Hello again! If you're still reading this, then rest assured, you are one of my favorite people! :-)
This time, the delay came because I was out of the country! Honestly, I wish I could have stayed abroad... thanks for sticking with me.
Trying to resolve this story is proving difficult. My outline has fallen apart a couple of times now. And it feels like we already did a climax, but we still have a lot of loose ends, and a villain who is still only "mostly" defeated. (If Miracle Max is in your head right now, you're not alone.)
So thanks for bearing with me while the Doctor and Martha figure out how to get the rest of Weth's victims out of the Vestibule. Can't just leave 'em there. But it's gonna be tricky, and we're dealing with a lot of disparate personalities. In this chapter, we meet one of them... his name is Doug, and he's a gem. (That's a pun. You might understand it later.)
Also, a bit of shipping, now that the Doctor has come clean... but just a bit.
All right, enjoy!
SIXTEEN
"'I'm sorry for dragging it out – I see now how much that upset you, and why,'" Martha read aloud from the red markings in her journal.
"Can you not read that to yourself?" he whined, doing some sort of search on the console computer.
She ignored him, and continued, "'You wanted her to pounce, and so did I, but I was waiting for the right moment, a moment when I knew I could 'afford' to lose you. When I had the knowledge to get you back. Ironic how very, very, very little knowledge I actually had for keeping you in my life, isn't it?'"
He chuckled. "Wow. The last few days have felt like months. Somehow that last phrase brings it home."
She went on, "'When I see you again, Martha Jones, I will make that mistake no more. There will never be a time when I can afford to lose you – I will hold on, no matter what. Hilde Weth spouted a lot of rubbish, but I hope that one thing holds: true partners cannot be torn apart by an outside entity. And if you're reading this, then that's what we are.'"
This time, he didn't deflect with any commentary, he just looked at her with exhausted, sympathetic eyes, and sighed. She responded in kind.
After several beats this way, he said, nodding toward the book resting in her lap, "There's a lot more in there."
She smiled bemusedly. "I'll have to decide which bits to have framed."
"Oh, please don't do that," he groaned. "It would be like a testament to my interpersonal incompetence."
"No, it would be a reminder of… you know. How this all happened. How you feel and how…" she trailed off.
He now smiled bemusedly as well. "Okay."
Again, there were a few beats, while a shroud of exhaustion, love, apology, appreciation, and confusion enveloped the room, then withdrew again.
"So," she said, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "Now what?"
"Well, it seems to me that the easiest way to get your friends back from the platform dimension…"
"Vestibule," she corrected.
"Okay, the Vestibule. The easiest thing to do – well, maybe not the easiest, but it's a thing I'm pretty sure will work, because it already has – is to get in touch with all of their ex-partners, ex-spouses, and have them address the elephant in the room, like we did."
"Whoa. That's a tall order. If they could do that, they wouldn't be exes."
"I know," he muttered. "I'm not great with relationships, but I do know that much. They were in counselling for a reason."
"So what, do we become the counsellors?"
"Maybe, yeah," he sighed, leaning against the console, and crossing his arms.
They both thought it through for a few moments, and then Martha said, "You know, Danielle and I both got deposited into the Vestibule in pieces."
"Ugh," he groaned. "I'm so sorry."
"No, don't be sorry! It happened because you weren't ready to let me go, and Danielle's husband had sort of – though obviously not completely – worked out what was going on, and the two of them put up a fight."
"So we may be able to use the ex-partner's will…" he ruminated aloud.
"Seems like that could get messy, though," she said, wincing.
"I was just thinking the same thing," the Doctor said. Then, he stood up straight and clapped once. "Right, well, job-one is to find these people and get in touch with them. Sounds like Danielle's husband is a good place to start. What's her surname?"
Martha deflated visibly. "I don't know. I know she's a jeweller with an undergraduate degree in molecular chemistry. I would put her around fifty years old… does that help?"
"Worth a shot," the Doctor shrugged, and he went to the console. He started typing in information, and waiting, then typing in more, and waiting. Martha could see the screen, but nothing about it was recognisable to her…
After about five minutes, the Doctor said, "Danielle Cherie Markham, born 13 December, 1953 in Hemel-Hempstead, enrolled at Imperial College in London in 1971, obtained a degree in molecular chemistry in 1975." And he stepped aside to show her a picture.
"That's her!" Martha exclaimed, popping up off the chair. "Like, thirty years younger, but that's her!"
The Doctor continued, "She married Douglas Fielder Watson on 4 May, 1976 and had three kids, Philip, Lucas, and Miranda, in 1978, 1981, and 1984 respectively. In 1982, the couple took over his family's jewel importing business and jewellery shop, all on the up-and-up, and they sold it to an Austrian corporation in 2005 for over seven million pounds, just after the first time they filed for divorce."
"Wow," she commented. "What's her shoe size?"
"What?"
"Never mind," Martha said. "Shall we go find Doug?"
"Don't we need, like, a cover story first? Something to actually say when we start up our Smith and Jones routine?"
"Well, the way Danielle told the story, it's fairly likely he saw her disappear," Martha explained. "She said the two of them went to Weth – or whatever her name is – and Doug broke off the affair. He said he knew that he and Danielle couldn't stay married, but it wasn't going to be for some tawdry reason like, he's shagging their shrink."
"Too little too late, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers," the Doctor shrugged.
"And then, Weth put her hand on the Talisman and did a thing, and the next thing Danielle knew, she was in the Vestibule with some of the others. They said she arrived in pieces, a bit like I did, but my situation was worse."
The Doctor winced. He opened his mouth to say something…
"Don't say you're sorry," she interrupted. "It just means you held on more tightly than the others, and that's nothing to apologise for. We've been over this. So… get in touch with Doug?"
"Again, I say, it's worth a shot."
When they knocked on the door, a woman about Martha's age answered. She looked like a younger version of Danielle, though less flashy.
"Hi," she said. "Can I help you?"
"We're looking for Douglas Watson," said the Doctor, flashing the psychic paper.
"Is this about my mum?" asked the woman.
"Your mother, Danielle?" asked Martha.
"Yeah," said the woman. "Are you the police?"
"Not really," said the Doctor. "We're a different kind of investigator."
"I see," said the woman. "A different kind. Did he call you about the strange thing he saw?"
"Er, yes, he did," Martha riffed. "Is he home?"
"Yeah, he's home," the woman said, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you're not seeing him. I'm not about to let some charlatans into this house and convince…"
"Miranda, is it?" the Doctor interrupted.
"Yeah," she said.
"We just want to talk. That's it. We might be able to get your mum back."
"Fat chance of that if my dad won't let anyone even report her missing."
"Why not?" asked the Doctor.
"Because of the strange thing he saw, of course! He thinks it's… I dunno, alien, or something. He thinks they'll call him a nutter, and he's not wrong. And he thinks mum will be in even more danger if he alerts the authorities. He's been trying to do research on his own… why would he call you?"
"We're a different kind of authority, Miranda," Martha assured her. "We want the same thing you do: to save your mother. But your dad's not wrong when he says there's something else at work here. We think, though, that there's a scientific explanation for what he saw, and that might lead us to discovering what actually happened to your mother. All right?"
She sighed. "Fine. But any sign of…"
"Nothing dodgy, we promise," Martha said. "We might have him come with us to make a statement, but…"
"Who are you?" asked Miranda. "What agency are you with?"
The Doctor flashed the psychic paper again, with no idea what it would say.
The woman finally stepped aside and let them into the house, then disappeared, promising to come back with her father.
"What does it say?" Martha whispered.
The Doctor looked at the psychic paper and whispered back, "It's a muddled-up P.I. licence with scientific specialist on the seal."
"Whatever works, I guess," she said.
"That's the idea," he whispered, as a large man came around the corner from the kitchen, and started down the hallway beside the front staircase.
He was balding; what hair he did have was blond, and remained in a circular pattern around his head, and a small patch at his widow's peak. He was wearing a red football t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, with no shoes. All in all, he did not look like the sort of man who had recently sold a business for millions.
"Hi," he said, reaching out first for Martha's hand, and then the Doctor's. "Doug Watson. My daughter tells me you're here to talk about my… er… ex… my, er, wife."
Miranda came down the hall behind him. "They said you called them. They're scientist P.I.s or something…"
"Yes, I called them," Doug said, looking surprisedly at the Doctor and Martha. "Miranda, will you excuse us?"
"Dad, I want to make sure…"
"Why are you acting like I've got dementia or something?" he asked her. "I've got my wits about me, love, so go… do something else."
Miranda grabbed her coat from the hook beside the stairs, and strode out in a huff, slamming the door behind her.
"She's got her mother's temper," Doug said, uneasily. "So, what's… I mean… who are you?"
"I'm Martha Jones, and this is the Doctor," said Martha.
"Doug, would you believe us if we told you that we posed as a couple going into counseling recently, and the therapist – an attractive German woman – initiated an affair with me?" the Doctor asked.
Doug's eyes got wide. "Yes, I would."
"We thought you might. My partner here wouldn't go fully in for the whole affair-having experience, and demonstrated that he was still attached to me," Martha said. "So, would you believe me if I said that the therapist got impatient, said an incantation to an eagle statue, and I was instantaneously shifted to a different dimension, as though plucked clean out of this reality?"
Doug's jaw dropped. "I would! I would! Oh my God!"
"Is there a place we can sit, and explain?" the Doctor asked.
Douglas Watson was standing just inside the door of the TARDIS, jaw agape, still looking around at the interior space. They were giving him time to adjust. He had already walked around the outside of the blue box twice, said the requisite phrase, asked, "What the hell?" about seventeen times, and was now just… staring.
"How you doing there, Doug?" asked the Doctor.
"We've got good news," said Martha. "One of the others who were transported to the Vestibule was reported missing by her ex-partner, Ed. Which is lucky, because they weren't married, and the records would have been sparse, plus, they have different surnames… Doug?"
"Huh? Yeah?" Doug said, coming round, shaking off the amazed stupor the TARDIS had put him in, like so many others before him. He now walked up the ramp, and said, "Sorry. I'm just… this is mental."
"Yeah," she chuckled. "It takes a bit of getting used to."
"Have you got your head in the game?" asked the Doctor.
"Yeah," said Doug. "Someone's partner reported her missing."
"Yes, Holly Warren's ex-partner, Edward Brinvale," she said.
"Aged forty-seven," the Doctor said. "Surgical nurse."
"He tried to contact her regarding the shared custody of their dog, and didn't hear back from her for days. Got worried, called her family, they hadn't heard from her, blah, blah, blah, he called the police. Blimey, I hope we can get her back. She's a nurse too – took care of me when I... you know."
She gave the Doctor a meaningful look, and he nodded, squeezing her hand. They had decided not to tell Doug the bit about his wife having arrived in the Vestibule piece by piece; the man had already had enough revelatory trauma for the day.
"Okay, is he our first visit?" Doug asked.
"Very likely," said the Doctor. "But I'm already looking up Donald Henning, who was married to Arabella Chan… here he is, aged thirty-eight, corporate barrister. And then, there was Walt Ilsman, whose wife ran off with Hilde Weth…"
"Who?" asked Doug.
"The German therapist," Martha said. "You probably knew her under a different name."
"Kristina," said Doug, wistfully. "Kristina Joellen. Such a beautiful name, I thought. Beautiful woman."
"Yeah," the Doctor said, uneasily. "That was by design."
"I was so taken with her. You must've been as well, then."
"Not… not as such. I knew what she was, what she was trying to do. It didn't really work on me," the Doctor replied.
Doug smirked. "Well, even if that hadn't been the case, I can't imagine it's as rare for you to have women interested in you as it is for me. I mean… look at me. I'm an oaf. Worse than an oaf."
"You're not an oaf," Martha said. "It's just, marriage takes maintenance…"
"I'm an oaf. For me, it was like… I can't describe it. Like getting to start all over again! Like the failed marriage wasn't happening, had been a dream, and I was this young guy again, who played rugby and could still have a pint of Stout because I hadn't had ulcers yet. To get attention from a woman like that…" he said. Then he sighed.
"It's not really your fault," Martha assured him. "Her entire M.O. is about working out what will get under your skin. What's at the centre of everything, that will break up the marriage. She figured you out – it's what she does."
"Not like it was hard," he muttered.
"I don't imagine it was super difficult with any of the men, frankly," Martha muttered back.
"But now the two of you are telling me that thinking with my dick has ruined my life, and got my wife kidnapped into a different fucking dimension, and might see her pulled across into another universe from which there is no return?" asked Doug.
"Well… yeah," the Doctor said. "But like Martha said, you shouldn't blame yourself. All of it was set up by her. By Weth, Joellen… her real name is Skasíla."
"In the Vestibule, we called her Frau Homewrecker, and with good reason. Doug, she came to this planet and did all of this, banking on the idea that that human men think with their… not brains. Especially those who have seen themselves as deprived for a while, like they've been in bad relationships. And she exploited it," Martha said. "I'm not saying you behaved heroically, but without knowing what she was up to, you didn't have a chance."
"Well, fine, but when I see Danielle again, I'm going to give it a proper try. I don't suppose you two know of some cool space-age way to lose about five stone in a hurry?"
"Sorry, no," the Doctor replied, a bit too seriously.
"Just thought I'd ask," Doug said, with a shrug.
"So, back to Walter Ilsman," said the Doctor, looking him up. "His wife was Janet Letchford Ilsman, and she has moved to Scotland. So, there were five in there… Danielle, of course, Bella, Walt, Holly, and…"
"Petra," Martha said. "I know almost nothing about her. She was quiet. Watchful, almost mistrustful. I don't know what she does for a living, I don't know her ex-husband's name…"
"We can see if anyone named Petra's been reported missing in Britain," the Doctor said.
"We can also try tracking down all of the different German names that Weth used."
The Doctor was quiet for a few moments. "No-one named Petra has been reported missing. How could she not have been reported missing, for God's sake? Blimey."
"I don't know. I mean, recently divorced, maybe recently moved to a new city or something…"
The Doctor typed Hilde Weth and Kristina Joellen into the database – nothing came up, as far as the names having anything in common. Hilde Weth, marriage counselor, came up, but Kristina Joellen was a seventeen-year-old girl living in Leidenstadt, who had just won a science fair.
"Do you remember any other names she might have used?" he asked Martha.
She closed her eyes and thought about it. She had spent far more time talking with Walt than with anyone else in the Vestibule… he had definitely said the name of "his" therapist more than once.
"Mein… Meinheimer? Mari Weinstein… Weinheim…" she said aloud. "Ma-heim… Mariana Weimer!"
"Mariana Weimer?"
"Yeah. Try that."
He tried. No significant results.
"Okay, well, we've got Henning, Brinvale, and Ilsman. It's a good next step."
"I'll take Henning, you take Brinvale," Martha said.
"What do I do?" asked Doug.
"You stay here, and work on your Mochthos."
"My what?"
"It's the thing at the very core of your conflict with Danielle, the elephant in the room, it might be something that Dr. Joellen always tried to keep you from discussing without her," Martha said.
She then handed him a notebook they had found in a supply closet, having prepared in advance for what Douglas Watson would have to do in order to bring back his estranged wife, Danielle.
"What's this for?" he asked her.
"To address the issue. Write down the thoughts you're having about it. Acknowledge, but don't try to fix them. Take responsibility, but don't try to force her to do the same, even though that's what she needs to do. Forcing it won't do any good."
"So, write a script."
"Maybe, but a sincere one," Martha qualified. "Plan out how you're going to talk about it with her. The goal is to cut to the chase as quickly as possible, without avoiding the feelings surrounding it."
"I think I'll need a therapist's help for this," he smirked.
"Don't we all?" the Doctor muttered.
The TARDIS was still parked near the office where Skasíla the Tertia Trochos had plied her strange trade as Hilde Weth. She had used different offices in different towns, when she had used different names.
After speaking to Ed Brinvale, the Doctor had felt encouraged, and had wanted to reach out to Martha to let her know as much. But alas, he realised, she had returned from the Vestibule without her mobile phone. So he walked back to the TARDIS to check on Doug, and to wait for his own partner; not a brand-new one, but their partnership was in a brand-new context, solid, honest, loving, and frankly, it was another thing that made him feel encouraged.
And just as he was reaching out to let himself into the blue box, he spied her coming round the corner at the other end of the block. He walked toward her, and they met halfway.
They didn't speak. They just hugged, and both exhaled with utter abandon and relief. He wanted to kiss her, but that had to wait.
Weirdly, she said, "I want to kiss you," into his lapel. "But I think none of that should be in-bounds until everyone is saved."
"Agreed," he said, settling for a kiss to the top of her head.
"As long as you promise that we won't return to the status-quo for good," she said. "I think we should return to the status-quo for now."
"I promise."
"Because anything else would be distracting. I can't think about what's coming next for us…"
"I can't either."
"Okay. So for now, we just pretend like nothing's coming next. To keep our wits about us. We're dealing with a deadline, and we've only got eighteen hours left."
"Yes," he agreed. "Noses to the grindstone. No getting wrapped up in… other things."
There was a long pause, and then Martha disengaged herself and took a step back from him. She asked, "You do understand how much of a gamble this feels to me, right?"
"I do."
"It feels a little like I'm playing fast and loose with the most valuable thing I've ever had," she said, voice on the verge of breaking. "And it might not come around again."
"You're not playing fast and loose. We're on the same page."
"You're sure?"
"Do you want me to say it?" he asked. "The… you know… that phrase? Possibly the most powerful three-word combination in existence?"
"What? No," she said. "No, don't. Not yet."
"Because I can. I mean… I do. I would mean it."
"Shh," she said. "No, don't say it yet. That'll be the big payout at the end of the game."
"Okay. We save everyone with a clear head, first…"
"…and then, you cash in all my chips?"
"All of them. If I had a marker, I'd give you one." And he said it with that incredible, infernal, impish, inviting smirk that only made her want to work faster.
So... if you're reading, enjoying, etc. why not leave a review? I would love to hear from you! It his honestly motivating to keep on writing, when I receive an indicator that someone is out there!
As always, thank you for reading!