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'What?' Fitz began. 'I mean, how...?'

The Doctor shook his head, despairingly. "There's a leech in her now, clumsily activated by a machine that didn't really know what it was doing. I can only assume her mind wasn't ready for the assault.'

'What about that business downstairs?' He looked down at the floor. 'You know, my mum and the others.'

'I doubt that helped: He looked at her again, touched her hand. 'It could be that more energy was exchanged between them than the leech could handle.'

'Will this happen to my mum?' wondered Fitz.

'That, or something like that,' the Doctor said, quite casually. 'Her mind -

along with the leech she's carrying - has become part of a circuit, connected to Watson and the others, amplifying their psychoses and releasing some pretty formidable powers.'

'The scary stuff, in other words,' said Fitz, glumly.

The Doctor held Fitz's arm for a moment. 'I'm afraid your mother is a very sick woman,' he said, before busying himself disconnecting Sam from his lash-up.

'Sick...?'

'Certainly, certainly,' the Doctor answered.

Fitz realised the Doctor was only half listening, frantically freeing wires and cables, feeling for Sam's pulse every few seconds. But even talking at all was better than standing here in this brooding silence. He looked at Roley, still lying dishevelled on the floor, and shuddered. The thought that his mum could be capable of something like that...

'Bulwell reckons it's all down to Mum marrying a German,' he said, quietly, shaking his head. 'Bad blood...'

'Rubbish,' the Doctor answered, vaguely. Then suddenly he stopped what he was doing. 'What did you say?'

'Bad blood?'

'Of course!' The Doctor's voice was full of anxious excitement. 'You may have a leech in you, passed on from your mother!'

Fitz felt sick. 'Jesus!' he whispered. 'I never...'

'Let me see. Come on, quick!' The Doctor was already beside him, pulling at his collar, trying to feel for the telltale lump that would give the thing away.

'Steady!' said Fitz, unbuttoning his shirt so he wasn't choked to death.

'It's there,' said the Doctor. 'It's in you, too.' The Doctor had scooped up a scalpel from the bench. 'Well, we've got to get it out of you, haven't we?'

Fitz felt even sicker. 'What, without an anaesthetic? You can't just -'

'We've got to get it out now ', insisted the Doctor.

'You think it could start up? That I'll go mental?'

'Possibly.' The Doctor was suddenly snifty. 'I need it. It could help me generate a cure for Sam.'

Fitz nodded to himself, remembering Maria's words. It's always his agenda he's bothered with, he thought.

He held the Doctor's wrist, halting the movement of the scalpel. The Doctor looked at him in surprise.

And never mind the rest of us.

'One thing at a time, Doctor, remember?' said Fitz. 'Slow down.'

The Doctor looked a little sheepish for a moment, then rushed over to a crate in the corner of the room, and began rifling through its contents. 'Here we are. Tranquilliser pad. You won't feel a thing.' The Doctor rummaged some more. 'And look!' He brandished a slim, black knife. 'Intelligent blade. Helps the cut flesh knit back together. You won't even scar.' The Doctor gave him a hopeful smile, like a child seeking permission to open his birthday presents early.

Fitz pulled his shirt down around his arms. 'Just get on with it,' he said.

***

Maria could feel pins and needles in her legs, and had never been more grateful for such discomfort. She managed to get on her knees, then, leaning heavily on the back of a chair, she managed to sit down, massaging her thighs and calves.

She glanced over at the scum that had done this to her, and a low moan escaped her lips.

She'd seen Watson and Lucy as they collapsed, some feet apart. Now, apparently still sleeping deeply, they were holding hands.

Furiously, she began rubbing her legs again, concentrating on getting the wretched things working again. She had to get out of