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Martha was woken up by a noise in the middle of the night, like shattering. It was probably the Doctor. She knew he barely slept, and with how overly enthusiastic he had been all day (it had seemed strange and a bit manic, but she had brushed it off as his usual weirdness) she doubted he’d gone to sleep tonight, especially since they hadn’t been on a trip today. She considered staying in bed (the Doctor could take care of himself), but the medical student in her had to make sure he hadn’t hit his head too badly or had stepped into something broken. When she heard a second noise, a crashing sound, she decided someone had to look after the mad alien and got up.
She put on her shoes (just to be sure) and wandered down the corridors looking for an open door or something, asking the Tardis for guidance aloud. And sure enough, whenever she came to a parting of the corridors, a lamp lit up to show her the right way. She found an open door no two minutes later. It was a bedroom apparently. She wondered briefly if it was the Doctor’s, but dismissed the idea as soon as she was greeted with a disturbing amount of pink.
There was broken glass all over the fluffy carpet. Amirror, that had probably hung on the wall before, was lying on the ground. She had expected something like this. What she hadn’t expected, however, was the Timelord across from the damage. Or maybe he was the damage. His knuckles were bloody and there were tear tracks on his face, alarming Martha. She had never seen him cry.
“Doctor?” she asked quietly.
His head snapped up at her. He tried to wipe the tears away, but just made it worse by leaving blood stains on his cheek. “Martha.” His tone was flat, emotionless.
She wanted to ask if he was alright, but thought of it as stupid and rephrased. ”You’re not alright,” she stated instead.
He looked a bit taken aback, but then simply averted his gaze, not correcting her.
She made her way to him, the glass scrunching beneath her feet. Sitting down next to him on the floor, she said, “We’ll have to take care of your hand.”
“I know,” was all he said, not looking at her.
Martha thought of his behaviour today: bouncing around like a madman, but not willing to go somewhere. An odd combination she should have noticed. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
He didn’t reply, just stared at the broken mirror.
Martha looked around. they were in an ordinary girl’s bedroom. She had stumbled upon other bedrooms during her time on the Tardis, but it didn’t happen often.
“One year,” the Doctor said, playing with his ring.
“Sorry?”
He took a deep breath. “It would be our anniversary today.”
Martha knew he couldn’t be talking about the two of them, since she had only met him … roughly three months ago? But sitting in a stranger’s bedroom and having heard about the mysterious Rose, she realized who he was referring to. “Oh.”
Studying him, she dared to ask a question she had been afraid to ask up until now. “Did she leave you?”
He looked at her as if she had just spontaneously burst into flames.
“I mean, was it, you know, a bad break-up?” It must have been. He certainly hadn’t left her.
“I … we didn’t .... she would never …” He swallowed and watched the mirror again. “She promised me forever, Martha,” he told her, his voice breaking.
And for the first time, Martha’s feelings for the relationship between Rose and the Doctor were more than jealousy, because she saw how much the Doctor had loved this woman. “She did?”
He nodded, his gaze falling to the ring on his finger. Martha should have known. She should have realized Rose had been his wife. She pondered if he needed room or if he needed to talk about it, choosing the latter. “Then what happened?”
He was quiet for so long, she thought that he wouldn’t answer her, but then he said: “We were separated.”
“How?”
“Does it matter?” he asked her.
“I suppose not, no.”
He took another deep breath. “The point is that I can never see her again. I will never hear her laugh again or feel her hand in mine or wake up next to her. And I can’t believe … I can’t believe it’s only been a year since we married, because that means it’s only been seven months since …” His voice cracked again. “How am I supposed to live the next, what, hundred years without her? The next thousand?”
“I’m sorry.” Martha said, now able to understand the Doctor’s situation and feeling bad for flirting with him. She had hoped he could love her like she loved him, but she supposed he wouldn’t feel for someone that way for a very long time.
She looked around again. The pair of converse he had worn yesterday were laying under the bed and a few of his ties were draped over the back of a chair. He had been sleeping in here. Recently, too. “You know what, Doctor?”
He eyed her with a sort of sad curiosity.
“We’ll have to clean this up. And Rose,” he flinched, “wouldn’t want you wandering about all sad, now, would she?” Martha stood up, offering her hand to him.
“Martha …” He looked up at her all puppy-dog-eyed, the message clear: I can’t.
Her voice softened. “Come on. At least let me treat your hand, yes? We’ll clean up tomorrow.”
A few seconds passed before he took her hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.
“Come on,” she encouraged him quietly.