Platonic

He protected her...after getting her (or both, but she's not forgetting New New York anytime soon) into trouble. A knight in no, wait, he has her doing his laundry (seriously, no all Time Lords only wear two different sets of clothing) and she knows that the only thing he wears that could possibly shine is his "brainy specs." He was pure, and...wait a minute. "Pure?" Is that the first intentionally non-soppy adjective that comes to her mind? After all this time trying to avoid the adjective that she hopes she can ignore? The noun that's formed after adding another word to that adjective?

It's at this point that Martha Jones decides to stop trying to be an English Major. Because whether the adjective is "platonic," or the noun is "platonic love," both are terms she wishes to avoid.

So here she is the TARDIS, after walking on the moon of Saldanha-bathed in the light of Arcturus that puts the reflection of Earth's moon to shame. Looking at it now, she could almost believe it's made of cheese...especially after actually seeing a moon made out of cheese as per one of the fashions in the 40th millennium. The term "down to earth" is getting more and more ridiculous...which seems to be sending her mind from that notion further and further every day...or hour...or year...or whatever period of time she's been on this ship.

Yes, she knows she's rambling silently, which she admits can be just as bad as the Doctor rambling out loud. Heck, it's even worse. At least when her...friend rambles, it makes sense on some level of logic that exists in some dimension or another. But her thoughts? They don't even make sense in the basic four...yes, even time has become a basic concept to her, and yet she's still caught up on boyfriend issues, and...oh wait, that's another noun she's not meant to use.

But then again, as Martha reflects, she has to use something to describe her situation, even if only to herself. Not "trapped in 1969" or "working as a maid in 1913," but a simple word to describe a simple situation (or as simple as the TARDIS can be anyway) that's as simple as possible. And while it tears her up inside far more than it should, she quickly settles on it...

"...platonic love."

And hopefully, she won't have to be reminded of that any more than she has to. Hopefully-...

"You know what, I think it's time I paid a visit to Plato," the Doctor declares, walking into the room with his brainy specs on. "I've always wondered what spurred him to write the Symposium."

...scratch that. She's going to be reminded of platonic love a lot.

Even here, in the Time Vortex, some hopes can still be broken.