#martharose

Here she is: Rose Tyler. The legend. The myth. The… woman.

She sits down beside Martha on the edge of the central platform, their legs dangling and swinging slightly as the TARDIS tugs Earth home. Her hair is a mess she’s trying to comb back into sense with her fingers, and when she smiles, her teeth poke out, and she threw herself across the void to find the Doctor again. She succeeded.

Martha knows exactly why he loves her.

“Martha,” Rose says, “Martha Jones?” Like she’s making sure she has it right. Martha nods. Rose’s smile brightens. “You were fantastic.”

Not that Martha needs to be told.

But it’s still something, to hear it from her.

“And you,” she replies. It feels lackluster, but Rose ducks her head. 

“Well,” she says, “did my best, anyway.” She peers back up at Martha. “You’ve traveled with him. You’ve got a… look. Like you’ve seen the worst things the universe has to offer standing right beside the most wonderful ones. He does that. To us, I mean.” Martha wants to ask. She wants, desperately, to know what those things were for Rose. It was one thing to pull herself free of the Doctor’s orbit. Rose is something else entirely; Rose is what his universe revolves around. 

And before she can, Rose tips her head, worries at her bottom lip, and asks in a hushed tone, “What was it like when you-” Martha leans forward, her questions replaced with a dozen different stories all fighting to be told first, all scary and beautiful and exhilarating. 

“Are you gossiping about me?” the Doctor- one of the Doctors calls. Martha doesn’t turn around quick enough to see which, and they’re both looking at her and Rose. Rose shifts beside her, drawing her leg up to fold on the platform. Her knee brushes Martha’s thigh and then rests there, warm and more tangible than any lost dream.

“Stop eavesdropping!” she calls back with ease, and the Doctors huff and harrumph in near perfect unison. One of them casts another glance towards her before focusing on the TARDIS again. Rose shakes her head. Part of Martha expects her to get up and go back to them, but Rose looks back at her. “Do you want to get some privacy?” Martha’s mouth feels drier than it should. Is that a side effect of not being used to traveling the TARDIS? She can’t really remember.

“Yeah,” she says. Rose reaches for her hand, and Martha, like a piece falling into place, lets herself be pulled up to her feet. 

“Where are we going?” she asks. She should have the moment they stood up, but she’d been caught on Rose’s hand wrapped around hers. No one had noticed them wandering off. (Except maybe Jack, though he didn’t call attention to them, only raised his eyebrows and grinned.) Rose hesitated in the TARDIS’s hallway. The engine thrummed peacefully, and the light around them seemed to grow and dim like breathing. 

“I-” Rose laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “I was going to take you to my room, but it wouldn’t be here anymore, would it? I haven’t been-” The TARDIS, in its way, ripples and bends until there’s a door that wasn’t there. It even opens slightly with the next wave of light as though beckoning them in. “That can’t be...” Rose says. Martha knows that it is. 

“Might as well look,” she says. She squeezes Rose’s hand, and Rose glances down to where their fingers are still tangled together, as though she was so comfortable that she’d forgotten. She doesn’t let go.

Rose’s room is a mess.

“Oh my god,” she says. Her cheeks flame bright pink as Martha stares at her bra on the floor and then very quickly looks anywhere else. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in another dimension. I haven’t really had the chance to clean- Hey!” Rose cuts herself off to pick up a skirt off her bed. She turns it over a few times like she’s inspecting it for damage. It’s perfectly fine. Martha swipes her hand over the (cleared) part of a dresser and doesn’t even come up with dust. It’s like a time capsule. “Sorry,” Rose says, “I got this a few hundred years in the future, and they haven’t been created yet for me to replace it.”

“It’s cute,” Martha says. Rose holds it at her waist to show off. It’s a friendly yellow. 

“That’s not even the best part,” she says. She slides her hand against one of the pleats and then into it. “These are all pockets. Folded up space or something.”

“Really?” Rose grins.

“Yeah. Come see.” Martha’s too curious to stop herself, and it only occurs to her when her hand is already inside that she’s sticking it down Rose’s skirt. Rose’s hand bumps hers inside, and Martha’s face gets hot.

“That’s. Um.” She pulls her hand back while Rose puts the skirt down. “That’s amazing.”

“Until you need to find which one you put something in,” Rose says. “I lost the sonic screwdriver in here once. Life or death situation, and I’ve got Jack and the Doctor both rummaging around in there.” A laugh escapes Martha. “No, that’s not the worst part. Jack says, ‘I’ve found it!’, so sure of himself. He pulls out-” Rose has to bite her lip to finish. “He pulls out a tampon.” Martha loses it, and Rose struggles to keep speaking around her own laughter. “Points it-  Points it right at the bomb- There was a bomb, Martha, and he pointed a tampon at it!” Martha puts her hand out to lean on something and keep her balance. It lands on Rose’s arm. “The Doctor found the screwdriver in time, but that could have been the last thing I ever saw!” Rose’s head falls forward and bumps Martha’s. They both catch their breath between giggles.

“I can’t imagine why the Doctor never told me that story,” Martha says. She wipes at her eyes. God, those tears feel good after the chaos of today. 

“Did he tell you a lot about me?” Rose asks, as if it’s even a question that needs to be asked. Martha schools her expression carefully. 

“Yes,” she says. Rose frowns at her. She looks around at her perfectly preserved room and licks her lips.

“He ever talk about anything but me?” She sounds genuinely apologetic, as if it’s her fault. 

“Once or twice,” Martha says. Rose sighs shortly.

“I’ll smack him for you, if you like. Both of him,” Rose offers. Martha huffs out another laugh. “I’m serious,” Rose says, but she can’t keep a serious expression to back that up. “I will. I could get my mum to do it, too. She’s been waiting.”

“I don’t need you to,” Martha says. She pauses. “I kind of want to see that, though.”

“It’s good for him. He likes it.” Rose flushes suddenly. “He- I meant, it keeps him humble.” Martha opens her mouth, considers whether she really wants an answer to what she’s dying to ask, and shuts it again. 

“He did lose you,” Martha says. “I try to keep that in mind, so I feel a little more charitable.”

“Yeah, but he had you,” Rose says. “What’s he doing not shutting up about me when you’re here? You’re incredible. You just tried to hold the Earth hostage to get rid of the Daleks.”

“It didn’t work,” Martha points out, but her face is getting hot again. 

“You still went for it, though,” Rose says. “You’re bold, and you’re smart, and you’re gorgeous-” Rose’s mouth snaps shut around whatever she was going to say next. She looks like she’s trying to keep a frog trapped in her mouth until she finally manages to speak again. “This is Jack’s fault. I stand around him too long, and I start saying… anything, apparently.”

“I don’t mind,” Martha says. Rose’s mouth quirks.

“Course you don’t. You’re the one getting compliments.” 

“So those are the only ones I get?” It’s a bad idea to let Rose draw her in, but orbiting the Doctor had always been such a lonely thing to do. Rose is like the sun. Martha feels warm beneath her gaze. All of Rose’s attention is on her, and it feels amazing.

“I think I could come up with a few more.” That, Martha’s sure, is a line she’s stolen from Jack, if only because the way she says it sounds like him. 

It’s an even worse idea to let Rose kiss her, but when Rose reaches for her hand again and looks down at her mouth, Martha can’t do anything else. Rose’s other hand rises to her cheek when she kisses Martha. Martha’s sure Rose can feel the way she’s flushed beneath her palm. Martha’s hands hover at Rose’s waist, and Rose leans forward into the kiss until Martha holds onto her to keep them both steady. Rose’s shirt rides up, and Martha’s fingers find themselves against bare skin. 

Rose giggles against Martha's mouth. She’s ticklish, Martha thinks, Rose Tyler is ticklish. There’s something the Doctor never thought to mention.

Kissing the Doctor, once, had been like a run-in with a tornado, something she was lucky to survive and had chased the thrill of until she realized it might just kill her.

Kissing Rose is like… like the first night Martha was on the TARDIS and the gentle hum of it lulled her to sleep. Kissing Rose is like when she woke up the next morning with an extra pillow under her arm for her to hold and a heavier blanket over her feet like she’d always liked to sleep when she was at home. Kissing Rose is like she’s being invited to stay. 

Rose pulls back first. She looks a little nervous. “Alright?” she asks.

Martha wiggles her fingers at Rose’s side again to hear her small laugh again. 

“Amazing,” she says.