CHAPTER 6

Martha's hand brushed against the Doctor's outer hand as she handed him a cup of tea with a biscuit on a saucer. She led them from the kitchen to her bedroom, a warm room with soft, peach-toned walls. Martha closed the door behind them as the Doctor placed his cup and saucer on her bedside table. Her room, dimly lit by the fading afternoon sunlight filtering through the horizontal blinds, brightened as she switched on the light. The Doctor discarded his lab coat onto her bedroom floor. He gazed at the wooden-panelled walls, noticing a section with built-in white wardrobe doors. Picking up a lavender-coloured, bulbous glass spray bottle, he held it up and observed a faint mist hissing from its nozzle as he pressed the pump trigger.

"Hey!" Martha snatched it from his hands.

Assessing it with hounded sniffing, he asked, "Tobacco scented?"

Martha approached her wardrobe, concealing the bottle in the top drawer, "Plus notes of mint. Miss that one, did we?" She peeked at him over her shoulder.

Wolfing his shortbread biscuit, he picked up a nearby photo frame. "I'm usually not one for cats, yet I find myself warming to your ginger-furred friend."

Martha sipped her tea, "Fireball. Mum is keeping him for me. Our landlord won't let us keep pets." She placed her teacup down, snatched the photo frame, and set it aside. "You're very fiddly, you know that?" Her stare lingered with mixed meaning. She suggested as she quirked an eyebrow, "Sit down?"

He nodded to a chair in the corner, "Musical chairs?"

"Once I turn it upside down," she groaned.

He sat on the edge of her bed, covered with a royal purple doona, "Do you live alone?"

Martha sat on a chair and tugged off a ballerina flat from her right foot, "No. I live with my flatmate, Sam. He isn't home yet," she answered from the opposite side of her bedroom.

"Have you been together long?" "Three years," she answered, tossing her right shoe across the room, watching it bluntly hitting her wardrobe.

The Doctor surmised, "You must know each other well."

Martha laughed, "More than I'd like sometimes."

"Human intimacy is rather complicated."

"Oh, not like that. Sam is gay. What about you and Rose?"

Martha slipped her left shoe onto the floor and wriggled her toes in the cherry-patterned pink socks she wore.

Approaching her wardrobe, she removed her woollen blazer and hung it inside.

Martha persisted, adjusting the shoulder strap of her fitted white tank top tucked into slim jeans. "I know you heard me, Mister."

He cleared his throat, "Maybe you should check my ears now that you checked my hearts?"

Martha fingered her scalp to loosen her hair strands as she chuckled, "I don't bring that kind of equipment home. Who knows what I'd find if I did."

"What equipment do you have?"

She bit her bottom lip, "Maybe later."

"Well, you got double what you expected last time."

She sat beside him, stretching her arms behind her, and extended her legs onto the floor ahead, resting her feet on her heels.

Biting her lip, she attempted to lay a trap. "I wonder what else we can find two of."

The Doctor entertained her inquiry in a way unique to him, glancing at the opposite wall with a quirked eyebrow of curiosity, "What's that?"

Martha followed his line of sight to where he was pointing.

MEANWHILE

Sam closed the apartment door behind him as monotonous dubstep pulsed into the headphones clamped over his ears beneath his black anorak jacket hood. He opened the electronic wall panel hatch, surprised that the alarm was already inactive. Shrugging the backpack from his shoulders, Sam shoved his headphones into the unzipped bag while walking toward the kitchen.

Softly stomping in his sturdy brown lace-up boots, Sam slowed his pace after noticing two moving shadows beneath the crack of Martha's bedroom door.

Tucking away his house keys into the pockets of his loose-fit brown chino trousers, Sam then entered his bedroom.

MEANWHILE

Martha stood by the wooden antique wardrobe, "Old family stuff like clothing plus various knick-knacks. My family asked me to hold it so they could collect it later. Free storage. Nobody has sorted through this stuff in years."

The Doctor rolled off her bed, gesturing to his leather pants, "These are one size too small."

Martha gazed at the trousers, stroking her hair with a sigh, "They work fine for me."

"Nah! Time for a change."

Martha raised her left leg to tug off her sock, discarding it with a sharp flick of her wrist, then repeated the same for her other foot. "Dive in."

Accepting her invitation, he dug his arms into the wardrobe. A minute later, he reported, "I think I found something."

Martha opened a drawer and pulled out a camel-coloured turtleneck tank top, "Without backtracking, while I think of it, your two hearts."

The Doctor stood before an upright mirror, holding a brown three-button suit with light blue pinstripes. "Simply put, I was born this way. as one Lady Gaga would say." Immediately squeezing his eyes shut, he amended, "Forget I said that. You won't be singing that until later this year."

She groaned and took a pair of sandy-coloured mid-waist skinny chinos from her built-in wardrobe, "You are so random."

He looked over his shoulder at Martha, "This suit looks promising."

"Try it on, I'll be in the bathroom."

The Doctor inspected the suit as he held it by its hanger. "Whoever wore this was a skinny man."

Martha laughed, "My dad's! He was back then, anyway."

"What happened?" He asked, holding the jacket over his blue long-sleeve collared shirt to gauge its size and appearance.

"Divorced after cheating."

The Doctor slid the blazer off its hanger, "He indulged all the way."

Martha laughed as she exited the bedroom, "You know what they say about a moment on the lips." She closed the door behind her on her way to the bathroom, arriving with a gasp.

Martha exclaimed as she saw the back of Sam while he stood at the basin looking into a mirror.

Sam spun around, "What?"

Glancing behind her to check that the Doctor wasn't standing in the corridor where Sam would notice. Martha turned to Sam, whispering before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her, "I didn't hear you enter!"

She sat her folded clothing on the bathtub's edge.

MEANWHILE

The Doctor stood before the mirror, having exchanged his sneakers and leather pants for a blue long-sleeve button-up collar shirt that hung over his underwear. He took the suit trousers from the rack, slid his legs into the pant legs after unzipping them, pulled them up over his hips, and tucked his shirt into them to complete the look.

MEANWHILE

Martha stood alongside Sam in front of the mirror, dressed in only crimson lingerie, pulling off a red headband and tying a spiked pointed ponytail.

Sam, shirtless and wearing only his jeans, leaned over the water-filled basin, rubbing exfoliant into his cheeks, playfully asking, "Are you sure you don't have a visitor?"

"How many times must I say it?" Martha replied in an exhausted tone, pulling the fitted camel tank top down over her chest.

Sam spoke with squinted eyes as he circled his fingers over his cheeks. "You just seem miffed that I'm home, like i'm interrupting something."

Martha collected her folded trousers. "You," she muttered with a pause, "Just took me by surprise, that's all!" She pulled up her pants, which fit her like a second layer of skin as she slid the fabric along her legs. Martha tucked her tank top into the fitted trousers, checking in the mirror to see how they traced her curves, then finally zipped them up.

Sam eyed how Martha's pants sharply defined her leg contours, their eye-catching slim style striking him as unusually dressy and inviting for someone not hosting a guest or going out on a date.

MEANWHILE

The Doctor pulled on the blue pinstriped brown blazer over his open-collar shirt and matching suit trousers, fastening all three buttons. He stood before the mirror, wearing a pleased smile, his bare feet lightly patting the carpet. Sitting on the bed, the Doctor slipped his Converse sneakers back on, completing his look.

MEANWHILE

Sam spoke as he dried his face, "I just need to get that moisturiser back from your room. The one you borrowed last week?"

Her eyes widened in shock as she puckered her lips in the mirror, rolling a tan lipstick along her top lip.

Hastily, she threw it into the basin, "Wait!" She slid past Sam into the corridor, and her arms widened on either side of her bedroom doorframe.

Sam narrowed his eyes, "Is this your Spice Girls pose?"

Martha grinned, "Yeah, like it?"

He laughed uncomfortably, "Yeah. Hot. Can I….?"

"It's just really messy in there. Give me a minute, and I'll fetch it?" She looked at his slim but firm pectorals. In all the years they had lived together, Martha hadn't noticed just how handsome Sam was with his swimmer-like physique. "Have you been working out? I bet Chris is loving it. No wonder he wants to move back in."

Sam tried to move past her, "He's shown his appreciation."

Martha pressed her chest into him, "You must be cold! Get a jumper while I grad that moisturiser."

Sam laughed nervously, "What is going on?"

"Nothing!" Martha's voice increased an octave.

Sam nodded sceptically before heading back to his bedroom.

Martha entered her bedroom with a sigh after Sam closed his bedroom door.

The Doctor announced, "Ah-ha! I am surging in the sartorial department today, Doctor Jones!"

Her look of panic melted into a frown as she noticed his choice of footwear, "You're not sixteen."

Martha opened her wardrobe and grabbed a pair of tread-heeled boots. Her boots were made of supple, warm camel-coloured leather featuring intricate stitching along the seams. Once worn, they reached halfway between Martha's calf and kneecap, their sturdy tread heels providing comfort and style. After pulling on a fresh pair of socks, Martha sat on a stool. She slid her foot into her left boot, zipping it along her slender leg while listening intently to the Doctor.

"Not for at least eight hundred years," the Doctor concurred.

She rolled her eyes at his response, then raised her inner leg to zip up the other boot. Eyeing his collar, Martha commented, "Something's missing." Martha sorted through the drawers of the antique wardrobe. "This," she held a blue and brown tie to the Doctor.

The Doctor winced, "I really don't think so." He shook his head, "Like, really, really, really do not think so."

Martha held the tie like an executioner preparing a noose while adjusting its length. "No tie, no sneakers."

"I can see why Hirst took exception to your nursing skills."

Martha swung the tie's slim end in her right hand in a circular motion, casting a mocking glare, "You've barely seen me on a bad day, mate."

Before Martha could carry out her threat, she heard glass shattering. She shouted, "SAM?" She opened her bedroom door, looking across the hallway to the kitchen, where Sam stood in the doorway.

Guilt filled his face, "Sorry! I shattered your mug." His expression shifted at the sight of a gleefully cheery stranger behind Martha.

"No use crying over spilled milk! Hello there, I'm the Doctor!"

Martha clamped her eyes shut in frustration.

MEANWHILE

"Please, be seated," Hirst said as she sat on the couch.

They both sat on the opposite side of the coffee table in Hirst's office.

Kate opened, "Thank you for your time, Professor Hirst. We know it's been an eventful day."

Hirst smoothed her black leather skirt while addressing Doyle and Kate, "Eventful would be an understatement."

Kate smiled amicably, "We are asking about a former patient. Miss Audrey James. Her mother, Tina, visited the hospital recently."

Hirst glanced over toward Doyle, distracted by his deafening silence. She then addressed Kate, "I am aware of Audrey. Far too young to suffer the complications which diminished her quality of life."

"She had suffered with Parkinson's disease since childhood, hadn't she?" Doyle asked.

Hirst bowed her head, "Yes. Tina was adamant about exploring all of the available options."

"Which is how she arrived at opting into Braxiatel therapy? Tell us about Braxiatel therapy." Kate added.

"Yes. Tina was aware that the treatment was in its experimental phase. She was inconsolable. There's nothing she would have done for Audrey."

Doyle asked, "Is it true that while in your care, she ran away?"

Hirst answered pointedly, "Yes. It took us by surprise as she was such a good patient. She had a heart of gold."

Doyle's voice bordered on becoming accusatory, "How does a patient stricken with Parkinson's disease escape medical custody?"

Hirst's voice faltered, rasping, "I agree that it's true that we are blameworthy. I was most ashamed at our lack of duty of care."

Kate sat forward, "We have tragic news. Audrey James was found dead this morning, alone in a park."

Hirst placed her right hand over her chest, "My deepest condolences."

Doyle shared a glance with Kate, unsure of Hirst's sincerity. "We have no doubt that her untimely passing will be bad for morale, so we have walled this from the media as much as possible. We are asking about the treatment, in particular."

Hirst nodded, "I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter. You will have my full cooperation."

Kate provided further detail, "Audrey's body suffered various ailments and internal abnormalities that were not common to a woman in her position."

Hirst's jaw stiffened from the more sympathetic display moments earlier. "It's an ambitious form of treatment that has captured the attention of the global medical community."

Doyle interjected, "We're sure of that."

Hirst's pupils scolded Doyle with a non-verbal slap, "It is a form of neurostimulation that aims to improve the stimuli responsiveness, repair neural damage, relieve the patient of chronic pain, and improve brain responsiveness."

Kate shook her head, "How does it work?"

Hirst sighed, "Through advanced nanobots, it stimulates neural activity to make electrical charges within the body more frequent."

"Have these nanobots received approval from your profession?" Doyle asked.

Hirst craned her neck, "Pending. But we have interim authority to carry out the procedure for willing participants."

Kate crossed her ankles over one another as she sat back, "Which I understand to consist of a fairly broad target group. Any age, AB negative blood, but cannot have a history of terminal illness."

"Correct," Hirst muttered.

"Why AB negative blood?" Doyle asked.

Hirst looked down before responding, "For now, those showing the greatest response in the treatment are those with that blood type."

"Yet records of testing and patient data have been suppressed?" Kate asked.

Hirst waved her right hand dismissively, "Garbage! Tabloid hogwash."

Doyle adjusted his posture, "What does Braxiatel mean? What is the name?"

Hirst shivered, "It's simply a name of personal significance. Nothing more." Hirst pushed herself up from the couch, "I understand your need for information, but my time is valuable. I have a meeting with my board very soon. Should you have any further questions, Regis Jensen will assist you."

Doyle and Kate stood in silence; Hirst's office now seemingly chillier than earlier. They both thanked Hirst for her time before leaving.

Once Kate and Doyle entered the elevator, both exchanged a knowing glance.

Kate's tone hardened, "This was no mere tragedy of medicine gone wrong. She's hiding something, just as I suspected from the beginning."