Questions and Answers

[preserved_ginger]

Title: Questions and Answers
Characters: Ten. Martha.
Setting: Between Gridlock and Daleks in Manhattan
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine (sadly).
Spoilers: Oblique ones for Smith and Jones, more obvious ones for The Shakespeare Code and Gridlock
A/N: Angst again, ’m afraid. Another story in the To Days To Come ’verse.
Summary: “Do you want to talk about it?”

The two of them were in the TARDIS, recovering from the pollution and other side effects of subterranean New Earth and their run in with the Macra, when Martha decided to broach the subject. She had noticed how he tended to be in full flow – babbling on about something – and then would stop dead for no immediately apparent reason, staring into space with an expression on his face full of wistful melancholy. Even she had managed to work out that that was when he was thinking about her.

Ever since the incident in the bedroom of that pub, when he seemed to see straight through her – she’d have laid a bet, were she so inclined, that it had been her face he’d seen – she’d wanted to know more about this mysterious Rose. Chiefly, of course, to find out why he’d let her leave him if he was as hung up on her as he seemed to be. She’d recognise the look of a man in love anywhere.

He had a slightly manic grin on his face when she came back into the console room, and she figured now was probably the best time to catch him – before he ended up in one of his moods again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked the question tentatively, unsure what reception she’d get but hoping she might be able to get him to talk. The trick she’d pulled on New Earth had worked once but she didn’t think forcing him would work so well a second time. Better if he came to it of his own volition.

“What is it this time?” Manic grin or not, he was irritated – and his tone showed it. Martha took a deep breath and ventured on.

“About her. About Rose.” The grin vanished. She saw him physically flinch, but she had to ask this now or she’d never find the courage. “I’m no expert on the subject, Doctor, but it can’t help you get over her if you don’t talk about her. It’s not healthy …” She trailed off as she took in the look on his face. He looked like thunder but when he spoke he seemed almost unnaturally calm, despite the distinct edge to his voice.

His tone, though, was icy:

“And what, exactly,” he said, whilst deliberately not looking at her, “have I ever said or done that suggested to you that I would want to ‘get over’ her?”