"Martha, Martha wake up! How can sleep through all this racket?"

"Wha-" Martha felt Jenny shake her shoulder, and drowsily tried to bat her hand away.

"Martha!" Jenny said again, and this time Martha heard the fear tinge her voice.

"What's wrong?" Martha asked woozily, as she sat up and looked at her friend. She heard voices outside the small room, it sounded like the entire school was up. She glanced at the curtains, no light peeked through. It was still night.

"It's the ghosts, they're everywhere, Martha," she said fearfully.

"How many?" Martha asked, as she scrambled out of the bed. "Have they done anything?"

"You mean, other than send Old Jenkins around the twist?" Jenny asked. "He's losing his marbles, down the hall."

"Yeah, other than that," Martha said, as she pulled on her robe. "Any..uh...weird…um…breaches?"

"Breaches? What are breaches?" Jenny gave her a perplexed look. "Martha, you do say funny things."

"We're being overrun by ghosts, and you think I'm the funny one around here?" Martha asked, frustrated, as she lit her bedside candle. A loud bell rang out.

"It's the fire bell," Jenny said worriedly. "Do you think there's a fire? Maybe that's it, maybe all those ghosts aren't ghosts at all, but wafts of smoke?"

Jenny looked at her pleadingly for reassurance, and Martha gave her a shaky smile. "Maybe we should check. We don't want to be trapped in a fire, do we?" she said, as she slipped on her boots

"But Martha, I told you, they're everywhere. They're coming out of the walls and rising through the floor, it's not safe!"

Martha felt her mouth go dry. "Jenny, whether it's smoke or ghosts, if they're coming through the walls, we're not safe here." Martha shaded her candle and opened the door a crack. All the other doors on the landing were ajar and the corridor was bursting with staff. Martha sniffed the air for smoke and didn't smell any. She grabbed the arm of Emma, one of the kitchen maids. "What's going on?" she asked.

"The headmaster has told us evacuate, something to do with a gas leak making people see things."

Martha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As excuses go, she supposed it was a step up from there's something in the water. "Thanks, Emma," she said, before turning to Jenny. "Come on."

"But Martha, what if-"

"Jenny, I'm not leaving you here, and that's final," Martha said, as she grabbed Jenny's hand. "Just stick with me, and we should be okay."

"Should?"

"Let's put it this way, Jen, do you really want to be the only living person left behind in a school full of ghosts?"

"Good point," Jenny said. "Lead on."

Martha kept her eyes peeled for more manifestations as they trooped downstairs but nothing popped out of the walls. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or frustrated. This wasn't like dealing with Carrionites or Judoon; she couldn't touch them or reason with them, or even figure out their motives.

"Form up, now, orderly rows!" the headmaster barked, as they made it to the ground floor. Martha staggered to a halt, at the foot of the stairs, as she watched the grim line of schoolteachers eyeing the students. Martha felt a tug on her sleeve, and turned to look at what Jenny was nodding at.

"Oh, just what I needed," Martha muttered, as Jenkins scowled in her direction. Mrs Redfern was at his side. "He doesn't look happy."

"Oh, he always looks like that," Jenny said, as she pulled Martha across the floor. "And it's not as if this is our fault is it? C'mon, let's join them."

Martha bit her lip, knowing full well that Jenkins's glare probably had nothing to do with ghosts and everything to do with whatever Mrs Redfern had just told him; but there was nothing for it, she had to ride this out or risk getting fired. She snuck a look at the line of schoolteachers, and spotted the Doctor, standing by the headmaster's side. He didn't look like he'd had much sleep; but then again, neither had she.

"Oh, come on, Martha, your Mister Smith can take care of himself."

"Jenny, I've told you, he's not my Mister Smith," Martha answered automatically, looking around as she heard a commotion come from outside. A scream pierced the air and Martha faltered. She looked back at Jenkins and saw his scowl deepen. Then a shot rang out, and Martha came to a decision. "Jenny, get out the back way," she said, as she gave her a little push towards the rest of the servants.

"But Martha, you can't just–"

Shouts of panic drowned out Jenny's protests as Martha dodged through the rows of students and ran out the front door. She skidded to a halt as she noticed the younger school boys cowering away from a clutch of N-Bodies, wandering aimlessly around the courtyard. She looked over her shoulder at the Doctor, he didn't seem to be sleepwalking but, then again, he hadn't been sleepwalking when she'd seen the ghost earlier that day, either. Another shot zinged though the air, and Martha spotted one of the prefects shooting at one of the ghosts with a rifle. The bullets passed through it harmlessly, not even making it flinch.

"Oh, this doesn't look good," muttered Martha, her mind racing as she noticed the youngest of the schoolboys break away and run down the lane. If she didn't do something soon, someone could get hurt by accident. All it needed was one stray bullet — but she didn't know how to stop it.

"Think, Martha, what did the Doctor say? The N-Bodies need a natural transdimensional transducer and a power source — and, asleep or awake, the Doctor is the transducer!"

Martha pushed her way back through the panicking students and ran into school. She scanned the hall. Where was he? He'd been beside the headmaster only a few moments ago. She spotted the headmaster standing at the foot of the stairs, shouting out orders to the students.

"Don't panic, gentlemen, keep your heads," the headmaster roared. "These things have no substance, they can't hurt you!"

Martha went onto her toes and looked over the heads of the students. The servants had already slipped out of the gathering area, but she spotted Mrs Redfern in the far corner, keeping an eagle eye on the students. There was no sign of the Doctor.

"This is not good," Martha muttered, as she threaded her way through the students and headed for the courtyard.

"Martha!" Jenny called out, as she stepped outside. "Are you alright?"

"Jenny, have you seen Mister Smith?" Martha asked.

"Martha, what have I told you–"

"Jenny, please, this is important, I need to find Mister Smith. I think he may be in danger."

"In danger? But then you should tell Mister Jenkins. It's not our place–"

"Oh, stuff Mister Jenkins!" Martha said heatedly.

Jenny stared at her, astonished. "Martha!"

"Sorry, Jenny, I have to go," Martha said, as she ran for the bicycle shed.

"But Martha, what will I say to Jenkins– Martha!"

Martha didn't bothering answering as she crashed through the shed door and made a beeline for her bike. Keeping her job would be the least of her problems if something happened to the Doctor. Besides, she could always blame it on the effects of the gas, or whatever nonsense they dreamed up to explain away the happenings of this night.

Martha needed to find the Doctor and, to do that, she needed the help of …well… the Doctor

--+--+--+--

"You've got to come with me," Martha said as she stormed through the TARDIS's door.

The Doctor looked from his book. "Come where? What's happened?" he asked.

"The Doctor is missing!" Martha said "And those N-Bodies are everywhere. I passed at least a dozen of them on the way here. The headmaster is calling it a gas leak, and some of the students are beginning to wave guns about. It's a mess. We need to find him — fast!"

"Martha, deep breaths, you need to calm down," the Doctor said, worriedly.

"I can't calm down," Martha said. "This is all my fault. I said I could do this, and he trusted me to take care of him, and now he's been abducted by…by...ghosts! I mean, who gets abducted by ghosts? Who do they think he is, Dickens?" Her eyes fell on the TARDIS's toolkit. "The sonic screwdriver! There's must be some sort of setting on it that can track him down. Where is it?"

"Martha, the sonic screwdriver is a tool, not a bloodhound," the Doctor said. "It can't just track people down, willy-nilly."

"Yes it can, I've seen you do it," Martha insisted. "The Doctor called it setting number...number... oh, whatever setting he uses to track down recombined DNA — and that's what the Doctor has right now, isn't it?"

The Doctor paused. "I think I may have made a few new additions to my screwdriver's parameters between my time and yours," he said. "I'm sorry, Martha, but my screwdriver can't do that."

"Then what can it do?" Martha asked, frustrated.

"Open locks, put up shelves?" the Doctor ventured. "And it can also interfere with and track certain energy emissions, of course, but…oh…I think I have an idea."

"Yes, yes, thank you!" Martha crowed, giving him an impulsive hug. "I knew you'd think of something!"

"Well, if this is the reaction I get every time I have an idea, no wonder I'm fond of you," the Doctor said.

"Come on, let's go!" Martha said tugging at his arm.

He raised a finger "Just one little point," he said.

"What?" Martha asked impatiently

"You do realise you're still in your night robe, don't you?"

Martha gave him a dirty look.

"Straight ahead, third door on the left," he said, with a smile. "And while I wait, I'll see if I can't come up with a better story for our return than and I decided to pop in to see my dear cousin Oscar, at four o'clock in the morning, and bring him back home with me."

"If that was meant to be an impersonation of me, I wouldn't give up the day job," Martha carolled over her shoulder as she ran for the wardrobe.

--+--+--+--

The school was still evacuated when Martha and the Doctor arrived, and Martha squared her shoulders. "Right," she said. "You're Doctor Jones, no relation, and you're a friend of the family–" Martha sighed as she saw Jenkins appear from the throng and head straight for them. "This is never going to work." She said. "This is 1913; English gentlemen are not friendly with the serving staff, especially when that person is black!"

"Ah, but I'm not just any English gentlemen," the Doctor said. "I'm an eccentric English gentlemen, and we get away with all sorts of thing - watch and learn." He cleared his throat. "Why good day, you must be Mister Jenkins, I've heard so much about you! I'm Doctor Jones!"

"What?" Jenkins, staggered to a halt, taken aback by the Doctor's sudden smile.

"And may I say what a lovely school it is!" the Doctor said. "You do keep it in tip top condition don't you?" The Doctor dropped an arm on Jenkins's shoulder, and the old house steward went deathly still, as if it were a cobra. "Martha was telling me all about you, you know. Her family has worked for mine for generations! From back in the old days, in…Jamaica! Yes, yes, that's it, good old Jamaica, with its balmy seas and sugar plantations–"

"And shark infested waters," Martha snapped. She should have known better than to let the Doctor pick the story.

Jenkins, however, seemed mesmerised by the beam of the Doctor's smile. "I see, sir," he said. "And might I ask, what you're doing here, sir?" he added, rallying.

"Well, it's quite simple, you see, I'm staying at the local village and dear Martha, here, came looking for me when she heard that a few of your poor students have been affected by a gas leak- - have I mentioned that I'm a Doctor?"

"Uh...why yes, sir, I do believe you have, sir."

"Good, good, well, that's all settled, then," the Doctor said, patting Jenkins on the shoulder. "Come along, Martha."

Martha trotted past the bewildered Jenkins, before he had a chance to come back to his senses. "One of these days you're going to have to show me how you do that," she said, as they slipped around the side of the school.

"Practice, my dear Martha, all it takes is practice!" The Doctor said as he slipped his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket.

"And let me guess, you've had a lot of practice," Martha said.

The Doctor smiled. "I've always found that a little gall goes a long way," he said. "You should try and convince your Doctor to bring you to Gallifrey, some day — just a short visit, mind you. It's the sort of place that's only palatable in small doses."

Martha hoped her thoughts didn't show on her face. That was one question answered, she supposed. This Doctor lived before the destruction of Gallifrey. "Yes, well," she said brightly. "First we have to rescue him."

"The never ending cycle; wash, rinse and repeat," the Doctor looked at her speculatively "Are you alright, Martha?"

"Who, me? Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Martha said, and then mentally kicked herself. Her sister used to say she had the worst poker face in the world. "So, let's track him down, yeah?" she said hurriedly.

He looked at her for a moment, and Martha knew he was struggling with himself, resisting the urge to ask the question. "Personal timelines," he said eventually.

"Yeah," she admitted.

"I've always found that one of the principal problems of crossing one's own timeline is trying to ignore the auguries," the Doctor said, looking away as he fiddled with the settings on his screwdriver. "It's always something foreboding, haven't you ever noticed? It's either the universe ending, or Arsenal being dropped from the Premier League. It's never anything pleasant like… oh, I don't know, a sunny English summer?"

"Hah, we should be so lucky!" Martha snorted.

The Doctor caught her eye. "But I am, you know," he said. "Lucky, that is. Life is what you make of it."

"Right," Martha said.

"Right," he said, with a small smile. "Let's go and find your Doctor, hmm? This way." Martha eyed the screwdriver in his hand. It was larger than the one her Doctor used and it had a strange, almost ocular type thing at the top. It still made that strange little noise when it glowed, though. The Doctor stopped at small side door and tried the handle. It was locked.

"Where does this lead to?" he asked.

"A few store rooms," Martha said. "And a connecting corridor to the kitchens — oh, and the cellar, of course."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "The cellar, you say?" he asked.

"That's almost too obvious, isn't it?" Martha asked.

"I've always found it best to never underestimate the obviousness of one's opponent," the Doctor said, as he produced a roll of velvet fabric.

"I thought that was, never underestimate the intelligence of your opponent," Martha said dryly.

"That too, although you might be surprised at how rarely I get the opportunity to use that adage," he muttered, as he bent down in front of the lock.

Martha took a double take as he realised what the Doctor was doing. "You're picking the lock! With lock picks! You carry lock picks!"

"Of course I do," he said. "How else would I break into places, though the window?"

"But couldn't you just — you know, sonic it?"

"Martha, have you ever seen a wooden door opened with a sonic screwdriver?" the Doctor asked

Martha thought about it. "No…"

"Well, there's a reason for that," he said, as door lock clicked. "It can't be done." He turned the handle and the door opened. "After you," he said.

"Show off," Martha said, smiling.

"Who, me? I'm the very soul of modesty," he said.

"Doctor, I don't think that phrase means what you think it does."

"Yes, I've always suspected that," he said, as he closed the door behind them. "Wait a minute, I think I may have a candle in my pockets here, somewhere." Martha flinched as a match suddenly flashed alight, and she watched the Doctor not only produce a candle from his pocket, but a candle holder too. "There, that's better," he said.

"All the better to see the ghosts with," Martha joked.

"Ah, now there is a conundrum," he said. "How many N-Bodies have you noticed since we've arrived at the school?"

Martha frowned. "None, I think," she said.

"And yet the entire school is still evacuated," the Doctor pointed out.

"Maybe the headmaster just wants to be sure they're totally gone before letting the students inside again?" Martha suggested.

"No, I think there's more to it than that," the Doctor said. "I think the N-Bodies are somehow actively discouraging them from re-entering the school. And yet, as you've said, the N-Bodies seem to have dispersed…" the Doctor frowned. "Martha, I have the funny feeling that we're not in full possession of the facts yet."

"Welcome to my world," Martha said. "The cellar's this way."

"Wait," the Doctor said, putting a restraining hand on her arm as he adjusted the settings on the sonic screwdriver. "Martha, I think the situation might be a bit more dangerous than I originally envisaged."

"And this would be news?" Martha asked rhetorically.

"Well, alright, when I say a bit more, I really mean a lot more. I think you should stay here and–"

"Wait a minute," Martha interrupted. "Are you saying that I can't go with you, because my life might be in danger?"

The Doctor looked solemn. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"But won't your life be in danger, too?"

"Well, yes, but I'm prepared for that and– ouch! What was that for?" the Doctor asked, a wounded expression on his face as he rubbed the back of his head.

"It's bad enough that I've had to put up with five weeks of misogyny from the denizens of this school, the last thing I need is you jumping onto the bandwagon and forgetting about the suffragette movement," Martha snapped.

"What? But that has nothing to do with it! I'm only worried because you're hu–" the Doctor broke off, as he eyed Martha's suddenly raised hand. "Ah, both of us together, then?" he ventured.

"That's more like it," Martha said. "Now, as I was saying, the cellar is this way."

--+--+--+--

It didn't take Martha and the Doctor long to find out where all the N-Bodies had disappeared to. They crowded the steps that led down into the cellar, packed together like sardines.

"Just ignore them," the Doctor said, as he held her hand. "Remember, they have no physical form, just walk right through them."

Martha nodded silently and let the Doctor lead her down the steps; the entities moaned, some of them crying. One of them looked barely five years old. "Doctor, are they really ghosts?" Martha asked, troubled. "Are they lost spirits?"

"Lost?" the Doctor said. "That might not be the right word for it. Let's just call them residents of another plane of existence."

"It doesn't sound like it's a very happy place," Martha observed.

"I don't think it's as simple as that," the Doctor said. "A lot of their unhappiness is due to their presence here… I think."

"So, this N-Space is a happy place?" Martha asked.

The Doctor shrugged uncomfortably. "To be honest, I've never given it much thought," he admitted. "But I can tell you this. Their understanding of the universe is very different to ours. Happy, sad, I'm not sure those words have any meaning for them."

"I don't find that thought very reassuring," Martha said.

"No, I don't suppose you would," the Doctor said softly. "Neither do I, to tell the truth."

"Can you see him, yet?" Martha asked.

"No, I don't… ah."

Martha stood on her toes. "What? What do you see?"

"Danger and derring-do," he said lightly. "Tell me, have I mentioned the chronon levels yet?"

"The what?"

"And I suppose that answers that question," he said. "Well, you see, a chronon is a quantum unit of time, approximately two by ten to the power of minus twenty three seconds and–"

"Uh, Doctor, danger and derring-do, remember? Cliff notes version, please."

He looked at her, puzzled. "But that was the cliff notes version," he protested.

"Well, stick to the Oxford dictionary," Martha said, impatiently.

"Concise or abridged?"

"Doctor!"

"Well, I'm only asking because the concise version doesn't actually have a definition–"

"Abridged, then."

"Ah..."

"That doesn't have a definition either, does it?"

"No, I'm afraid not - tell you what, why don't I just tell you I'll explain later, and we'll skip onto the next part?"

"Which is?"

"The part where I tell you to look behind you."

Slowly, Martha turned. A large metallic orb, at least a meter across, had risen out of the N-Bodies, and hung suspended in mid air. Its shell had a shadowed, oily sheen, the only relief in its casing was what seemed to be a digital counter recessed into the bottom half of its casing. A low thrum emanated from it, setting Martha's teeth on edge.

"Okay, that is not what I was expecting," Martha said hoarsely. "What is that thing?"

"Some sort of artificial intelligence, I think," the Doctor whispered back. "Positronic brain, fission energy source; quite sophisticated, despite the retro look to its casing. Early fifty first century, I'd say."

"But what is it doing here?" Martha asked. "Because, last time I looked, we were about three millennia shy of that century - ah, let me guess, this is where the chronon levels come in, isn't it?"

"Time travel," the Doctor said. "It actually makes sense, if you think about it. It would've had to have some knowledge of the vortex in order to manipulate the TARDIS's flight path. Ingenious little thing, isn't it?"

Martha eyed him. "You're about to call it brilliant, aren't you?"

"Actually, that particular descriptive term hadn't occurred to me, but now that you mention it-"

But something else had caught Martha's attention. "Look!" she said excitedly. "It's the Doctor - my Doctor! And, oh my God, what is that metal tubing thing sticking out of his head?"

Beside her, the other Doctor snorted. "Classic mind probe, standard procedure for this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Martha asked sharply.

The Doctor leaned in and whispered. "Well, don't quote me on this, but I think it may be searching for its creator."

"What?"

"Yes, I know, it's a bit of a cliché, but I usually find that these matters boil down to one of two things — world domination or…"

"Or?" Martha prompted.

"Or where is my mummy?"

Martha stared at him. "You're cracked in the head, you do know that?" she said.

"You don't believe me?" he asked. "I'll wager a fiver I'm right."

"Let me get this straight," Martha said. "Not only is your future self being held hostage by the HAL from hell, but he also has a great, big, ruddy metal rod thing sticking out of his head... and you want to lay bets on the robot's motives?"

"What? Too strange?" he asked. "I do tend to forget the little niceties, sometimes. Which reminds me, stop me if I try to kiss you–"

"What?"

"DOWN!"

Martha didn't need to be told twice. She flung herself down the last of the steps as a bright light flashed through the cellar. The N-Bodies dissipated, like a morning mist under a hot rising sun, and Martha rolled onto her back and spotted the Doctor waving the sonic screwdriver at the robot, which was now making a low sound of distress.

"We wish to be free!" the robot cried.

"Ah, but free to do what?" the Doctor demanded. "To turn more humans into mind slaves? I think not!"

"It was necessary! We need to be free!"

"And who exactly are we, eh?" the Doctor asked. "The local chapter of the Circuits of Columbanus? A member of an interstellar planar breach alliance, perhaps? Or maybe you're some sort of futuristic Avon lady, come to tell me about a new line in temporal anomalies? Because I have to tell you, futuristic mind probes are not a good look for me."

Martha rolled her eyes but looked around the room. She had figured out, somewhere between the concise and abridged version, that the Doctor had been deliberately acting the fool, probably because the robot thing had been listening intently to every word they'd said - but something told her that, hidden within the nonsense, was a kernel of truth; something that the Doctor wanted her to see.

Another bright flash, and the screwdriver squealed, and the Doctor - her Doctor — fell to his knees, crying out. Martha staggered to his side. "Doctor — I mean, Mister Smith, are you okay?" The Doctor opened his eyes, and Martha flinched as she saw the black orbs staring back. The darkness spread, until the top half of his face was completely covered in shadow.

"Is it time, yet?" he said. "Are we gone?" A trickle of blood fell from his nose as the robot moved to hover above them. Martha felt a moment of pure panic.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!" she cried out to the robot, as she cradled the Doctor's head. She felt around the metal tubing. It seemed to have melded itself to the Doctor's crown.

"I have no choice," the robot said. "It is necessary. We need to be free! Turn off the interference screen your device is making and I shall endeavour to make the process painless."

"But he'll never survive the process, pain free or not!" the Doctor cried out. "He's human, his physiology can't handle it!"

"I have no choice. We need to be free!" the robot said.

"Is it time yet?" Martha's Doctor said, as if in answer. The shadow was now spreading to the lower part of his face, and some instinct told her that he didn't have long to live.

"Take me instead!" the Doctor said.

"Are you crazy?" Martha snapped, her head whipping around.

"Well, short of this A.I. suddenly coming to its senses and popping back to where it belongs, I don't see how we have much choice!"

Martha did a double take, why did she get the feeling the Doctor was trying to tell her something important? She looked up at the robot hovering above her, and her eyes fell onto the counter built into his casing. two by ten to the power of minus twenty three seconds. "I see what you mean, Doctor," she said carefully.

"It is academic, the process has begun. No choice,"the robot said.

"No choice, my Aunt Flavia," the Doctor said, as he adjusted the setting on the screwdriver. "Can't you see what you're doing is wrong? You're a fifty first century A.I., for Rassilon's sake, your existence is all about choice."

The robot shuddered. "No choice. No choice. Right. Wrong. No choice. WE MUST BE FREE."

Carefully, Martha let go of the Doctor in her arms, letting him slide slowly to the floor as she straightened. She eyed the robot's counter. Did it really matter what numbers she punched into it, as long as it sent the robot anywhere but here? Behind her, the Doctor kept talking, keeping the A.I.'s attention.

"There is always a choice," the Doctor insisted, as Martha reached up. "That's what makes life interesting."

The robot groaned. "You do not understand," it said. "My Creator. My...my...I...I have no choice."

Martha could see the keypad. They looked like standard earth numerals, but with the TARDIS nearby, who knew?

"What?" Martha heard the Doctor say, as she stabbed at the keyboard haphazardly."Are you saying what I think you're saying? Martha, stop!"

Martha froze. "Too late," she said. "Have I done something wrong?"

"The Creator. The Master. No choooooiiccceeee...

A blue white light drenched the room, and the robot seemed to shrink in on himself, before disappearing with an electric fizzle.

"Oh dear," the Doctor said.

"What? What did I do wrong?" Martha asked.

"Nothing, you did nothing wrong, Martha," he said. "It was I who was the fool."

Martha looked down at the Doctor at her feet. The metal tubing in his head shrank and evaporated in front of her eyes.

"A bit like those little stitches that melt way," the other Doctor said quietly. "He'll wake up with a clanger of a headache, but he'll be okay."

"Something awful just happened, didn't it?" Martha asked softly. "I did something awful."

"No, Martha, I meant what I said. You did nothing wrong," the Doctor said. "Neither did I, for that matter. We did what we had to do. The person responsible for this is long dead, and deserves to stay there, as far as I'm concerned. I just feel sorry for the A.I."

Martha blanched at the harshness in the Doctor's voice. "He kept repeating it," she said, figuring it out. "That he had no choice - he meant it literally, didn't he?"

"Free will," the Doctor said. "We take it so much for granted, sometimes." he sighed. "Come on, I'll help you get him to his rooms."

--+--+--+--

The Doctor was waiting for her, when she arrived at the TARDIS the next morning. There were two warmed cups on the silver service tray.

"They let you go," the Doctor said, eyeing the satchel by her side.

"Oh no, they didn't just let me go, they fired me - without pay," Martha said tartly. "And, apparently, I should consider myself lucky that they didn't call out the local constabulary. They've somehow decided that last night was all my fault. Something to do with my Voodoo heritage, it seems.

The Doctor's eyebrows rose. "Your Voodoo what?"

"That was pretty much what I said," Martha said. "And when I asked him what exactly he'd been smoking last night, he told me to it was useless to deny it, because Jenkins had told him all about my upbringing on the sugar plantations of Jamaica, and how my Master also happened to be my cousin... it went downhill from there."

"A bit too fond of Jane Eyre, obviously," the Doctor said. "Charlotte has a lot to answer for, in that regard, and the Vodoun religion is much maligned–""

Martha lifted a hand. "Don't."

The Doctor sank back into his chair and, for a moment, the only sound in the TARDIS was the hum of her engine and the tinkle of a spoon. "I am sorry, Martha," he said eventually. "This makes things difficult for you, doesn't it?"

"I'm going to try and get a job at the local pub, but without references it's going to be hard, yeah," Martha sighed. "The Doctor isn't talking to me, either. He says he doesn't remember last night, but you should have seen the look he gave me this morning."

"It sounds like a problematic situation," the Doctor said quietly. "And I can't just leave you here like this."

"And I can't go with you," Martha said, before he could offer.

"He's not a child."

"He's not himself, either," Martha countered. "And he may as well be a child, if the Family of Blood find him in this condition."

"The Doctor looked down and studied his hands. "I can make it all go away," he said eventually. "Change it."

"I didn't think that was possible," Martha said.

"Oh, it's possible, at least for the next few hours. The A.I. came from the future, remember? This wasn't supposed to be the present timeline, and it won't be set for another few hours. I can give it a little nudge, push it back into its original groove, and time will heal around it again. It can be done."

Martha looked at the pensive expression on his face "I won't remember this, will I?" she asked softly. "I won't remember you."

He nodded. "This will be good bye."

"No, it won't be," Martha protested. "This is just good bye until the next time."

"It won't be the same," he said. "I can see it in your eyes. I can even see it in his; human as they are, at the moment. How ironic, a Time Lord with a bad sense of timing. Sorry about that."

Martha wasn't sure who he was apologising for, him or his future self. It didn't really matter, she supposed. "So, do I have to do something in particular?," she asked, to break the silence. "You know, click my heels, count to ten?"

"Find your tin man?" He smiled and leaned forward. "I'm going to miss you too, Martha Jones," he said, before he kissed her.

--+--+--+--

And then, as if from a quiet dream, Martha woke up.

--FINIS--