Hi all. Well, there's been a delay...

Writing chapters five and six, and planning ahead for seven, I realized I had another big bloody mess on my hands. Some things needed to be retooled (again!) and reexamined, and reread. I don't know if it's ever going to be fully right, with what I have in mind for a climax and resolution on this story, but I'm pushing forward anyway, lest I become metaphorically crippled. I just have to trust in the process!


In the previous chapter, the Doctor went to see Dr. Weth all on his own for the second time... and there was icky smooching and inner thoughts of having a "session" in a hotel room. She's got her hooks into the Doctor (or thinks she does), meanwhile, there's Martha...

Enjoy!


FIVE

Later that day, Martha's journal

Entry #19:

The Doctor went to see Dr. Weth today on his own, for the second time. It is also the second time she has come onto him, and they have had a snog during the session.

He looked a bit shellshocked when he returned from the appointment today – he had left early, because he felt the charade had gone a bit too far this time. It worked out, because he feigned being "uncomfortable" with what was going on. But of course it needs to continue in order for us to discover more about her, and the Tertia Trochtos, and how to stop her.

I asked if he was all right, and he looked at me as though traumatised, and confessed, "She got me to talk about fantasy today. That was her 'in' this time – I suppose she thought it would be arousing for me. Not only that, she said she didn't want you and me talking about it on our own. After I said it would add a level of honesty, she shut me down."

This echoes a previous experience I had with her, in which she said something similar: once therapy has begun, a couple should not try to work things out on their own. She's the expert, the scientist, the Emotional Archaeologist. This is, obviously, super weird.

He went on to say that it didn't feel like she wanted a shag straight away, but that she's going farther with him. Getting bolder. I didn't ask for specifics, clearly.

His eyes were wide, and would not meet mine when he said this.

And it was not like when we went for our most recent "couple's" session, and wouldn't meet each other's eyes on purpose. That was to make Weth think she was getting between us. This was different. This was real concern in his eyes.

Needless to say, I'm a bit tied up in knots over this. I can't stand the idea of them together, clearly… well, I can't stand the idea of him with anyone, honestly. But the fact that this is happening "behind my back," and Weth thinks she's getting the better of me…


"Oi," said the Doctor, knocking on the door. "Are you in there?"

"Yeah!" Martha said, shocked out of her writing and guiltily slamming the journal shut.

"Can we talk again?"

"Sure," she said, standing up and crossing to her bedroom door. She opened it, and there he stood, in his usual pinstriped trousers, but above the waist, he was wearing a burgundy t-shirt, of the sort she had seen him wear under his dress shirt when he opted out of a tie for the day. His feet were bare, his hair wet, and he had a towel in his hand. She smirked at him. "Washing off your sins?"

He smirked back. "Something like that. Can I come in?"

She stepped aside, and gestured. "Be my guest."

He came in and sat down on the bed. "You know, you're not wrong. I did sort of shower to get the…" and he shuddered, shoulders and head. "To get it off me. The whole thing feels so sordid."

"That's because it is."

"Yeah," he whispered.

"But necessary, I get it," she said.

He leaned back and stretched out a bit, his right hand landing on the journal behind him. Immediately, he pulled away, and said, "Oh, sorry. What's that?"

"A journal," she answered, sheepishly, like a child.

"Did the TARDIS give it to you?"

"Yes."

He smirked again. "She must like you. Must think you're perceptive. Doesn't provide one to everybody."

"Really?"

"Yep. She likes to have a chronicle of life in her orbit. But she does understand that it's your private thoughts."

"Even that stuff is about life in her orbit," Martha shrugged. She was certain that the TARDIS could feel her most private thoughts anyhow – she reckoned writing about her feelings for the Doctor was not going to be a surprise to the Old Girl, should the vessel ever "read" her journal.

"I suppose that's true," he said. Then he placed his hands on his thighs, sat up straight, and said, "Anyway, I feel better now – cleansed, if you will – and I came to apologise for being so weird before."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, when I came back from the appointment. I know I was… like, wide-eyed and cagey and… anyway, I'm sorry. This thing with Weth, it's a different method of problem-solving than I've ever executed before, and I'm not sure I like it."

"I understand. We'll have pizza and watch a stupid film as a palate-cleanser when this is all over, yeah? Pray for a good old-fashioned running-and-screaming adventure on the near horizon?"

He smiled. "Sounds great. I also came here because I forgot to tell you something. Well, two things."

"Oh?"

"Well, one thing I forgot to tell you, another thing I forgot to tell you, and also something related I've been forgetting to give you."

"Okay."

He produced something out of his trouser pocket. Actually, three things.

Rings.

He handed two of them to her. One was adorned with a solitary, princess-cut diamond, and the other was a plain band. The third one he kept for himself, and put it back in his pocket.

"Ah," she said, looking at them, wondering whether to put them on her finger, or in her pocket. "Wedding rings."

"She asked about them today, that was one of the things I forgot to tell you earlier."

"Why we don't wear them, you mean?"

"Yeah. I told her we don't wear them too often because we both wear rubber gloves at work and/or wash our hands a million times a day."

"Where did you dig these out of?" Martha asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"The costume wardrobe, just like every other thing we wear as disguises," he shrugged. "That monk's cloak from last month, the pork pie hat…"

"I see," she said, examining it.

"Anyway, I reckon we might as well make a show of being committed…"

"…even though you've been snogging our marriage counselor?" she managed to say with a slight bit of humour.

"Yeah, which brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you. There's an incongruously large statue of an eagle on her desk. I noticed as she was…"

"I don't need to know what she was doing."

"Fine. Statue. Desk. Big ugly eagle," he said flatly.

"Has it always been there?"

"Nope. She said she just took it out of storage. And it has a bumblebee on its foot, which she told me is a symbol of hard work and toil."

"Toil? As in Mochthos?"

"Yep."

"So, that's the talisman?"

"I'm thinking so."

"Do you know what it's for?"

He sighed. "Not for sure, but based on what she's been doing… Martha, you obviously know that her snogging me has nothing to do with me, right? I mean, it's not because she finds me irresistible."

She smiled. "Well, I'm not convinced of that. But I get what you're saying."

"And remember when I said that she got me talking about fantasy?"

"Yes," Martha answered, and her stomach hit the floor.

"It wasn't, like, graphic. It was something else, something deeper. I told her I thought that our marriage was built on a fantasy, in a way. She led me toward admitting that your obsession with my ex has caused you to shut yourself off, and there is nowhere for the fantasy to live now. Then she asked if I wanted it to live, and offered herself as that place."

"Okay…" Martha said, understanding what he was saying, but not its significance. "So, she's trying to replace me."

"Yes, and I don't think the talisman turning up on her desk today is a coincidence."

"Keep talking, I'll catch up."

"I mean, again, it's lucky she found this planet, and figured out how to replace people in partnerships," he mused. "Replacing the pilot of a two-person space pod isn't so easy."

"I wouldn't imagine it would be."

"The sort of thing she's trying on with me, it's what makes the universe tick, you know? Just about every living being in the universe has an instinct for it on some level. But learning how to fly a Emoclew Four-Arm Warship is a highly specific thing. But on Earth, there's nothing to learn. She can get them done, bang, bang, bang."

"Pun intended?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"The talisman, the talisman…" he sighed, and he stood up and began to pace back and forth over the blue circular carpet in Martha's bedroom. "Martha, the talisman worries me. The fact that it appears in the same session when she takes such an aggressive swing at me. To replace you… or so she thinks, anyway."

"So, is it fair to assume that the people who have gone missing have been replaced by her, at some point, in some way?"

"I think so, yes, and that's a bit terrifying."

"Why? We knew one of us was at risk. Now we know which one."

"We also know why it's mostly women," the Doctor said. "Wonder what happened with the one man who went missing."

"The wife was a closeted lesbian? Or just bisexual and more receptive than the husband," Martha shrugged.

"I wonder if I can get the talisman into my hands, without her knowing," he said. "Could I get her to leave the room long enough to examine it?"

"Maybe. Is there a way to take readings from it using the sonic, without taking it out of your pocket? Or having it make any noise?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But I'd have to rewrite the sonic screwdriver's software."

"So?"

"So, in short, yes, I could do it."

"You think the talisman is making people disappear?"

"Somehow, yes. Daft as it sounds. It might be consuming them."

"Whoa. That's… that's…"

"I know. And I think, Martha, that you should be seriously on your guard the next time you go in there. Because this Dr. Weth works fast."

"How do I do that?" she asked, voice high, not exactly panicked, though… yet.

"Wish I knew."

Martha took a deep breath, and gathered some gumption to say, "Doctor, why don't we pivot again? Get her out of the mindset that it's your ex that's keeping us from connecting, and go in our original direction? It would buy us time to examine the talisman and observe more of her M.O… wouldn't it?"

"I'm not certain we'll need that much time," he told her.

She made a grr sound of frustration. Brief, but audible.

"Doctor, listen. She. Works. Fast. You said so yourself just ten seconds ago. We know that she can work faster when she figures out the central problem in a relationship," Martha said, her heard starting to beat faster. She took a deep breath and a swallow, and when she spoke again, her voice shook a bit. "This is hard for me to say."

"I know, I can see that."

"Then please listen! I know I've said it before, but I'm really afraid she's got our number."

"Martha, we're not married!"

"I know!"

"Then what are you on about?"

"We're not married, but we…" she began to plead heartily, but then stopped herself. It was another utterly clueless moment on the part of the Doctor, tantamount to when he looks into her eyes, then abruptly looks away.

He gives her hope, then takes it away. She pursues, he retreats.

He was looking at her intensely, but inscrutably. It was impossible for her to tell whether he was incredulous as to her obstinacy and seeming inability to understand what was actually going on, or a frustration with her, or whether he did realise what she was saying, but being stubborn about recognising it.

"Okay," she sighed. "The marriage is all a lie anyway. Maybe it doesn't matter."

She was placating him, and herself. In this moment, she thought there was a possibility that what she said was true… she just had to hope.

But she didn't have time to hold onto hope for now, because at that moment, there came a blaring, unpleasant, nebulous noise from the console room.

"Oh, come on, what now?" the Doctor whined.

He headed for the door and turned right to pursue the racket, and Martha followed, closing the bedroom door behind her.

As they got closer to the console room, they could tell that the noise, while it sounded like an undefined clamour before, was a voice. It was an electronic, staticky, muffled voice, seemingly that of a female.

The Doctor went for the computer screen, and said, "The TARDIS is decoding the voice print as the Architect, head of the Shadow Proclamation, but can't make out what she's saying."

"Why not?"

"Dunno," the Doctor said. "I mean… I can't make it out either, can you?"

"No, but I'm not an interdimensionally sentient time vehicle," she said.

The Doctor fiddled with a few switches and dials, and the voice became slightly clearer. They still couldn't tell exactly what was being said, but they both heard someone say, "The Doctor… the TARDIS…" and they looked at each other.

"Oi!" the Doctor called out. He flipped on a two-way comm, and called out, "What's going on out there?"

The voices stopped.

"Try again!" Martha whispered.

"Hello? Architect? Is that you?"

The muffled voice came through again. "I-ee ds Ah-tek buh buh Sa-oh Bock-eon…"

"Wait a sec," the Doctor shouted. Then he adjusted something. "Say that again."

It was still muffled, but this time comprehensible. "Indeed this is the Architect of the Shadow Proclamation. Who, pray tell, is that?"

"This is the Doctor," said the Doctor. "Why are you so muffled? What are you lot up to?"

"The Doctor?" asked the Architect, seeming a bit nonplussed. "Well, we were just talking about you."

"Yeah, I heard. What's going on?"

"I'm in the Asiulla Wilderness with my staff. We are investigating a possible pending Kyrisul invasion."

"The Asiulla… but… but… but that's not even in this dimension!" the Doctor practically shouted. "What are you doing calling me? Never mind that, how are you calling me? This is not supposed to be possible!"

"Well, Doctor, we didn't mean to call you," said the Architect, calmly. "It's an accident."

"You accidentally called me from another dimension?"

A pause. "It would seem so." The Architect sounded genuinely confused and surprised.

"What sort of comm device are you using?"

"It's a Class-5 Sanchar."

"Class 5? I didn't even know that was available yet."

"We have a prototype," said the Architect, still muffled, but comprehensible. "It has an aluminium core."

"Ah, that makes sense," the Doctor said. "The molecular structure of aluminium would make the communication go further."

"Yes, that was the thought. But this far…"

"Well, as long as you've got me on the line, do you need my help with something else?"


Okay, a weird gear-shift in the middle, some feels, a wedding ring...

What are your thoughts? Hope to hear from you... thanks for reading!