This chapter discusses a possible solution for Curtis in the long-term, but not in the short term. Curious what you'll think about it - let me know, as you get to the end of the chapter! If you're reading, only fair to leave feedback once in a while!

It also contains a deep(ish) foray into the psyche of Tim Malmay, and a bit about his feelings for and about Martha Jones. Dude's got a crush - and who could blame him?

Enjoy!


SIX

Martha's wrist was badly sprained, but not fractured, so the Doctor wrapped it and gave her some mild painkillers.

They returned to the console room afterwards. At the moment, they were floating between the twin planets of Agnes and Cordero, both of which had residents capable of manipulating reality. However, neither was hostile, nor did they have any instruments that would even remotely come close to detecting the TARDIS presence in their orbit.

After that, they discovered that "ploughing" back through the magnetic barrier was nigh on impossible, given the way the magnet was polarised. It had repelled the TARDIS from this direction and sent it flying backwards, but it did not interfere with her instruments this time. This incident was further evidence, in the Doctor's mind, that the field was slightly sentient, and perhaps had a sense of humour.

"I think it messed with us in order to scare us, and now it's backing off. Let's hope it lets us dematerialise out of here when the time comes," the Doctor mused, as the vessel continued to float in space. There was a pause, then, "Martha, I think this means it can mess with people's minds, too."

"Oh, Doctor," Martha groaned. "I was so hoping you weren't going to say that."

"Well, you know, it's not just about this one girl who might get murdered if we don't act, and will probably be raped either way, it's also, I'm sorry to say, about Curtis'… gift."

"You want to bring him out here, don't you, to see if you can magnetically fix him?"

"Yeah. Would that be wrong?"

"Maybe," Martha said. "I'd need to know more."

"So would I," he said. He inspected some data coming off a roll of white paper tape on the console. "In fact, looking at this incident report from the TARDIS, the way this thing works, it locks onto concepts, as much as metal."

"What? That's… mad."

"It's not," he said. He showed her a row of data that looked like total gibberish to her, on the paper tape. "Here, you can see. There was interference with the trajectory of the TARDIS, then there were feelers through the rest of the physical dynamics of the ship – gravity, speed capabilities, even species on-board, and pressure and sound tolerance levels."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," he said. "Only then did it begin to mess with the gravity, and from there, you can see… the scaffolding of escalation of drama while we were being pulled in, it was very calculated."

"You don't honestly think I can see that, do you?"

He dropped the tape. "The point is, this presence is magnetic, yes, which is probably what allows it to lock onto stuff. But the magnetism, over billions of years, has evolved into a living thing. This is what it looks like to me. I mean, it's a guess, but a fairly educated one."

"It sounds like the rigmarole we went through was a distraction so that it could examine the TARDIS inner-workings."

"It does sound like that, doesn't it?" he asked. "It's powerful. In fact…"

He began to drift. Martha gave him a moment, as she knew it would be useless to try and get his attention when he was in the deep throes of this state.

After a minute or two, she said, "Okay, so? In fact, what?"

"Oh, erm… well, you're not going to like it. You're just going to tell me it's insane or unethical or both."

"Don't oversell it."

"I think there's a possibility that we could use this thing to interfere with the connection between Curtis and the Ifasma, but also Curtis and everyone whose reality has ever been manipulated by him."

"Seriously? Whoa! Yeah, that's… unethical. Probably. At least. How would that work?"

"There's got to be at least a loose psychic energy link between Curtis and every drawing he's ever done - at least since the comet passed by the Earth and made him all magical and stuff - and between Curtis and, say, the dress that he caused to manifest for his neighbour's job interview."

"And between Curtis and that guy he made into a better boyfriend," Martha mused.

The Doctor hadn't heard that bit of her conversation with Tim, so he ploughed past it and said, "And possibly between all of those people, the items, and the drawings. It would be interesting if I could see a map of how that energy flows."

"Is there any way you could do that?"

"I wouldn't think so, without Curtis' permission. And now that I'm thinking about it, it was probably a good idea for Tim to put a stop to all this."

"Agreed," Martha said. "And I think that, even without understanding the whole psychic link business completely. But if the Axiothe Field interferes with that energy link, then will it undo everything he's made manifest? Will the dress disappear? Will perfect-boyfriend-guy go back to normal?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor said. "I wouldn't discount it, since this galaxy has the reality-manipulating properties, and it's entirely possible – actually, probable – that the Axiothe has absorbed some of t."

"Would the people who know about his power forget about it? Because if we take away his power, but Daniel Edge stays on his case…"

"Excellent question. I don't know."

"Would Curtis have to do the drawing of Edge and Stephanie Havilland, in order to make Edge to back off? I mean, if the link is between Curtis and the drawing and/or the manifestation of the drawing, then it seems to stand to reason. Well, reason as much as any of this does. And as I understand it."

"I don't know," the Doctor said.

"It seems awfully risky, letting him do the drawing, and then thinking we could activate some sort of Axiothe madness to stop it all before Stephanie falls under the drawing's influence. How long does it take for a drawing to manifest?"

"I don't know."

Martha sighed. She used to rather enjoy hearing the Doctor say, "I don't know," because it was so rare, and made her not feel like the only clueless person in the room. But when things, like lives, were at stake, it was less fun. She wanted answers, and they didn't have a lot of time.

"There's another by-product of all this Axiothe interference talk, Martha," the Doctor said. "If it can muck about with the TARDIS, and minds, and interfere with signals between Curtis and all the stuff he's done – and all this is speculation, mind you – I mean, it's again, educated speculation, I'm not just writing science fiction here – but if all of that is possible, we can't guarantee…" He stopped, and let out an exasperated breath.

"Can't guarantee what?" Martha asked. Then something occurred to her. "Ohhh, we can't guarantee it wouldn't mess with Curtis' brain even further. Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yep."

"Deepen his symptoms?"

"More likely wipe them away."

"Oh. Oh boy."


Tim Malmay had been sitting, for the last three hours, in front of the television, trying to zone out. Several times over the past two days, he'd thought that Curtis was properly asleep, and he could breathe for a few moments, only to find that his brother was wide awake and fretting. And overthinking. And doing forbidden drawings. And anytime Curtis was awake and agitated, it meant that Tim had to be "on."

But just now, gone a full three hours, he actually had been able to pull his mind away from the Daniel Edge dilemma. Curtis had taken Martha Jones' advice, and popped a couple of antihistamines that had made him extremely drowsy, and had disappeared into his room. Tim checked on him an hour later and found him truly asleep. Thank heaven, he'd thought. And at this moment, was feeling slightly recharged, and was daring to hope he'd have most of the day to himself.

Because, he enjoyed taking care of his brother (for the most part), and he enjoyed philosophizing with the Doctor and especially with Martha, but he wondered what sort of solution he could find, or conclusion he could come to, if he were left alone for a bit. He trusted in his relative intelligence, and in his own problem-solving skills, though the chaos of the last forty-eight hours was putting a strain on all of it.

He had called in sick today, reluctant, under the circumstances, to leave Curtis alone, even if he was asleep. Tim was thinking vaguely about the programme he was watching on telly, but also about Curtis, their former home in Kent, their mum, and how they should've just stayed put, and never come to Leeds. What would it take to move home? How long before they could do just that? He thought about Jessica with the imperfect boyfriend, Mrs. Marais, Beaman, and everyone else who asked Curtis for help… what would he tell them, now that they were "out of business?" He thought about his job, and the possibility of doing as the Doctor and Martha suggested, and trying to pursue a career in social work. This, of course, would take time, and therefore, money, and planning ahead… but was it worth trying to do?

He knew it was. For people whom he could help, and also for himself. His self-esteem wasn't exactly sky-high lately, knowing that he was capable of a lot, yet was accomplishing nothing. If he could just get to a place where he felt like other people, worthy of being listened-to, being treated like a normal person, and not a drain on the system.

And he tried not to go there, but this train of thought led to Martha. He wanted to be worthy of her. As things were, the idea of a former high-ranking military doctor and him made no sense. But a doctor and a social worker made sense. Two people who help others, who advocate for others' well-being, who pull out all the stops to make sure that lives run smoothly – it was a good match. He didn't know exactly how old she was, but he guessed that they were within five years of one another, and she was kind-hearted, liked Curtis and vice versa, and distractingly beautiful. The previous evening, it had taken a Herculean effort to concentrate on the conversation… which is interesting, because it was a conversation that made him fancy her even more than he already had. She'd spoken about finding strength and ferocity attractive in another human being, and boy, had she been right. And if he hadn't been mistaken, he and the Doctor had both felt chastened by her assertions…

… ah, the Doctor. This was the thought that made him sigh, and derailed all of his other thoughts.

Tim could make all the plans he liked, but he'd never be as tall as the Doctor, nor as clever nor dashing. He'd never look that good in a suit, nor have those sharp features, nor the surprisingly bright smile. He, in fact, would always be himself: five-foot-seven, with one foot slightly larger than the other. He might not always have the slightly chubby babyish face (which he tried to downplay with uneven facial hair growth), but he knew that even if he aged into it rather well, it would never be a superlatively handsome face. His hair would always be thin and of an indistinct colour (and if his grandfather was any indication, he wouldn't have much of it after forty), and he'd never have "bearing." If he had a time machine, perhaps he could acquire some…

But guess who did have a time machine.

And that was the most unfair bit of all. Tim could social work all over the place and advocate for a thousand citizens in need, and win. But he would never, ever be a Time Lord.

Good grief. God help the man foolish enough to attempt to go to the mat with that guy. Well, that was just the point, wasn't it? Everyone who messed with the Doctor wound up on the losing team.

Which led him to want to forget about everything for a few more minutes, and back to the television programme, the thread of which he had now well and truly lost. So, he changed channels, and began watching a sit-com replay, of an episode he'd seen before. He didn't have to pay attention now, if he didn't want.

When his phone rang, he actually jumped. He hadn't realised how truly outside-of-the-moment he'd been, until then. He glanced, heart racing, at the display, and realised it was her. The-totally-unattainable-yet-somehow-worth-the-trouble Martha Jones.

"Hi, Martha," he said.

"Hi, Tim," she replied. "All right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You sound sort of… agitated."

"Oh… the phone startled me. What's going on?"

"Well, we thought you might like an update on what we found."

"Great," he said, feeling exhausted again already. "Sure, yeah. Lay it on me."

"You're probably not going to like it."

"Why? Are we buggered?"

"Not exactly," Martha sighed. "I mean, we may have found a way that we can sever Curtis' connection to the galaxy that allows him to manipulate reality. And the Doctor thinks that, by extension, we can also sever his connection to any drawing he's done that manifested, and to anyone who has asked for his help."

"So, all the stuff he's done to help people would be undone, and Daniel Edge would forget he exists?"

"We don't know that bit yet," Martha confessed. "Both of those scenarios seem to stand to reason, but the Doctor is still analysing the Axiothe Field."

"What's that?"

"It's a heavenly body. It's a, erm, slightly sentient magnetic field that pervades the outskirts of the Ifasma Galaxy. The Doctor reckons it's got enough magnetic mojo to…"

"…interfere with Curtis' brain function?" asked Tim, seeing where she was going with this.

"In a manner of speaking," she sighed. "And based on what I've seen, I agree. You should've seen what it did to…"

"So, what would Curtis have to do?" he interrupted.

"Again, we don't know," said Martha. "Not for sure. But it would most probably involve bringing him out here into space, into the Ifasma Galaxy, and channelling the Axiothe through him, to first measure what happens, and then..."

Tim got to his feet. "You want to zap my brother's brain with a magnetic pulse, large enough to be called a heavenly body?"

"It would be controlled, of course," said Martha.

"Controlled."

"Yes, through the TARDIS, and through the Doctor's manipulations, and…"

"That sounds incredibly dangerous!" Tim said, trying to keep his cool.

"He would wear the same apparatus that he wore when we probed his brain function to see what was causing the reality thing," Martha said. "Only this time…"

"You'd be feeding rubbish into him, rather than measuring what comes out. It still sounds, as I said, incredibly dangerous!" he said, now a little less calm. "Martha, please assure me that my brother will be okay, if you do this."

"If we do it, he will be okay," Martha said. "But only because, if we find that it will make him not-okay, we just won't do it. Okay?"

"What? What are you saying?"

That was when the Doctor took over the call. "Tim?" his voice said through the phone.

"What, Doctor?"

"I'm only hearing one side of the conversation, but I gather that you're having a few doubts," said the Doctor.

"Yeah! Just a few!"

"Yeah, us too! Look, right now, it's just a notion," the Time Lord explained. "And you're right - nothing about it is safe. But also, nothing about it is concrete and it's the only thing we've come up with and it's in the planning stages, so try to get a level head about you."

"Did you just tell me to calm down?"

"No, I said try to get a level head. Big difference. Because, I'm sorry to remind you, Tim, but we're running out of time. Edge wants his drawing done tomorrow. Did he say what time?"

"No, he didn't."

"Well, then, there's nothing that says big guys with guns won't show up at your door just after midnight."

"Shit," Tim spat, not having thought of that possibility. "Fucking perfect."

"Indeed, so, hear us out."

"Okay…" Tim began, so that he could hold the Doctor's attention for a moment while he caught his breath and delineated his thoughts just a bit. "Let me get my mind around this. Say you douse Curtis with a gigantic electromagnetic pulse, that severs the link between him and this… Whatever-It-Is Galaxy, so that he can't manipulate reality anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Isn't that link related to his autism?"

The Doctor looked at Martha meaningfully. She couldn't hear what Tim was saying, but she knew he was clever, and she knew the Doctor well. She wondered if Tim was working out what might happen, if they blasted Curtis with the Axiothe Field's energy.

"Yes, it's related to the frequency on which the neurotransmitter GABA fires in Curtis' brain," the Doctor answered.

And Martha knew she was right.

"Will the effects be permanent? On him, or on anyone else's brain changed by it?"

"Most likely."

"So, can you guarantee that Curtis will still be… Curtis? When all is said and done, will I have my brother as I know him? And you know what I'm talking about, Doctor."

"Yes, I do. And no, I can't," the Doctor admitted. "But again, Tim, if you've got any other ideas, I'm open to suggestions."

Frustration and fear bubbled to the surface of Tim's very being, and he knew as soon as the first words were out of his mouth that he would regret both the content and tone of this last, but he couldn't stop himself. Despair got the better of him.

"Well, I'm not the bloody Time Lord, am I?" he shouted. "If you can't figure out a way to fix this without ruining our lives, then what the hell is the point of you?"

"Tim…"

"Curtis has a beautiful mind, and it is not on offer for manipulation! Now, get Daniel Edge off our backs without tearing that down, or else don't do anything at all! We'll take care of it ourselves!"

When he cut off the call, he was trembling, regretting, and wondering what would happen if the Doctor (and Martha) did, indeed, decide to let them deal with it.


Okay, here comes some reverse psychology: I forbid you to leave a review! Absolutely do not do it!

(Did it work? Either way, thanks for reading!)