Fayth (faythbrady) wrote,
Fayth
faythbrady

Fic- Two out of three

Title- Two out of three
Author- Faythbrady
Show- Doctor Who
Rating- PG13 ish I think. Hard to tell adult themes but no actual mature content.
Type- Angst...of course- it's January!
Disclaimer- There is nothing under the bed and I don't own the who.
Summary- Martha will never understand what Rose already knew.
A/n- Sometimes there are stories you write because you can't get them out of your head. This is one. I don't like it myself, but it had to be written before I could continue with the Darkness Within. Because I don't like it, I don't mind if you don't either.

A/n2- If you want the proper mood music listen to Meat Loaf's Two out of three at the same time.

The air was chilled with an icy silence that hung harsh and heavy between the occupants of the room; the tension palpable and almost a third entity.


The Doctor stood with his back to the room, his elbow leaning on the window pane of the fake window the TARDIS had deemed necessary to break the monotony of the white walls.


He stared at the phony landscape with its dark rolling hills and grey sky.


Snowing, he thought, it should be snowing. Or at the very least that cold, heavy rain that ironically portrayed the bitter atmosphere that settled over the room like a cloud. 

Symbolic rain. That was what was needed.


He raked a hand through his dishevelled hair and tried to fend off the shiver that trickled over his shirt-covered shoulders.


He was cold.


Imagine that, he was actually cold. Him; a man who’d clung to an iceberg and barely felt a chill, a man who’d been in cryogenic stasis, frozen with ice shards was he was wishing for the jacket and tie slung casually over the back of the chair across the room. But he wasn’t going to get them; to move would be to break the fragile silence. Besides he was too much of a coward to turn and see the damage that he had wrought.


Even as he allowed that unsavoury thought to cross his mind he heard the rustle of sheets behind him and he stiffened, expecting a blow.


What came was worse, far worse.


A sniff. The scent of tears and the hastily indrawn breath of someone trying not to cry.


It was as effective as a blow and stung like a slap.


“Don’t,” he whispered harshly, feeling regret even as the words left his mouth.


“I can’t help it,” was the reply, “unlike you I actually have feelings.”


He winced at the direct hit. She’d almost drawn blood with that one.


He rubbed at his forehead.


They’d been at this for hours and it was getting them nowhere. He was so tired of talking; something else that amused him considering he usually had enough to say for everyone in the room and then some. In fact he was the only person he knew who could talk the hind legs off a donkey and then convince it to go for a walk afterwards. He could sell snow to Eskimo’s, sand to the desert and possibly had. But just now he’d be grateful if he never had to say another word, just as many of his enemies would like. The thought was amusing and he was tired enough to let the small laugh slip through his lips.


A mistake.


She heard it and sat up, indignation making her sound bitter and cruel. “I’m glad you’re having fun!”


“I’m not!” he insisted, but bit off the sigh to face her.


Martha sat on the bed; the well crumpled sheets pulled up to her chest, her hair sticking up in shards of black glass, eyes red and wet, cheeks glistening with trails of old tears. She looked vulnerable and young and very, very angry.


“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he soothed even as he resisted the urge to run. “Not laughing at all. Except that I was. But not at you. Well, not just you. Me, us, this thing. Not that it is funny. Us.”


“According to you, there isn’t an ‘us’!” she snapped and swiped her hand over her cheek. “And this ‘thing’ is over.”


Again. She was going to go over it again. Suddenly he couldn’t take it. He’d said what he meant and meant what he’d said. He was tired of talking it over and talking it through; talking it to death. There was nothing left inside him to give and she could damn well cry all night, it wasn’t going to change anything.


He nodded briskly. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”


Martha gaped at his callous dismissal. “You know what I want!”


“And you know I can’t!” he shot back, storming over to the chair and grabbing his clothes. He threw the tie around his neck and pushed one arm into the jacket sleeve, feeling better as he slid his armour into place.


“You can sleep with me and still not feel anything?” Martha bit her lip and he saw another tear form in her eyes.


“We’ve been over this,” he swallowed back his own anger. “You were the one who pushed us into this, Martha Jones. I told you I don’t do this with my companions but you insisted. Seduced me even.”


“I thought you cared.”


“I do!” His voice had risen into a shout and he forced himself to calm down. “I do care.” He gestured at the bed. “Doesn’t this mean I care?”


Martha’s lips thinned. “No, it means you’re a typical bloke who likes to get his end away.”


Her words threw him off stride and he frowned. “End of what?”


“Stop with the alien crap!” Martha all but shouted at his flippant answer. “You… you are such a bastard sometimes, Doctor. You told me that you needed me and here, you showed you wanted me.”


He had. He’d broken his own rules and even said the words…words that had gotten him into this mess.


“Isn’t that enough?” What the hell did she even want from him?


“No!” Martha clutched the cover closer. “I need more. You want me, great. You need me, fantastic. But I want you to tell me you love me, at least.”


Ah. The Doctor closed his eyes. “Martha.”


“Just tell me!”


“I can’t.”


“Why? Doctor?”


Why? Why couldn’t he tell her that he loved her? It was so simple and yet so very complicated. It bypassed years of training, centuries of hurt and millennia of heartbreak, how was he supposed to sum it all up for her?


“Why?”


He took a deep breath and broke her heart. “Because I don’t. Yes, I want you. Yes, I may even need you but there’s no way I’m ever going to love you.”


There was a beat of silence, of pain as Martha’s mouth dropped. “Wh—?”


“I’m a Time Lord, we…I … can’t.”


Easy answer.


Martha said nothing, still staring at him with betrayed eyes.


He sat on the edge of the bed and winced when she inched away.


“I wasn’t going to sleep with you, Martha, but you seemed to need something. You humans always needing something,” he smiled ruefully but the joke fell flat. He reached up to scratch his ear. “You’ve been off lately, cold. I thought I was doing something wrong, that I’d annoyed you. You know me, always annoying somebody. I though this would make it okay again.”


“So you slept with me to make me feel better?” her voice had that ice in it that always cut at him.


“No. Well, yes. Maybe I’ve messed it up even more with this but I thought it was what you wanted. You definitely didn’t say no and it was fun. I enjoyed it. But I thought you knew that I don’t…that I don’t…” he trailed off again, unable to add the words to his unease.


“But you have,” she started to cry again, angrily this time. “It’s because I’m not her isn’t it? I’m not Rose.”


He looked away. No. she wasn’t.


Martha read it in his face and her tears dried up. “What was so special about her, hey? I’ve seen pictures; I’ve been in her room. She was a teenager!” Martha’s voice cracked. “A bleached blonde Chav. What made her so damn—?”


“She never asked!” His voice was a whip, cutting into her words. “Not once. She never asked me if I loved her. She gave and gave, even when she had no reason to. I changed in front of her and she refused to leave me. I flirted with Queens and courtiers, waitresses and old friends, and Rose took it. She took what I could give her and never asked for more. Rose accepted me as I was, knew that I couldn’t give her everything and so she got it. Rose got everything. She’s the only one I…” he stopped, his temper gone as grief throbbed through him.


“I tried to show you how much I love you,” Martha offered but he shook his head and stood up.


“You can’t change how I feel, Martha, anymore than I can change that I am the last Time Lord in existence, it’s a fact, you can’t change that.”


She raised her chin and challenged him. “Then I guess there’s no point of me staying with you then, is there?”


And there it was, the human ultimatum; give me what I want or I’ll leave. Appease me or I’ll take myself away. Rose had never done that, even after Reinette. Even after Sarah Jane and Jack. She’d never threatened to leave him if he didn’t give her what she wanted.


The Doctor turned to the window and swallowed as he saw the snow that had started to fall down outside; the TARDIS obviously pandering to his sombre mood.


What would it be like to travel alone again? Maybe it was time to find out.


“I wish you wouldn’t leave because I do want you here but I’m not going to beg you to stay. I don’t do that. I’d never do that.”


“But—”


“No, you’re not listening and I’m too hoarse to shout anymore. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I can only tell you the truth. I want you, I need you, but there’s no way I’m ever going to love you. You can have that…or you can leave. I’ll drop you back.”


Martha straightened. “Take me home then, Doctor. I can’t live with two out of three. I’m worth more than that.”


Fine.


He nodded slowly and headed to the door, with one last glance over his shoulder to the scene at the window.


The snow was really piling up outside as daybreak crept over the now white hills. There was a sparkle in the air of promise playing against the crisp whiteness; a clean clinical feel to the world outside.


A clean break, the TARDIS was telling him. He’d drop Martha off and never go back.


He had tried so hard with her but it was time to move on. It was sad but it wouldn’t break him, not like Rose had.


Because Martha never understood what Rose had known.


Two out of three wasn’t so bad.

 

 

 

 

 
Tags: doctorwho, fanfic, fic
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