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The Tenth Doctor (lonely_god) wrote in silverage,

"You gave it to me," the Doctor said, eyebrows raised and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Insisted. Said you wanted to be able to get in touch with me. Didn't want me to go off all by myself and disappear. You always have been brilliant." Martha had been right, to insist that she be able to contact him when she wanted to, the same way Donna had been right to say that he needed someone to stop him. He'd gone so very far when he'd lost Donna and Rose, too far. Perhaps part of that had been fate--his death had been prophecied, after all--but how much had been his own arrogance?

He shook off the thoughts as best he could for the time being. This wasn't the place for them. Martha didn't know the darker parts of him, not yet, but if he kept brooding on them, she'd notice and demand an explanation. It was painful enough to watch her and realize how young she was, how bright and curious and innocent, and to know that one day, those traits would be gone, all because she'd met him.

"So, Martha. What have you been doing with yourself? Meeting some very interesting people, obviously."