Good morning, my lovelies! I know, I know, it's been forever since you've last seen me... restrain on the hate comments, alright? I'll answer any questions any of you have for me. So basically, I started a project- in December I'll write a story for every day. I'm a bit behind, so... viola!

~Bandit

"This is Me... Wish You Happy Birthday"

Awaking at four in the morning, to the sound of persistent beeping and dinging for the third time that week was not exactly how Martha Jones pictured time traveling. She didn't pictures having to drag herself out of bed, hair frizzed, dressing in only a tank top and sweat pants. She especially didn't picture having to pad across the metal grating surrounding the console of the boxed space-ship, blinking sleep out of her eyes, and having to deal with a stubborn man, with the mind and attitude of a five year-old.

If she had known she was going to be kneeling next to him- curled into a ball under the control board, staring off into somewhere on the wall across from him- and insisting he went to sleep, she wasn't sure she would've agreed to travel with him in the first place. THe things she saw were so wonderful, and she really didn't mind dragging him by the wars away from the console- it was actually quite fun- but he was starting to scare her. His eyes, though the had never quite sparkled in the first place, were completely empty now, and his face blanket with no expressions by the slightest twitchings of despair. He looked so... hollow.

Dread always built in her stomach, when she saw him like that, and she had never seen him cry, but his eyes were always teared up, as though he were about to. He never did; as soon as she made presence clear, which was a hard thing in itself because of his attention, he always simply let his eyes lock with her gaze, and for a moment, the pain seemed real. It would drive into her, make her heart clench with sympathy. But it wasn't her pain. And she was sure there was nothing she could do.

This time was worse, though. She could tell the moment she entered the control room, and the sound of whirring and huffing from the TARDIS wasn't the only sound that met her ears. There was a sniffling, too. Why in the world was he sniffling? Martha knew it was the Doctor- there was no one else on his ship, and the mere eerieness of the situation made her frozen with fear.

And there he was, knees drawn up to his chest, as he ducked his head, and curled into an impossible small ball, as usual. He'd shrunk down to the size of a toddler, it seemed, as he sat there. One hand pressed tightly against his mouth, the other wrapped around his legs. He was staring, that empty, broken look in his eye. He hadn't been crying, even with the blinking, dim lights of the spaceship, she could see that. But he sniffled again, and for a moment, his face crumpled, and he seemed to be forcing each breath. It was like he didn't want to continue on, but he was making himself.

Hate swelled inside her, and she despised that expression. The expression that revealed just how broken he was, the expression that managed to tell his entire story. In these moments, she didn't have to ask, she just knew. It was nothing wrong with him, really, so much as it was something plaguing his mind, eating at him, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't do a thing.

Getting onto her knees, already sore from their adventures, and the constant early-morning persisting she was forced into. Martha whispered his name. Over, and over, she just breathed the words, so familiar on her tongue: "Doctor."

She didn't dare try to touch him, didn't dare to shake his shoulders, envelope him in a hud, or embrace him otherwise. The last time she'd tried, he'd squirmed away, like a toddler, until she was forced to let him go. He was so emotionless, as if made of stone, though. Lips pursed, his eyes dulled, as he attempted to catch his bearings. She didn't know what was worse- the deep, heartwrenching expressions that would cross against his etched face whenever his feelings got the better of him, or that sculpted, stony look. It showed he just didn't care anymore. He was feeling such a deep, numbing pain, that he didn't even feel the need to care.

It only took him a few moments to notice she was there, crouched by his side, with her eyebrows furrowing in worry, as she watched him. Her eyes had filled with compassion, and concern, and sympathy. He seemed to want to shake away her fears, that yearning to help, but he dropped his gaze to the ground. The few moments had seemed like hours, minutes stretching, as she waited with baited breath, waiting for him. Hoping he'd look towards her, tell her he was alright, just fine, that it was nothing to worry about. She always let relief wash over her, always let herself breathe easier when his eyes flickered in her direction.

Her voice always sounded so soft in these moments, and she knew it wasn't intentional, but she was always so afraid that anything she said, anything at all, would hurt him more. As though she'd make that wince pull across his face, make him whimper, and whine, force him to draw away, as though facing a monster. She lowered to a whisper, repeating his name: "Doctor."

This time he flinched, and shifting, he glanced at her. It was a fraction of a second, before he eyes went scaling around the TARDIS. The clouding over his face slowly cleared up, taking a long time, as recognition seemed to click inside him. Martha let out a little laugh, pure relief literally dripping from each breath. It'd taken him longer than usual, but he was there. There with her.

Seeming to notice her, for the second time, he smiled weakly, in her general direction. The smile ghosted his lips, fake, and feeble, but at least her tried. "Oh, good morning."

His words all but rang with tiredness, and he hunched his shoulders, slowly untangling himself, as though weights were keeping him down. The usually light demeanor of the Doctor had completely faded away. Dark circles sat like bruises under his once-bright eyes, contrasting sharply with his starch skin. Martha clapped, once, sharply, and he remained still, looking at her in slightly confusion for a few seconds, before flinching. Sleep deprived. How fantastic.

"Tell me what's going on," she muttered, reaching forward again, when he made no signs of making to move from under the console. Brushing his hair from his forehead, her touch was light, as she ran it along his skin. No abnormal heat, no fever, no sweating. "Are you sick? Injured?"

He pulled at face at her actions, flinching away, like she knew he would eventually. He hated when people played with his hair. And then, his eyes flashed with confusion at her words, and he arched an eyebrow, sighing tiredly. "How do you mean? Why would I be injured?"

Moving her hand to his neck, she felt his pulse, shooting him a look that dared to him to try and move from her. She was a doctor. She needed to check. His heart rate was sped, but not in a necessarily bad way. At least it hadn't slowed beyond normal speed. Pulling her hands to herself, Martha studied him for a minute, before speaking again.

She explained: "You've been moping around the past few days. We haven't been in any real adventures, you haven't got in trouble. You've not put your life on the line in a while. Sleeping is a real issue, too, I can tell. Five days, and you haven't slept. I don't care what you say about Time Lords. There is something going on."

Struggling to register all of her words, the Doctor pulled a face, before adverting his gaze from hers. He suddenly seemed so interested in the ground, and for a moment, Martha thought he really, simply hadn't been able to process, or completely understand all she had said. But in the back of her mind, there was a nagging, that reminded her that wasn't the case.

Standing with a groan, Martha stretched, looked around the machine, before yawning, and holding two hands for him. An expectant look crossed her face, as her eyebrows twitched upwards, and her lips quirked into a soft smirk. He took her hands slowly, something he usually wouldn't have done. He pulled himself up, hopping to his feet, and landing with a quiet thump, narrowly avoiding the edge of the console. She cringed.

He began slowly making his way around the circular center, flicking switches, tugging levers, jamming at buttons. The lights slowly came on, buzzing for a minute, before flooding the entire interior with blinding light. Martha squinted, before glancing at the Doctor. In the brightness, he looked even worse. So much worse. Something was really wrong.

Storming over to him, she stomped her foot, before placing her hands on her hips, and shooting him a look worthy of her mother. When she spoke, her jaw was set with anger, and each word came through gritted teeth, staccato. "Doctor, you will tell me right now, or so help me, you will turn this ship right around, and take me back home this very instant!"

Eyes widening, he shrunk back at her sudden harshness, a bit surprised the shocking words had come from her mouth. Her mouth, of all mouths. But he gave a lilting sigh, one that Martha was so familiar with. It was one that he let fall from his lips often, when he thought she couldn't hear, or wouldn't notice. In the rain, in the dark, on a different planet. Whenever she was put in danger. These sighs were becoming more and more frequent.

Running his hands gingerly across his face, he let his sloppily put-together emotional demeanor fray a bit more, as it was already worn. It surprised her, how tired he looked sometimes. Not sleepy, just... tired. She had to remind herself that he'd lived for nearly a thousand years. Of course he was tired. "It's nothing."

There he was again, denying everything, insisting he was fine. With a twinge of sadness, Martha realized she'd been expecting it. She'd been waiting for him to lie to her again, tell her he was alright, when he was very obviously not. She let all the hot, burning white anger boil inside her again, and shot him another look. It took him a moment to gather the courage to look up, and face her again.

He looked like a puppy, defeated, and beat too much, as he skulked away, towards the other edge of the console, where she couldn't see him. It didn't the matter; the two words she spoke nest were just as irritated, impatient. "Tell me."

Crossing her arms, and arching her eyebrows at him, very evidently mad, as he peeked out from behind the console, she waited. Tapping her foot over and over, the sound of her shoe on the metal grating echoed through the large machine. God, I am turning into my mother, she thought to herself. This is wonderful.

Ear-splitting silence then filled the air; she was sure she'd never heard it so loud, as she kept her lips shut, and simply waited. She waited for him to crack, and give in. And it seemed to take him forever until he did. But he heaved a sigh, shoulders shaking as he stood, groaning, and pulling his fingers through his hair.

He opened his mouth, as though trying to find the right words to explain to her all that was going on, and Martha felt a sinking feeling rush through her. Something bad. Something very bad. "A birthday," was all he muttered, though, before turning away.

She went over the word in her head, confused, baffled by what was happening. What did he mean "birthday"? She'd turned 21 three months ago, so what was he saying? Was it- "Yours?"

He shook his head, back turned to her, as he tilted his face upwards. Two palms were flat on the board behind him, as he braced himself against the center. Martha watched in wonder, bafflement. He wasn't making sense... not that he did too often. "No."

"Then whose?" Slowly edging her way around the console, she reached uncertainly towards him, before curling her fingers, and pulling back, hesitating. He looked so vulnerable right now, shoulders hunched, voice obviously caught in his throat.

It was hard to believe that in a few hours time, he'd be back to his chipper, bright, usual eccentric self, adventuring about, and traveling the universe. It was hard to believe, but that's what always happened. He'd never talked to her before, on these early occasions, usually it was just her commanding him to go and sleep. She knew he never did, but it made her feel better. Made her feel like she'd at least done something.

In the light, the eerie feeling that'd swept into her had faded away, morphing into curiosity, concern. His eyes met hers for a moment, and she was lost in those clouded orbs. So simple, yet so complex, she could see each flicker of pain, every wave of every emotion. They were the saddest two eyes she'd ever seen, and she hated to admit they were the perfect eyes for him. She hated to let it be known that they matched him, that no one else could wear those eyes. Then again, no one else could handle the things he went through, either.

She had expected him to reply right away, but he was hesitating. Reaching a gentle hand forward, she tapped his arm softly, as he began to zone out, again. His head jerked towards her, and she left the hand there, eyes steadily gazing into him.

At last, he spoke, the words broken and soft. She had to strain to hear. "Her's." What did he mean- oh, of course. Of course it would be her, of course it'd be that girl. The one he dreamed of, the one he longed for. The one she could never live up to.

He meant Rose. And as understand raged inside her, Martha knew he'd noticed. He looked relieve, absolutely relieved she had figured it out, relieved she knew. But when Martha spoke next, her voice was far from the soothing, comforting tone he'd been expecting. "Oh, and it's been her birthday for the last five days? And that's why you've been moping about like some man who's dying of illness?"

He shook his head at her, lowering gaze. "Only today."

Drawing a shuddery breath, Martha indicated he should continue. She knew he knew the questions he wanted to ask, the Doctor knew everything. Everything except- He began to explain.

"When I was traveling with her, she told me that for four days before her birthday, she'd expect a present from me. For four days before her birthday, we were supposed to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No objections." His hands curled against the board, into fists, fingernails digging into his own palms. "I broke my promise. I promised. I couldn't... I couldn't keep that promise."

Martha thought for a moment, before leaning forward, looking him straight in the eyes. "That's not your fault, don't even think that. I know you, it's not your fault."

He scoffed, obviously not believing her, as he closed his eyes grimly. "I just- I just want to hear her voice, but that'd be-," he gave a quiet laugh, as though at himself. "She's probably in a great party right now. Mickey, and Jackie, and her dad are great people. They threw her a party, I'm certain of it. She wouldn't be thinking of me, anyways."

"Well, I would think of you, if I were her," Martha placed her hands on her hips, and watched him carefully, turning everything over in her mind. There had to be a way, he seemed so miserable. She wanted nothing more than to help him.

He swallowed with difficulty, waving a dismissive hand, "No, it doesn't matter, anyways." Martha gave a small cry of protest, "Well, since it's almost five in the morning, the sun has nearly risen, and we're both up and chipper, we should be on our way!"

Chipper was not exactly the term Martha would've chosen, but she shrugged, crossing her arms, and sat back, waiting. Watching the Doctor, she furrowed her brow, mind churning.

There had to be a way. There had to be a way he could contact her. There had to be, there just had to. The Doctor had never really told her what happened to Rose, he only mentioned it once in a while, but from what she could gather, the companion he was so fond of had been trapped in an alternate world. He'd let her get trapped there. But if she was just in an alternative world, wouldn't that mean-?

"I don't think we should be going anywhere, when you're controlling things sleep deprived," eyeing him as he gave a monstrous yawn, with perfect timing, Martha tried to stop him. He shook his head.

"Time Lords hardly ever sleep," he paused, to yawn again, leaning heavily against the control board. She hated how pale he went- it wasn't natural, human or not. "Thought I told you that."

Smirking, Martha refused to listen to him. They were both terribly stubborn, the only downside to their adventures. "Hardly, and I refuse to believe that. You look like you're about to pass out, Doctor."

His eyes flashed for a moment, and he reached across the TARDIS, hitting a big, flashing button, one Martha recognized as the one that sent them traveling away. "Doesn't matter," he repeated. They lurched a bit, and Martha suddenly had a burst of brilliance.

The idea was swirling in her brain, and it made her heart swell with hopefulness. It had to work, right? Darting away from the console, and from him, she raced towards her room, where her jacket was. She felt the Doctor's eyes on her, as she made her way back, and he called her name over and over in confusion. She didn't care. Jumping through the door, she looked around the room.

The walls were white, starch white, and almost blinding. Her bed was wooden, with boring sheets, and there was a wooden desk bolted to the floor, but it wasn't any use. She never stayed long inside the TARDIS, anyways. Who wanted a cool room to stay in when you got to see aliens every other day? And then she saw it, her jacket: brown, and leather, and lovely. With a grin, she took it in her hands, slipping it over her shoulders.

As she strode from her room, beaming, and closing the door behind her, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, fingers curling around a metal surface, which fit perfectly in her palm. Her teeth showed, as her lips quirked into a quiet smile, and she raced back out to the console room. Jumping over the rail, she threw her weight back, and leaned against it.

She crossed her arms, ignoring the concern sweeping through her, once again, in the form of a wave. It was three minutes past five, and now he was ducking his head again, back rolling with shudders. She feared for his health. "Doctor."

Long seconds passed, before he seemed to hear her, and allowed his gaze to rise towards her. He arched an eyebrow in question, and moved slightly towards her, every step shaky, almost as though he was uncertain. He was never uncertain. Reaching deep into her pocket, she pulled the phone from the jacket, and held it out to him.

"Do you know her number?" She asked softly, handing it to him.

Realization flashed over his face, but he didn't take her mobile. "Of course," he whispered.

Stepping forward, she took both his hands, icy compared to her own, and wrapped them around the phone, before quickly retreating back to the railing. She stuffed her hands in her pockets once again, and nodded towards him. Glancing down at the phone, he pursed his lips. "Something wrong?"

"It won't work," he swallowed with difficulty, but continued to stare down at the mobile. He seemed to not want to let it go, and even then, his grip tightened around the surface, knuckles going white. "She's in an alternate universe, it can't work."

Martha felt her blood run cold, but she didn't want to give up. Not when he was like this. How much longer after her birthday would he continue to be miserable? "It has to," she whispered in reply. "It has to."

He shook his head slowly, still staring down at the electronic in his shaking hands, "It can't, I'm sorry." Reluctantly, he looked back up at her with desperate, cold eyes. He seemed so bitter. So empty. "Thank you for trying."

She refused to accept her phone, which he was slowly handing back towards her. "Can't we gather enough energy… something? You're a Time Lord! And not just any Time Lord, you're the Doctor. You fix things."

The air caught in her throat, as she spoke, struggling to breathe, as she felt her heart grow heavy. There wasn't a way. He said so himself. Giving a sniffle, she felt every ounce of sadness, and despair the Doctor was feeling. It hurt. Eyes glimmering, though, the Doctor used his free hand to reach forward, touching her shoulder comfortingly. He smiled in appreciation, a bit awed by her. Martha felt so useless, though. If only she was Rose. The Doctor would be happy.

Her ears rang, as she ran her hands through her frizzed hair, thinking things over. She wished she was Rose. She wished she was perfect—maybe then the Doctor would like her. Maybe then he'd be happy. She barely heard his next words, soft as they were. "That might just work."

Frozen, she held her breath, slowly, shakily looking back up at him. He was in no better state, but there was a shimmer, a thin, fading strand of hope. But that was marvelous. She didn't question him, he though he looked as though he wasn't believing it himself. Surely the TARDIS could produce enough energy, right?

Diving forward, she hit one of the buttons on the board, praying she hadn't sent them spiraling through time again. They didn't budge, but the lights seemed to dim… as if—as if the box was storing it's energy. Martha grinned, and without another question, snagged the phone from the man's hands. The Doctor's mouth fell open, just a fraction of an inch, and he just stared as Martha turned back to the board. There had to be a way to connect this to the energy. What could do that?

Her question was answered almost at once, as three cords glowed, connecting to the large tube in the center. Quickly wrapping one of the around the phone, she was entrancing by the sight of the cord instantly melding into the phone, right before her eyes. The screen lit up, in an odd way. Giving a grin, she handed the phone back to the Doctor.

Trembling harshly, he limply let his fingers curl around it again, the glowing cord still connected. He looked as though it weren't possible- he knew it wasn't. But he wanted to try. So badly. The thought, the mere thought that he could talk to her again, to hear her voice just once more; it killed him. At least he knew Martha had tried. And because she had been so determined, well… he might as well.

Glancing up at her, and then back to her phone, sleek, and black, and small, he heaved another dry sigh. Finally, his fingers were darting across the tiny keys, and he shakily held it to his ear. With baited breath, Martha watched, eyes flickering, as the lights of the TARDIS did. Even she could hear the ring that sounded throughout the console room, and she had to bite back a whoop of excitement. It rang again. And again.

On the fourth ring, Martha felt her heart drop, and she turned away, towards the door, wrapping her arms around herself. She suddenly felt so cold.

"Hello?"

Twirling on her heel, she raced towards the Doctor, who looked completely stunned. He'd gone pale, but his lips were quirking into a small smile. Martha clung to his arm, pressing her ear to the phone, as the woman on the other end spoke again.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Shaking his head, the Doctor replied. "Uh… uh," Martha nudged him. "Greetings."

There was a chuckle on the other side, and then a pause. "Do I know you? I recognize that voice."

Martha gave a quiet giggle, burying her face into the Doctor's arm, as he took a shaky breath. "Happy birthday, Rose Tyler."

There was a long moment, when the two of them just sat there, and Martha listened carefully. Rose was breathing raggedly, and she gave a soft sniffle. God, was this girl crying? "Doctor?"

"Bingo! Ten points to the lovely lady over the phone,' this time, the man replied at once, his usually exotic grin plastered on his lips.

Martha unlatched from him, and then backed away, winking. Checking her watch, she rolled her eyes at the time. Sixteen past five. She groaned, and yawned, quickly heading back towards her room. She heard him talking over the phone, as she allowed the door to close rapidly behind her. His words were muffled, but one thing was clear: He didn't even notice she had left.

Quite right, too, she mused, slipping off her jacket, and slinging it over the edge of the desk's chair once more. They needed to be alone, anyways. Looking at herself, Martha gave a sheepish smile at the prospect of still being in her sleep clothes. Crawling into the blankets, she was exhausted enough, that she was asleep within minutes.

O-o-O-o-O

Four hours passed, before Martha found sunlight streaming through the room, and pouring through her eyelids. She grumbled, and curled around in her bed, drawing the blanket of her head. Where was the sunlight coming from, anyways? Wrapping herself in the blanket, she yawned, wriggling deeper into the soft cloth. Memories suddenly flooded her mind; all that had happened earlier that morning.

Shooting up like a rocket out of her bed, Martha found herself wide awake. She flailed to untangle herself from the blankets, and as she was in a cocoon, she lost her balance. Falling to the floor, with a few hissed curses, she landed with a loud thud. Once on the metal ground, she was able free herself from the mountain of sheets, and race towards the console room.

She didn't quite know what she had been expecting as she slid into the room, feet slip slipping on the grating, but it wasn't what sight she had been met with. She clung to the railing to avoid going plummeting to the floor again, managing to catch herself, before she hit the lump on the grates in front of her.

"Oh, you lazy sod," she giggled faintly, upon realizing this pile of clothes and wild hair was the Doctor.

Kneeling next to him, she heard him snoring softly, each breath gentle, and rapid; a smile crept it's way onto her lips. Brushing his hair from his face, she studied the sleeping man carefully. The phone was still clutched limply in his hand, and his eyes were shut peacefully. Every trace of worry and despair had been washed away, and the makings of a faint smirk played at his mouth.

Martha grinned, leaning down further to brush her lips against his forehead, before setting herself next to him, pushing and tugging at him, so he was laying straight out. Luckily, he didn't even flinch at the movement, so deep in sleep, he hardly noticed her actions. Glancing around the TARDIS, she strained to heard the quiet hum it was making. She figured it was recharging, wondering how much energy it had taken to get the phone to connect. She also figured it would take a few days for the box to gain back all that it had lost.

The Doctor won't be happy about that, Martha huffed, stroking through his hair, as he continued to slumber. But then again, he'll be sleeping the whole time. I'll make sure of that.

Review, please!