Things were ramping up with Weth the last time we saw our favorite duo, as were tensions in Martha's mind and soul. But they were still in a holding pattern, since the Doctor cannot "give up" Martha until he knows what will happen to her. He knows she will be consumed, but how? Until he's sure, he cannot say "yes" to the succubus!
So, here we go again, more ickiness in the counselor's office, but with a twist ending that will shift the story in a different direction!
Enjoy!
SEVEN
A few days later…
The Doctor placed the tips of the fingers of his left hand on the door handle, closed his eyes and took a deep inhale and exhale. Each time, it got harder.
He focused on the gold band that encircled the ring finger of that hand, and shook his head at the ridiculousness of it. He had been wearing it regularly, and had encouraged Martha to do the same. Weth had said she was "not fooled" by them. And while he was eager to move things along, he could not afford for her to think they weren't a genuine married couple. So, he had wondered aloud whether wearing them all the time, even when not in therapy, would help make it all seem more natural.
Martha had been resistant at first, but like most things, she deferred to him as to the best course of action. Somewhat sadly, which had been puzzling to him.
And here he was again, outside Weth's office. No part of him wanted to go in… well, except the part that was a trouble-shooter, intergalactic crime-fighter, overall guy-who-wanted-to-do-good-in-the-universe.
But the parts of him that were just the Doctor, an individual with feelings, a body, and a companion who was clearly disturbed by this whole thing, wanted no more to do with Hilde Weth. Or whatever her real name was.
Martha's voice was in his head. I feel useless, powerless, not to mention scared, she had said.
This had hurt him then as it did now, but there was nothing he could do to help her. It would be over soon, they both knew, so that was something. Meanwhile, the Doctor was going to be the one to have to see this thing through with the Tertia Trochos, singular or plural, however it may turn out. And to do that, he and Weth had to "conspire" against Martha. And he had to basically offer her up as bait.
He hated this bit of having a companion, confidante, a best friend in the universe with whom he trusted his life and vice versa…
…but this was precisely why he needed a companion. There were certain villainous entities in the universe that he couldn't take down alone, and Hilde Weth was one of them. He needed Martha.
Why hadn't it occurred to him to say all this the other day, when Martha was in pain and panicking just a little?
Just divorce me already so we can get this over with!
Yikes.
But all he could think to say was, "You're doing a fantastic job," which he had known, even then, was not reassuring. Even though it was one hundred percent true.
Another thing that was still true was his not knowing Weth's true intentions, beyond usurping him as a partner and disappearing Martha somehow, with his cooperation. A talisman, missing people, affairs with patients… it all was part of the Trochos' M.O. but he just wasn't sure how it all fit together yet. And until he was, he had to prolong this. Divorce me already was not an option until he knew exactly to where Martha would disappear, so that he could be assured of getting her back.
If the intent was to kill her, obviously, he needed to change tack, but somehow, he didn't think so.
Which meant that when he walked into Weth's office in the next five seconds, there would be more of this. More pretending, more snogging, more talking in circles, talking in code, asking non-pointed questions hoping to get pointed answers. It was exhausting.
And if he was honest, knowing Martha's feelings of inadequacy through it all was the most exhausting part of all.
Interesting – that was a new phenomenon for him.
He'd have more time to think about this later. For now, he had to just bite the bullet and do it. He forced himself to relax his shoulders, and reassured himself that Martha was safe for now. The TARDIS was parked nearby, and she had gone out to get some basics at Tesco (they were out of butter, toilet roll, and cellotape) and a couple of kebabs for dinner because they were both sick of pizza, and even sicker of each other's cooking.
He'd be able to get home to her in an hour or so, hopefully with a lot of new pieces of the Weth puzzle to work with, and they could resume planning and talking, playing at being domestic a bit…
But first…
"Here we go," he muttered.
He opened the door.
"John," Weth said, breathily. She drew out the syllable longer than anyone rightly should. She had been sitting at her desk off to the left, and she now stood.
He shut the door, and said, "Hilde." He could not muster any desire nor flirtation just yet, so he tried simply to say it with as little venom, and/or tedium, as possible.
And there would be no easing in. It was an immediate tornado of sensory input.
She was already on her feet and striding toward him. In seconds, she had him pressed against the door with her tongue in his mouth and her left leg wrapped around his right.
The Doctor was caught off-guard, and was unable to move or reciprocate or speak or anything for a few seconds.
But he could think: she's getting aggressive.
He finally gathered some wherewithal and placed one hand on her thigh, the other one on the small of her back, and managed an "mm," noise.
She now began to work her kisses down the side of his neck. "I've missed you so much," she whispered, in-between.
"I've missed you too," he replied, without much feeling.
"How is Martha?"
"The same."
"Does she suspect anything?" she asked, her tongue curling around his earlobe.
"No," he replied.
"So, she doesn't mind you coming on your own?"
"No. It's fine," he said.
"Then we have all the time in the world," she said, desirously. And suddenly her hand was at the front of his trousers, looking to hurry things along.
He grabbed her wrist to stop her, and said, "Whoa. Don't you think we should at least make an attempt to talk, first?"
"Why?" she asked.
He smirked. "It's up to you, but… well, what do you want me paying you for, exactly?"
She took a step back and smacked his chest playfully. "Dreist," she said.
"Me?" he asked. "Do you understand the English expression, that's the pot calling the kettle black?"
She smiled and gestured toward the sofa. He sat upon it, never taking his eyes off her.
She sat in one of the armchairs across from him and said, "I suppose I should ask for real: how is Martha?"
"I'll say it again: the same. She's been melancholy. She can feel things ending, can feel that therapy isn't working, even if she's not sure why."
"Are you sure she doesn't know why?"
"Well, she knows you're saying terrible things that no therapist should say," he shrugged. "But I'm pretty sure she just thinks you're incompetent."
"Hm, I don't like that, but… I suppose it's better than the alternative."
"Is it?" he asked.
He was probing. For what, he was not yet sure.
She smiled. "In the end, it doesn't matter. What matters, John, is you and me." Then, she tutted, and stood up again. "Oh, come on now! Don't keep me waiting, my darling… we don't need to talk. If I'm a whore, then I'll enjoy being a whore!"
She all but stepped over the coffee table, and parked herself on his lap, one knee on either side of him. While she once again forced her tongue into his mouth, she began to unbutton her own grey suit jacket, and when it was undone, she shed it as though it were radioactive. She was left in a mostly sheer white sleeveless top, and she removed her high-heeled shoes.
When she pulled away to unbutton his suit jacket, he once again, grabbed her hand, and said, "Wait."
"Why?" she whined.
"Because I'm still married, Hilde."
"But you're so unhappy! Let me make you happy," she begged, again licking around his ear gently.
"I'm not ready to go there yet," he insisted. "Strange as it sounds, I do love my wife. I'm not sure we can stay married, but I don't want to hurt her. This thing we're doing… it's wrong. It's always been wrong."
"Then why are you letting me do this?" she asked, licking the flesh behind the ear now.
He chuckled. "You're not making it exactly easy to refuse."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."
"I disagree," he said, pushing her shoulders back from him. "Am I the first patient you've done this with?"
"Done what?"
"This!" he said. "Letting your feelings take over. Breaking professional boundaries, and letting there be an… injured party. Like Martha."
She sat back, her bum on his knees, a bit resigned. "No, you're not the first."
"I'm not."
"No," she admitted.
"It breaks up marriages," he said, as though assuming a new revelation.
She pulled his tie out of his jacket and began to stroke it. "I confess… yes. But I don't feel bad about it, John, because a true partnership cannot be broken."
"It can't?"
"No," she said.
"Interesting," he said. Because it was really chuffing interesting!
True partnerships cannot be broken…now we're getting somewhere with this Third Wheel nuisance.
"But true partnerships rarely come through here," she went on. "I pride myself on being able to tell the difference. This is how I wield my particular expertise. I can see when a marriage is a lost cause, and when there is hope, almost from day-one."
"How?" he asked, pretending to be incredulous, but actually, again, probing. He expected to hear something about the Mochthos, though perhaps not that word itself.
But he wound up learning a new word altogether.
She leaned forward and placed her arms over his shoulders, cradled his head, and said, "Because true partnerships have synergasm."
"Synergasm?" he asked. "Is that an English word, or a German one?"
She sat back again, looking genuinely nonplussed. A bit caught out perhaps.
"You ask a lot of questions," she said to him.
"I'm a curious guy," he said back.
She cleared her throat, and said, "Synergasm is a… er, a psychological term that means that there's never an elephant in the room."
She has used that phrase before, he thought. The elephant in the room. The Mochthos, perhaps.
He now rememberd that Weth had discouraged him from attempting to address issues with Martha on their own, without a trained professional present. This seemed contrary to what a therapist might want for their "patients," or in her case, "victims." Wouldn't she want them to drag it all out in the open? Wouldn't it make her job easier?
Apparently not, and now he knew why.
"No elephant in the room," he said to her. "So that means… what? No uncommunicated debris in the relationship?"
"Well, there's always something that goes uncommunicated, isn't there? Synergasm means that the central conflict, causing all or most of the problems in the partnership has been worked through already. Unlike, for example, you and Martha, and the problem of your ex."
"I see. I think."
"But, understand, if a couple has worked through and discussed the conflict at the centre of it all, there is little need for marriage counseling – I rarely see those couples. Which is why, true partnerships are rarely in my path, and I do not feel guilty… indulging," she said the last word languorously, followed by an audacious licking of her lips, and biting of her bottom lip.
"Is that what I am? An indulgence?"
"No, you are not that," she sang. Once again, she cradled his head in both arms and whispered in his ear. "Well, not just that. I want to be with you, John. Please be with me. I think… oh, God help me, I think I love you."
"Hilde…"
"And you and me together, we would never, ever have an elephant in the room. We would work through any lingering feelings you have for your ex-wife, and for Martha, once she becomes also your ex-wife."
"You think that's what would be our elephant, if we were to have one?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"If you and I were to try to make a go of it, the central conflict would be me hung up on exes?"
"Don't you think so? Rather, it would be something we'd have to address, so that it doesn't cause conflict."
"I don't know. I know that you think it's what's at the centre of my conflicts with Martha…"
"Martha thinks so."
"But not you?"
"I'm not sure," Weth told him.
This surprised him.
"Really? Could've fooled me," he said.
"Well," she sighed, still sitting back with her bum on his knees. "I did think so when we first began meeting, but I've got my reasons for thinking perhaps that's not the case."
"What reasons?"
"They're not important," she said, indulgently, smiling. She went back to kissing his ear, and tugging at the hair on the back of his head. "What is important is…"
"Hilde," he said, again, pushing her away. "Don't patronise me. Tell me."
"You and Martha are simply not responding to treatment the way you ought to, if we had truly identified the central conflict."
"Not responding?" he asked, ears on alert now.
This meant that Martha had been right all along… they should worry about whether she could identify the Mochthos, because without it, she did not seem to be able to split them up. But it wasn't his inability to move on from his ex, which he suddenly realised was probably Rose, in Martha's mind (which opened up a whole kettle a fish in his own brain just now), it was something else.
Was that all this was? This seduction scene, was it all about digging deeper into "John's" psyche, to try and get more information, to pry open the unit?
In that case, he needed a hard pivot, but to be very, very careful.
She started kissing him again, and pried his suit buttons open, running her hands all over his chest. He was still shirted, but it felt gross all the same.
"But John, it does not matter, because as long as you love me, and can tell me that you don't want to be with Martha anymore, the two of us can be free."
Was this a loophole?
Perhaps exploiting the Mochthos was the best, subtlest, easiest, and/or most definitive way to put an end to a partnership. But as they thought, the usurped partner's cooperation would do, if that's all she could get.
"Hilde," he said, just like he always did, when she got too handsy.
"So tell me, John. I know you want me. I know you love me, like I love you. Just say it!"
"Hilde!"
"What?" she asked, clearly irritated, once again, sitting back.
"Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"
"Is that a threat?" she asked.
"No," he said. "But your licence could be revoked, just for where you're sitting. Not to mention stuff you've just told me. Is there no fear at all?"
She stood up, annoyed, picked up her jacket off the floor and walked round to the other side of the coffee table.
"You're toying with me now," she growled.
"Not at all," he said, relieved to have her off his lap. "I'm just... like I said, a curious guy."
She put her hands on her hips. "You know what? I don't need you to say anything. I know you want me, love me, and I will convince you to be with me. I know how to get things done without a word from you."
"What does that mean?" he asked, getting to his feet, a little too frantically for a person who perhaps thought that get things done might be figurative.
"It doesn't matter anymore. John, I do love you, but every relationship needs space, and I need to be on my own for a bit. So, will you please leave? I'll see you in three days for our next appointment. We can work on our own issues then."
A few minutes later...
Martha stepped down from the Tesco onto the pavement, and turned left. One quick stop at the kebab shop, and then round the block back to the TARDIS.
The outdoors had done her good. Fresh air was clarifying for the mind. She knew this as a medic, but it could be so easy to forget when one is working a lot, and keeping one's head in a problem. She had been spending a lot of time alone in her room, or at the very least, somewhere ensconced in the TARDIS, with or without the Doctor. Infinite interior could be surprisingly stifling.
But the sun, the oxygen (even if it was a bit petrol-y) the people chattering, the familiarity of it… she was finding it curative and soothing.
She was also allowing herself a bit of comfort and joy in the last conversation she had had with the Doctor. Ribbing one another about their tiresome, mediocre cooking skills, planning for kebabs tonight, and some forget-our-troubles unwinding. She had bought some wine at Tesco, hoping to "up" the cosiness and unwinding (but not too much) and she thought she would suggest a game like Yahtzee, or something else that didn't involve too much skill or strategy.
The Doctor had actually seemed in a mood wherein he might be amenable to "cosy" with her. It was not a seduction, but an extension of her hand, looking for comfort. He responded once in a great, great while, and was unpredictable. She had to seize these moments when they arose.
As she rounded the corner, suddenly, she felt pressure. As though she were underwater, something bore down on every inch of her body, and seemingly tried to twist her up and stuff her into a thimble. No breath escaped her nor could work its way in. She felt hot, frantic, and dead all at once.
And then she seemed to fly apart. Pain, light, millions of stars…
In the five seconds it took for her body to be completely consumed, she had the thought, "Well, this is what I get for daring to feel restored."
As usual, a plug for reviews! This story has been harder to write than I thought it would be... hope it's a lot easier to read! Let me know your thoughts, or just say hi. :-)
Thanks for reading!
