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Forwards in Time

Title: Always the Beginning.
Fandom: Doctor Who (2007)
Characters: The Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones
Prompt: 001 - Beginnings
Word Count: 770
Rating: PG13
Summary: He hated starting from scratch.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Thank RTD and the BBC.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for ‘Smith and Jones’ and ‘The Shakespeare Code’.


The beginning.

Always the Beginning.

He hated starting from scratch.

And yet having a new ‘companion’ aboard the TARDIS meant he was going to have to explain everything all over again.

All the rules. All the responsibilities.

All his secrets.

For he knew without a doubt that Miss Martha Jones would not be one to let things go without putting up one Hell of a fight.

She was young, a student. A medical student, no less.

Making her curious and intuitive. She was unmistakably intelligent, too.

She came from a large family - or so it had seemed from his briefest of brief glimpses of the Jones’ Clan when he’d gone back for her.

Divorced parents and at least two siblings; a brother and a sister.

Piggy in the Middle, then.

So being the middle child probably meant she’d be the calm one. The mediator. The one who maintained a strong sense of belonging for each and every member of her family. The one who provided a much needed balance in their every-day hectic lives.

Making her 'down-to-Earth' in personality.

And making her extremely patient.

So his ‘it doesn’t matter’ attitude towards - well, anything, really - would be completely and utterly useless if she was after something.

He could tell …

He could tell without knowing Miss Jones at all that it was going to be a lot harder to keep his secrets from her.

But was that necessarily such a bad thing?

Yes,’ he told himself. ‘No-one can know. No-one ever knows.’

Which is why he knew she couldn’t stay with him.

But he couldn’t deny that a ‘thank you’ trip had been in order.

Just one trip.

After all, she’d saved his life!

“Just one trip, then back home!” he’d said, adamant.

And she’d agreed. No arguments.

“I’d rather be on my own.”

Or so he’d thought at the time.

But now …

Here they both were. Sharing a bed, no less, in an Elizabethan pub in 1599, metres from one of Britain’s all-time geniuses … and for the first time since losing Rose … he felt content.

Suddenly curious, he spared her a glance, tilting his head against the headboard and studying her intently.

Not exactly surprisingly, she had her back to him.

He supposed his last words to her may have been a tad tactless … just a little bit rude, maybe. After all, it wasn’t her fault she was new. She was probably nervous enough – she didn’t need him rubbing salt into the wounds, as well!

I’ll apologise tomorrow,’ he decided, a small smile playing about his lips as he watched her hand twitch a little against her pillow. Her breath was low, soft, even, her chest rising and falling in melodic harmony.

So peaceful.

His grin widened.

Martha Jones had taken this whole experience in her stride. She’d been the epitome of calm back up on the Moon, not running around in hysterics at the thought of never seeing her family and friends again, but focussing upon helping her patients, helping him.

And she’d loved it. The sparkle within her eyes as they ran for their lives had told him as much.

She’d believed in Aliens too, despite the length of time it had taken him to persuade her that he was indeed ‘extra-terrestrial’. So she obviously paid attention to that ‘Bigger Picture’.

Bless her.

But he still couldn’t keep her!

Could he?

An ear-splitting scream shattered his spiralling thoughts and he was off, practically flying from the room as he shot towards Will’s study. Much to his concealed delight, a hurried backwards glance assured him that Martha was hot on his tail.

Hell, she had excellent reflexes if she’d managed to catch up with him mere milliseconds after being shocked awake.

All of this was what he lived for; the excitement.

And it seemed Martha Jones was also more than partial to a thrill or two, herself.

He skidded to a halt with his new companion feet behind him, gazing down upon the motionless form of the blonde Landlady. Shakespeare’s head shot up, his eyes half-closed as he forced himself to wake up properly. But the Doctor’s attention was focussed upon Dolly Bailey’s quite obviously dead body.

Yet out of the corner of his eye, he still managed to spot Martha rushing past him, making for the wide-open window.


Doing her bit to make sense of what had happened.

Helping him again. Just like she had been doing since the very minute they’d first met.

And his broad smile was back.

Who knew?

Maybe he could keep her, after all.


Little Damn Table

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