It's silly...

And really quite pathetic, I suppose.

I bought an ipod touch with my bonus. And very lovely it is, all touchy screen and apps (Piano and bubblewrap. Fun!) and put your videos on here. Bad thing is also all of the above, really. Especially the videos. I already had an little mp4 player, but the screen was tiny, as was the capacity. I can now watch Blackpool and TEoT pts 1 and 2 during my lunchtime. Which is the bad thing because today, I sat in the loos and cried as I watched the Ood sang the Doctor to his rest (I sniffle just thinking about that) It's been nearly a bloody month and I'm still weeping big weepy tears when it happens, like it's going to change for goodness sakes. I then watch Blackpool, thinking it will cheer me, but he starts singing 'Should I stay' with the big soulful brown eyes... He then goes on to say (for me) the killer line 'Can I hold your hand?' and again I'm off, this time cursing the fact that I cannot have a tall skinny scotsman like that who will take me onto a very cold and wet looking seaside pier, ask to hold my hand and then proceed to snog the face off me. Bastard.

I blame my hormones. I hate them. They make me want things I can't have.

I also blame the next bit of fic on hormones, because... well, there is no other excuse and saying 'it's my hormones' is always convenient. And with me, normally true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Message


He had told her.

The phone had beeped a message and she'd just about jumped out of her skin when she'd read who it was from. He never usually contacted her. Certainly never contacted her with a video attached. Perhaps, she’d thought, he'd found something that for some strange reason he'd wanted her opinion on. She opened the message and was surprised when she saw him flicker onto the screen.

Then he'd told why he'd contacted her.

He'd said 'I owe you. I owe you so much, so much I can't begin to think about it... So much more than can be said and so... So. So, one day, Martha Jones, you'll see me. It'll be when you're not expecting me, but you'll see me. It might be at a distance, it might be just when you need me, but you won't have called for me, you won't be expecting me. Oh no.'

He'd smiled at her and if you hadn't had known, it would have looked like his normal dazzling smile. But she knew him. And it wasn't half as dazzling as it looked.

'Look out for me Martha Jones. Watch out for me. Because it will be the last time you'll see this face. One last time, look for this ...' He'd stopped and she'd automatically reached out her hand towards him, fingers grasping at air, trying to offer comfort to the image in front of her. He'd cleared his throat and tried to smile again, but it had rippled and pulled at his mouth and it hadn't quite happened. 'One last time. I'll look for you... At you. For one last time.'

He'd then stared out at her from the phone, large, wide eyes staring into her, almost like he could see her. She'd looked back at his face then jumped when, after what seemed an age, he'd said 'Don't forget me, Martha Jones. Please.'

And the screen had gone black.


Now - Martha gazed up at the Doctor, standing, looking down on her and Mickey. And she knew he was looking at her, he was looking at her for the last time. She held his gaze as long as she could, but then Mickey called out to him and he turned and slowly walked along the gantry out of her sight. She then lent against Mickey as they heard the TARDIS wheeze and flicker away and he held her tight, kissing her forehead, shh'ing and making comforting noises to her. Martha turned away from where the Doctor had been standing and buried her face in Mickey's chest. She knew she'd never see that face again.

'Bye,' she whispered. 'Won't forget, Doctor. Ever.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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