Well, friends, this is the final chapter! And what a weird journey it's been! I've had such affection for Curtis and Tim, and even for Stephanie, and Daniel Edge (but only because he was kinda fun to write for), so it's difficult to say goodbye. I wouldn't rule out further adventures with these folks, especially and off-world adventure, it is au revoir. After a final chapter and an epilogue, of course!

One last quick shout-out to Sheena, without whom Curtis could not exist as he is. :-)

At the end of the previous chapter, the Axiothe pulse had been released in the TARDIS' supply room, but it seemed to have blown out the walls, flattened the whole room, and anyone in it! The Doctor is unconscious, as is Tim, and Curtis is nowhere to be seen. Martha is panicking slightly, but she's also in doctor mode... and that's a good look on her.

This contains an epilogue as well, which wraps up what happens to most of the characters we have met... including some old favorites from a previous story. We also learn the truth of Curtis' pornographic drawing!Just a heads-up, not everyone gets a happy ending, but I think, in the end, you'll find it overall satisfying!

Okay, one last time, enjoy!

TWENTY-ONE

Stepping through a door that had been widened threefold by the detonation of a magnetic pulse, Martha stumbled a bit over piles of debris that she recognised as pieces of shelf, table, office supplies, gardening utensils, and hundreds of other types of tools and implements from across the universe.

"Curtis?" she called out. "Curtis? Are you here? Are you conscious? Can you hear me? Curtis?"

He had been sitting at the supply table, last she had seen him, on the side opposite, facing the door. The "bomb," as it were, had been set on the table in front of him. He had almost definitely taken the brunt of the impact, given that the energy was focused on him. He had likely been thrown well clear of the scene, given that the Doctor had been propelled through the wall.

She felt a little sick, thinking of what she might find.

"Curtis?" she tried again, through the dissipating smoke. She was relieved to find that her panic, in this situation, only heightened her doctorly instinct. When the stakes were high, she was comfortable getting medical, rather than scared. "Curtis, if you can hear me, make a noise. Move. Anything!"

She moved off to her left, toward where a wall had been, where there was now a torn-up husk of a barrier, with empty space on the other side. From that vantage point, she could see the entire room, though it was rather large – larger than she had been aware of, and daunting. There was still a grey haze, but the apparatus was no longer creating smoke. It also hadn't been an explosion of fire, just pressure and energy and dust. That was a mercy.

She walked forward, deeper into the room, continuing to call Curtis' name. And then, twenty-or-so metres from where the table had been, she spied a grey and white trainer. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was clearly attached to a leg.

She called out Curtis' name, but he was, at the very least, quite unconscious. She moved toward the trainer as quickly as she could, and knelt to throw off the debris. A plastic footstool had fallen on his head, so she threw it aside, and leaned down to verify that he was breathing normally. She put one of the filtering masks on him, as she had no idea what was in the dust in the air, then set about clearing away pieces of shelf. Cricket bats, a rubber hose, empty baskets, skeins of fabric, and one large bag of birdseed, were all piled on top of his person.

Thankfully, none of it appeared to have broken the skin; it was one of the few times she had seen Curtis without his red hoodie, and today he'd chosen a light blue tee-shirt, which was now torn, but not bloodied. She had already run her hands along the back of his head while putting on the mask, and had found no blood there either. She cleared away the area around him, and determined that he was not bleeding significantly through an injury to his back (if there was one).

"Curtis? It's Martha, can you hear me?" she asked, holding up his head awkwardly, trying to avoid certain pieces of detritus around his body.

She used one hand to open his right eye, then his left, inspecting his pupils. They were not unusually large nor of uneven sizes, so she'd have to wait for him to come round and ask questions before assessing properly for concussion. She elevated his head with some wadded up fabric, then turned to find Tim.

To her surprise, the Doctor was awake, upright, and stepping over pieces of the same type of rubbish to get to him.

"Oh, Doctor… stop, don't hurt yourself…" she said, fretfully, though it was hard to get to him quickly.

"I'm fine," he said. "The blast just rang my bell a bit."

"Rang your bell? Do you hear ringing?"

"No, Martha, it's just a figure of speech."

"Weak arms or legs? Nausea?"

"No, no. Come on, Dr. Jones, give me a little credit."

"How can you not have concussion?"

"Time Lord. Glowy gold dust. Or possibly just good luck."

They now met up roughly where the table had been, and could see pieces of the magnetic pulse's transmitting apparatus lying about, blown to pieces.

"Let me see your pupils," she said, reaching up. He let her peel back his eyelids gently. She found nothing amiss. "They look fine, but… are pupils a good sign of concussion in a Time Lord?"

"Yes, and if they're fine, then I'm probably fine," he said. "Now, help me excavate Tim out of the rubble."

They knelt, and began to do the same as she had done for Curtis a few minutes before. Only, Tim began to moan and move slightly as they went.

"Tim? You in there?" the Doctor said. "If you can hear me, let me know."

Tim gave a thumbs-up.

"Are you hurt?" Martha asked, inspecting his head, and putting the last mask on him.

"Ugh," he groaned, trying to sit up. "Not sure yet. Nothing's jumping out at me…"

"I see no blood," she said.

This time it was the Doctor who checked for concussion. Tim, too, seemed fine, though both brothers would likely need to be observed for a day or two.

"What's happened? Where's Curtis?" he asked, as the Doctor took his pulse. "Is he all right?"

"Erm… over there. Still out. Unconscious," Martha told him, reluctantly.

"What?" Tim yelped, trying to stand quickly. He became dizzy and the Doctor protested, and eased him back down.

"We'll give him a few more minutes before we worry," Martha said. "I checked him out. He seems all right, just needs some time. You concentrate on yourself, for once, all right?"

Tim sighed heavily, and nodded. "I don't think I have a choice at the moment."

"Martha, you didn't happen to check the weather before you switched into crisis-mode and ran down the hall to save everyone?" the Doctor asked, knowing the answer already.

"Er, no," she said. "Weirdly, that wasn't part of my field training."

"Would you mind checking now?"

"Okay," she said. "I'll call you in a minute."

Curtis came round a few minutes later, and when he did, they had no way of knowing whether he was still autistic – he said he felt groggy, and his head hurt, but couldn't ascertain whether his way of thinking had changed. "That would be absurd," he told them, annoyed.

The Doctor reckoned it would take a day or two before he was unstuck from the blast enough to work out for sure whether he was "back to normal," or whether the Axiothe had changed him.

But one thing was certain: his power was gone. The Axiothe had done its job, and appeared to have interfered with the connection between Curtis and the Ifasma Galaxy. The sunny day over Leeds had gone grey. Moreover, the white tee-shirt that Curtis had rendered purple the previous day, had reverted to white.

For good measure, Curtis drew a quick portrait of his brother (which he had done many times before) with an apple in his hand… but an apple did not appear in Tim's hand.

"You're free, mate," Tim had said.

Curtis had nodded, but said nothing. He sat mostly motionless and stared at the wall as the Doctor, Martha, and Tim cleaned up the supply room.

Tim picked up the side panel of a bookshelf that had been beside the work table, and said, "Whoa! What's this?" with a smile on his face.

He bent and picked up the pornographic drawing that Daniel Edge had ripped apart, and Martha had taped back together.

"Ugh…" the Doctor groaned. "Good, now more people can see it."

"Who are they?" Tim asked, turning toward his brother, indicating the drawing.

"Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper," Curtis responded. "They had an affair in 1930. And they're both dead, so I figured drawing them in would be safe."

"What?" the Doctor asked, with shock. He moved across the room to inspect the drawing. The faces were unmistakable: two Hollywood legends in the throes of passion. "But…"

"Yeah," Martha sighed. "In all the commotion of the last couple of days, I guess I forgot to tell you… it's not us."

"You thought it was you?" Tim asked. "Why would you think… oh."

Martha and the Doctor broke eye-contact and moved pointedly away from each other.

Tim cleared his throat. "Okay, well… Curtis, do you want the drawing, or should we try to sell it on e-Bay?"

EPILOGUE

By midnight, the supply room had been "healed" by the TARDIS, and Martha stood in the middle of it, marvelling at the work of the great sentient ship.

"Amazing," she breathed. "Just like that."

"Well, not just like that, exactly," the Doctor said, stroking one of the walls. "The blast would have hurt her a bit – like a bee sting – and she'd have had to take a while to shake off being addled by it, not to mention giving us time to excavate and get out. But then… she healed."

"Doctor, what the hell happened?"

He sighed. "You know the dose of Axiothe energy needed to make a dent in the connection between Curtis' brain and the Ifasma Galaxy was pretty significant. The blast was always going to be big, but I reckon if we'd been in the console room, with more space, and the TARDIS' heart and consciousness in the vicinity for management, it wouldn't have been quite so, you know… blow-you-out-of-your-chair, send-you-flying-across-the-hall."

"So, it's because the space was confined."

He nodded. "It's a largeish room, but not like the console room. It doesn't have built-in expansion fields, plus it's got low ceilings, and lots and lots of moveable rubbish lying about. I should've known. If I'd been thinking, I would've made Curtis move back to the console room, or at the very least, given the transmitter a bit of padding… an air-buffer… something."

"Well, it worked out for the best."

"Probably."

The Doctor and Martha spent two additional days in Leeds, ascertaining that neither of the Malmay brothers was in shock, neither had any head injuries, et cetera, but that one of them was still as pedantic, intelligent, detail-oriented, logical, and prickly as he had always been. But he was also just as talented as ever, and was now free to draw and create whatever he liked.

They left on a Wednesday morning with hugs and thanks, a week and a half after arriving to find out about the Daniel Edge debacle.

A quick checking up on beings that Curtis had created a month or two before, whom the Doctor had delivered to new homes on different planets, revealed that they had, unfortunately, ceased to exist.

"You can save the universe, but you can't save everyone in it," Martha reminded him, hearkening back to a conversation from days before. She took his hand, as he stood in the doorjamb of the TARDIS hovering. He stared down onto a house that had once been inhabited by a woman called Xanthavia.

"So much of the work we've done lately has gone to waste," the Doctor muttered.

"Well, maybe," she sighed. "But trying to rig up ways for Curtis' creations to get in touch with us was a good thing, because it got us talking. Without that, we wouldn't be us. What we are today."

He smiled at her, and leaned down for a kiss. "Indeed," he said. "We'd likely still be circling each other like caged tigers, eh?"

"So, thank heaven for Curtis."

"Absolutely," he said, with a bright, proud smile.

"Funny, for a day or so, I thought that without Curtis' drawing, I wouldn't have had the wherewithal to get you into bed that first time," she said, looking at him wryly. "Turns out, it was just me."

He nodded. "We must've just known that the moment was right. Or rather, you did. I was, sadly, still being a blunt instrument at that point. Not that it took a lot to convince me."

"See? Even shackled to responsibility, you managed to let your guard down and…"

"…and?"

"And…"

"Go ahead and say it," he encouraged.

"And fall in love?"

He smiled again. "Yes. I did manage. I suppose it can be done. You knew that the responsibility had to be set aside in order to tend to each other. And that was you, and no-one else, Martha Jones. You, in your infinite wisdom and capacity for love… not some cosmic happenstance. Just you."

The Doctor shut the door to the TARDIS, and again, their lips met. He was still properly upset over the loss of Curtis' humanoid (and dragon) creations, but ultimately, the universe was safe for the next few minutes, so the two of them decided to take another slightly ill-timed interval to be together.

Late the next day, just after dinner, Martha received a text message. She wandered into the sitting room with two cups of tea, and sat down, then pulled the phone from her pocket.

"Who is it?" the Doctor asked, picking up a mug, and sipping.

"Stephanie," she answered. "It's a group text with Curtis and Tim. This is me."

"Pardon?"

"This is me," she repeated. "It's what the text says, and there's a link."

The Doctor moved closer, and peered over her shoulder. "Let's see."

A second later, another text came in. "Well, londongirl1988 is me. Not the other."

The link led to Carrie's List, where myriad companies providing myriad different services have postings, testimonials, comments, and the like, so that the consumer can make an informed decision. The main heading was "Miscellany," the entry was from a user called DoBea69, and the posting was entitled, "Bloke In Leeds Who Does Favours."

"Yikes," Martha said. "A week ago, Stephanie said she sort of had to go digging to find anything about Curtis on Carrie's List – he was mentioned in the comments under a private investigator. Now he's got his own entry?"

"Well, mercifully, it doesn't list his name," the Doctor muttered.

What followed was a short description of what Curtis was able to do – mysteriously make small or medium-sized wishes come true for not much money. This DoBea character offered to put the inquirer in touch with the "Bloke In Leeds," for a finder's fee.

"Who is this?" Martha asked.

"No idea," the Doctor answered. "Let's see what londongirl1988 has to say."

They scrolled down, and amidst a bunch of comments that said things like, "Is this for real?" and "How much does he charge?" there was a comment, seemingly from Stephanie, trying to remain anonymous, saying, "This is a joke. I spent the last few days in Leeds, and asked about– people snickered at me, laughed at me outright, or didn't know what I was talking about. After two days straight of this rubbish I was forced to conclude that someone made up for fun, or as a way to get people to come to Leeds for some reason, and the whole town is having a laugh at our expense. Don't waste your time."

"Ha!" Martha exclaimed. "She's debunking Curtis!"

"Wish I'd thought of that," the Doctor said. "We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Nah," she said, putting her phone down. "We did the right thing. Sooner or later, someone would've found him again, or he wouldn't have been able to resist helping someone."

"Very probably true."

"Besides, if we were looking for an easy way out, we could've just suggested that Curtis draw himself free. Free of scrutiny, free of his power… one of the two, or both."

The Doctor looked at her with wide eyes, for long enough that she felt uncomfortable. At last he said, "Let's just pretend that wouldn't work."

She chuckled. "I'm sure that something like that would cause some sort of folding-over effect, that would eventually turn his power inside out and cause problems in the energy around Curtis. Or something."

"Actually," the Doctor mused. "You might be right."

"So, we did the right thing. You did. You and Curtis."

The Doctor smiled softly, and patted her knee in thanks, as he sipped his tea.

They watched a film, and over the next two hours, more texts came in.

"This one is from Curtis," Martha reported. "I'm RedHood83 and Tim is BeardedManABC."

The Doctor laughed. "They're all debunking!"

They clicked on the link to Carrie's List again, and scrolled down the comments, finding RedHood83's comment first. "This guy is a fraud. I told him I needed new brakes for my car, which I couldn't afford to buy – reckoned this would be cheaper. I paid my finder's fee, and my regular fee, and I just waited around for something to happen… nothing. Nada. Next time I drove my car, I was almost in an accident! When I called the number he'd given me, it was disconnected. This is a criminal who uses burner mobile phones, lots of hype, and wants to take your money. I wouldn't be surprised if londongirl1988 is correct, and that it's just a big city-wide joke. This. Is. Not. Real."

"Wow," Martha said.

"Wait, why would Tim use a screen name like BeardedMan?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Wishful thinking? Decoy?"

"Read his."

"Leeds resident here: this is absolutely a local joke. We laugh about it in pubs. There's even a little nod to it in the newest commercials from the tourism office! People – don't come to Leeds thinking there's a genie here. He doesn't exist."

Over the next few days, Martha received a dozen more texts from Stephanie, Tim, and Curtis, with new screen names. Apparently, the three of them were having a great time debunking Curtis using different monikers. There were a number of replies from people insisting they'd met him, seen him in action, and had got what they asked for, but one of the "debunkers" would ask them, "How much is he paying you? I hope you can sleep at night, misleading needy people! You're just a much of a fraud as the 'Bloke in Leeds'."

The most vehement "seller" of the concept of the Bloke In Leeds was DoBea69, who did the initial posting. Tim and Curtis especially had a field day taking that guy down, and indeed, they announced via text that they knew exactly who he was – a loser from their estate who had asked for too many big favours, and had been blacklisted by the Malmays.

"I suppose after all we've been through, it shouldn't surprise me that some arse is trying to capitalise on Curtis' power," Martha said, settling into the sofa, a couple of days after leaving Leeds.

"Yep. Some people will do anything to be close to power," the Doctor said.

"Good thing Curtis doesn't exist," she lilted.

"Yeah. Good thing," he replied, with a smirk.

And that's all, folks! Drop me a line, leave a review, let me know what you think. Even if you've never done so before, I'd love to hear from you!

Hope you enjoyed the story - thanks so very much for reading it!