(Untitled)

[246th]

Growing up in Bolton and then in Manchester, moving to London to practise and only ever snatching the time for city-breaks meant that Martha had never spent a lot of time by the sea. These days, she spends a lot of time on the beach, sitting in the shade of one of the palm trees, or bobbing in the warm water. She doesn't really sunbathe - she's

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[thatwasanorder]

There's a part of Russell that's tempted to just wait and see how things play out. (Up until she'd been bowled over, she'd looked practically picturesque.) But, even with how ridiculously content with everything the inhabitants of the island seems to be, he's pretty sure such inaction would be taken as callous.

- He doesn't end up taking much action, but he does call out: "Need a hand?"

[246th]

"Yes," says Martha, after a moment's hesitation where she wonders whether it would be possible to just...pretend that nothing's happened. "Please. I'm not sure I can actually get my bloody feet underneath me."

[thatwasanorder]

With a slight hint of amusement (he can't really help it): "Fair enough." Russell wades out into the water with little hesitation, water creeping up his ankles and then his legs, holding out his hands once he's within Martha's reach.

[246th]

She reaches out and takes his hand, somehow managing to lever herself to her feet.

"I'm sure I remember being less unwieldy," she says, by way of apology.

[thatwasanorder]

"It won't last forever," Russell replies easily, with a slight shake of his head. (Nothing does, he thinks, but that's an unnecessarily morbid thought that he can probably save for another conversation.)

"Know if the baby's going to be a boy or a girl?"

[246th]

"So I'm led to believe," says Martha, plucking at the dress that's soaked against her bump. She tilts her head, stroking her hand against her bump for a second.

"I don't know, but I...think it's a boy? I feel like it is."

[thatwasanorder]

"Isn't there some sort of saying about a mother's intuition?" Russell asks idly, the question more rhetorical than anything else.

"At any rate, I suppose I ought to offer my congratulations." A beat, and then, a little more carefully: "And the father?"

[246th]

"Probably," says Martha, who knows nothing about any of that. She raises an eyebrow at the question and her mouth makes a tight moue.

"London, I imagine. Probably in court."

[thatwasanorder]

"Should I be offering condolences or congratulations?" He knows full well that the answer might be neither, but it's a question he asks anyway. Though possessed of tact when necessary, he's been a little more on the blunt side, lately. (They haven't even exchanged names yet, after all. It can wait.)

[246th]

"I'm pleased that he's coming," says Martha, tone clipped, chin tilting - let him try and imply that she doesn't love this baby already. Her head tilts to the side, studying him for a long moment, getting a measure.

"I've haven't had a lot of unplanned things in my life," she says. "It's refreshing."