This is the second-to-last chapter! Amazing, considering that for months, I honestly wondered if I could ever again find the wherewithal to finish it. It's been really fun hanging out with Curtis, and exploring his abilities, and lot in life. Speaking of which, in case I haven't said so in a couple of chapters, I'd like to give a special thanks to Sheena, who betas with love!

So, we're coming off a big rant from the Doctor, AND in spite of that, Martha bringing everything to a screeching halt! Does she have a bright idea? ;-)

Also, nasty cliffie, just warning you now!

Enjoy!

TWENTY

It had been a hell of a week. For days, the Doctor had toiled within himself over the idea that the Axiothe Field might damage Curtis, change his autism irreparably, and leave behind a man that functioned more like an average person, but whom no-one would recognise. In Curtis' eyes, and those of his brother, it would leave behind a husk of who Curtis once was.

In the eyes of the Doctor, it was all in the name of doing what he normally does: trying to eliminate bugaboos that threaten the universe, or at the very least, localised portions of a planet he loved.

He had tried to remain sensitive, while keeping the Earth's well-being in his sights. He had tried not to think of it as collateral damage that was incredibly small in comparison to the harm that might be done. He had tried to understand the Malmays' lot. He had tried to defer to Martha on the "human" aspects of the dilemma. He had tried not to take it personally when Curtis questioned his expertise, or even his very existence, and when Tim's trust in him wavered with the changing of the wind. He had tried to hedge his words, and not rile anyone, but he was finished now. He was not the "good guy" in this scenario, who was going to hold their hands and tell them everything would be all right. Nor was he the bad guy.

He was the guy who did what needed to be done. Full stop.

This Doctor had never had a particularly effective bedside manner, because he couldn't afford to. And he was bloody sick of being judged for it.

And finally, he had shut it all down. He had silenced everyone else in the TARDIS, as the Malmays realised that when there's only one man who can solve your otherwise unsolvable problem, perhaps you should not complain about his work. Piss him off, and who would take his place?

"Curtis, tell me you're ready. Or that you're not – that's all right, too," the Doctor said, his heart in his throat.

"I'm ready," Curtis said, eyes wide.

The Doctor reverted to silence, then, reached out for the controls.

"Wait!"

His stomach did a somersault, and his shoulders drooped. He cursed under his breath, and looked up.

Though, to his surprise, he realised that this time it was Martha.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Martha, but this better be really fucking good," he said to her, jaw clenched so hard, his teeth were beginning to ache.

On another day, she might've taken exception to his tone. But today, she merely spoke quickly.

"I was just thinking," she said, coming up the ramp (as she had been standing, this entire time, just inside the door). "You floated that idea of a detonation with Curtis in mid-meltdown, and that's what's led us to this moment - he's here because he's upset. Two minutes ago, you were justifying detonating now, because some of the symptoms of his autism are heightened in his current state of anger and panic."

"Yes, and?"

"Tell me if I get it wrong," she said, now standing beside him, hands gestured as though they could steady him. "You wanted the meltdown to ramp up the symptoms – his pedantry, his intelligence, adherence to logic, et cetera, et cetera, as it all comes to a head, in the form of full-on resistance to what's happening around him, because you thought it would make him stronger. As the magnetic field slams through his body and brain, it's less likely to take down all those things that make him unique if all those things are too damn strong to be taken down. Yes?"

"Yes."

"But I was wondering, wouldn't that just call attention to it? Wouldn't that just be like a lightning rod? A beacon, saying, 'hey, mess with these qualities! They're right here for the taking!'"

"Maybe… erm…"

"Isn't it possible that that would just make the Axiothe Field want to examine it, and tame it? Isn't that what it tried to do with the TARDIS' inner workings?"

The Doctor was silent for a moment, and still did not look at her. His eyes were either closed tightly, or fixed on the console.

After a few moments of contemplation, he said, "It seems as likely a scenario as any."

"So I'm wondering, what if we called attention to the very thing that we want the Axiothe Field to fix?"

"Martha, I love you, but get to the bloody point. I've had enough."

"Detonate while he's drawing."

The Doctor stood up straight, and his eyes grew wide. "That could work."

"Don't wave a big red autism flag at the Axiothe Field. Wave the flag of the thing we actually want cured."

"His autism might be at its most potent when he's having a meltdown," the Doctor said, still not looking at Martha, but staring beatifically, with the wheels turning, off into the distance behind her. "But his power is at its pinnacle when he's drawing… bending reality."

"Exactly. Can we try that first?"

Curtis got to his feet in less than two seconds, with a thud against the metal grate. "Yes, I like that idea. Where are your art supplies?"

Without hesitation, the Doctor, having reverted to his usual form, said, "Right this way, folks," and strode toward the hallway.

He led them all to the supply room, where Martha had found the cello tape a couple of days earlier, and repaired the drawing Curtis had begun for Daniel Edge, but not finished the way he wanted.

In the myriad of different tools and implements from different planets occupying shelf after shelf of space in the TARDIS' supply room, the Doctor managed to extract a few sheets of white paper, and a box of pastels. Curtis sat down at the table, and began to work.

The Doctor and Martha took the next fifteen minutes to transfer the needed equipment to the supply room, where Curtis was now engulfed in his incredibly detailed drawing of the neighbourhood as seen from the roof of their council estate, having a lovely, sunny day.

Tim was pacing nervously, seemingly unable to leave his brother alone. "That's a great idea, mate – we can use some sunshine," he said to Curtis, a little too cheerfully. Then, to Martha he said, "He was complaining about the weather earlier… he can't abide too many cloudy days in a row. But then, who can, eh?"

There was now a glowing metal domed apparatus sitting on the table. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like an old-fashioned tin colander concealing a candle. Attached was a crown-like device that would sit on Curtis' head, and act as a probe.

"Is that like a miniature of what you built in the console room?" Tim asked.

"No, that would have taken much, much longer," the Doctor answered. "This is just a transmitter. It will communicate with the console and allow the energy to track down Curtis in here. That's it. It was pretty simple, actually."

All they had to do now was place the "crown" on Curtis' head, and… detonate.

He didn't seem to feel it when the heavy metal device encircled his head, and a yellow light came on the front.

"I'm going to take the advice you gave me earlier, Tim," the Doctor said. "I'm going to see if I can turn on the faucet gradually. We'll see how he interacts with the energy – and how his power interacts with it – before we… you know…"

"Detonate. I get it," Tim said.

The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the dome, and the light within it grew brighter. Then, it began to waft out through the little holes, and into the air around it. It seemed to touch the space, explore it for a few moments, before locking onto Curtis. It surrounded him gently, and for a few moments, it was as though he simply had an aura.

Then, it seemed to nestle in around his arms. It then spread out to his hands, then concentrated on his head.

"Can you feel anything, mate?" Tim asked, his voice nearly breaking.

"Shush," Curtis said.

Tim nodded, as though this could be confirmation that his brother was all right.

"Is it identifying his ability?" Martha asked. "Something about his hand drawing, and what's happening with his brain?"

"Erm… presumably so," the Doctor told her, without taking his eyes off Curtis. "I've never done this before."

The energy around Curtis' head began to twinkle. His longish hair stood up for a few seconds, then laid back down. Then it happened again. All the while, the man himself simply continued to draw.

"What's it doing now?" Tim asked, his voice rising.

"I'm thinking it's examining his head," the Doctor told him with a shrug. "Again, I've never done this."

The energy then began to flow, to everyone's surprise, out of the room and down the hall toward the console room.

"I'll follow it," Martha said. "Got your phone?"

"Yeah," the Doctor said, pulling her old razor from his pocket, and clutching it tightly.

She jogged out of the room, and to her relief, the energy went toward the front of the vessel, familiar areas to her, rather than into the inner-reaches of the TARDIS. And indeed, it arrived in the console room, and quickly went for the door, and through the wooden barrier.

Martha opened the door, and to her surprise, the energy was expanding, but simply hovering in a cloud outside the TARDIS.

The phone in her pocket rang. She answered it.

"What's it doing?" the Doctor asked.

"Just… hovering outside. There's a cloud about five feet outside and above the TARDIS, and that's where it stops."

"What's the weather like?"

"Pardon?"

"The weather. Is it a lovely sunny day, like in Curtis' drawing? Or grey like when the day began?"

"Oh, I see. It's sunny."

"It's witnessing his power. It's checking out what he can do. It's examined him, and now it's examining the qualities of the manifestations of his artwork."

"Whoa," Martha mused, thinking, under the circumstances, that this made perfect sense.

"If I'm right, then in a minute or so, it'll come back to the supply room."

And in twenty seconds, the stream of gold did just that.

"It's on its way back," Martha said. "See you in a mo'."

"No, stay where you are. I want to know what the weather does, as this thing unfolds," he said.

"Okay, you've got it."

After about a minute, she heard the Doctor say, "It's back."

"What's happening?"

"It's curling round Curtis. It's lost something… it's lost its sparkly quality somehow."

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno. But if I had to guess, I'd say it means that it's not examining anything anymore."

"Like the lights are off? It's at rest?"

"Maybe. And now it's just hovering…"

Curtis smudged some light orange and yellow sunlight against a blue sky, with his thumb, then made a few lighting accents to the buildings below.

"I'm finished," Curtis said to the Doctor.

"He's done with the drawing?" Martha asked. "Will this still work?"

"I reckon so," the Doctor said. "The Axiothe energy knows everything it needs to know now."

"What now?" Tim asked, frowning at the dull gold light.

"I think it's waiting," the Doctor said. "Its sparkles are gone – it's not doing anything now except maybe waiting for instructions."

"And what are you waiting for, Doctor?" asked Curtis, calmly.

"Whoa," the Doctor said.

"What?" Martha and Tim asked, from different rooms, at the same time.

"The light on the front of the probe on Curtis' head just turned green. I didn't know it would do that."

"Does green mean 'go?'" Martha asked.

"Maybe. Except…," the Doctor muttered, tentatively. "Is it still a sunny day?"

"Yes," she answered.

"No sign of clouding up?"

"Not that I can see," she replied, walking out onto the roof, looking about. "It's beautiful out."

The Doctor sighed heavily. "Damn, I was hoping that the green light meant that the connection was severed, and his power was gone."

"I don't think so, Doctor. Not based on what I can see," Martha said, gently. "Sorry."

"Okay then. A green light is a green light. It means go. It means… do what you're going to do," he muttered to himself. "It doesn't want to mess with you, Curtis. It wants me to make the decision. You, rather. And you've decided."

"Yes."

"Then… allons-y," he said, with less conviction than Martha had ever heard him express with that phrase.

Martha heard the buzz of the sonic screwdriver through the phone.

Then a deafening bang, louder than she ever imagined it would be. She had been standing a hundred yards from it, and it still scared the life out of her.

She screamed when she heard it.

"Oh God, oh God…" she began to pant, but for the moment, she was stuck in place.

It was a true detonation.

"Doctor?" she shouted into the phone, she knew, in vain. "Doctor, can you hear me?"

The line went dead.

Smoke began to drift into the console room from the corridor. It burned her throat a bit, and she coughed.

She cursed in a panic. Leaving the door open, she dashed over to the console, and dug underneath it in one of the compartments to see if she could find the filtering face masks she and the Doctor had used while working on one of the myriad devices related to Curtis' power.

Her mind raced. Memories of the last three weeks, the horror of now… love, fear, anger…

After the last debacle in Leeds, they began trying to build something that would allow the humanoid beings created by Curtis, who had been placed on other planets, to contact the Doctor. It was tricky, because "reality" for them was different than reality for us. Their sensibilities were different, their planets were distant, and they were reluctant to ask for help. It required welding and filing, both of which required facial protection for the TARDIS occupants. It had been hard work, but they had done it with earnestness, precision, and great care. It was the way the Doctor did everything.

Then, of course, over the past week, they had worked on the Axiothe Field, and refining the signal for Curtis and for Daniel Edge. The TARDIS console had smoked a bit in its grinding fervour to do what the Doctor asked, so they had worn the masks then, as well. At least, when there were toxins to be breathed. Again, care was in the air, as well, and the Doctor toiled with how to do the right thing, and how to help everyone come out the other side with their faculties intact.

Martha had toiled beside him all along, as she had always done. She acted as his right hand, but also as a sounding board, conscience, and companion.

And at some point in all of that, they had fallen in love.

Well, Martha had already been in love. But the Doctor had taken that final step and told the story that allowed her into his hearts. Days after that, they had secured their union, shutting out all doubt, by taking time away from the crisis at-hand to be together. As she rifled through the storage compartment, she couldn't help but let her mind touch those moments – hot, breathy, with tangled sheets, explosive pleasure, and hints of excited trepidation. There had been doubts as to whether or not making love at that moment had been the right thing to do, and there had been doubts about what had led them to it, but ultimately, she knew it had been right. It had felt good physically and emotionally, and now, she was so glad…

Because she wasn't sure what she would find when she went down the hall to the supply room.

The love, the memories, the relationship work they had done over the previous weeks… had it all been in vain, just so that the Doctor could be flattened in his own home, by a sentient power that forced his hand? Would he be the same when she got there?

She began to hyperventilate with alarm and fear. Smoke was filling up the console room.

"Oh my God, oh my God…" she chanted, coughing a few times again. "Come on! Masks! Where are you? Oh God…"

She located a mask with an N-95 filter, then found two more. It wasn't enough for all four of them, but the Doctor had a respiratory bypass.

She put on one mask and ran down the hall at top speed, with tears in her eyes.

She could see from thirty yards away, the walls of the supply room had been blown out. The Doctor lay with his upper body awkwardly thrown against the wall across the hall, unconscious.

Inside the room, Tim had been thrown to the side, and pieces of a shelf had collapsed on top of him.

Curtis she could not see at all.

But she wrangled her initial terror into check. She forced herself to go for the humans first, resisting the overwhelming urge to rescue and treat the Doctor now.

She took a deep breath, as cleanly as she could, told herself she was now in 'doctor' mode, and stepped into the destroyed supply room with dread in her heart.

Haven't been hearing much from you guys... are you out there? I could REALLY use some feedback here!

One more chapter to go... I'll post sometime over the coming week.

Thank you so much for reading!