After a month with Donna's family, the Doctor realises he has more happy memories to share than he thought. He tells the tale of the bomb that didn't blow up London and the child returned to his too-young mother, the day everybody lived. He speaks of the reunion with Sarah Jane, of that time he mistakenly kidnapped Clara's entire class because she thought her students were shapeshifters and he had to buy them ice cream on Acapulco, the planet, not the beach in Mexico, or the time he, Amy, and Rory accidentally showed up at their favourite restaurant at the same time in triplicate because he mishandled their reservations. It was a fun one. He can't remember ever seeing Rory so red. Poor man, three Amy in the same room was too much for him.
Remembering the good days doesn't mean the bad ones are gone, of course. It would be nice if healing worked like that. Instead, he soon runs out of good memories to tell, while talking about the bad ones brings back ten other things he wishes he could forget forever. It's sad how quickly he's forced to repeat some of his stories. Donna says it doesn't matter, that it took him almost a year to run out of so-called good stories, but it does. The Doctor would love to see things the way she does. Apparently, it's because of the depression, because the Doctor is clinically depressed. It looks like an excuse to him.
But, since he's supposed to focus on the positive, he has two good things to say. First, he's been here for almost a year and the slowness of time hasn't driven him crazy yet. It's easier to bear it each day. Second, Rose Noble loves his stories, the sad and the happy ones, and now that he can't remember any good story, she likes to ask him to tell her favourite ones a second time. Oddly enough, the more he tells them, the more he only sees these stories' good side.
Rose's favourites are all about how he met his various companions. She loves the story of how he met Donna and the one about their reunion, but she often asks for the fairy tale of Amelia Pond, the girl who waited, and for the story of Martha and the Judoons on the Moon. Shaun's favourites are all about Donna. Sylvia likes those where Donna isn't there better because they don't give her an ulcer years later. Donna herself doesn't seem to have any preferences, but she mostly asks for cheerful stories.
No one ever asks him for stories about the first Rose. To wear the face and body she loved has brought back that old wound. The Doctor talks about his Rose sometimes, when he feels the need, when he knows it will not hurt too much, but it is always on his initiative. He's grateful they understand how it hurt otherwise.
One night, he's drying the dishes with Rose telling her Martha's story for the third time. He's reached the point where he threw his shoes in the bim, when a sudden thought comes to his mind.
"By the way, Donna, have you heard anything from Martha? Oh, and Mickey too? The last time I heard of them, they were together."
Donna takes some time to answer, so long that he closes his eyes in anticipation of bad news, car accident, cancer, or invasion of Daleks, but Donna's cheerful tone reassures him.
"Oh, they're fine! They got married in 2012 or 2013, I think. I got an invitation, or Mum got it for me, of course, because I couldn't remember anything from before you took my memories away. I know they did, because I found the invite somewhere in my papers the other day. Of course, when we got it, I just wondered who these strangers were. I thought they were confusing me with someone else."
"Grandpa went for you," Sylvia interjects. "He has an entire album of photos of things you would have wanted to see and do if you still had your memories. I'm sure he has photos of the wedding if you want to see them."
"Of course I do! Why didn't you tell me he had that?"
"Honestly, it slipped off my mind, and his, too. No wonder with everything that happened. I'll ask him tonight where he hid them."
"Thank you. It would be nice to learn about everything that happened while someone was too busy running around to do something about my problem."
There's no animosity in her voice, and the allusion to what the Doctor did to Donna hardly hurts anymore. Today, the Doctor is in a good mood, especially after learning two of his former companions are still happy together. He can't claim responsibility for that, but he's glad for them. More than anyone, Martha deserves to be happy after what she's been through.
"Have you had any recent news, Sylvia?"
His more or less mother-in-law shakes her head, before exchanging a long, meaningful glance with Donna. Before he can question them, Donna smiles.
"I can check with UNIT. They're always keeping an eye on your former companions, just in case, like Kate says. We usually find our way into trouble, even after we leave the Tardis. Who would have thought?"
Apart from the Doctor and Donna, everyone smiles and raises their hands. The Doctor lowers his head, half-ashamed, half-amused. It's his fault they've all learned to rush headlong into danger like he does, but he's also so proud of them. Today is definitely a good day. It always is when pride and admiration outweigh regrets instead of the other way around. For some companions, shame will always win, like with Amy and Rory, Rose, and so many others before... It's his fault their lives were lost or ruined. But Martha sorted out okay, despite him more than thanks to him. Today, it's enough to know that. Tomorrow, who knows?
"I'd like to hear from her. From them. I'd like to know if they're okay. Even if they're not."
"I'm sure they are," Rose smiles.
The Doctor can believe that if it pleases her, but experience tells him otherwise. He still smiles at her, because he loves his niece.
"I'll ask UNIT tomorrow," Donna says.
They change the subject after that, and the Doctor pretends not to notice the looks everyone gives him. They're not sad looks. It has to be enough for now. The Doctor puts away the last of the plates, then walks the entire Noble family to the door. He has his own house now, with a big garden and a spare room. Donna sleeps there when he needs company and can't look past the dark thoughts. Sometimes Rose stays, pretending he lives closer to school, or that she needs help with her homework. It's better this way. The Doctor knows he's an exhausting guest to have around and he couldn't sleep in their spare room forever. He still bought a house close to them, in case of emergency, like the return of the Master or their dishwater breaking down. For the past few weeks, he has even gotten better with his anxiety once the door closes behind them. That's progress.
But tonight, once he has turned the key in the lock, the Doctor collapses against the door. That tone Dona took when saying she would ask UNIT... She knows something and didn't tell him. Something happened to Martha. He's not sure what, but he knows. Or maybe he's wrong. The Doctor knows his Donna. He's been here for a year and she started working with UNIT immediately after the Giggle. She's definitely been in touch with Martha. After all, Martha works with UNIT or did fifteen years ago, two thousand years ago for him. So maybe she has already made it known she doesn't want to hear from him. He would deserve that.
Something bangs on the door. The Doctor jumps.
"Hoy, Martian boy!" Donna shouts. "Stop thinking so hard, you're disturbing the entire neighbourhood! And go to bed. I know you haven't slept enough this week. I'll come by tomorrow after work."
Wonderful, amazing Donna. The Doctor reluctantly smiles, gets up, turns off the lights, and lies on his terrace. He's a Time Lord, he doesn't need to sleep as much as a human. He should sleep. Donna's right. He needs to sleep more, even for a Time Lord, but today, he knows he won't. He fights the urge to take the TARDIS and go straight to tomorrow, five o'clock, and he wins. Maybe he'll even close his eyes after he's done counting all the stars in the sky where he has brought his companions and all the systems he still has to visit. So many places he had never seen.
The next day, Donna puts a piece of paper in his hand without stopping her rant against a UNIT colleague who almost triggered an interplanetary conflict by sneezing in front of an official representative of the Zarkhum, for whom it is the ultimate gesture of contempt. The Doctor suddenly remembers when Nyssa got hit by an allergy to the local flowers, nearly doing the same. They had to run to save their lives. Rose has never heard this story. She'll love it. He may have still some cheerful stories to remember and tell her.
Listening to Donna, the Doctor mechanically folds and unfolds the paper, not really listening. He doesn't look inside. He's terrified.
"Doctor."
He rewinds the conversation and realises Donna has been staring at him in exasperation for five minutes now. Now that she has his attention, she nods at the paper.
"It's not a bomb."
"Could be. I've seen a paper bomb before. Well, I say bomb..."
"Doctor. I was there. Stop stalling and open the damn paper before I do!"
Donna's threats are always serious. The Doctor examines the paper. It doesn't look like a bomb. He doesn't smell any poison either, and given the time he's spent fiddling with it, he'd be dead by now if it was, and Donna held it before him. The paper is thick and watermarked, typical of what you might find in UNIT offices. The Doctor finally unfolds it. Inside, he found a familiar phone number and the address of a pub. No signature, but the Doctor would recognise Martha's scribblings among a thousand. She's the only one of his companions who has a doctor's handwriting. He liked that about her.
"Martha wants to meet you. She's been waiting for your call for a long time. She's never changed her number, just in case you might need her someday."
"Does she know about...?"
"She more or less works for UNIT, and former companions have privileges. Mel and I filled her in on the bigeneration thing, but not the details, just as I don't tell UNIT everything."
"But she never came. She hasn't called either."
The Doctor is unsure if he's hurt or relieved by Martha's silence. Donna slaps his hand to bring him back to the moment. There's too much understanding in her eyes for the Doctor not to look away.
"Martha's an intelligent woman, and she's good with people. She knew she would need to be patient before you were ready to see her. We know it's hard for you to see old friends again. She was waiting for you to make the first move. You dit it. That's her answer. Call her whenever you want. Or, if you want something more spontaneous, this is where she sometimes goes for a drink after work. You've got options."
How many? The Doctor wants to ask. How many of his old companions are still out there, hoping to hear from him? How many don't want to hear from him at all? Sarah-Jane's dead, Amy and Rory out of reach. How many more he lost, how many more he had left, but for how long?
"Doctor?"
"I've waited too long."
"Too long, not long enough, just long enough..." Donna sniffs. "It doesn't matter. You want to see her? She wants to see you. And I think we both know you owe her that."
"I owe her more."
"Then call her."
The Doctor nods mechanically and carefully folds the paper and slips it into his pocket. He doesn't know if he's ready. It's hard enough to live close to Donna, watching Wilf grow older every day. Living the same thing with Martha? He doesn't know if he's ready. She must be over forty now. She's still young, but time will soon catch up with her and the others.
"Doctor? What did we say?"
He rolls his eyes.
"One step at a time, one second at a time."
"Exactly."
"Have you started reading psychology books again?"
Donna throws her arms up in the air.
"Someone has to, since a certain Martian boy refuses to see the qualified psychologists UNIT provides!"
She picks up her tale where she left off, not waiting for an answer. This time, the Doctor is careful to listen, if only to distract himself from this little piece of paper burning the inside of his pocket.
It takes him twenty-thee days and sixty-eight attempts at writing a message on those horrible little boxes that Earthlings insist on calling a phone because he can't risk calling and Martha picking up right away before the Doctor goes to the address Martha left him. He waits for Martha for a whole two hours. When she doesn't show up, he leaves, more than a little relieved. He comes back the next day and sits in the same place where he can watch the door without being seen. Martha doesn't show up.
The third time, a week later, the Doctor comes back as much for the raisin buns as for Martha. At least, that's what he tells himself. He's sitting at the counter, enjoying a nice cup of tea when he sees movement out of the corner of his eyes. Here she is, sitting down at a table. The Doctor turns around immediately, hoping she hasn't noticed him. Too bad he has no newspaper to hide behind. Failing that, he uses his sonic screwdriver to burn out a ceiling light and create a darker corner. When he feels safer, the Doctor stares at Martha.
She's splendid, even more beautiful than when she was his companion. There's a new confidence in her eyes. She raises her head like someone who knows exactly what her place in the universe is. Some of his companions learned that from him. Martha was less confident in herself when she left than when she arrived, and that's his fault. He hurt her. The Master did too, of course, but that doesn't mean he has no personal responsibility for that. Seeing her like this, even from afar, it helps, more than he can tell. At the same time, he's even less confident he should talk to her. Nothing he could say would repair the harm he did. She's happy. That's the only thing that matters. Better to leave when something distracts her attention.
"She'll be so mad at you if you do that. And don't pretend you didn't think about it."
The Doctor jumps, glances at the bartender, and turns away, not really in the mood to tell his life story. Except... something makes him tilt. A second look at the bartender almost makes him choke.
"Mickey?"
The bartender rolls his eyes.
"At last. This is the second time I served you a drink, and you never noticed me. Figure. Don't tell me how much I changed. I don't want to know and you insulted me enough."
Still stunned, the Doctor shakes his head. He's wrong, he's still the same Mickey. He's put on a bit of weight, mostly muscle, but he's got the same stubborn, honest look he had all these years ago. Mickey raises a sarcastic eyebrow when the silence drags on.
"So Donna was wrong when she said you were as talkative as ever, or are you still offended by my existence, like you were back then? Not even a sarcastic remark."
"No, no, no, I'm just surprised. Look at you! Mickey Smith, mechanic, defender of Earth, and bartender!"
"Not everyone's like you, Doctor. For some of us, there comes a time when we need to stop running."
He pats his leg sarcastically. The burgeoning smile freezes on the Doctor's lips.
"What happened?"
"Four years ago, I was on a freelance job with Martha. A Hoix bit me on the leg. Turned out he had tricatan rabies."
"No! I didn't even know Hoix could get it."
"Neither did we. Luckily, it's not transmissible to Humans, but the wound still got infected. I was lucky to survive. Martha still had Jack's number. He got a few contacts involved, my leg got saved, but I had to say goodbye to the running."
"Oh no. I'm sorry Mickey. I'm so sorry."
Mickey shrugs.
"I don't even care that much. I'm nearly fifty. Basically, I've done my part. And I'm not entirely out of the business. I own this pub and almost all the clients here work for UNIT. I've got some experience with things from outer space that come in handy once in a while, and it's nice to still be in the loop and to know Earth is protected even when you're not around. UNIT is always watching."
"And Martha?"
"Ask her," Mickeys says, not hiding his exasperation.
The Doctor turns to meet Martha's gaze. She's looking straight at him, daring him to leave without talking to her. It seems he has no choice. The Doctor swallows. Reunions are always bittersweet, even the one with Sarah-Jane, even the one with Donna, even if she finally regained her memory. It won't be different today. For a moment, the Doctor wonders if he came to torture himself, to give Martha what she needs, or to hope she gives him absolution. He's not sure if he can feel his heart slowing down or if it's his imagination. They would have to worry if time was really freezing around them, but it isn't. It's just him, stalling again. Being a coward.
"Do I have to push you?" Mickey barks behind him.
The Doctor rolls his eyes.
"Oh shut up, Mickey."
Instead of getting angry, Mickey snickers.
"I never thought I'd say that one day, but I missed that tone."
More proof that time passes too quickly if Mickey now looks back at the condescending tone the Doctor reserved for him with affection. They should talk about that, but the Doctor has already procrastinated too long. He puts his hands in his pockets, takes a deep breath, and approaches Martha with a step that he tries to make nonchalant, but not too much. Judging from Mickey's snicker, he's far from successful.
"Martha..."
"Mickey owes me five dollars," she smiles, as if they had parted ways the day before. "He was sure you'd need at least two more visits to take the plunge and talk to me."
Behind them, Mickey protests loudly. They both ignore him. It's more fun this way, but not as fun as it used to be. Mickey has changed. The Doctor has changed. The overwhelming urge to annoy Rose's old boyfriend and show him who's the best is gone. Rose is gone, and over two thousand years have passed. Mickey is Martha's husband now. The role seems to suit him well. Today, it's the Doctor who feels like the ex passing by to say hello to an old fling, even though there was never anything between him and Martha. It's an uncomfortable situation, and the Doctor hates those, especially when he's the one in the thick of it. That's why he never turns back when he can avoid it. He doesn't enjoy being hurt. But in protecting himself, he hurts his former companions. Ace and Teagan are the most recent proof of that.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to Martha.
He doesn't say it only to her but also to all the others who aren't here today but whose shadows he feels behind her.
"It's okay, Doctor."
"No, really. I'm so sorry. I should have done things so differently when you were my companion, and I should have kept an eye on you and Mickey afterward. Mickey wouldn't have been hurt and..."
Martha hits him roughly on the arm to quiet him.
"It's in the past. I was glad there was a clean break, a before and after the Doctor and the TARDIS, as glad as I had been to travel with you. You get addicted to these adventures of yours. I needed the break, to not live in wait of that wonderful sound of the TARDIS again. You knew that perfectly well, didn't you?"
"Yes, but..."
"But you didn't have the slightest intention of coming back or ever giving me news, and I didn't know that. Jack and others tried to explain it to me, but like an idiot, I thought that after everything we had been through together, you would come and see me one day. It took me ten years to understand that I was no different from the rest. We all accept it one day. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
"We all". "Others." So Martha's in contact with other of his former companions besides Donna. The Doctor is not sure what to think of it. Seeing Rose and Sarah-Jane laughing at him in unison had already been an unpleasant moment to get through. Things have changed since that day. He lives with Donna and her family. He sees Mel at least once a week. Now he had been in touch with Martha and Mickey, he couldn't stop there. It wouldn't be fair to the others. But the Doctor doesn't know if he's ready for all these confrontations and the inevitable goodbyes that follow. For the umpteenth time since he stopped running, he's on the verge of a panic attack. He wants to run to the TARDIS and go visit Raxacoricofalapotorius or the Paris of the Belle Époque until it doesn't hurt.
Martha places her hand on his. It helps to ground him and tear himself from these negative thoughts.
"A lot of water has flowed under the bridge," she says. "You know what I'm mad at you for, though? One day, you saved us from an aggressive Sondataran and left without a word. It felt too much like goodbye. And it was, wasn't it? You knew you were going to die, or you thought so."
"Yes. I was going to regenerate. I wanted to see you with these eyes a last time."
Martha clicks her tongue in annoyance.
"I knew it! And if Mickey hadn't explained regeneration to me, I would have lived the rest of my life believing you were gone forever. Who does that to people, saves their lives, and then leaves them to die alone instead of asking for help or a little company before they leave? That was the part that hurt me more than all the nasty things you did to me during the whole time I was on the TARDIS."
She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, the anger clear in her eyes. The Doctor waits for her judgment, but she just sighs.
"We truly are aliens to each other."
The Doctor forces himself to smile and to ignore the Master's latest revelations about Time Lords and that Timeless Child business.
"I'm a Time Lord. Not a Human."
"What, no remarks about the inherent superiority of Time Lords over us poor little backward humans?" Mickey asks, sitting down beside them with three cups of tea.
"I... have calmed down on that in my later regenerations," the Doctor winces.
This incarnation had often been unbearable, and not just to Mickey. But the following ones were no better, on many points. Just look at how his last face had kept his "fam" at a very long arm's length without ever giving them any information, all the while proclaiming to love them more than everything.
"How does it work, anyway? Rose… Rose once said that when you change your face, it's for good. And regenerations, plural? How long has it been for you?"
"A long time. But what about you? Mickey runs a pub, but you, Martha?"
Martha's look tells him she is not fooled by his way of avoiding the subject, but she agrees to change the subject. Splendid, brilliant Martha. Why was he so stupid he couldn't tell her that the first time he wore that face?
"We slowed down with the alien hunting business even before Mickey's injury. We have a little boy now."
"That's why we have the pub. I'm the parent who goes to parent-teacher meetings. She's the one who deals with alien problems."
"Back when we were freelancers, we'd occasionally collaborate with Torchwood and UNIT, when they had the right people on top, which wasn't often enough. With Kate Stewart at the helm of UNIT, I'm back in the game, but as an independent contractor. They call me when there's a need for a doctor with alien medical skills, especially refugees. It's good to work for a UNIT that puts the scientific and diplomatic side of the business ahead of the military. Anyway, that's how I ran into Donna one day at the office. Needless to say, I was scared to death she was going to die in front of me. I'm glad you could jog her memory."
"She did most of the work, as always. But look at you! You're brilliant. And parents? I bet you're brilliant parents!"
Mickey throws his hands up in the air.
"Okay. I'll be the first to say it. I find it creepy how you hand out compliments like that, especially to me."
"Yes, well, this new-old version of me says things more easily."
"No insults then? No doubts about my ability to be a father or anything else? Of course, there are no doubts about Martha, but I thought you would doubt me."
"I remember her mother. Martha must make a terrifying mother, literally and figuratively. But you too Mickey, I have no doubts. It's brilliant, you know that? Combining a normal life, a life as a father, and a life as an alien hunter, even a retired one, not everyone can do that! You're brilliant."
He nearly cries, and now they're exchanging meaningful glances over his head. The Doctor pretends he doesn't notice their wonder. He'd find it a little annoying if he didn't know this new-old face - not so new after a year of wearing it in linear time - went with an unprecedented ability to put the world to his emotions.
"I'm glad to see you again, Doctor," Martha finally smiles sincerely. "I liked the old you, but I like this one too."
The Doctor hugs her and hugs Mickey. He doesn't protest, too taken aback by his gesture. There's a lump in his throat, so big the Doctor feels like he's suffocating. The first time he wore this face, he was angry, so angry with himself and what he did to Gallifrey. Now, Gallifrey hurt him back, he lived through the Flux and he's not angry anymore, he's just tired. The weariness makes him say things he never would have before because nothing can hurt him more than everything that happened between the start of the Time War and the end of the Flux, so why not tell people he loves them?
"I'm glad to see you again too. So, a little boy?"
Mickey pulls away and gives him a half-mocking, half-wary look.
"His name is August. He'll be ten soon, and you're not allowed near him until he's twenty. I know what happens when you meet impressionable young people."
"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm a very good uncle and I care for my niece's well-being."
"Oh yeah? How many times have you taken her on trips in the TARDIS?"
"Only five, and only when she refuses to believe me when I tell her about the smell of London in the 16th century or Barcelona's ocean colour. And she only got out of the TARDIS twice, after I checked everything was safe."
"You must be really afraid of Donna," Mickey smirks.
"Her, and her mother, especially. Sylvia's slaps are worse than Jackie's."
"Poor you. Wasn't domestic life supposed to be your nightmare?"
The Doctor hesitates, opens his mouth, and looks away, pretending to be fascinated by the sight of the glasses behind the counter.
"You don't have to answer, Doctor, or tell us your life", Martha interjects. "Donna filled us in. Not everything, of course, just the broad outlines. If it hurts too much…"
"It does," the Doctor admits. "It hurts so much. But Donna and my future self are right. I couldn't keep running like that. I was on my last legs. The things I saw, the things I did… The people I lost. Nearly losing Donna again nearly killed me. I had to stop for a while. I… I'm going to need a lot more time. Some things I saw… It was worse than the Time War, in a way. And it's not easy, but I'd like to tell you some things, not the hard parts, but the rest."
The Doctor gathers his thoughts and recounts a few carefully chosen and edulcored moments of his life so that they don't ask him other tough questions. As he speaks, he realises that he would never have told Martha and Mickey all this before, and not only because this version of himself talks more easily about what hurts him. They've grown. How strange. They are no longer young people he can impress to be admired or to feel young again, they are adults, with their own failings. They're everything he had hoped Martha would become and everything he had refused to imagine Mickey becoming, out of jealous pettiness.
They're not equals. He's still a Time Lord, nothing like these ephemeral Humans, but there's a new mutual understanding, born of shared trials and trials they survived on their own. Seeing them both, he wonders if catching up with his other companions with new eyes, but two hearts that have never forgotten them would be easier than he thought. Maybe, just maybe, the Doctor could bear to see other old companions again. He still has a long way to go before he can, but this domestic moment shared in a noisy pub is a good start.
That night, when the Doctor comes home after muttering that Martha and Mickey can come to share his Sunday lunches with the Noble family at any time, but that they can absolutely refuse, after they accept with big smiles, the Doctor suddenly realises that there are lots of happy stories he forgot to tell Rose.