Heavenly Star, Part 1/1
Title: Heavenly Star
Author: radiantbaby
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones
Word Count: 5214
Genre: Fluffy and cracktastic romance, with a few tiny bits of angst
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set post-“Human Nature”/”Family of Blood”, pre-“Blink” in S3
Summary: Martha and the Doctor have just returned from their intense experience at Farringham School in 1913 and they both attempt to pick up the pieces in some surprising ways.
Disclaimer: As I mentioned before, as persiflage-1 always says: “The BBC owns ‘Doctor Who’ and the Doctor owns me…” :)
Author Notes: Erm, so this was going to be my first attempt at a drabble (using elliptic_eye’s prompt “The two missing pages from John Smith's diary” for the 1000 Drabbles of Awesome on the lifeonmartha community), but apparently I am far too verbose for my own good as the plot sort of ran away from me! Anyway, I wanted to write something a bit fluffier after the dark piece I debuted with (“Monster with a Handsome Face”). There are bits of angst in here too, but I tried to err on the side of fluffy crack as much as I could to counteract it. I am still getting the hang of writing again, so I hope that the story isn’t that terrible. Again, it is un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Any feedback/comments are very appreciated!
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Heavenly Star
It had been days since Martha had really spoken to the Doctor, save for a few short words here and there. Ever since they had returned from all of the chaos of Farringham and fighting against The Family, he had spent most of the time nestled deep within the recesses of the TARDIS by himself. Martha thought he was probably grieving the loss of Joan and perhaps even the symbolic death of John Smith, and while she missed him terribly, she gave him his space.
Martha swore that sometimes, late in the night, she would wake to see him at the door of her room just quietly watching her sleep. She never felt threatened at all by his presence and she could always feel the TARDIS in her head easing her. She always had this impression that he was making sure that she was okay in a protective manner or making sure she had not left him. The latter impression always surprised her and while she didn’t know why she was feeling it, she felt almost sure that it was true. The Doctor would then whisper to her to go back to sleep, telling her it was all just a dream and she would often wake the next day wondering whether it truly was.
Whenever she would try to discuss the experiences with the Doctor - those rare times he was around, that is - he would always tell her very matter-of-factly that she had obviously been dreaming and that he was never in her room, often barely looking at her as he spoke (instead making himself busy with some tinkering with something on the TARDIS). Usually he would then change the subject quickly or simply say he was too busy to chat and wander off into the back rooms of the TARDIS. Martha eventually stopped bringing it up.
One evening, Martha was sitting, curled up in her bed, and reading through one of her medical texts when she felt the tug. She felt as if she was being pulled to go to the kitchen of the TARDIS and she could tell her impulses were coming from a light nudging of the TARDIS herself. She had barely eaten that day -- in fact, she had barely eat the last few days with her stomach in knots with nerves over the Doctor’s continuing unavailability both physically and emotionally. She wondered for a moment if the TARDIS was trying to get her to eat despite this, in order to take care of her.
She smiled up at the ceiling, reaching to caress the wall of the TARDIS by her bed softly. “It’s okay, I am not that hungry.”
In response, the tug became stronger and she could feel the TARDIS’ nudges becoming more persistent. She sighed, moving the text from her lap to the bedside table. She smiled again up at the ceiling of the TARDIS. “Okay, okay. I’ll eat,” she said in a warm tone, happy that at least someone aboard was paying her needed attention.
She got up from the bed, pulled a robe around her pajamas, and slipped her feet into some fuzzy slippers before padding outside her room and down the hall toward the kitchen. As she got closer to the kitchen, her senses were assaulted by the scent of garlic and herbs. She breathed it in deeply as she rounded the corner to the kitchen and then held her breath in hope for a minute that the Doctor may have also been in the kitchen enjoying a meal himself - hoping that maybe they could finally talk.
Once through the doors of the kitchen, though, she felt a bit deflated when she found it empty. She also found things were notably different. The lights were lower than usual and in the middle of the table sat a box with 2 envelopes on top. Also on the table was a place setting for one, with a small bottle of wine, a wine glass, a plate, napkin, and cutlery. She could also see a pot simmering on the stove - presumably being minded by the TARDIS, she thought - and stepped over to see it filled with what looked like some pasta tossed with slices of chicken, herbs, and oil. She wondered for a moment if this was the Doctor’s meal and then felt another nudge from the TARDIS in response - this time to read what was in the envelopes on the box.
Martha stepped over to the table, peering down at the box wrapped in red and gold glittering paper. On top of it sat the 2 envelopes and she reached for the top one. In the Doctor’s handwriting, written on the outside simply was: "Martha: Read this first.”
She smirked to herself, thinking of how enigmatic the Doctor could be, and then slid her finger through the flap of the envelope to open it. Inside was a small note, also written in the Doctor’s hand:
“Martha,
Please take a moment to enjoy this dinner that I prepared for you.”
She smiled to herself trying to imagine the Doctor attempting to cook. Images of the Doctor struggling with the pasta and chicken, spilling things here and there, and his hair sticky and soiled with various ingredients came rushing into her mind. They were from the TARDIS no doubt. She gave a little laugh and then continued to read.
“I know that you haven’t been eating well lately and being your Doctor, I must protest.”
“Uh-huh, ‘Your’ Doctor,” Martha paused and muttered aloud, smirking in amusement.
“Please eat this meal and once you have finished, you may open the second envelope and then the box. In that order.
The Doctor”
Martha had to laugh a little at the Doctor’s emphasis on her doing things in the right order, but then, that was always his way. She then shrugged, slipping the note back in the envelope, and placed the envelope back on top of the box with the other one.
Martha then grabbed her plate and served herself some of the Doctor’s pasta concoction. It was surprisingly really good, especially paired with the wine that was on the table for her. She tried to read the label of the wine, but could barely make out the words of the alien language on it (which she supposed the TARDIS couldn’t or wouldn’t translate for some mysterious reason).
After she finished up dinner, she sighed contentedly for a moment over her delicious meal. It had been a nice gesture from The Doctor, she thought, especially since he’d been so withdrawn from her otherwise. She then spied the box sitting before her on the table, her growing impatience getting the better of her as she rushed to put her dishes in the sink and back over to the table to read what was in the second envelope. This one also had writing on it: “Martha: Open only after you have had your dinner.”
Martha smiled to herself, feeling a bit giddy as she slid her finger along the flap of the envelope to open it. Inside she found three pieces of paper, the texture of them feeling somewhat old and smelling of leather. The writing on the first page was random words and scrawlings in the Doctor’s handwriting, but upon closer inspection, she noticed a rough ink drawing of the TARDIS.
Martha froze for a moment as she realized the page had come from the journal of the Doctor from when he was John Smith. She tried to bite back the pain that welled up in her as she was still healing from the emotional wounds of those three months without the Doctor (at least, in a functioning sense), his love for Joan Redfern, and the biting words he had spoken to her when she was trying to get him to remember he was the Doctor when The Family began their attack.
Martha flipped over the page and gasped at what she saw - a pencil and ink drawing of herself. In the portrait, her hair was loose around her shoulders and the way he had drawn her eyes almost made them look as if they were twinkling. Below the sketching was scrawled: “My heavenly star. What a beautiful world the Doctor must live in to be able to hold Martha in his arms and kiss her with his lips. So many nights I wish I were in that world too, especially every day when I see her shining face smiling at me.”
Martha felt tears begin the prick at her eyes and her hands began to shake. She then looked at the second piece of paper with some more writing in the Doctor’s hand: “Last night I dreamt I was with Martha on the Moon and it felt so good and right! Sometimes she feels not of this world and perhaps hanging in the sky is where she belongs so that I might be able to gaze upon her every night and bask in the heavenly glow of her, without reproach or judgment from those around me. I think that every time I look at the moon now, I will think of her and how in the dream I kissed her and carried her in my arms. It had rained outside while I held her in my arms and I woke up wet from crying, feeling my arms so empty without her there.” Below the writing was a sketching of the moon.
Martha started to feel a bit weak in the knees, so she pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Her mind was reeling with what she read before her. Had John Smith really noticed her after all? Had he loved her? He was always kind to her and she sometimes felt him watching her as she would tidy his room, but she generally just chalked it up to either her imagination or wishful thinking. Perhaps should had misread him?
Martha ran her fingers along the edge of the two journal pages, tattered as if they had been ripped from his journal. She almost wondered where he had stowed them after he’d pulled them out, especially since she was always straightening his things, including his papers, and had never seen them before. Tracing over the paper with her fingers she could felt light creases and could tell upon closer inspection that they had been folded and then straightened out again. Did he keep the pages folded and hidden in his room? Were they folded in his pockets?
Martha shook her head from her thoughts and took in a deep breath. Flipping the second page over only had some random sketches of Daleks and the TARDIS again, so she moved onto the final page in her hands. Again her breath caught as she looked at it - it was the flyer announcing the annual dance at the Village Hall where she first faced The Family. At the bottom was a note, this time in more modern looking ink:
“Martha, I would have preferred to have had you as my escort to this dance, but the customs and mores of the village were not on my side. I am so sorry for that. You can open the box now. The Doctor.”
Martha wiped the insistent tears running down her cheeks as she reached to pull the box to her, carefully ripping the paper that covered it so that she could open the box that lie hidden inside the wrapping. She lifted the lid of the box and found a small note. All that it said was: “Dance with me?”
Under the note was some folded burgundy-colored fabric that she realized as she pulled it from the box, that it was a long dress. Martha stood so that she could hold the dress out in front of her, giving it a close look. By it’s style, she could tell that it was from sometime around 1910-1920. She had a feeling she knew when it was from - 1913.
Martha held the dress to her chest and danced around the room a bit, swirling in circles around the table as her tears began to subside. Once she stopped she noticed some writing at the bottom of the box and noticed another note written there that she had previously failed to notice. “If you wish to dance, put on the dress and join me. The TARDIS will show you the way.”
Martha squealed a little bit with joy, folding the dress back up into the box and tossing all of the notes and envelopes into the box along with it. She tucked the box under her arm and made her way down the hall back to her bedroom. She wasn’t entirely sure what the Doctor was up to, but she certainly was not going to give up on this mystery.
---
Once in her room, Martha changed into the dress and fixed her makeup (needing a touch-up from her tears) and her hair. She found some simple, strappy, black high-heeled shoes she had in her bedroom that she had brought along in case she ever needed to dress up (one never knew when she might need them when it came to traveling with the Doctor), which she found looked quite lovely with the dress. She also considered adding some accessories to her ensemble, but had received a small nudge from the TARDIS not to. A strong feeling rushed over her that the Doctor might be trying to at least partially recreate 1913, so she should stay mostly true to that. She certainly didn’t want to argue with the TARDIS.
Once she was ready, she looked herself over in the full-length mirror she had in her room. “I hope I look okay,” she said aloud, feeling suddenly a little insecure and frowning a bit as she turned from side to side to look at herself.
Beautiful, she felt in response in her mind and smiled up at the ceiling, thanking the TARDIS aloud.
Martha wandered out of her room, nervously making her way down the halls of the TARDIS. Every turn she needed to make was accompanied by a soft nudge from the TARDIS in her head, which she was thankful for as she often worried about getting lost in all of the intricate hallways. As she turned a corner, she started to hear soft music playing. It sounded a bit like horns and she hummed to herself along with the familiar melody, wondering for a moment where she was heard it before.
Martha stopped in her tracks as the memory flooded back - it was the same music she had heard the night at the dance in the Village Hall. She had barely thought of the music since that night, as she had been more intent on jarring John Smith into recognition of being the Doctor with his Sonic Screwdriver than paying her attention to the music. Martha began to feel her palms sweating a bit with nerves as the music became louder and distinct as she continued to make her way down the hall. That night had been such a horrific evening and she still felt a bit raw from her feelings back then. Martha did her best to try and settle those feelings and focus on the positive instead - such as what the Doctor/John Smith had written in his journal about her. She began to smile again, despite herself.
At the end of the hallway was a large door and she felt from the TARDIS that she had arrived at the right spot. The music was now much louder and she wondered what exactly awaited her behind the door. She felt a sweet and comforting nudge from the TARDIS and tried to swallow her nerves as she pressed her hand to the door and pushed it open.
Martha stood still in awe as she looked around the room. It was large and looked almost exactly like the Village Hall, with a few small differences and no one around. Had the Doctor gone through the trouble of recreating that Dance for her? She held her breath a little as she looked around and didn’t see him and felt her heart race as she worried that perhaps he’d given up on her or changed his mind and left.
“Martha...” she heard a voice from her left and looked to see the Doctor smiling at her, wearing the same clothes that John Smith had worn to the dance in 1913.
Any other time Martha might have felt distressed seeing him wearing those clothes again. Not this time, though. This time she felt any of the bad associations of him dressed in such a way beginning to dissolve as she watched him smiling sweetly at her, his eyes glistening a bit from the ambient light around him in the room.
Martha noted that the Doctor was wringing his hands as he began to walk up to her - was he just as nervous? “Martha Jones,” he said once he was before her, his voice low and breathy.
“Doctor,” she practically squeaked out in response, finding herself memorized by the intense look in his eyes. She almost felt as if she needed to look away, as if he was trying to look directly into her soul, but she fought the urge and kept their gaze. It was then she noticed his eyes glistening again in the light, appearing somewhat glassy, and she wondered for a moment if they were holding back his own unshed tears.
He raised a finger to her lips, pressing it against them as if to quiet her. “Not tonight,” he corrected softly, still looking into her eyes intensely, “Tonight I am John Smith. Tonight I am going to do things right this time.”
As he spoke to her, Martha could tell the cadence of his speech had changed, sounding more like the shy, soft-spoken man he’d been in 1913 than the usual manic verbal inflections of the Doctor. Almost without thinking, she found herself slowly reaching out to him, pressing her palm against the right side of his chest, and feeling the quickening beat of his second heart beneath her touch. It was almost as if she needed to check if he’d become human again, the thought of which slightly worried her.
The Doctor reached up in response, a knowing look in his eyes, and gently lifted her hand from his chest and moved it to press it up against his heart on his left side, holding it there for a moment. “This is the only heart that matters tonight, Martha.”
With the Doctor’s words lightly jarring her, Martha felt herself snap out of her reverie and self-consciously removed her hand and replaced it at her side. She then swallowed hard, trying to hold back the joyful tears that were threatening to well up in her eyes.
The Doctor - John Smith - smiled down at her again, this time a wide smile that reached his eyes. He then stepped back, bowing slightly, and then offered out his hand to her, “Martha Jones, I would be honored if you shared this dance with me.”
Martha smiled a bit demurely, shyly taking his hand as he pulled them into a waltz. She’d not done any waltzing since she was a young girl in school and had to do some light ballroom dancing as a module with her class, so she was worried a bit about being out of practice. Still, she quickly found herself falling into the rhythm with the man in her arms and her worries mostly washed away.
“Did you enjoy your meal?” the Doctor asked, as he twirled her around.
“Yes, it was very good, I was impressed,” Martha replied, smiling up at him. “I was especially impressed with the wine.”
“Oh yes, well certainly not anything you would find on Earth in 1913, I am afraid,” the Doctor’s tone returned instead of John Smith’s voice, much like when he held the fob watch after Timothy had given it back to him and explained why the watch had spoken to him. Martha also noticed a far-away look in his eyes as he continued, “It’s actually from Gallifrey, from a festival during the Season of the Horleberries, which are much like grapes on Earth, mind you. The name of the wine itself basically translates to ‘Moons in the Sky’ in my language. I have had it a long, long time and it is one of my favorites. It felt somehow appropriate for tonight.”
The Doctor was bleeding through, but she let him continue on with his intended masquerade, finding it a bit romantic even though you could tell, even when he spoke more like John Smith, that there were definite traces of the Doctor underneath. Still, she enjoyed learning about the wine, and she had to smile at its name and how it reminded her of that page from John Smith’s journal associating her with the Moon. She also felt honored that he would share something so precious with her -- something of the lost homeworld for which he grieves.
The Doctor shook his head a bit, his gaze fixing on Martha again. He cleared his throat, his cheeks blushing slightly. Martha could sense that he’d caught himself going “out of character” and tried to stifle a grin. “Do you...” he paused, stammering a bit, now returning to John Smith’s dulcet tone, “like the dress?”
Martha smiled up at him, noting the slight traces of worry that flashed in his expression, as if he worried that she hadn’t appreciated it. “Oh yes, yes. I like it so very much!” she exclaimed.
The Doctor let out a deep breath, a shy smile on his lips as he looked at her. “I am so glad to hear that,” he began, nervously looking at the ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I bought it for you, in the village near Farringham. I wanted to give it to you at some point when we were still there, but I could never figure out how to appropriately do so. So, I kept it stored in a locked drawer in my desk instead, hoping one day I would find a way.”
Martha watched as the blush rose in the Doctor’s cheeks and felt her stomach coil with butterflies. It was hard enough for her to still fully grasp that John Smith might have had feelings for her during their time at Farringham, but the fact that he’d even taken the time to buy her a gift sent her reeling. She looked down at her feet, trying to steady herself as they danced.
“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” the Doctor added, the worry Martha had sensed in his expression now coloring his words.
Martha looked back up at him, realizing that her looking at the floor had probably given him the wrong impression of her feelings on the matter. “No,” she smiled at him, trying to resist the urge to press her lips against his as her gaze rolled over his face to meet his eyes, “not at all. I am just a bit surprised is all.”
“Well, it really suits you,” the Doctor said, the worry starting to leave his features. “It looks absolutely beautiful on you. You, Martha Jones, look absolutely beautiful.”
Martha leaned forward to tuck her forehead between the Doctor’s shoulder and neck, closing the space between them. It was certainly not something one would have done in a waltz, especially in 1913, as it would have been far too provocative, but she didn’t care. She heard the Doctor’s breath catch a little and for a moment worried about being too forward. Her worries were eased, though, when she soon felt the soft pressure of a light kiss pressed into her hair and the almost tentative, light caress of the hand on her back that the Doctor had pressed there since they had begun dancing. She breathed in his scent, as intoxicating as the night itself had been, and let him continue to lead them in a dance around the room.
“I am impressed with your recreation of the Village Hall,” Martha offered, suddenly feeling the urge to fill the silence between them with nervous words.
The Doctor gave a small contented sigh. “That was mostly the TARDIS, with a bit of help from me. She pulled the images from my memory and did what she could with them. I am afraid I don’t remember all of the details, but I think it came out well nonetheless,” he responded, his tone a little insecure.
The two of them then returned to silently dancing, the nervous insistence on speaking slowly slipping away from Martha who was beginning to feel more comfortable with their companionable silent moments. Martha wasn’t sure how long they were both silent, just dancing around the room with the Doctor still caressing her back and her nuzzling closer and closer against his neck, but she noted to herself how lovely the moment felt.
The silence was eventually broken by the Doctor, who said in an almost desperate whisper, “I am so sorry.”
Martha felt the vibration of his voice through the skin of his neck and it seemed to vibrate from her head through her entire being. There were so many things she wanted to say in response about how angry she had been, how hurt she had been, and how alone she had felt, but she stayed her voice and let the Doctor speak. He was rarely ever so vulnerable with her and she didn’t want his walls to push her out again if she spoke too soon.
“I know that I hurt you back at Farringham and I have been fighting with myself ever since about it,” the Doctor added, still in a pained whisper, after another silence between them. “I cannot forgive myself until I know that I have your forgiveness. I cannot go back and change what I did. I truly wish that I could. I have barely been able to face you since we have been back, the guilt always consuming me when I see you. Still, I wonder if some day you might find some forgiveness in your heart for me. I wonder if some day I can make it up to you somehow.”
Martha took in his words, simultaneously both wanting to forgive him easily and, conversely, to hold back such forgiveness. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, but she worried about letting things go so easily. The wounds were still healing with her as well and it was still going to take her some time to move on emotionally from the whole experience.
“What about Joan?” Martha asked, the words coming out of her mouth as quickly as she thought them, almost surprising her that she had spoken them aloud without more forethought.
The Doctor took in a deep breath, his body stiffening slightly, and his hand on her back stopped its caress. “What do you mean exactly?” he asked, his tone now a bit more guarded.
“You loved Joan, or at least you acted like you did. You didn’t treat her like you treated me. What am I to think of that?” Martha responded, her voice carrying a little more of a harsh edge than she had hoped.
The Doctor’s body was still noticeably tense as they continued their dance and it was apparent that his breathing had become a bit jagged. “Martha, I was a victim of my time,” he began, his tone now even as if he was trying to control his emotions, “Joan wanted to be with me. She practically pushed herself on me. Yes, I loved her, but it was what was expected of a man like me. I let myself get caught up in it because I didn’t know what else to do. It is not like I could have expressed to you how I felt about you, at least not without one or both of us losing our jobs or becoming social pariahs. You were unattainable, so I had to stay my feelings for you and live my life without expressing my true feelings. I had to play the role that society wanted me to play, even if it meant, quite unfortunately, hurting you.”
Martha felt the Doctor’s hand slide from her back to reach up under her chin. He tugged upward to get her to look into his eyes, stopping their dance. His eyes were red and his expression was soft as he gazed down at her. She also noticed his cheeks were damp from tears.
“Martha,” he began, his voice now feeling less like John Smith and more like the Doctor again, “John Smith made a mistake that I don’t agree with, but I can’t change what he did as much as I want to. He didn’t have more than 900 years to learn from similar mistakes. He didn’t have my perspective on things or the ability to rebel against societal expectations. The TARDIS constructed him in such a way to fit in and not make waves, so that he wouldn’t be putting me or you in danger. I can’t justify what he did to you or what he said to you. All I can do is apologize on his behalf, ask your forgiveness, and hope that somehow we can work past this and repair the damage done.”
Martha collapsed into tears against him despite herself, wrapping her arms around him as she pressed her face into his shoulder again. His body noticeably relaxed a little as one arm wrapped around her back, holding her against him, while the other reached up to stroke her hair softly. “I want to move on too,” Martha sobbed against the fabric of his blazer, “I just missed you so much. All I want is my Doctor back. I don’t want you to ever leave me like that again.”
“Sshhh,” he whispered, still caressing her hair. “I am right here and I am not going anywhere.”
The Doctor let Martha’s sobs die down, riding the waves of her sorrow along with her as his own tears rolled down his cheeks. Eventually, she pulled back to look up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I forgive you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She just couldn’t bring herself to hold on so tightly to the anger or pain anymore. They were going to be at a perpetual stalemate if she did and she knew that she would prefer to take the high road in the matter than to drag things out much more. The Doctor was right -- John Smith had made a mistake. The Doctor, however, had not and she felt she could no longer truly justify punishing him for what John Smith had done. Even if there was a small pained part of her that still wanted to take it out on someone.
The Doctor’s face lit up, quickly leaning down to press his lips against hers in a sudden kiss. He lingered just like that for a long moment before grabbing her into an embrace, lifting her and swinging her around. “Oh, Martha Jones, my heavenly star.”
Author: radiantbaby
Characters/Pairings: Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones
Word Count: 5214
Genre: Fluffy and cracktastic romance, with a few tiny bits of angst
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set post-“Human Nature”/”Family of Blood”, pre-“Blink” in S3
Summary: Martha and the Doctor have just returned from their intense experience at Farringham School in 1913 and they both attempt to pick up the pieces in some surprising ways.
Disclaimer: As I mentioned before, as persiflage-1 always says: “The BBC owns ‘Doctor Who’ and the Doctor owns me…” :)
Author Notes: Erm, so this was going to be my first attempt at a drabble (using elliptic_eye’s prompt “The two missing pages from John Smith's diary” for the 1000 Drabbles of Awesome on the lifeonmartha community), but apparently I am far too verbose for my own good as the plot sort of ran away from me! Anyway, I wanted to write something a bit fluffier after the dark piece I debuted with (“Monster with a Handsome Face”). There are bits of angst in here too, but I tried to err on the side of fluffy crack as much as I could to counteract it. I am still getting the hang of writing again, so I hope that the story isn’t that terrible. Again, it is un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Any feedback/comments are very appreciated!
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Heavenly Star
It had been days since Martha had really spoken to the Doctor, save for a few short words here and there. Ever since they had returned from all of the chaos of Farringham and fighting against The Family, he had spent most of the time nestled deep within the recesses of the TARDIS by himself. Martha thought he was probably grieving the loss of Joan and perhaps even the symbolic death of John Smith, and while she missed him terribly, she gave him his space.
Martha swore that sometimes, late in the night, she would wake to see him at the door of her room just quietly watching her sleep. She never felt threatened at all by his presence and she could always feel the TARDIS in her head easing her. She always had this impression that he was making sure that she was okay in a protective manner or making sure she had not left him. The latter impression always surprised her and while she didn’t know why she was feeling it, she felt almost sure that it was true. The Doctor would then whisper to her to go back to sleep, telling her it was all just a dream and she would often wake the next day wondering whether it truly was.
Whenever she would try to discuss the experiences with the Doctor - those rare times he was around, that is - he would always tell her very matter-of-factly that she had obviously been dreaming and that he was never in her room, often barely looking at her as he spoke (instead making himself busy with some tinkering with something on the TARDIS). Usually he would then change the subject quickly or simply say he was too busy to chat and wander off into the back rooms of the TARDIS. Martha eventually stopped bringing it up.
One evening, Martha was sitting, curled up in her bed, and reading through one of her medical texts when she felt the tug. She felt as if she was being pulled to go to the kitchen of the TARDIS and she could tell her impulses were coming from a light nudging of the TARDIS herself. She had barely eaten that day -- in fact, she had barely eat the last few days with her stomach in knots with nerves over the Doctor’s continuing unavailability both physically and emotionally. She wondered for a moment if the TARDIS was trying to get her to eat despite this, in order to take care of her.
She smiled up at the ceiling, reaching to caress the wall of the TARDIS by her bed softly. “It’s okay, I am not that hungry.”
In response, the tug became stronger and she could feel the TARDIS’ nudges becoming more persistent. She sighed, moving the text from her lap to the bedside table. She smiled again up at the ceiling of the TARDIS. “Okay, okay. I’ll eat,” she said in a warm tone, happy that at least someone aboard was paying her needed attention.
She got up from the bed, pulled a robe around her pajamas, and slipped her feet into some fuzzy slippers before padding outside her room and down the hall toward the kitchen. As she got closer to the kitchen, her senses were assaulted by the scent of garlic and herbs. She breathed it in deeply as she rounded the corner to the kitchen and then held her breath in hope for a minute that the Doctor may have also been in the kitchen enjoying a meal himself - hoping that maybe they could finally talk.
Once through the doors of the kitchen, though, she felt a bit deflated when she found it empty. She also found things were notably different. The lights were lower than usual and in the middle of the table sat a box with 2 envelopes on top. Also on the table was a place setting for one, with a small bottle of wine, a wine glass, a plate, napkin, and cutlery. She could also see a pot simmering on the stove - presumably being minded by the TARDIS, she thought - and stepped over to see it filled with what looked like some pasta tossed with slices of chicken, herbs, and oil. She wondered for a moment if this was the Doctor’s meal and then felt another nudge from the TARDIS in response - this time to read what was in the envelopes on the box.
Martha stepped over to the table, peering down at the box wrapped in red and gold glittering paper. On top of it sat the 2 envelopes and she reached for the top one. In the Doctor’s handwriting, written on the outside simply was: "Martha: Read this first.”
She smirked to herself, thinking of how enigmatic the Doctor could be, and then slid her finger through the flap of the envelope to open it. Inside was a small note, also written in the Doctor’s hand:
“Martha,
Please take a moment to enjoy this dinner that I prepared for you.”
She smiled to herself trying to imagine the Doctor attempting to cook. Images of the Doctor struggling with the pasta and chicken, spilling things here and there, and his hair sticky and soiled with various ingredients came rushing into her mind. They were from the TARDIS no doubt. She gave a little laugh and then continued to read.
“I know that you haven’t been eating well lately and being your Doctor, I must protest.”
“Uh-huh, ‘Your’ Doctor,” Martha paused and muttered aloud, smirking in amusement.
“Please eat this meal and once you have finished, you may open the second envelope and then the box. In that order.
The Doctor”
Martha had to laugh a little at the Doctor’s emphasis on her doing things in the right order, but then, that was always his way. She then shrugged, slipping the note back in the envelope, and placed the envelope back on top of the box with the other one.
Martha then grabbed her plate and served herself some of the Doctor’s pasta concoction. It was surprisingly really good, especially paired with the wine that was on the table for her. She tried to read the label of the wine, but could barely make out the words of the alien language on it (which she supposed the TARDIS couldn’t or wouldn’t translate for some mysterious reason).
After she finished up dinner, she sighed contentedly for a moment over her delicious meal. It had been a nice gesture from The Doctor, she thought, especially since he’d been so withdrawn from her otherwise. She then spied the box sitting before her on the table, her growing impatience getting the better of her as she rushed to put her dishes in the sink and back over to the table to read what was in the second envelope. This one also had writing on it: “Martha: Open only after you have had your dinner.”
Martha smiled to herself, feeling a bit giddy as she slid her finger along the flap of the envelope to open it. Inside she found three pieces of paper, the texture of them feeling somewhat old and smelling of leather. The writing on the first page was random words and scrawlings in the Doctor’s handwriting, but upon closer inspection, she noticed a rough ink drawing of the TARDIS.
Martha froze for a moment as she realized the page had come from the journal of the Doctor from when he was John Smith. She tried to bite back the pain that welled up in her as she was still healing from the emotional wounds of those three months without the Doctor (at least, in a functioning sense), his love for Joan Redfern, and the biting words he had spoken to her when she was trying to get him to remember he was the Doctor when The Family began their attack.
Martha flipped over the page and gasped at what she saw - a pencil and ink drawing of herself. In the portrait, her hair was loose around her shoulders and the way he had drawn her eyes almost made them look as if they were twinkling. Below the sketching was scrawled: “My heavenly star. What a beautiful world the Doctor must live in to be able to hold Martha in his arms and kiss her with his lips. So many nights I wish I were in that world too, especially every day when I see her shining face smiling at me.”
Martha felt tears begin the prick at her eyes and her hands began to shake. She then looked at the second piece of paper with some more writing in the Doctor’s hand: “Last night I dreamt I was with Martha on the Moon and it felt so good and right! Sometimes she feels not of this world and perhaps hanging in the sky is where she belongs so that I might be able to gaze upon her every night and bask in the heavenly glow of her, without reproach or judgment from those around me. I think that every time I look at the moon now, I will think of her and how in the dream I kissed her and carried her in my arms. It had rained outside while I held her in my arms and I woke up wet from crying, feeling my arms so empty without her there.” Below the writing was a sketching of the moon.
Martha started to feel a bit weak in the knees, so she pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Her mind was reeling with what she read before her. Had John Smith really noticed her after all? Had he loved her? He was always kind to her and she sometimes felt him watching her as she would tidy his room, but she generally just chalked it up to either her imagination or wishful thinking. Perhaps should had misread him?
Martha ran her fingers along the edge of the two journal pages, tattered as if they had been ripped from his journal. She almost wondered where he had stowed them after he’d pulled them out, especially since she was always straightening his things, including his papers, and had never seen them before. Tracing over the paper with her fingers she could felt light creases and could tell upon closer inspection that they had been folded and then straightened out again. Did he keep the pages folded and hidden in his room? Were they folded in his pockets?
Martha shook her head from her thoughts and took in a deep breath. Flipping the second page over only had some random sketches of Daleks and the TARDIS again, so she moved onto the final page in her hands. Again her breath caught as she looked at it - it was the flyer announcing the annual dance at the Village Hall where she first faced The Family. At the bottom was a note, this time in more modern looking ink:
“Martha, I would have preferred to have had you as my escort to this dance, but the customs and mores of the village were not on my side. I am so sorry for that. You can open the box now. The Doctor.”
Martha wiped the insistent tears running down her cheeks as she reached to pull the box to her, carefully ripping the paper that covered it so that she could open the box that lie hidden inside the wrapping. She lifted the lid of the box and found a small note. All that it said was: “Dance with me?”
Under the note was some folded burgundy-colored fabric that she realized as she pulled it from the box, that it was a long dress. Martha stood so that she could hold the dress out in front of her, giving it a close look. By it’s style, she could tell that it was from sometime around 1910-1920. She had a feeling she knew when it was from - 1913.
Martha held the dress to her chest and danced around the room a bit, swirling in circles around the table as her tears began to subside. Once she stopped she noticed some writing at the bottom of the box and noticed another note written there that she had previously failed to notice. “If you wish to dance, put on the dress and join me. The TARDIS will show you the way.”
Martha squealed a little bit with joy, folding the dress back up into the box and tossing all of the notes and envelopes into the box along with it. She tucked the box under her arm and made her way down the hall back to her bedroom. She wasn’t entirely sure what the Doctor was up to, but she certainly was not going to give up on this mystery.
---
Once in her room, Martha changed into the dress and fixed her makeup (needing a touch-up from her tears) and her hair. She found some simple, strappy, black high-heeled shoes she had in her bedroom that she had brought along in case she ever needed to dress up (one never knew when she might need them when it came to traveling with the Doctor), which she found looked quite lovely with the dress. She also considered adding some accessories to her ensemble, but had received a small nudge from the TARDIS not to. A strong feeling rushed over her that the Doctor might be trying to at least partially recreate 1913, so she should stay mostly true to that. She certainly didn’t want to argue with the TARDIS.
Once she was ready, she looked herself over in the full-length mirror she had in her room. “I hope I look okay,” she said aloud, feeling suddenly a little insecure and frowning a bit as she turned from side to side to look at herself.
Beautiful, she felt in response in her mind and smiled up at the ceiling, thanking the TARDIS aloud.
Martha wandered out of her room, nervously making her way down the halls of the TARDIS. Every turn she needed to make was accompanied by a soft nudge from the TARDIS in her head, which she was thankful for as she often worried about getting lost in all of the intricate hallways. As she turned a corner, she started to hear soft music playing. It sounded a bit like horns and she hummed to herself along with the familiar melody, wondering for a moment where she was heard it before.
Martha stopped in her tracks as the memory flooded back - it was the same music she had heard the night at the dance in the Village Hall. She had barely thought of the music since that night, as she had been more intent on jarring John Smith into recognition of being the Doctor with his Sonic Screwdriver than paying her attention to the music. Martha began to feel her palms sweating a bit with nerves as the music became louder and distinct as she continued to make her way down the hall. That night had been such a horrific evening and she still felt a bit raw from her feelings back then. Martha did her best to try and settle those feelings and focus on the positive instead - such as what the Doctor/John Smith had written in his journal about her. She began to smile again, despite herself.
At the end of the hallway was a large door and she felt from the TARDIS that she had arrived at the right spot. The music was now much louder and she wondered what exactly awaited her behind the door. She felt a sweet and comforting nudge from the TARDIS and tried to swallow her nerves as she pressed her hand to the door and pushed it open.
Martha stood still in awe as she looked around the room. It was large and looked almost exactly like the Village Hall, with a few small differences and no one around. Had the Doctor gone through the trouble of recreating that Dance for her? She held her breath a little as she looked around and didn’t see him and felt her heart race as she worried that perhaps he’d given up on her or changed his mind and left.
“Martha...” she heard a voice from her left and looked to see the Doctor smiling at her, wearing the same clothes that John Smith had worn to the dance in 1913.
Any other time Martha might have felt distressed seeing him wearing those clothes again. Not this time, though. This time she felt any of the bad associations of him dressed in such a way beginning to dissolve as she watched him smiling sweetly at her, his eyes glistening a bit from the ambient light around him in the room.
Martha noted that the Doctor was wringing his hands as he began to walk up to her - was he just as nervous? “Martha Jones,” he said once he was before her, his voice low and breathy.
“Doctor,” she practically squeaked out in response, finding herself memorized by the intense look in his eyes. She almost felt as if she needed to look away, as if he was trying to look directly into her soul, but she fought the urge and kept their gaze. It was then she noticed his eyes glistening again in the light, appearing somewhat glassy, and she wondered for a moment if they were holding back his own unshed tears.
He raised a finger to her lips, pressing it against them as if to quiet her. “Not tonight,” he corrected softly, still looking into her eyes intensely, “Tonight I am John Smith. Tonight I am going to do things right this time.”
As he spoke to her, Martha could tell the cadence of his speech had changed, sounding more like the shy, soft-spoken man he’d been in 1913 than the usual manic verbal inflections of the Doctor. Almost without thinking, she found herself slowly reaching out to him, pressing her palm against the right side of his chest, and feeling the quickening beat of his second heart beneath her touch. It was almost as if she needed to check if he’d become human again, the thought of which slightly worried her.
The Doctor reached up in response, a knowing look in his eyes, and gently lifted her hand from his chest and moved it to press it up against his heart on his left side, holding it there for a moment. “This is the only heart that matters tonight, Martha.”
With the Doctor’s words lightly jarring her, Martha felt herself snap out of her reverie and self-consciously removed her hand and replaced it at her side. She then swallowed hard, trying to hold back the joyful tears that were threatening to well up in her eyes.
The Doctor - John Smith - smiled down at her again, this time a wide smile that reached his eyes. He then stepped back, bowing slightly, and then offered out his hand to her, “Martha Jones, I would be honored if you shared this dance with me.”
Martha smiled a bit demurely, shyly taking his hand as he pulled them into a waltz. She’d not done any waltzing since she was a young girl in school and had to do some light ballroom dancing as a module with her class, so she was worried a bit about being out of practice. Still, she quickly found herself falling into the rhythm with the man in her arms and her worries mostly washed away.
“Did you enjoy your meal?” the Doctor asked, as he twirled her around.
“Yes, it was very good, I was impressed,” Martha replied, smiling up at him. “I was especially impressed with the wine.”
“Oh yes, well certainly not anything you would find on Earth in 1913, I am afraid,” the Doctor’s tone returned instead of John Smith’s voice, much like when he held the fob watch after Timothy had given it back to him and explained why the watch had spoken to him. Martha also noticed a far-away look in his eyes as he continued, “It’s actually from Gallifrey, from a festival during the Season of the Horleberries, which are much like grapes on Earth, mind you. The name of the wine itself basically translates to ‘Moons in the Sky’ in my language. I have had it a long, long time and it is one of my favorites. It felt somehow appropriate for tonight.”
The Doctor was bleeding through, but she let him continue on with his intended masquerade, finding it a bit romantic even though you could tell, even when he spoke more like John Smith, that there were definite traces of the Doctor underneath. Still, she enjoyed learning about the wine, and she had to smile at its name and how it reminded her of that page from John Smith’s journal associating her with the Moon. She also felt honored that he would share something so precious with her -- something of the lost homeworld for which he grieves.
The Doctor shook his head a bit, his gaze fixing on Martha again. He cleared his throat, his cheeks blushing slightly. Martha could sense that he’d caught himself going “out of character” and tried to stifle a grin. “Do you...” he paused, stammering a bit, now returning to John Smith’s dulcet tone, “like the dress?”
Martha smiled up at him, noting the slight traces of worry that flashed in his expression, as if he worried that she hadn’t appreciated it. “Oh yes, yes. I like it so very much!” she exclaimed.
The Doctor let out a deep breath, a shy smile on his lips as he looked at her. “I am so glad to hear that,” he began, nervously looking at the ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I bought it for you, in the village near Farringham. I wanted to give it to you at some point when we were still there, but I could never figure out how to appropriately do so. So, I kept it stored in a locked drawer in my desk instead, hoping one day I would find a way.”
Martha watched as the blush rose in the Doctor’s cheeks and felt her stomach coil with butterflies. It was hard enough for her to still fully grasp that John Smith might have had feelings for her during their time at Farringham, but the fact that he’d even taken the time to buy her a gift sent her reeling. She looked down at her feet, trying to steady herself as they danced.
“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” the Doctor added, the worry Martha had sensed in his expression now coloring his words.
Martha looked back up at him, realizing that her looking at the floor had probably given him the wrong impression of her feelings on the matter. “No,” she smiled at him, trying to resist the urge to press her lips against his as her gaze rolled over his face to meet his eyes, “not at all. I am just a bit surprised is all.”
“Well, it really suits you,” the Doctor said, the worry starting to leave his features. “It looks absolutely beautiful on you. You, Martha Jones, look absolutely beautiful.”
Martha leaned forward to tuck her forehead between the Doctor’s shoulder and neck, closing the space between them. It was certainly not something one would have done in a waltz, especially in 1913, as it would have been far too provocative, but she didn’t care. She heard the Doctor’s breath catch a little and for a moment worried about being too forward. Her worries were eased, though, when she soon felt the soft pressure of a light kiss pressed into her hair and the almost tentative, light caress of the hand on her back that the Doctor had pressed there since they had begun dancing. She breathed in his scent, as intoxicating as the night itself had been, and let him continue to lead them in a dance around the room.
“I am impressed with your recreation of the Village Hall,” Martha offered, suddenly feeling the urge to fill the silence between them with nervous words.
The Doctor gave a small contented sigh. “That was mostly the TARDIS, with a bit of help from me. She pulled the images from my memory and did what she could with them. I am afraid I don’t remember all of the details, but I think it came out well nonetheless,” he responded, his tone a little insecure.
The two of them then returned to silently dancing, the nervous insistence on speaking slowly slipping away from Martha who was beginning to feel more comfortable with their companionable silent moments. Martha wasn’t sure how long they were both silent, just dancing around the room with the Doctor still caressing her back and her nuzzling closer and closer against his neck, but she noted to herself how lovely the moment felt.
The silence was eventually broken by the Doctor, who said in an almost desperate whisper, “I am so sorry.”
Martha felt the vibration of his voice through the skin of his neck and it seemed to vibrate from her head through her entire being. There were so many things she wanted to say in response about how angry she had been, how hurt she had been, and how alone she had felt, but she stayed her voice and let the Doctor speak. He was rarely ever so vulnerable with her and she didn’t want his walls to push her out again if she spoke too soon.
“I know that I hurt you back at Farringham and I have been fighting with myself ever since about it,” the Doctor added, still in a pained whisper, after another silence between them. “I cannot forgive myself until I know that I have your forgiveness. I cannot go back and change what I did. I truly wish that I could. I have barely been able to face you since we have been back, the guilt always consuming me when I see you. Still, I wonder if some day you might find some forgiveness in your heart for me. I wonder if some day I can make it up to you somehow.”
Martha took in his words, simultaneously both wanting to forgive him easily and, conversely, to hold back such forgiveness. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, but she worried about letting things go so easily. The wounds were still healing with her as well and it was still going to take her some time to move on emotionally from the whole experience.
“What about Joan?” Martha asked, the words coming out of her mouth as quickly as she thought them, almost surprising her that she had spoken them aloud without more forethought.
The Doctor took in a deep breath, his body stiffening slightly, and his hand on her back stopped its caress. “What do you mean exactly?” he asked, his tone now a bit more guarded.
“You loved Joan, or at least you acted like you did. You didn’t treat her like you treated me. What am I to think of that?” Martha responded, her voice carrying a little more of a harsh edge than she had hoped.
The Doctor’s body was still noticeably tense as they continued their dance and it was apparent that his breathing had become a bit jagged. “Martha, I was a victim of my time,” he began, his tone now even as if he was trying to control his emotions, “Joan wanted to be with me. She practically pushed herself on me. Yes, I loved her, but it was what was expected of a man like me. I let myself get caught up in it because I didn’t know what else to do. It is not like I could have expressed to you how I felt about you, at least not without one or both of us losing our jobs or becoming social pariahs. You were unattainable, so I had to stay my feelings for you and live my life without expressing my true feelings. I had to play the role that society wanted me to play, even if it meant, quite unfortunately, hurting you.”
Martha felt the Doctor’s hand slide from her back to reach up under her chin. He tugged upward to get her to look into his eyes, stopping their dance. His eyes were red and his expression was soft as he gazed down at her. She also noticed his cheeks were damp from tears.
“Martha,” he began, his voice now feeling less like John Smith and more like the Doctor again, “John Smith made a mistake that I don’t agree with, but I can’t change what he did as much as I want to. He didn’t have more than 900 years to learn from similar mistakes. He didn’t have my perspective on things or the ability to rebel against societal expectations. The TARDIS constructed him in such a way to fit in and not make waves, so that he wouldn’t be putting me or you in danger. I can’t justify what he did to you or what he said to you. All I can do is apologize on his behalf, ask your forgiveness, and hope that somehow we can work past this and repair the damage done.”
Martha collapsed into tears against him despite herself, wrapping her arms around him as she pressed her face into his shoulder again. His body noticeably relaxed a little as one arm wrapped around her back, holding her against him, while the other reached up to stroke her hair softly. “I want to move on too,” Martha sobbed against the fabric of his blazer, “I just missed you so much. All I want is my Doctor back. I don’t want you to ever leave me like that again.”
“Sshhh,” he whispered, still caressing her hair. “I am right here and I am not going anywhere.”
The Doctor let Martha’s sobs die down, riding the waves of her sorrow along with her as his own tears rolled down his cheeks. Eventually, she pulled back to look up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I forgive you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. She just couldn’t bring herself to hold on so tightly to the anger or pain anymore. They were going to be at a perpetual stalemate if she did and she knew that she would prefer to take the high road in the matter than to drag things out much more. The Doctor was right -- John Smith had made a mistake. The Doctor, however, had not and she felt she could no longer truly justify punishing him for what John Smith had done. Even if there was a small pained part of her that still wanted to take it out on someone.
The Doctor’s face lit up, quickly leaning down to press his lips against hers in a sudden kiss. He lingered just like that for a long moment before grabbing her into an embrace, lifting her and swinging her around. “Oh, Martha Jones, my heavenly star.”