purple duvet flung back as if the owner had jumped out in a rush, too preoccupied to worry about aesthetics.
Martha's brow furrowed and she took a few steps into the room, stepping over a pile of clothes and heading to a nearby desk. There was a cup of half-drunk tea and a dog-eared book on the edge. Martha picked it up and thumbed through the pages, some sort of romance novel, taking place on a planet she had never heard of. Placing it back, she ran a finger over the wood, bringing it back up to her face to inspect. Funny, this room had been here for months, maybe longer if it had existed before she came aboard, and never had she seen the Doctor enter or even look at it, yet there was not a speck of dust.
"Keep it clean do ya?" The TARDIS didn't respond, but Martha knew it was true. She just didn't understand why, why it was kept clean but not cleaned up, why it was locked, and why it never moved.
There was a simple cork board hanging on the wall and she went closer to inspect it. It was cluttered, items overlapping items, all mismatched and random. There was a yellowed newspaper clipping about the Queen's coronation in 1953, a sketch of a giant wolf-man, a drawing of a solar system (not the Milky Way), a dried out flower, and a receipt for chips in 2005, among other things. Martha took it all in, trying to discern some kind of pattern. She moved a ripped sheet of music to the side to get a closer look at a picture. It was bent at one corner, and showed an older blonde woman with heavy eye shadow standing beside a young African-American man grinning broadly. Next to them, with an open-mouthed laugh and a blurry hand, as if she were waving at the camera-person, was a blonde girl. Martha traced a finger over the girl's smile.
"Hello, Rose Tyler," she said. So this was Rose's room. Martha took another look around with new eyes, noting the jacket draped over a chair, the pile of make-up in front of a vanity mirror, the half-open closet with trainers peeking out.
"Well she certainly wasn't cleaner than me."
She moved back over to the bed, sitting on it with a sigh. She gave an experimental bounce, comfortable, and looked around. The pale blue walls were decorated with posters and unearthly artwork. It was all very typical and didn't really give her the insight into the Doctor she had been hoping for, other than to tell her that Rose had obviously mattered to him very much. That she already knew.
There was a small stuffed cat in a nurse's uniform wedged in the top drawer of the night stand and she tugged at one of its ears until it came out. Not exactly a sophisticated decorating style. Moving to get up, she placed the stuffed animal back in the drawer, freezing when something caught her eye.
A notebook. A simple, leather-bound book. A diary.
She hesitated. No matter how curious she was, she wasn't the type of person to read another person's secret diary, especially the one of a girl who was who knows where. She closed the drawer firmly and made to leave, but stopped at the door, considering. She had already come this far, broken these unspoken rules, what was stopping her from going a little further? It wasn't like Rose would ever know and she wanted information so that she could help the Doctor, make him feel better, understand where he was coming from. Rose would probably appreciate it. Reading every emotional word would be too far, but a quick skim to get the gist? One could hardly blame her.
She walked quickly back to the drawer and pulled out the text. Before she could change her mind, she opened to a random page and began reading. Catching a sentence here and there, she flipped around and took in bits and pieces:
'A new face and it's so weird like a new person but not. I don't know what to think or where I stand. Still, in his eyes I see him.'
'So embarrassing even though it wasn't really me. A kiss, the second time technically although the first for us.'
'Can't believe she really said it though. The Doctor was so sure she wouldn't. Can't wait to tell Mom I'm a Dame.'
'Been having that dream again, the one about the Devil. The Doctor keeps telling me it's nothing, that it was all a trick, but I think he's worried too. '
'I miss her too, but Mum needs to understand that this is my life now and I love it. I want to travel with him forever.'
"What are you doing?" Martha jumped and turned to face him. His face was blank, but as he strode toward her, she found herself shrinking back. He yanked the diary from her hands. "This is private. Everything in here is private," his voice was low and serious and her brain grappled for words.
"Sorry," she stammered. "I just wanted to see-"
"What did you touch?"
"Nothing!" At his look she continued, "That picture on the board and, and the cat in the drawer. I sat on the bed."
He stalked over to the board and tucked the picture back under the music sheet, running the tip of his finger over Rose's smile quickly, just as Martha had done minutes before. He moved to the bed, walking around Martha so swiftly she spun to keep up, and tucked the diary and cat back into the drawer, closing it with the head out in exactly the position it had been. He swiped at the bed sheets violently, as if desperate to get any trace of Martha off of them. She felt something swell within her.
"Look I'm sorry but-"
He whirled on her. "What else?"
"Nothing."
He raked his fingers through his hair. "What gives you the right?" Now his voice was rising. "What gives you the right?"
"I'm sorry, I just wanted to see what was here."
"And going through her things? Reading her diary?"
"I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I just wanted…"
"What, you wanted what?"
She was a little afraid, he had never been so angry with her before. "I just wanted to see what made her so special. What goes on in your head."
He looked away, chest heaving.
"Do you do this with all your companions' rooms, preserve them like this?"
"No," he said and met her eyes.
"Just Rose then."
At the sound of her name, he stepped forward, gripping her arm and pulling her out of the room. He closed the door behind them and used the sonic to lock it.
"Stay out of there." His face was so close to hers she could see every tiny freckle across his nose. His hand was still on her elbow, just a little too tight. "Her room is private. Do you understand?"
She nodded. "I'm sorry."
"I know, I know. Me too." He released her and she stumbled back. His bedroom door was now directly across from Rose's and without another look he entered, slamming the door behind him. Martha stood, alone, and looked between the two doors, the space between them seemed vast and yet she felt claustrophobic.
Hurt and embarrassed, she called out, "if you would just talk to me!" When there was no response, she continued speaking to his closed door, softer, not sure if she wanted him to hear or not. "Maybe you'd find I'm just as special as Rose Tyler. Maybe even more." She looked at Rose's door remembering the look of raw pain on the Doctor's face as he had touched the picture, remembering the last line of the diary she had read: 'this is my life now and I love it. I want to travel with him forever.'
"Where is she then if you loved each other so much? Where is she?"