Hello again! Long delay again! Another fandom has been calling to me like a baby bird...

Plus, I keep having to retool the outline for this thing. Making the pieces fit together has been... well, let's just say, it's always a fun intellectual exercise, however frustrating it gets!


In the previous chapter, the Doctor had come back from a "session" with Weth, rather shellshocked, still unable to completely suss out her plans. The TARDIS also got an accidental communication from another dimension!

Chapter seven will represent a turning point, but for now, I offer you chapter six...

Enjoy!


SIX

Four days later, Martha's journal

Entry #20

Dear Diary,

I am ever so eager to see the end of this expedition, which sees me and my would-be paramour necessarily being hewn apart by a heinous foe. It is an exceedingly bizarre and unpleasant pursuit to be sure, all the more so because I am, in fact, a fair variety of things in this great universe, but an actress I am not. This mission of ours does require a certain aptitude in the theatrical arts; it is to our good fortune that a good bit of the venture requires no theatrics from me. Our predicament is gut-wrenching, and every encounter with the succubus known on Earth as Hilde Weth has made me long for the welcoming bosom of the TARDIS, deep space, and the mostly reliable comradeship of the Doctor.

Okay, I can't keep up that tone – but it was kind of fun. Can you tell I've been reading one of the Brontës lately? I don't even know which one.

Got to make myself laugh, because there is little else to be happy about here. Every weird Brontë-flavoured thing I wrote above is true, and therefore, I'm a little bit miserable.

This afternoon, we went for another visit, as a "couple," with Dr. Weth. I think that she thought today she could possibly deliver her coup de grâce, because things were exceedingly weird.

I went in knowing, of course, that the Doctor, or "John," has already snogged her on two separate occasions, that they have talked about me, my cluelessness as to it (this is what the Doctor told her, to speed things along), and they have conspired against me after a fashion, so she can replace me for some as-yet unknown reason. It's all part of the act, I know this. But the way I feel…

My disposition and role in the TARDIS and the Doctor's life, and his in mine, means that the visit was awful for me, and they both knew it.

After some small talk, Dr. Weth said, "There is something I need to tell the two of you, and it will not be easy."

I looked over at the Doctor, but he was keeping his eyes firmly planted on the floor. He was "refusing" once again to meet my eye. Again, an act, but again difficult to abide, nonetheless.

"It is my professional opinion, Martha, John, that your differences are irreconcilable. It hurts me, as your therapist, to say so, but after five visits, there has been almost no progress. The origins of your relationship did not lend themselves to forethought, and your backgrounds are disparate. Besides your professions, what do you have in common?" She went on like this for a while, then, "Like you, I am a doctor. I took the Hippocratic oath to first do no harm. It is my duty to do and say what is best for the two of you, and I believe that to stay together would harm you both."

Oh, brother.

First do no harm isn't even a part of the Hippocratic oath, but whatever.

The Doctor and Weth were constantly "stealing" glances at one another, then at me, in an almost choreographed arrangement of "Is she buying it? Can she tell what we're doing? Does she see us looking at each other?"

We discussed this – well, Weth did, and the Doctor and I chimed in when it suited. The story about the "honeymoon" came out – she made a lot of the fact that it had been almost as long as the courtship. She pointed out that we were wearing wedding rings today, and that she was "not fooled by them."

"Wearing a bauble will not magically revive a dying relationship," she said, which felt a bit desperate to me.

She even asked if we were one-hundred-per-cent certain of each other's fidelity. I decided to throw them both a bone, look at the Doctor with a smile, and say, "Yes. Even if there's nothing else to be certain of."

(I received praise for that answer later on.)

Eventually, not exactly shockingly, she dug into the issue with "John's" ex-wife, and "our" obsession with her. I tried to take a modicum of initiative in this thing of which I am a crucial part, and speak up. I was obviously hoping to shut down that line of discussion, but the Doctor cut me off and I know it was intentional. I know he wanted her to keep going unchecked, because at this stage, he's waiting for her to slip up, give more information. Would she reveal the key thing that would allow the investigation to move to the next phase?

I get that, but personally, I don't feel it's worth the risk to keep on hammering the "obsessed with his ex" theme.

Why isn't he worried about this? Why does he dismiss it, as though the fact that "we're not married" matters? Because the fact is, there is an actual partnership that could be at stake here. It's not a marriage, nor even romantic or sexual, but it's real. We live in each other's worlds, and there's no-one here but us… at least physically. Psychologically, however, there is another person, a ghost hovering about all the time. And if you ask me, that fact makes this whole Mochthos thing really fucking dangerous. Why can't he see that there are problems in our REAL partnership that could be (and perhaps are being) played upon like piano keys? One would think that an adventure such as this would cause him to be on guard, to home in on those things that could make us vulnerable, but I guess his mind just doesn't go "there," when it concerns trusty old Martha Jones. Like a comfy pair of slippers.

But apparently, Weth did not give enough. I almost wanted her to just to pounce today, if only to make things go faster.

"We can't make this decision here, that's the bottom line. I know that you see certain truths in this room, Dr. Weth," he said to her, very pointedly. "But I can't just walk away from a marriage. Martha and I need to be mutually certain – or in this case perhaps mutually uncertain of each other."

Well, fantastic. And so it goes on.

I entertained myself as we walked down the front steps by imagining her overturning furniture in her office.

When's our next appointment, then?


Being "conspired against" was weighing on her.

"Being stuck in this stupid holding pattern with Weth… I feel useless, powerless, not to mention scared," she said, as they discussed strategy. Her tone was not exactly dispassionate, as the Doctor's calm, composed voice at dinner that night was another thing weighing on her.

"I know, but you're not useless or powerless," he said to her. "You're doing a fantastic job."

"Just divorce me already, so we can get this over with!"

He nodded, unfettered. Almost sagely, gesturing with a fork, he said, "Look, there is still too much I don't know, Martha. The only revelation I had today was that she probably will not be able to do to you whatever she is going to do, until I'm ready to let you go."

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure now that the usurped partner – me – has to consent to the replacement, as it were, in order for it to happen. Which is why she uses sex against humans. It's not proven difficult for her to get a man to agree, once he's realised she's going to be more exciting than his wife, of whom he wasn't all too fond in the first place."

She was sullen, crossing her arms, aware that she was being childish, but not currently able to act any other way. "Well. At least you learned something."

"And given that I still know almost nothing about what she intends to do with you, and why, I cannot just divorce you already, because I may not be able to get you back!"

"Oh," she said, sorry she had opened her mouth.

"Why have people gone missing from her office? It's to do with a talisman, which I think is the eagle on her desk, but beyond that… she's keeping her true intentions very close to the chest at the moment. Until I know I won't lose you for real, I can't let her in. We can't be reckless if we're going to turn her over to the Shadow Proclamation, because the Architect will not have your best interests at heart, Martha. She'll see you as collateral damage."

"She will?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "She only cares about my safety because I'm useful. No-one else can do what I can do… anymore. Their priority is policing the universe, not being concerned with one human, whose sacrificing could help them bring down an instrument of chaos."

"Damn it. I hate when I've behaved like a child, and you get all kind and sensible. How dare you."

She had all but forgotten that there was food sitting in front of her. It wasn't the best, but it was a passable tuna bake, and she had been famished when the meal had begun. She picked up her fork and took another bite.

He smirked. "Would it help if I did something highly adolescent now, just to even things up?"

"Save it for when you really need it," she said, with a chuckle, chewing. Then she swallowed, and her tone changed. "Actually, now I think of it, when we started the session, it really felt like she was ready for something to happen. I remember thinking I was ready for her to pounce, and I sort of wondered why she wouldn't just do it. She won't, will she? Until you give her the go-ahead."

Again, he nodded. "She was definitely firing both barrels at my resolve," he said, taking a bite. "Or thought she was. She thought she was talking me out of staying with you, and I think she was monumentally irritated when I didn't cave. I mean, I've not really given her much reason to think I'm a steadfast sort of husband, so who could blame her?"

"Well, indeed," she managed to say, with a note of levity.

"But her disposition today, she was ready to replace you. When we walked in, and I saw the look in her eyes, I thought we might be doomed, but… she didn't disappear you. It must be because she can't."

"Okay," Martha said. "Well, hadn't we been sort of operating under that assumption anyway?"

"Sort of. I guess you could say it was a hypothesis."

"I've got to tell you, Doctor, I'm daunted."

"I know – you've got it rough. Sorry. My part's easier, because at least snogging is fun. You've just got to sit about reading Brontë until something terrible happens."

It was an insensitive thing to say - even though it was mostly a joke - and he knew it as soon as it was out of his mouth, but he didn't take it back. Moreover, it made her chuckle a little, so they gave it a pass.

For a minute or so, they just took bites, and concentrated on wrapping up the meal. They both finished their plates, but the Doctor got up for more water.

"Let's talk about turning in Dr. Weth. That'll cheer me up," Martha then said.

"Well, last we knew, the Architect and her crew were in the Asiulla Wildnerness. It's not like we can just pick up the phone and dial," he said from the sink.

"You don't have one of those aluminium core thingies?"

He took a deep breath, and said, "No, but I've got a TARDIS. And it wouldn't be hard to make a comm with an aluminium core. Its molecular structure is CCP…"

"Close cubic packed," she said.

"Yeah," he said surprised, coming back to the table. "Look at you!"

"I took a bunch of molecular chemistry courses because I was fascinated by its possibilities for application in public health."

"Ah, but med school gave you more of the soul-satisfaction you were looking for, and you can still affect changes to public health."

"Yep. You know me well."

"I actually do," he said with a smile. "Anyway, applying molecular chemistry to communication in the universe… the CCP structure allows for two things. One, pure, flat surfaces to bounce stuff off of – light, sound, radio waves, or in the case of the Class-5 Sanchar device the Architect is using, quasi-psychic communication signals. That's why the structure is also sometimes called face-centered cubic. And two, the tight, seamless stacking structure allows for little or no penetration, therefore little or no loss of quality, of whatever is being transmitted."

"That all makes sense."

He became rather thoughtful and said, "If you had a communications system, like a mobile phone network, and built the cell tower antenna out of aluminium, theoretically, the signal could be augmented to pierce dimensional walls."

"Seriously?"

"Actually, mobile phone antennae are often made of aluminium," he said. "They're easily malleable that way, and, obviously, highly conductive."

"So why is communication through dimensional walls such a big deal?" she asked, amused. "Unless it's not, and other dimensions have been listening in on human telephone calls since the advent of the cordless phone."

Disturbingly, he did not say that such a thing was impossible or even unlikely.

"Well, again, it would need a huge boost. The Class-5 Sachar uses a huge amount of power, and it was the TARDIS that picked up the signal, not some random radio unit."

"And didn't you say the signal was quasi-psychic?"

"Yeah, that too. They were talking about me and the TARDIS, possibly with some personal, conscious energy focused in our direction. That could be a factor. There's nothing that says a CCP molecular structure wouldn't boost something like that, as well. In fact, if you think about the electromagnetic activity in the brain of any sentient creature in the universe, factor in focus, emotion, intelligence, and all the things that define sentience…"

He trailed off.

"What? Finish that sentence!" she demanded excitedly.

"Well, it's a winning combination. All that, plus CCP structure, the powerhouse of the Class-5 Sachar, the TARDIS… it's no wonder communication is wafting about through dimensional walls. Not to mention, some dimensional walls are thicker than others."

"Are they?"

"You walk through one every time you walk into or out of the TARDIS. You think they're all that easy?"

"I must admit, I've never given it much thought, but I like it," she said, delighted to have learned this snippet about the universe. "Are you done with your plate?"

"What? Oh, yeah…" he said, handing it to her.

"What's our next move?" she asked, rinsing the plates.

He stood up and crossed to the freezer. "Well, I suppose… I'll go in on my own again. I think she's more likely to let her guard down and say stuff that will give away her game, if it's just me."

Martha sighed. "Okay. You're probably right. Not my favourite plan, but this whole thing hasn't been my favourite experience ever."

He had extracted the Neopolitan ice cream, and was now searching for bowls. He found two, and brought them to the worktop.

"I know, I'm sorry. But it's work worth doing."

She nodded in agreement.

He scooped up a serving and put a bowl in her hand. She said, "No chocolate syrup?"

"One third of what's in that bowl is already chocolate," he protested. "Why bother with the vanilla and strawberry if you're just going to chocolate-bomb the whole thing?"

"I'm not in a mood that can be fixed with vanilla or strawberry," she said, having some private thoughts that were, again, weighing heavily.

"Okay," he whispered, and went to the cabinet to search.


Okay, we're getting there. Next chapter will have a QUALITY cliffhanger!

Meanwhile, I've been getting crickets on this story - why not leave a review, just to let me know you're out there, and interested! So much easier to keep on writing when I know someone is reading. :-)

On that note, thanks, indeed, for reading!