Hello again! I have returned to my favorite couple! This story is a stand-alone (had enough of series for now) and the relationship is canon... for the time being.

I want this tale to be very "atmospheric." Very close. Lots of emotion and whispers. Warm and muted, maybe even a little claustrophobic. Perhaps not in the first chapters, but definitely as the story progresses and pain begins to mount, relationships begin to change, desire begins to grow...

My only regret is that I am not able to add music to my posting!

With that, I bid you enjoy. Oh, and REVIEW if you are reading! I want to hear from you!

ONE

A pink tinge cast itself over all that they could see. Were pink walls and ceilings making the light seem pink, or vice versa? The temperature was slightly higher than was strictly comfortable, and the same went for the humidity. The hallway in which they now found themselves was long, rose-tinted, with no angles - only rather ethereal arches. Every fifty-or-so feet, another archway broke the perfect smoothness of the wall/ceiling giving the overall impression of a long, ribbed throat. Martha Jones felt vaguely as though she were caught in the gorge of a whale.

She walked beside the Doctor, stealing glances at him, noticing that even his brown suit somehow had absorbed the pink surroundings, and certainly his skin had. He was scowling, looking straight ahead with purpose, his jaw clenched, his eyes on-alert.

In front of them, leading them someplace undoubtedly interesting, was a female humanoid, just about Martha's height. She had quite lightly-coloured hair and wore a skin-tight neck-to-toe garment, in black, made of a fabric that closely resembled a very thin vinyl. When she had spoken to them in the drawing room a few minutes before, she had seemed shifty to Martha, as though she was hiding something. Her gaze had never quite come to rest on either of them, and she didn't seem willing nor able to answer any questions about why she had summoned the Doctor.

Martha wanted to ask, "What the hell is going on?" but she reckoned the Doctor had no idea.

At long last, the light-haired female humanoid stopped and gestured to a door. She then proceeded to unlock it. "Step this way, please."

Martha followed the Doctor across the threshold, through a doorjamb that was about three feet thick, into a room that was drenched completely in darkness. The temperature and humidity were a hair's breadth even higher than in the hallway. It was not pleasant, but not quite yet stifling. Where the hallway from which they had come had been an echoing cavern of sorts, this room seemed to have been soundproofed. Even with no sound trying to reach their ears, she could tell that they were insulated.

When the female said, "Apologies," Martha's suspicion was confirmed. There was a special kind of silence reserved for rooms like this, and a special crispness to all words spoken within.

Within a few seconds, though, the female had flipped a switch and they could all see once more. "This is the Tactile Chamber," she announced. Her voice was slightly raspy and rough, but also soft and beatific. In a way, her voice matched her appearance. For the first time now, Martha was really noticing that her skin was almost as light as her hair.

The Doctor and Martha both waited for further explanation or information on what the female had called the Tactile Chamber, but none came. She simply moved behind a podium that was to the right of the door though which they had entered, and set about flipping switches and arranging things.

The Tactile Chamber was like a small auditorium. A half-moon shaped stage was the focal point of one side of the room. All surfaces were black, and the back of the stage was lined with a concave curved black wall. There were three curved rows of spectator seats for an audience, all lined with soft black cushions. In fact, most everything in the room was black - floors, ceilings and walls included. And just as the silence in the room seemed even more muted than normal, so did the black surfaces.

The only thing that wasn't black was the light that illuminated the space. It hovered over the stage area and was soft and sharp at the same time. It was not pink, but rather a shade of gold-orange.

Interestingly, there was also a row of seats pressed flush up against the stage, but facing away from it. Folks who sat there would have their backs to the "action." Clearly the seats were not meant for spectating.

"Doctor, Miss Jones," said the female, stepping out from behind the podium. She approached them. "Thank you for your patience. I'm afraid I have been remiss in introducing myself. I am Vissa, and I run this facility."

"Yeah, that's nice," the Doctor said, his jaw tightening, his hands defensively going into his pockets. "But you might have started by telling us, what is this facility?"

"It was easier to show you, that's why we brought you here with little or no explanation," Vissa said, moving toward the stage. She now stood directly in front of the away-facing row of seats in front of the stage. She gestured to one of the chairs. "Miss Jones, if you would."

"You want me to sit down?" Martha asked.

"Yes, please."

Martha looked at the Doctor. He looked back at her with an uncertain frown. She took it as a sign to withhold any assent or dissent until further information became available.

The Doctor began to walk toward the seat to which Vissa had gestured. He pressed his hands into the cushions, and felt the armrests. He got down on his knees and checked under the chair.

"Can't feel anything in the seat, nothing under it," he muttered. He sat back on his knees, looking up at Vissa, and asked, "What are you up to, eh? What's the game?"

Vissa seemed nonplussed, and opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor was already aiming the sonic screwdriver into the dark patch underneath the seat.

Within a few seconds, he got to his feet and said, a harsh quality to his voice, "You have mind-probing devices under this chair."

"Yes," said Vissa. "And behind it, and above it." She gestured up, into a canopied area over their heads.

The Doctor, without asking permission, hopped up onto the stage. Vissa sucked in air through her teeth. "Doctor, do, please, be careful. That surface is not meant for treading upon."

"Your stage isn't meant for treading upon? Who are your performers, ghosts?" he asked, aiming the sonic up into the canopy and squinting at it. "These aren't Ceblanec probe lasers are they? Because that would almost certainly give Martha cancer."

"Oh, Doctor, that's not a stage," Vissa said, holding her arms out in front of her, clearly nervous about the Doctor's actions. "Please watch your step!"

The sound of the sonic died, and the Doctor turned his attention toward the pale woman. "Not a stage, then wha..." his eyes were now fixed upon the surface on which he was standing. "No!" The word came out like a disbelieving heave.

"Yes, Doctor, now please come down."

"What?" asked Martha, now making her way toward them.

"It's a holographic field," the Doctor answered, jumping back down onto the black carpet. Vissa seemed visibly relieved. "It's really very cool."

"Oh," Martha said, not sure what else to say.

"So, Miss Jones, will you please sit?" asked Vissa, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Go ahead," said the Doctor to Martha. To Vissa he said, "That was a no on the Ceblanec probe lasers, correct?"

"Correct. Absolutely, that's a no," Vissa responded.

"Do I have your word?"

Vissa raised her voice slightly, for the first time. "What do you take us for, Doctor, honestly! We are far more sophisticated - and less cruel - than that. We use Veridic Wave-Extrapolators."

"Oh!" the Doctor said, surprised. He blinked his eyes several times with the impact of this news. "Wow. Okay, then."

"What's that mean?" whispered Martha.

He leaned closer to her and whispered back, "The TARDIS uses Veridic Wave-Extrapolators in her translation circuits."

"They have the same technology as the TARDIS?" she asked a little shocked.

"A bit of it, yeah," he said. "So, wait, Vissa. Martha is already under the influence of a Veridic Wave-Extrapolator from the operating system of my time vehicle. Will yours interfere with it?"

"I shouldn't think so. Which frequency does your time vehicle's extrapolator use?"

"Alpha, of course."

"Then we shall use Beta. Not to worry. Miss Jones?"

Martha moved forward. "Fine, I'm sitting down." And she did. She took the seat that Vissa had offered a few moments before.

"Wonderful," said Vissa. "Doctor, please take a spectator's seat."

The Doctor sat in the front row, directly across from Martha, while Vissa moved over to the podium. She punched a few keys, and the "stage" area behind Martha filled up with thousands of tiny golden balls of light. Strings of them moved from floor to ceiling in hypnotic, straight lines. Martha stole a glance, and was reminded of a glass of beer, and the way the bubbles move inside when newly-poured.

"You should know that the blackened room is part of this process," Vissa said. "It is so as not to distract the subject - that would be Miss Jones - by way of any colour or decoration."

"Interesting," the Doctor said, earnestly.

"In fact," Vissa continued, sounding just a bit uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "Other measures are often taken with subjects so as not to distract them, depending upon the, er... task at hand. But we shall discuss all of that later. Are you comfortable, Miss Jones?"

"Yeah, sure," Martha answered, shrugging.

"Then let's begin," Vissa said with a soft touch. "Try to relax. Take deep breaths."

Martha breathed in, then out. Then in, then out - ever so slowly. She felt her heart slow, and she concentrated on letting go of any tightness.

"Clear your mind," Vissa's voice rang softly. "Or, rather, focus on yourself, on your mind and body. Close your eyes if you wish, continue to take more deep, solid breaths. Let the heat in the room get inside you. Let the silence envelop you."

She paused.

"See the heat," she continued, at a near-whisper. "Imagine it sinking into your skin, oscillating about like smoke. It does not burn, but it makes you feel grounded and real, like you really live in your body. Now, feel the silence. Touch it. See yourself lying back in the warm quiet, like it's a welcoming gel. Nothing to worry about... nothing to fear."

For what felt like several long minutes, Martha just sat in a meditative state with her eyes closed, doing as Vissa asked. She breathed in and out slowly. The heat and the silence were a bit oppressive, but it helped with the effect, the clearing, the sinking into self.

"Martha, did you have a favourite plaything, when you were a child?" Vissa asked, her soothing, breathy voice seeming to bounce off the walls within Martha's head.

"Yes, of course," Martha said.

"Open your eyes, if you like, or you may keep them shut, it's your choice," said Vissa.

Martha opened her eyes. Even in her trance-like state, she registered the Doctor's presence just across from her, with his eyes now fixed on something over her head. Martha realised that she had, on Vissa's subtle suggestion, conjured a mental image of a plush bear she had had when she was a child. Realising this only made the image stronger.

"Tell me about it," Vissa encouraged.

"It was a grey teddy bear," Martha said. "His name was Alexander. When I got him, he had a red bow-tie, but it got lost on a trip to Brighton one summer."

"And why was he special to you?"

"My grandmother gave him to me for my third birthday," Martha answered with a sad smile, her voice lilting like a little bell. "And he was so soft - like velvet. He had this little face that reminded me exactly of a real-life kitten, the kind that adores you, and just wants to play..."

"What did it feel like to hold him?"

"So comforting," she said. She involuntarily found herself concentrating on the actual sensation of holding little Alexander; his exact feel against her cheek, the thickness of him in her arms, the contours of his squishy plush body. She sighed audibly.

"Doctor, wave at her," Vissa said evenly.

"What?"

"Wave at her," Vissa repeated.

The next thing Martha knew, the Doctor was leaning a bit forward in his seat, waving his right hand back and forth, searching her eyes for something.

"Oh, hi," Martha said, coming out of the meditative state and falling into a smile. "That was wild."

"Turn around and look," the Doctor said.

She stood up and directed her attention to the stage, or rather the holographic field. She was not, at this point, surprised to see the perfect image of her bear, Alexander, hovering just a few inches above the floor. They had even captured his slightly motheaten appearance, and the chip that had been taken out of his shiny plastic eye when her sister Tish had dropped him out of her bedroom window to torment Martha. On an intellectual level, Martha understood that "they" had got it right because this was how the bear appeared to her, inside her mind. Talking about it only helped call forth specific memories, details and sensations.

And without warning, an emotional wellspring heaved up inside of Martha, and she found that she was crying.

"Whoa," the Doctor said, stepping toward her. With one hand on her shoulder and a concerned bow to his head, he asked, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Martha could not answer, sobbed for about twenty seconds, turning and pressing her forehead into the Doctor's left arm. He continued to look at her with concern and alarm, and tried to comfort her by patting her back with his free hand. The outburst had taken him totally by surprise, and he guessed, her too.

And suddenly, it was over. Martha got control, stood up straight, sniffled, and said, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"It's a residual effect of the process," said Vissa, coming forth with a piece of cloth that Martha took, and used as a handkerchief. "You weren't very deeply under, so the emotional welling did not last long. Can I assume the bear is lost to you now?"

"Yeah," Martha said. "Poor Alexander got misplaced somehow when my parents moved to a new home while I was at university. I was really upset when my mother told me."

Vissa nodded subtly. "The Extrapolator tugs at your mind a bit, which can upset the chemical balance that regulates your emotions. In addition, you were conjuring images of something beloved that has been lost. The memories, the regret, simply the remembrances of things past. The effects are temporary."

"Well, that bit aside, I thought it was brilliant. Didn't you?" she asked the Doctor.

"Yeah, sort of," the Doctor said. "But I've seen it before. Why was this so difficult to explain?"

"Because this is not the brilliant part," Vissa said, turning to lead them back to the hallway. "That is still to come. Please follow me."