God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
--James M. Barrie
--
He's not completely oblivious.
"--best chocolate pie in all of time and space, how about that?" he counters, the teensiest bit offended that she doubts his taste in desserts. All right, his tastes vary from incarnation to incarnation, and different physiology from humans means a few changes in what he can and can't eat, but still! He has very good taste! And he knows that she, like pretty much every other female in the universe, loves chocolate, well, the best solution is to take her to some of the best.
"Chocolate pie? There's chocolate pie on other planets?" she asks, as if she's not sure whether or not he's joking.
"Of course! Surely you don't think humanity's the only species to have discovered that chocolate and pie, while wonderful enough on their own, are absolutely brilliant together?"
She raises an eyebrow, but then she grins and laughs. "Chocolate pie it is," she agrees, now enthusiastic. He grins back, sets the coordinates, and watches the Time Rotor whir. Once the TARDIS shudders to a halt, he bounds over to the door and opens it, but he seems to have been bang on target, so he gestures for her to go first. She gives him another happy, anticipatory smile, and Martha walks out, the Doctor following quickly behind.
It's only after they've eaten one whole pie, brought home another, and Martha conceded that Talcion IV's chocolate pie could be considered the best in time and space that the Doctor feels free to remember, a bit. Martha's still grinning as she bids him good night, and he still has a smile plastered to his face when he wishes her the same, but after she's gone and he's alone in the control room, he sags a bit, the smile falling away, and leans against one of the support struts. He absent-mindedly strokes the strut, the TARDIS buzzing gently in his mind, and lets himself remember.
Rose loved Talcion IV's chocolate pie. The face she'd made when she took her first bite, her eyes closed in almost-palpable bliss, and the way she'd moaned around the chocolate in her mouth -- that was a wonderful moan, that was. And her tongue, whenever she licked crumbs off her fork, was totally indecent and absolutely gorgeous. He'd never found himself jealous of a fork before.
He'd been so entranced by her enjoyment that he hadn't even noticed when he'd gotten a bit of chocolate on his nose. Or rather, hadn't noticed until she brought it to his attention, first by leaning close to him and whispering in his ear that he had something on his nose, then by casually wiping it off with a finger she then proceeded to stick in her mouth as she sucked away the excess chocolate. He'd barely been able to wait for their to-go boxes before he dragged her back to the TARDIS.
He sighs, and lets the memory fade -- he's not yet ready to revisit the rest of the night.
He hadn't mentioned Rose to Martha -- not tonight, at least. He let her have her pie without tainting the experience, as mentioning Rose always seems to. And he doesn't want to hurt her. Martha's wonderful, so smart, loyal, open to the wonders of the universe...she's one of the best, no doubts about that.
But she's not Rose, and she'll never be Rose. He tries not to blame her for that, as he tries not to hurt her with the implication that he'd rather Rose were here instead of her. There are so many things he's taken Martha to see, things that have memories of Rose attached to them, but for the most part, he's kept silent. He's not always rude.
It's only sometimes that memories of Rose rise up so quickly and strongly that he can't stop himself from mentioning her. Only sometimes that those memories overpower his consideration for Martha, and his own pain at being without Rose.
He pushes away from the strut, giving it a pat as he walks away, heading to the library and something to read as he waits for Martha to wake up again and let him bask anew in her wonder at what the universe can offer, from Shakespeare's lost play to chocolate pie.
She'll never be Rose. But she's Martha, and, right here and right now, that's enough.
At least, if nothing else, he has his memories.