Okay, so, what do we know?
We know that the Doctor and Martha have been growing closer over the past month, and something very new is on the verge of happening!
We know that Curtis Malmay and his brother Tim have been using the former's special talent to bring in some extra funds, to make ends meet.
We know that the brothers have had a meetings with Daniel Edge, who has made a request, flummoxing Curtis enough to "summon" the TARDIS to their living room, to ask Martha's advice (and the Doctor, if he's got the time).
What was the request? Oh boy. Here we go! Enjoy!
P.S. Sheena, check your PMs!
THREE
When the TARDIS stopped, in its forced-materialisation, the console room seemed eerily quiet. Both the Doctor and Martha had been hanging onto the console's rim for dear life, and now they both slowly let go.
"Okay… so…" Martha said, tentatively. "Where the hell are we?"
The Doctor, a bit shocked, checked out the screen. "Leeds."
"Leeds?"
"Leeds," he repeated.
"Again?"
"Apparently."
"Why?"
He looked at her sideways. "I think we got drawn in."
She chuckled rather sarcastically, but his pun did help her realise why they'd been forced to materialise.
That was when they heard a knock on the door.
"Dr. Jones? Are you in there?"
It was the voice of Curtis Malmay, characteristically choosing to ignore the Doctor's presence (as he "didn't believe" in the Doctor, and somehow saw him as a Deus Ex Machina construct of The Establishment).
Martha walked down the ramp, and opened the door. To her surprise, they weren't just in Leeds, they were actually right in the Malmays' parlour, in their estate flat.
"Whoa," she said, looking about. She stepped out of the TARDIS – it was more than a little cramped. The blue box took up about half of the parlour itself, and had displaced the sofa, coffee table, and television stand. They were all sitting askew, making the room even more cramped.
"Hi Martha," Tim said, from off to the right, sighing. "Nice to see you. Sorry to draw you in like this."
The Doctor followed Martha out of the TARDIS then, and declared, "Too late, Tim. I've already made that joke."
"Damn, I thought I was being so clever," Tim chuckled.
"Stop messing about," Curtis scolded, tossing his sketch book onto the coffee table, showing a drawing of the TARDIS parked beside their tartan sofa, and a caption that specified their address. "We have a crisis on our hands!"
"A crisis," Martha said, nodding. "Right. What sort of crisis, Curtis?"
"Actually, it's not really a crisis," Tim said, on behalf of his brother. "Well, it sort of is, in that, we feel a bit buggered – pardon my language. But obviously, Curtis felt the need to call you. Not call you, actually, but…"
"Tim, Tim," the Doctor said. "It's okay. Why are we here? What's the crisis?"
"I mean, I suppose we could have worked it out on our own, but Curtis felt that you – well, mostly Martha – would have the best advice to impart. Although, it's not really an outer-space problem, or a time travel problem, or a science-fiction problem. It's more of a human problem."
The Doctor shrugged. "I like human problems."
Curtis gave the Doctor a bit of an annoyed glance, then said, "Well, it all started this afternoon when Daniel Edge came to visit."
Martha's eyebrows lifted. "Daniel Edge? The Daniel Edge? Son of Franklin Edge?"
"Who's Franklin Edge?" the Doctor wondered.
"He's a… mogul. Billionaire. Owner of the Cutting Edge Hotel chain, a couple of Blackpool casinos… I think his wife has her own clothing line, too," Martha explained. "A lot of drunken brawls and wardrobe malfunctions. The whole family is poorly-behaved tabloid fodder."
The Doctor made an odd noise and did a little shudder.
"Yes, yes," Tim sighed. "But that's not actually where it starts. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you some back story."
"Okay," she said, inching her way past the TARDIS, over the coffee table, and to the sofa. She sat down on the middle cushion, and the Doctor sat on her left. "What's going on?"
Tim sat down on the remaining cushion on Martha's right, and for a while, he said nothing. Curtis watched him, a bit disturbed, and eventually sat down on the floor across from his brother, just searching Tim's face for signs of being okay.
Tim eventually buried his face in his hands, and muttered, "Oh, Martha, Doctor, I've really fucked up."
"How?" she asked.
He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes. "Don't kill me, okay?"
"Okay."
He leaned forward a bit and caught the Doctor's eye. "You either."
"Erm…"
Tim said, "A day or two after the last time you saw us, I lost my job."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Martha mused.
"We had moved here from Kent solely for that job. We gave up everything for the promise of something new for me, and in the blink of an eye, it was gone."
"And you couldn't move back home?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Moving costs money. Not to mention the cost of uprooting Curtis again."
"I see," she whispered.
"I thought maybe you'd do the social worker thing," the Doctor commented.
Martha didn't look at him, but reached over and grabbed his arm, in a way that suggested to him that he should keep his mouth shut. He supposed that this was one of those human things, the subtleties of which he didn't fully understand.
Fortunately, Tim smiled. "I would still like to. But it's easier said than done. I've got to make ends meet in the here and now."
The Doctor would have liked to say, "Well it's something to shoot for, at least." But Martha continued to grasp his forearm, and squeezed even tighter, and Curtis was frowning at him… again. So he just nodded, and said nothing.
"Anyway, I do have a new job now, but the pay is absolute rubbish – almost not enough to keep us in a council flat," Tim admitted, looking around at his living space, sighing. "Needless to say, we've been hurting for cash for a few weeks. It's not like we have great reserves of savings waiting in the wings."
"So I helped," Curtis said. "Which is… bad. I think."
Tim looked at his brother fondly. "It's all right mate. You did the best you could."
"How did Curtis help?" Martha asked.
"One day while I was out searching for work, Curtis ran into one of our neighbours, who happened to mention to him that she had also lost her job, and wasn't having any luck with the interview process. She told him she thought that some posher interview clothing would help her seem more professional, and less like a sixty-year-old chav from a council estate."
"You drew her a new outfit, didn't you?" the Doctor asked Curtis.
In spite of Curtis' insistence that he did not answer to the Doctor, he bowed his head. Though, he neither confirmed nor denied the Doctor's suspicion.
"He did," Tim said. "And he charged her ten pounds. She got the very next job she interviewed for."
"And then she told everyone," the Doctor said.
Tim nodded. "I wanted to give her back her ten pounds, but… damn it, we needed groceries. Not even the stuff you told us to eat, to help control Curtis' power, but just… anything! We didn't have bread or pasta or anything, and…"
"It's all right, we understand," Martha told him, momentarily pressing her hand against his.
Truth be told, Martha was quite conscious of how she acted with Tim, how physically close she got to him, how she looked at him. She had, thus far, resisted the urge to touch him reassuringly – pat him on the back, rub his arm, give him a hug. She knew it was daft, but she also knew that Tim quite fancied her, and she wasn't entirely sure how much – and she didn't know him well. The Doctor had implied not long ago that this was a disturbing state of affairs for him, so she wanted to leave no windows open.
"And when I didn't get a job straight away, and Curtis kept bringing home ten-pound notes…" Tim continued.
The Doctor groaned. "Oh, Curtis. You aren't seriously doing this. Please tell me you're not."
"Don't blame him, Doctor," Tim begged. "He doesn't know any better. He doesn't understand – at least he didn't until today – how things can get out of hand. His view of it has been quite straightforward – as is his view of most things, frankly."
"Yeah, I get that," the Doctor said, very softly. "Sorry."
"People need help, he can provide it. We need money, he's providing a service – simple as that," Tim said, again, on Curtis' behalf. "I'm the one who understands, and I've been letting it happen. Spearheading it, in fact."
The Doctor sat forward on the sofa and addressed the man sitting on the floor, knowing full well that Curtis was not his biggest fan. He spoke as gently as he could, aware that being condescending could hurt their relationship further. "Curtis, people are greedy. And selfish. And stubborn…"
"We do have rules, Doctor," Tim told him. "For example, we only entertain requests from people who live in estates nearby. We only provide small things – preferably material things that aren't worth tonnes of money, and we definitely don't provide tonnes of money. We've blacklisted people for asking too much."
"Okay, so you've thought some of it through," the Doctor said. "But Daniel Edge threw the whole system out-of-whack, didn't he?"
"He did," Tim sighed.
"What does he want?" Martha wondered.
Tim pulled a photograph out of his jacket pocket. It was the image of an attractive young woman with straight reddish-blonde hair, and a bright, wide smile. She had large blue eyes, a button nose, and was objectively adorable. Martha put her at twenty years old in the photo, given her look, and the fact that she was wearing a sweatshirt from Middlesex University.
Tim handed the photo to Martha and said. "Her. He wants her."
Martha took the photo, and her eyebrows went up. "Oh. Oh my God."
A sickening feeling welled up in her stomach just then, and did not abate. She stared at the photo, and said nothing else, as her brain became embroiled in multiple scenarios – none of them pleasant.
The Doctor had a nonplussed, crooked look on his face, and he reached out and took the photo from Martha, and studied it. Martha's hands fell into her lap, as she contemplated the horrifying jam the Malmays (and now she and the Doctor) were in.
"Who is she?" the Doctor asked, handing the picture back to Tim, who tucked it in his pocket, avoiding looking at it as though it were a gruesome crime scene photo, and not the image of a beautiful girl.
"Her name is Stephanie Havilland," Tim sighed. "Student at Middlesex, aged twenty-one. Edge has been pursuing her, and she's turned him down flat. Repeatedly."
"Is that what's special about her?" the Doctor inquired. "I mean, she's pretty, but there are a lot of pretty girls out there, perhaps much more willing to take up with a guy with money."
Tim shrugged, looking miserable. "Dunno. Didn't ask why. I just listened while he talked. And dictated to us what to do. And how to do it. And what would happen if we didn't."
"Let me guess," the Doctor said. "He offered you more money than you've ever seen in your life – or ever would see in a few lifetimes of repairing heating units – and threatened to do something horrible if you don't comply. Or rather, if Curtis doesn't."
"Yep," Tim confirmed, looking defeated. "He gave us two thousand pounds as a deposit." He then took an envelope out of another jacket pocket, and threw it on the coffee table. It was fat with cash.
"And he said he'd pay all of our debts and make it so that Tim never has to work again," Curtis added, given a lull in the conversation.
"And what if you don't do it?" the Doctor asked.
"He implied that he'd have Curtis' hands irreparably broken," Tim said. "So he couldn't draw anymore. He also vaguely threatened to have Stephanie Havilland killed."
"So… if he can't have her, he'd rather she be dead?" the Doctor asked.
"Apparently."
There was a long lull, then the Doctor asked, "What is he asking for, specifically?"
"He wants Curtis to draw a picture of Stephanie and himself… erm… doing things that… erm…"
"Okay, I get it," the Doctor sighed. "Wow, so, not even having a romantic dinner together, eh? No portraits of them enjoying the beach, or catching a show?"
"Nope."
"So, he's planning on using an unfair and irresistible prowess to compel someone into sex."
"Yep," Tim confirmed, again.
"Yeah, there's a word for that," the Doctor muttered.
"We know," Tim said. Then, he added, "Weirdly, though, he was very adamant that the sex be consensual."
"Hunh," the Doctor mused. "Doesn't want to commit rape, but has no problem having her killed?"
Martha chimed in for the first time in a few minutes. "No. He doesn't want to be accused of rape, because there is the risk of bad publicity, and jail time. The act itself, he doesn't care about. If he did, he wouldn't have come to Curtis. Because there is absolutely no way to make this consensual."
"And therein lies the problem," Tim said.
"Curtis, do you understand why you cannot do this?" Martha asked.
"Sort of," Curtis said. "Yes. Tim has been explaining it to me, but… she could die."
"Again, therein lies the problem," Tim repeated.
"So, you understand what rape is?" Martha asked him.
Curtis looked at Tim for help.
"He does," Tim said. "In a simplistic sense. I've been trying to speak to him about the subtleties of it, and how it's not always just attacking someone in a dark alley and forcing them to the ground with a knife."
"Do you know what consent means?" Martha asked Curtis.
"It's when someone gives permission," he said.
"Yes. And do you understand how that's related to sex, and rape, and what's happening here?" she wondered.
Again, he looked at his brother.
"We're getting there," Tim sighed. "Meantime, he's agreed not to draw anything until we can work out what to do."
"Good," Martha said. "Because I get that you want to save her life, and save your hands and whatnot. That's totally understandable. But Curtis, if you draw that picture, even if you write a caption that says consensual on it, it will be rape."
Curtis put up his hood and crossed his arms over his chest.
Martha looked at the Doctor. She didn't know if they were thinking the same thing, but she did know that she was the only woman in the room, and it was probably on her to float the harder revelations about the nature of consent, and the power that Curtis had. She was also aware that if the Doctor said what she was about to say, Curtis might very well shut off completely.
"And Curtis, you need to know something," she said, as gently as she could. "If you do this, it won't just be Daniel Edge raping her. It will be you, too."
Curtis covered his head with his arms, and buried his face, pulling his knees up, attempting to disappear.
Some hard questions. I'll just leave it there.
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