Hi all... again, it's taking me a while. If you're reading this, I appreciate you immensely, and know that I am grateful for your sticking with this! And with me.

The previous chapter ended with Martha warning the Doctor about the blogger, and suggesting he get the hell out of the banquet!

This chapter turns a corner... we leave the banquet, we crack the shell of Kinsey Mund, and... well, our heroes make a decision (or not?) that might affect their immediate future.

I hope you feel, as Martha does, that this chapter has been earned.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 7

Back in his suit, a few of the wait staff looked offended and wondered where he got off leaving early, but he told them there was a personal emergency, couldn't be helped, and it was the truth. He ploughed through the kitchen, made sure to evade Kinsey Mund, and went straight for the VIP exit.

He pulled out the psychic paper as he strode, and showed it to the security guard without even looking at him, and pushed the door open.

And when he got outside, he realised he was at the top of a set of stairs. He was out. Now what?

"Hey, you," he heard from behind him. "Nice suit."

He turned, and there she stood. Leaning against this side of the wall, for once.

She was out of sight of anyone inside the banquet room, between two, five-foot-tall, teardrop-shaped Boxwood topiaries.

"What's going on?" he asked, lamely.

"I thought you could use a rescue," she said, with a bit of a gentle shrug.

He smirked, and stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked toward her. "You rescuing me tends to get us into trouble."

He stopped just a bit more than an arm's length away from her. "Well, tonight it's Kinsey Mund who has a piece of you, not me."

"So this is real? Kinsey Mund is a blogger?"

Martha nodded once, rather sagely. "She's been taken down several times already, so now, she uses the name Bougie Boca, and does not use certain words in her blog. Certain words, and combinations of words, get pinged by certain filters…"

"Like TARDIS, sonic screwdriver…"

"Yep. The filters can't find her, but I can."

"Looking out for me as always."

"I know you don't like it, but you're vulnerable, Doctor," she warned. "Especially on a night like tonight."

"Perhaps that's true," he said. And then, he squinted his eyes, and feigned a hard-thinking expression. "But it's funny how I'm just going to walk away from her, even though I'm vulnerable to her, and she has got, as you said, a piece of me. I'm not going to try to get that piece back."

"Very funny."

"I've got no desire to lay open her vulnerabilities."

"No, I don't suppose you would have."

"And d'you know what? The Master always had pieces of me, hadn't he? But I never had any desire to claim him, in spite of what some nosy folks in the High Council might have thought."

"Excuse me?" she asked, stifling a laugh.

"Indicating," he said, taking a step forward. "That perhaps it's not about me trying to direct the game, and not being able to let go of the upper hand."

She smiled. "Okay. Perhaps not."

"Perhaps it is about me actually being vulnerable to you, and wondering if you'd reciprocate," he said, taking another half-step forward. "I suppose I was a bit ham-fisted about it."

He was giving Martha a chance to step aside, the last stop before she became pinned between him and the wall.

But she did not step aside.

"And I never would reciprocate?"

"I suppose you didn't feel you could trust it. I suppose I didn't really trust it either."

"But now?"

"Now I'm choosing trust," he whispered, and he closed the space between them, and pressed his lips to hers. When she didn't balk, he took her cheek, jaw, and neck in one of his hands and pressed a bit harder. One of her hands pulled at his jacket gently, and they just enjoyed the kiss for a few moments. She tilted her head, and invited him to deepen it, and so he did – it was hardly the first time, but it felt different.

After a while, he pulled away, and she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Martha," he said, as always, low and intimate. "This is not about power or control. This is about you. It always has been about you."

"Always?"

"Always," he said. "Even if I wasn't ready to admit it yet."

"Even to yourself."

"Even to myself," he confirmed.

He leaned forward and began to kiss her bare neck, just below the ear. This made her melt, and her vision blur a bit. "You know, I walked away for a reason," she tried to say with conviction, but it only came out as a breathy half-moan.

And almost involuntarily, she put her arms round his back and pulled him closer.

"I do know," he said, still nipping at her exposed flesh – now working his way down to her shoulder. "I also know that our time together, it's been on my mind all evening. Our pattern…"

"I've been thinking about it, too."

"I'm ready to break it."

"So am I."

He had worked his way back up to her chin now, and settled back into her lips, wrapping his hands around her waist, and once again, they just enjoyed their lips and tongues dancing, bodies starting to sing… there was a gradual crescendo of sorts, and there came a moment when breath started to quicken, exhales became soft sighs, the beginnings of moans…

And recognising this moment, the Doctor, once again, pulled away. He searched her eyes.

After a few moments, she smiled. "This is usually the point when we would stop, and try to climb back into reality."

"And you would tell me off, very gently."

Silence hung in the air. She asked, "Do you want me to tell you off?"

"Not really, but it's up to you. But, if you want both hearts and all of the truth, you've got it. You've got it all."

"What?"

He put five fingertips to his chest. "If you want them, they're yours. They're yours even if you don't want them. I'm tired of there being walls between us. I'm tired of there being anything between us."

She stood breathless for a moment, and a bit shocked. Then she grabbed both lapels and pulled him back in. They kissed heartily one more time, and she whispered, "Well, I guess I'd better request a car, then."

This revelation shocked the Doctor just a bit. Though, he didn't know why. What exactly had he been expecting?

"Erm… really?"

"Sure," she said, lightly. "Maybe just so we can talk. Maybe not. All I know is that we can't stay here all night. For a variety of reasons, actually."

He could hardly argue with any of it.

She took his hand and they walked down the VIP stairs toward a valet station. The young man there snuck a look back at them as they descended, and only then did they realise that they were being seen as they snogged and had this long-awaited epiphany, that should have been private. They looked at each other and giggled.

"Yes, sir, ma'am, how can I help you?" the young man said as they approached.

"Would you please get us a taxi?" Martha asked.

"Of course," he said. "Give me a few minutes."

He jogged away, through a door at the bottom of the stairs.

And as Martha and the Doctor stood there waiting, she leaned in for a kiss, and he obliged. Then she whispered, "And now comes the age-old question: your place or mine?"

His eyes were drawn upwards. "Er, mine is still convalescing from the last run-in with… well, a parasitic alien from the Shekwan Cluster."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, er…" he said, lowering his voice. "I vanquished it early this morning, and the console room and main hallways are filled with vortex steam. I was just going to stay in a hotel, if needed, depending upon how long the vortex steam took to dissipate."

"What the hell is vortex steam?"

"Just what it sounds like," he said. "A travelling vessel having ripped through the vortex at a velocity which caused fibres from the fabric of time to become… well, vapour."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that is how it sounds," she said, with a chuckle.

"She'll be fine. She'll repair herself, but for now, the controls are obscured and clogged," he told her. "Plus, it's hard to breathe in there, even for me, and that steam gets into everything."

"What, like when you're sitting in a pub with a bunch of smokers, and your clothes and hair smell terrible when you get home?"

"Similar, yeah. Actually, now I think of it, if I'm trying to duck the Escappa, the TARDIS isn't the best place for me to just be cooling my heels without a plan anyhow."

"Okay," she said, as though she didn't quite believe him. She was looking up at him a little bit sideways, with a coy smile.

"What?" he asked her, returning the smile.

"Nothing, I'm just…" she turned to face him, and again tugged at his lapels. They snogged a bit shamelessly for about ten seconds, causing the valet, now coming back through the door, to clear his throat.

They broke the kiss, and looked at him apologetically, even though he had turned away by now.

"Just what?" the Doctor whispered to her.

"Just in disbelief, sort of. As in, I can't believe this is happening," she whispered back.

"That's all right. I can."

She took a deep breath, and looked up at him earnestly. "Doctor, I just hope, whatever happens next – maybe just a talk, maybe not – that you understand how…" she stopped, and gulped down a rush of emotion. "How meaningful this is. All of it – the whole evening."

"'Course I understand," he assured her, then took a pause. Then, "I think that's why it took this long."

She nodded. "I can see that. It's just…"

And then the valet cleared his throat again, and said, "Your taxi will be here in a couple of minutes. If you don't mind, I'm going to take my tea break. Excuse me." And he disappeared back through the door.

They chuckled again, and realised that they had been no longer exactly whispering. Nor had they been speaking loudly, but the valet clearly had no desire to continue to experience their budding drama/romance along with them.

"Yikes. I guess we'd better change the subject," she said.

"Yeah," the Doctor sighed. "Though this conversation is a lot less weird than ones we could be having. For example, tell me more about Kinsey Mund. Seems I'll have to deal with her at some point."

"All right. I'll just say one more thing about… us. What you said before, Doctor… I know you understand that this is meaningful. It's just, I know that you haven't wanted this for as long as I have…"

"You might be surprised," he told her.

"Yeah?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Oh yes."

"Here you go," he said to her, gesturing to a half-moon shaped door down a corridor of the TARDIS where she had not yet been. Not that she had been in many corridors at this stage… he had only known her for a couple of days.

But they had been intense days.

"What's this?" she asked. Thus far, she had reacted to just about everything with utter delight (with a few notable exceptions). Though at the moment, he could see that she was far too knackered to give her usual dollop of enthusiasm to the question. She gave a smile, and a limp gesture toward the door.

"Thought you might be tired," he said, and he opened the door for her. "It's been a hell of a day. The TARDIS cleaned it out for you."

He wasn't sure what the vessel might have done to the large, long-unused bedroom, but he smiled as he saw that it was now moon-themed. Crescent moons dotted the walls, and gentle blue light emerged from behind them.

"Is this for me?" she asked.

"Well… yes," he said, getting a reminder in the pit of his stomach that he was still aching from recent events… Canary Wharf, Bad Wolf Bay - he still saw them when he closed his eyes. And so, he corrected himself. "For now."

It had only been a few months, and he could not bear the idea of it happening again – getting close to someone, and losing them suddenly, violently, without closure, probably forever.

Getting close to someone… dare he even entertain the thought of falling in love with someone? He shuddered. Until the very, very end, he hadn't entertained the word love with Rose, even in his own mind. It was just so out-of-reach for a Time Lord. But somehow Rose had got him to open up – she got a piece of him, in a way that no-one else had.

And then, it had happened… Daleks, Cybermen, the Void.

Life with him. Just that, nothing much more. And it made him feel sick to think about.

Martha stepped inside the room, and he followed behind her.

As he did so, he wondered, What the hell am I doing? It had to be a bad idea, didn't it? Bringing someone new aboard, someone he could quite clearly fall for in short order. But not only was he not ready to give his hearts away again, when Rose still mostly had them, but he was not keen to go down that road ever again if he could help it.

And with Martha Jones aboard long-term, he wasn't sure he would be able to help it.

Yet, the prospect of saying goodbye to her, even after just a few days, did not sit well either. She was so remarkable – everything he needed in a travelling companion, everything he admired in a human being, and to boot, she was absolutely stunning.

And so, here they were: the Doctor still working through his grief, and Martha all too ready to help speed things along.

What could go wrong?

The entire room was crescent-shaped, and when they rounded the corner, they saw a flat-screen TV (though it was rectangular), showing a scene of a full moon, hovering over a sparkling sea. The bed was large and round, and adorned with a light blue bedspread with crescent embroidery.

"Wow! This is absolutely gorgeous! I'll have no trouble falling asleep in here! Thanks so much," she said, though not too effusively. He wondered if his words, for now, were lingering with her.

"You're welcome," he said, but he had a frown on his face, because he was just now noticing the empty shelves along the curved wall, just inside the door.

The TARDIS had done this. The TARDIS was inviting her to stay long-term, to fill the shelves with her things. It was trying to give Martha the message that there was a vacancy here…

No, no, no… not ready yet! he insisted, inside his mind.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just… I didn't expect the TARDIS to clean out the shelves."

"Oh. What's missing?"

"Not the point," he said, absently.

She waited for him to say something else. When he did not, she asked, "What is the point, then?"

His eyes fixed once again on her, and said, "Not important."

"Are you sure? Sounds important."

"Nah," he said, his smile returning. "But what is important is that I wanted to do something to say thank you, Martha Jones, for saving the day."

She smiled incredulously. "Me? Saving the day? Hardly!"

"Twice now, you have provided the last, missing piece of the puzzle," he argued. "Without which, we would be dead, and your planet might have ceased to exist in 1599."

"All I did was yell Expelliarmus."

"It was brilliant – don't tell yourself different. It was a word that even Shakespeare didn't know. It carries power because to you, or at least, in a fictional world that you love, it disarms. If Shakespeare's words can have power, then so can anyone's."

"Well… I did what I could," she said, simply.

"And before that, you were the one who worked out why I had let Florence the Plasmavore drain my blood," he pointed out. "Honestly, I had hoped that the Judoon would simply scan the whole hospital again, trying to find the non-human, and get to her before she needed to feed again, which would have been in about six hours, but… in that case, I'd have died."

She nodded. "You were willing to die so they'd find her."

"But I didn't," he said, stepping forward toward her, hands in pockets. "Because you worked it out sooner. You're amazing."

She shook her head. "I'm merely clever. You are amazing. Sacrificing yourself to smoke out the bad guy."

"Any idiot can do that. Not just anyone could have saved me," he said.

"Doctor, I…"

"Listen, Martha," he said, before she could swat down his praises. He now stood less than an arm's reach from her, and gave her a look that communicated seriousness. He reminded himself to tread lightly here. "A partner – a companion, if you like – is essential to the process. A clever, brave one. And preferably, someone who can adjust herself to be in-sync with me. And you proved today to be more in-sync with me than most."

"What about Rose?" she asked, and it shocked him to hear.

He was speechless for a few moments, and felt somehow as though he had been caught out.

"What about her?" he asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Isn't she essential to your process, as well?"

He swallowed hard. "She's gone. She's not part of the process anymore."

"She's clearly still essential to something."

He took a deep breath. "Yes."

"You said I wasn't replacing her."

Damn it. Did I say that out loud?

He shook his head. "You're not – no-one can replace another person. Not really."

"I suppose that's true…" she said, eyes narrowing.

"But as far as someone being in-sync with me, and me being grateful to them, and offering them a place to rest… that is not the same thing, is it?"

"Well," she whispered. "I guess not. And I'm… I'm mostly glad of that."

"You didn't freak out, nor say anything to anyone, when you heard my heartbeats," he said. "You guided me through the hospital, you let me kiss you…"

And with that, he stopped talking, but did not break eye contact. Something about this moment choked him.

She blushed, and looked down at the floor. "Honestly, I can think of worse ways to save a hospital than being kissed by you."

He remained serious. "Yeah. Me too." He was quiet for a moment, then went on, "A day bookended by life-giving kisses. Could have been much, much worse, for sure."

"Bookended?"

"You gave me your last breath."

"Oh. That." She hadn't thought about their lips meeting in that process, she had only wanted to save the Doctor, and the Earth.

"Yes, that," he said, swallowing hard.

She looked up at him. Something passed between them… a recognition of something. Something.

And in that moment, he had come dangerously close to kissing her again. But he held back. He practically had to swallow the need, but he did it.

"I… er, I guess I'll have a kip now," Martha whispered, probably having sensed a glimmer of what was on his mind, and also that it was a bad idea.

"Okay," he whispered back. "I'll leave you to it."

Then, he turned and walked out of the room.

And as he walked past the empty shelves, his stomach tightened, and he knew he had made, for once, the right decision.

For now.

A black cab pulled up to the kerb at the bottom of the stairs of the VIP exit. For the past few minutes, the Doctor and Martha had been standing several feet apart, taking advantage of the fact that the valet had run screaming back to his hiding place. They had been discussing the blog entitled "Subject Blue," and what it might mean for them.

The valet jogged back out through the door, and opened the taxi for them. He gave them a curt "have a nice evening," and shut it.

Martha gave her address to the driver, and they began to roll.

"So, what's her pen name again?" the Doctor asked. "Bijou something?"

"Bougie Boca," she corrected.

"Oh right, even better," he muttered.

She extracted her iPhone from her handbag, where the blog had been pulled up twenty minutes previously, while she'd been in the ladies', ducking the nosy gazes of her table mates. She handed it to him, and he began to read.

"Colonel Mace and I were wondering whether she'd got Rose's mother's full name correct," she said. "As well as… well a couple of other things. He's sceptical that this is something."

He read for a few moments. "Yeah, she's got the name right."

"Damn," Martha said. "And as far as UNIT is concerned, people like me, Elizabeth Shaw, and Josephine Grant, the Brigadier, et cetera, should be known associates, but no-one has ever got Rose's full name, let alone her mother's."

"Yeah, this is not good," the Doctor said. "Mace isn't sure this is something?"

"Well, he wasn't this morning."

"Why not text him with Kinsey Mund's real name, and see what he can dig up now?"

She nodded and sent a text to Colonel Mace that said, "Subject Blue blogger's real name is Kinsey Mund. Look her up!"

"There," she said.

And with that, he took the phone out of her hands and placed it in her lap, then took her head in both of his own hands, and kissed her. She felt a little self-conscious, because there was now another person in the vicinity, who could watch them through the mirror… but she reckoned that taxi drivers saw all sorts of things.

"Wait," she said, pushing away for a moment. She whispered, "Doesn't it make you nervous that the Escappa might be using this blog to find you, as we speak? She was basically live blogging from the banquet."

"Last she knew, I was at the banquet. I am now in a non-descript London taxi, going in some direction that remains to be seen," he said.

"Toward my flat! She knows me!"

"Martha, there's always something like this looming over my head. Can we just…"

"Just… what?"

"I dunno – live in the moment?"

She nodded and smiled, and let him kiss her again. The kiss deepened, and almost reluctantly, they fell into one another in a way that made the taxi driver sigh audibly. In these moments, she allowed herself to doubt that they would be going to her place just to talk.

And that was okay. It was more than okay.

There was a little voice in her head telling her that she ought to step more lightly. Four hours ago, her mind had been on her makeup, her VIP ticket, and Dr. Hazard's award. The Doctor had been on the periphery of her thoughts, but it had been all about the blog, his safety, and she had been kicking herself for her continuing, annoying pash. One hour ago, she had been sure that helping the Doctor with his Escappa/Mund problem was a one-off, nothing more than a favour to a good man who deserved to have someone looking after him.

But she had stepped lightly in the past. She had withstood the hurricane that was the Doctor's advances more than once, by keeping her wits about her, being smart, and knew that she was better for it. She also now understood what might have happened, had she not been engaged, all those months ago in the pub, when the Doctor said he was over not being over it when it came to events and Companions and heartache that had come before her. Although, he had been hurting that day, and had just been looking for someone to sit and talk with – who's to say?

Plus, she had had a real chance to grow. She had gained maturity, experience, and above all perspective. She had learned more about what a relationship takes, what she needs, and how strong she is. He had shown her that he understood her, that he was not, in fact, truly trying to control her. She had learned that she could walk completely away from the Doctor and still stay standing. She could love him, want him from afar, and if he didn't respond to her, life would go on. She was bigger on the inside now, and the space he occupied was important, but smaller, in deference to new parts of her – self-discovery, her doctoring, UNIT, her time on the run, caring for her family, being an adult.

Inside of her, there was room for all of it: both of his hearts, all of his truth, love, lust, friendship, the pleasure they could bring to and take from one another… even the regret, if things went awry. If it came to it, she could handle even that.

At best, they were in love, and this was destiny. At worst, it was a treat for herself, for which she had paid her dues.

In short, she had earned this. They had, together.

"Bugger," spat Kinsey Mund, as she realised that over twenty minutes had passed, and she had not seen Martha Jones. She had already asked after the tall, toothsome waiter, whom she very strongly suspected was the Doctor himself. The kitchen staff told her that he had changed back into his street clothes and left, on a personal matter. She must have been distracted either with interviews for the actual piece of journalism she was (reluctantly) writing for the paper, or with trying not to seem as though she were spying on anyone.

She had come on too strong, had lost her mark, and his Companion as well. Had they got onto her?

What the hell had she been thinking? Of course they had got onto her. If this man was the Doctor, and she was almost sure that he was, then he and Martha Jones were perhaps the cleverest team on the planet, and completely used to ducking danger without tensing a muscle…

A journalist like her would be child's play to them. She had got greedy by accosting them for interviews and coffee dates. She should have stayed in the shadows, bribing people, digging for dirt.

"Bugger," she said again, as she stood on the first floor looking about, on the off chance that the Time Lord and the UNIT medic had hidden away up here. It didn't seem as though anyone had discovered this area tonight, however. There were discreet seating areas, planters, and much larger powder rooms. It might be a good place to get lost, while trying to duck a journalist, but for the moment, she seemed to be completely alone.

And then her mobile phone rang. It was a blocked number.

"What?" she said into it.

"Hello, I'm calling for a Kinsey Mund," said a stuffy male voice. It sounded as though its owner's jaws were clamped partially shut.

"This is Mund, how can I help you?"

"This is Colonel Mace of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce," he said.

She cursed under her breath. She knew who this guy was. Any doubt she might have had about Martha Jones having clocked her spying, it was now up in smoke.

"Yes, what can I do for you, Colonel Mace?" she asked, sweetly, not wanting to give anything away.

"I must ask you to be honest with me, Ms. Mund, for the sake of the planet: are you the blogger known as Bougie Boca?"

Kinsey's mouth dropped open in shock, and she was incredibly glad that no-one, especially Colonel Mace, could see her. This, she had not expected. Martha Jones knowing she was being watched and/or investigated was one thing, but pegging her as Bogie Boca was on a whole different level. She had been so careful to disguise her IP address, cloak the text in the blog… well, until tonight. Had Martha and UNIT discovered her just since she'd been doing the live blogging? It was true, she hadn't had time to edit…

"What?" she asked, feigning incredulity. "I'm a journalist, Colonel Mace."

"Indeed, you are," he said. "But once again, I ask: are you also a blogger, who uses the moniker Bougie Boca? Because if you are, then you have gone by several different names, and you have been taken down several times, due to your intrusive and dangerous blog concerning the Doctor."

"I am familiar with Bougie Boca, Colonel Mace," she conceded. "And I can assure you that she does not write about any doctor. Her blog is known as Subject Blue."

"You know as well as I do that Subject Blue is a code name or nickname for the Doctor."

"What doctor? Doctor who?" Mund asked. "Colonel, I don't have time for this. I am at an event, trying to do my job, so if you'll excuse…"

"Listen to me, Ms. Mund, quite carefully now," he said, seriously. If daggers could be heard, she could hear them now, right there in his voice. "I have it on very good authority that you are the blogger, Bougie Boca. This is a particularly good authority on the Doctor, who knows bloody well who Subject Blue is, and who does not take his safety lightly. Nor would she inform me of the blogger's identity without being sure. Now stop playing games with me. Take the blog down."

She was silent for a few moments. "Colonel Mace, this is harassment. I am not Bougie Boca, and the blog is not about…"

"Please don't make me resort to drastic measures."

"What drastic measures would those be, exactly? I'm an award-winning journalist with full credentials, and, might I add, the right to freedom of expression. You're a functionary in a buttoned-up coat, in some sort of underground paramilitary organisation that everyone thinks are nutters. Do your fucking worst."

And she cut off the call.

But she was shaking.

She'd been caught, her cover blown.

She'd been careless. She resolved to leave now, go home, work on her piece about the North Star Awards, and regroup on the blog tomorrow.

She walked into the enclosed stairwell in the corner that she hoped would lead into the parking structure below ground, confident that this was the right plan.

And that was her last thought before something loud and wet grabbed her, and everything went black.

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