A new offering that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. The outline is currently kind of a mess, and I am anticipating a few re-tools and breaks in writing. But I am pretty happy with the first two chapters!

The story was almost titled "Rescue Me," and a running theme will be Martha rescuing the Doctor, the Doctor unable to come to terms with that in a "healthy" way, and how it gets in the way of their fully realizing their friendship/relationship, whatever it is.

Another running (related) theme will be "pieces of" the Doctor, and how not many people get them, even though many people touch his life. An incredibly lucky few get those pieces, sometimes in not-so-nice ways...

But I changed the title to "Subject Blue," because "blue" can and does have many meanings, all of which can and will be explored here!

As such, I do plan to continue to juxtapose the "present day" events (meaning post- Journey's End) with the Doctor and Martha's memories and interpretations of things that transpired between them during the year or two before that. The relationship has compounded, and is coming to a head here... what does that even mean? (Well, if you've read my stories before, you probably know the answer to that. But first, adventure and mayhem!)

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Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

If anyone had been standing in the lobby of the Havilland-Preston Banquet Centre, they would have heard something both annoying and bizarre. First, they would have heard banging coming from somewhere unseen… but not a consistent banging. It was more of a thump-shuffle-bang, followed by five seconds of silence, then shuffle-shuffle-shuffle-thump, then bang-bang-bang, silence, bang-shuffle…

They would have intermittently heard an electronic pulse that would not seem as though it had originated on this planet (because it hadn't).

And then, they would have seen something not as annoying, but equally (if not more) bizarre: an air vent swinging open, followed by a white Converse trainer at the end of a leg clad in brown pinstripes poking through the hole. Then, another white Converse trainer at the end of another leg clad in brown pinstripes. And then, the strangest thing of all: a whole six-foot-tall man grunting and shimmying his way through the hole and dropping to the floor, with a thud, a mutter of "Blimey," and a look of disdain at the vent, as though somehow it had wronged him.

Why grunting and shimmying? Because the man was thin, but not quite thin enough to come through the air duct comfortably. Which was why the banging and shuffling through the duct above the ceiling tiles was so fraught with irregularities, and why the sonic screwdriver only intermittently made noise, as he moved forward slowly, and took readings.

But now the Doctor was free. Or at least, in an open space, in which, thank goodness, there was no-one to hear the banging and shuffling, and no-one to see him skulking about.

He looked around the room, a posh, but modestly sized, rectangular space, its walls lined with black marble. On one of the long sides of the rectangle, there was a limited concessions stand that consisted of three moveable carts. According to the placard, they served wine, beer, sparkling water, and little trays of nibbles like California Rolls and Seared Ahi Crostini. A steep set of dark wooden stairs disappeared up on one side of the concessions cart area. There was a stylishly black and gold seating area on the other long side of the rectangle, while the main entrance was on one of the short sides, and the other short side became a hallway that curved off to the right.

He noticed that there was a partially hidden glass door with "VIP" labeled over the jamb, between the seating area and where the hallway began. Through this door, he could see a wide, set of burgundy-carpeted stairs, leading from the valet parking station and the VIP entrance to, presumably, the main banquet room. This area was for folks who were here to be seen, and photographed.

It was a relatively new, three-story events complex built by the NHS, to honour the philanthropists Louis Havilland and Albert Preston, who had, in their turn, raised millions for the NHS, and children's charities in Britain and parts of Africa. The centre was used mostly for NHS events, but could be hired out for weddings and whatnot, and the proceeds always went back into children's causes.

Truth be told, he hadn't been aiming to enter the Havilland-Preston Centre. The establishment simply shared ducts, apparently, with the clinic next door, as well as the Japanese restaurant on the other side of that. He had simply been following the energy signature of the Escappa Tribe, from the outer limits of Kasterberous, had climbed into the ceiling rafters in the restaurant, then into the ducts sometime after that, and wound up here.

The Escappa had been gunning for Time Lords for generations. They, like most of the universe, had thought the species extinct after the Time War, but the Doctor, being the last, (again), had finally attracted their attention and ire. It was bound to happen; it wasn't as though he exactly kept a low profile and/or stepped lightly when he went trouble-shooting. And now they knew he was here, and the Escappa had genocide on their agenda. His following of their energy signature was mostly a self-defence tactic – a get-them-before-they-get-me sort of thing. He did not yet know precisely what he would do when he found them, but he also couldn't have them roaming about unchecked in London, either.

And they had been all over this lobby. He followed the pulses in figure-eights through the seating area, behind the concessions carts, up and back down staircase. He wondered why the hell they had thought they might find him here, of all places…

"Oi," said a voice behind him, as he peered down the hall where the trail seemed to lead. "How did you get in here?"

He was startled, stood up straight and faced the person, a shortish man of perhaps thirty, dressed in a chef's white smock and houndstooth trousers. He looked a bit doughy, but a no-nonsense sort of fellow.

"Er… I…" the Doctor replied.

"Are you with the catering staff?"

"Of course."

"Good – glad you're here early. At least someone was listening," said the man. His eyes were then drawn upwards toward the vent hanging open. "Oh, damn. I'll have to call maintenance. Anyway, my name's Kevin Looms, head chef. Yours?"

"John," replied the Doctor, rather easily.

"Nice to meet you, John," Kevin said, walking up and shaking his hand firmly. "Come with me. We've got a hundred doctors and nurses arriving in exactly five hours, and the chicken hasn't been resmoked yet."

"All right," the Doctor agreed, following Kevin down the hall, where the main banquet hall was - it had been designated Banquet A by a sign over the door. Kevin used a key to open it, then stepped inside, turned on the fluorescent "work" lights, and they could see that the room had been set up for a party.

"What sort of event is here tonight?" the Doctor asked.

"NHS, what else?" Kevin responded, moving along the rounded wall toward another set of doors that apparently led to a kitchen. "Some sort of awards ceremony. I don't know the details. Anyway, it's not our job to know. Our job is to make sure these folks stay fed and watered. Did you bring a smock?"

They burst into the kitchen, and the Doctor said, "No, sorry. I guess I should've."

"It's fine, you can borrow one," and he showed the Doctor to a room where about twenty-five chef smocks hung from a rod, in different sizes, then set him to work on slicing chicken for its second round in the smoker.

The Doctor did as asked, but only because he was biding time, and trying to work out how to follow the energy trail of the Escappa using the sonic screwdriver, without being seen, heard, or even missed. The task only grew more and more difficult as more members of the catering staff turned up. Fortunately, they were all contractors, and not from the same company, therefore, no-one knew anyone, and no-one noticed that he wasn't supposed to be there. They were all friendly and willing to work, but that didn't help the Doctor at all.

He sliced chicken, and along with a woman named Mira, diced mangoes and minced Cilantro. He pulled dough out of storage, and flattened balls of it with his hands, prepping them for the oven. He also mixed several gallons of Sangria, cleaned up a mess of Sriracha that someone had spilled out of a bucket, and learned quite a bit about the dramatic personal life of an over-sharer named Jimmy (or Jim, if you like). And as an aside, he admired Kevin's leadership style – clear, laid-back, likeable, and as he had thought, no-nonsense.

The Doctor was happy to help – didn't mind this sort of work, but he felt a thumb on top of him. What he needed was to work out where the Escappa had gone, and perhaps thereby, understand what their plan might be. There were several of them on Earth at the moment, and only one of him, and unfortunately, he was currently operating alone. He marvelled at how complicated even something like getting swept up in pretending to be part of the staff could get, when he worked on his own. Just one extra set of hands would mean that he could orchestrate a ruse, get free, and follow the trail. Or he could set a Companion on the trail, while he made the appearance of being a dutiful catering assistant. Or…

It was useless to plan something that required two people, when he was only one.

But it was by choice. As lonesome as the last couple of months had been, it was even worse to think of losing someone again. What had happened to Donna had been unbearable to watch, losing Rose, of course, had hurt quite a bit… but he now realised that there had been very little he could have done to stop either of those happenings, though it didn't stop him from self-flagellating.

And then there was the other one, the one that had really, truly, got away. Because he had let her. He definitely could have stopped it. With all they had been through, all that they had said and done and felt, all that had transpired between them, their lips, their souls… he had let her go.

She was a different breed, wasn't she? She hadn't needed his rescue from a mundane life, as Rose and Donna had. Rather, the opposite. She came with him because she had saved him, not the other way round. And because he needed her, not the other way round.

Of course, she had had been rather fiercely attracted to him, and that fact hadn't hurt things either. And he knew quite well how to be intentionally attractive and charming… her saying yes to him in that alleyway had not been left to chance.

But that attraction was, at least at first, merely window dressing. What had happened next had taken a bite out of her soul and his, and had grown into something other than attraction, leaving in the dust any sort of window dressing.

As he rhythmically hand-ground roasted pecans, his thoughts drifted to her. He allowed himself to fantasise about a rescue, having her swoop in right about now, and perpetrate some sort of clever ploy to get them both out of here without anyone asking any questions, so that they could walk around the place with the sonic buzzing, without compunction. If anyone could do it, she could. She was his saviour, his rescuer. In so many ways…

So many ways. And he drifted.

His forehead rested against Martha's wrists, and the inside soles of his trainers were pressed against the outsides of her boots.

He had long-since finished telling his story, but his hands were still shaking, and he silently willed her not to move until he was ready.

"I lied to you. Because I liked it," he had said, nigh on an hour ago, from thirty feet away. "I could pretend… just for a bit, I could imagine that they were still alive." And from there, under the stinking smoke and oppressive humidity of New New York, sometime around five billion years into Martha's future, he had launched into a description of his home planet, and what had caused its eventual destruction.

His entire planet. Along with his family… including children and grandchildren. All of whom had been lost to him at some point previously, whether for sociopolitical reasons, fallings-out, deep cover, the passage of time, carelessness, regenerative errors, tough decisions to move on, whatever… the Doctor had considered himself to be quite alone for a long time, and had rarely given a second thought to returning to rekindle relationships… Time Lords weren't like humans that way. Children and parents, it wasn't the same.

Even still, it was devastating to know that they were all gone, and all hope was lost. The war at every point in its history was time-locked, and there would be no going back to fix things, no going back to visit before the disaster… ever. Events leading up to it had begun long before his time, and therefore, the planet as he knew it was sealed away by the Time Lords, and beyond his reach.

It was even more devastating to know that he had facilitated it. It ripped out his guts just to have to say it out loud. Even if it had been to put an end to a war that was about to spill out into the cosmos and put more planets, more galaxies, in danger…

"It was… it was…" he tried to say.

But that was just it: no adjective existed. No words in any language.

And from the look on her face, he believed that she could see that. She looked overcome, and he wondered if she regretted forcing him to tell her. She had set upright a folding chair, and had sat down, crossing her arms like a child, and demanded to be told why he never spoke to her properly. Why he was so evasive. Why he always seemed to be looking through her, instead of at her.

He hadn't realised he'd been doing that, but now she mentioned it…

Plus, he avoided her gaze on purpose, on occasion. As pleasant as it was to gaze at her, it could sometimes be too much.

He wondered if she thought she could fix him. Humans think that sometimes: just let me into your angst, and maybe I can say, or be, the magic elixir that puts it all into perspective for you. Maybe I can share in your grief, they thought. It was one of the things he loved about humans. Even her, in spite of himself.

But if this story was bigger than he was (and it was), it was certainly too big for her to ever hope to fix. She was getting that now, he could see it in the maudlin horror in her eyes. He wondered if she regretted ever daring to hope that the Face of Boe's prophecy was about her.

And as the story had degenerated into death, destruction, children screaming, tears, recriminations, and self-loathing, and his voice broke and tears fell, she had moved her folding chair close to his folding chair, knees-to-knees, and she had taken his hands. He had been grateful for this, much to his own surprise, and he had continued to talk.

When he finished, he folded himself in half and pressed his forehead against her wrists, held her hands tightly, and just… remained this way. He did not weep, he just sat, trembling a bit from the exertion, and wasn't sure exactly why. The closeness was nice, and felt different than any other moment of closeness they had had. And when he realised that he was reluctant to let go of her, that he could stay there in that filthy alley until nightfall, and hold her hands, he began to panic.

This was a familiar feeling.

And so, after what could have been two minutes or three hours (weirdly, he had no idea), he finally sat up, let go, and said, "Well, that was bracing," and he pulled one hand down over his face.

"It was?"

"Yeah. Are you ready to go?" He got to his feet.

"Erm… I guess so," she said.

He saw her studying him, and he knew why. His voice had come out with a curious timbre to it… it was not quite as though nothing had happened. Rather, it was as though he was trying to make it seem as though nothing had happened, but couldn't quite manage.

That was, indeed, what he had been trying to do, and he knew he had failed miserably before he even opened his mouth.

"Come on, then," he said to her, holding out his hand. She took it, and with that, he was the one leading once again. But it didn't feel quite normal. Something had changed.

Had he lost something? It sort of felt as though he had, although he knew on a deeper level that he had gained so much by confessing the story of the Time War to his travelling companion.

They went around the corner and found the TARDIS where they had left it, wedged between two buildings, in a now-deserted alleyway in the undercity of New New York. The arrow with which the TARDIS had been shot as they were running for their lives from the Globe Theatre and the inexplicable ire of Queen Elizabeth I was still on the ground.

The Doctor used his key, stepped inside, leaving the door open for her.

She stepped inside behind him, shut it, and locked it.

The lock made a satisfying click, and in hearing it, his mind began to race.

He had reached the top of the ramp, faced the console, and all in a few seconds…

Martha Jones, in her way, was extremely irritating.

Oh, she was brilliant and beautiful, of course, and cracking amazing in a crisis. She was quick on her feet both literally and figuratively, and as bold and brave as anyone he had ever met. And, he admitted to himself, she was unabashedly sexy, and knew it. None of these things was what one might call a hindrance to their situation.

She clearly fancied him (he wasn't blind), and he rather liked it. It was a nice ego boost, and was one of the things that kept him sprightly pulling her along behind him, and talking at a million miles per hour. She hung on his every word and action, made him feel like a whole man, rather than a broken one.

Yet, every time she looked at him that way, it was a reminder of how broken he truly was. And every time she asked a probing question, asked verbally or non-verbally to be let into his life, it grated on him, brought him back to reality, and showed him the scars on his soul. She didn't mean to, of course – it was simply who she was. Curious and inquisitive, and not accepting of being told "no." But to him, the Doctor, who just wanted someone to run with him, admire his brainy prowess and maybe how he looked in a suit, that probing was a liability.

But even more irritating was the paradox that Martha exposed within himself. He wouldn't have a companion, a travelling partner, any other way, which made him wonder, why bother, then? If he was going to both abhor and adore the same qualities in one person, and be constantly messed-up over it, shouldn't he just be a hermit? Because, even with all of the angst Martha caused in him, what the hell was he supposed to do with a woman (or man, for that matter) at his side, who never, ever asked questions? Never wondered what was underneath the problem at-hand? Never tried to get to the bottom of things? He'd never bring them along in the first place, so why even speculate?

There was no doubt that Martha was everything he could ask for, and that look she sometimes gave him, it smouldered all over her face, especially in her eyes, leaving little to assumption. Though he reckoned she thought she was being merely cheeky. He should want her… and sometimes he really, really did. But when he felt that want, it put him off.

Although, today, standing there at the top of the ramp, between the TARDIS' door and its console, he was having an epiphany of sorts.

It seemed clear that being "put off" by those feelings was a by-product of his life thus far, of the trauma of which he had told her just now, sitting on rickety folding chairs in an alley of New New York. Wanting her, to be with her (whatever that meant), and having it sicken and terrify him, annoy him… it was tragic and frustrating, and he didn't like that part of himself.

But now she had that part of him inside of her. Why the hell had it taken so long for him to give it to her?

And he realised that he had spent most of the day seeking her out.

Not just seeking her out, but single-mindedly, desperately, running, jumping, screaming, risking everything to find her. But as soon as he had, as soon as it got real, he had tried to run again. Until she forced him to sit down and tell her the truth.

Now, in the TARDIS, he turned to face her, and saw her hand come down from locking the door and then turn with her back against it. She looked at him wearily.

And it all came home. How he felt now… open, exposed, single-mindedly, desperately seeking her… it gelled.

It was clear, and perfect.

The fact that it might be temporary did not occur to him.

"Martha," he said, coming back down the ramp toward her. If he were playing things cool, he would saunter, put his hands in his pockets, and look at his feet, rather than her eyes. He did none of those things. "I almost lost you today."

He knew that his intensity sometimes took her aback, but she seemed to be getting used to it.

She smiled sheepishly. "I was never really in any danger. Milo and Cheen didn't want to hurt me. They wouldn't have."

"I didn't know that," he told her, his voice deepening, almost against his will. He could feel it being pulled downward into his gut. "I didn't know what could be happening to you. Or rather, I did know what could happen, but without knowing what was happening, the possibilities were simply endless and horrifying."

"Oh," she said, swallowing hard. He could see the emotion in her eyes, even if she was trying to suppress it. "Well, I'm fine. See?"

"You should've seen me out there. I car-hopped, risked being eaten by Macra. Almost suffocated in the smog," he said, now standing close enough to touch. "I moved a whole city to get you back."

"Thank you, Doctor," she whispered, obviously unsure of what else to say, and/or where this was going.

"And you need to know that I have never opened up to anyone about… what I just told you. The war… my planet. I was alone when it happened, and I've kept it all inside," he said.

"I'm glad you told me."

He finally exhaled a bit, and took a step back. He walked in a small circle and said, "I've spent so much time keeping things under wraps, Martha, making sure no-one knows me, the real me. Making sure that no-one can find me where I live. And yet, there's you." He had stopped again to look at her squarely.

"There's me. So maybe I was onto something when I said you are not alone means you've got me," she said, her voice a bit shaky, but she gave a sly smile.

He smiled, as well. "Maybe." He moved close again, and took her face in his hands, as he had only ever done once before, just before a kiss that had struck him more deeply than he had intended. "I feel like you've… rescued me, somehow, Martha. From drowning in the memories that I couldn't release."

"I wasn't trying to rescue you. It was all selfish – or at least it started out that way. I just thought that I deserved to know some things, if we were going to run all over the universe together. Clearly, I wasn't ready for what I heard…"

"Whether you were ready or not, I feel different."

"Good different?"

"It's hard to say. But I think so. And it's all wrapped up in you," he said, and for the second time, he took a chance, and kissed her. Rather similarly to the first time, it was brief, but intense. He felt electricity brewing in both of them.

"Doctor…" she said, with uncertainty, after it was over.

"You're the only person in the universe who knows my darkest secret," he said, still keeping his hands on her jaws, voice still coming from someplace deep. "You've claimed it as your own, and I've let you. In a way, you've claimed me."

"Doctor…" she repeated, and something in her tone let him know that she now completely understood where this was headed. But it wasn't the kind of understanding, nor the reaction, he had been expecting.

"Something in me wanted to possess you today," he said. "You were taken from me and I wanted you back, come hell or high water. And that resonates within me, with complete honesty and sense. I have no regrets nor illusions about my actions. And now that you're here, and you've claimed a part of me…"

"You're about to tell me that you feel like claiming a part of me as your own, as well, because some part of you has been demanding it all day. Maybe even since from before that."

"Yes!"

"And now that we're alone, and things are still, and we've got all the time in the world…" and she smiled, with sadness and fatigue in her eyes.

He smiled. "Yeah."

She said, taking his hands again, "You're feeling close to me, and moved, and can't bear the thought that you almost lost this opportunity. And it feels right that being with me might solidify it all, and guarantee that you haven't squandered the chance. Somehow, it feels like I couldn't be taken from you again."

"Wow. You're maybe even cleverer than I thought. Don't know why I'm surprised."

"You're in shock, Doctor," she said. "You've just had a traumatic day, followed by reliving a traumatic part of your life. You are seeking healing, and the healing has got my face on it just now, but it's nothing to do with me."

"Yes, it is," he told her, squarely. He could not be more certain that it was about her, and not just about solace in general. She had made him open up, she now held a part of him, the darkest part, inside…

"Even if it is to do with me, Doctor, you're reeling. You're vulnerable. And I am not in the business of making vulnerable people even more so."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Neither am I. I just need…"

"You need comfort. Love. I can give you those things. As much as you need, for as long as you need. But you don't need to lay claim on me."

"Okay," he whispered. Then, "I feel… at-sea."

"In a way, you are. But I'll help you get anchored. It's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

"Again, she rescues me," he chuckled, not wanting to pull his forehead away, because then he'd have to look her in the eyes.

But eventually he did. And they gazed at each other sadly.

Or was it a look that said "someday?"

"There's another reason why I can't be with you that way, Doctor," she said.

"Yeah?"

"For me, it couldn't be just tonight," she told him. "It would have to be tomorrow and next week, and next month, and next year. If we go there, I'm going to need both hearts, and all of the truth."

It couldn't be just tonight…

Well, he hadn't meant for it to be just tonight. It was something new… new depth, new wonder, new exchanging of selves…

But both hearts and all of the truth? All of it? That thought made him panic again.

Because he knew what she was asking for. She already held part of him, and she wanted it all – the dark, the light, the horror, the joy, all of the memories, total disclosure anytime she wanted it. And it wasn't unfair of her to ask, given what he was asking of her.

He took a step back. He hadn't meant for that one step to be a huge statement, but it was. He knew it the moment he did it. "I can't… I couldn't," he said.

"I know. So, let's go have some tea."

He nodded. "Okay," he said, suddenly utterly exhausted.

So, the Doctor's actions could be construed here as adolescent, but given the depth of grief in him, he can be understood and forgiven, yes? And that's exactly what Martha intended to do.

What are your thoughts? I would adore a review just now!

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