Martha Jones woke up before Des did, of this, she's proud. Although, she hardly remembers falling asleep sitting on the floor, head on his arm in the first place. Her neck protested at the awkward position it'd been forced into for a few hours, but it didn't take her very long to ignore the pain, get a shower taken, a change of clothes, down a
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"Martha! You're alive! I was starting to worry about you, you know - you've been gone for ages!"
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"Yeah, I know. Sorry. Kept getting sidetracked on my way back." She pulls away enough to look him over, but her arms are still around his waist. "What about you, though? Glad to see you're in one piece. I was worried. Without me to keep an eye on you, God knows what sort of trouble you'd get yourself into."
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Yes, the time on his self-imposed deadline is drawing near, but he's still counting on that last-minute epiphany. It usually comes through for him. He's saved entire planets with twenty minutes to spare, sometimes less.
"You could have called," he says accusingly, and then stops himself. "Oh, no. I sound like someone's mother, don't I? Ah... Pretend I didn't say that."
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She raises her eyebrows at the accusing, motherly phrase.
"I'll try to remember next time. Just ignore the fallen buildings and leave people to fend for themselves while I call you." But she smiles, cause she probably will call next time.
Well, if she gets a second and there isn't anything that needs her attention.
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She stops by the medical room and pokes her head in to see Martha working on getting things cleaned up and asks, tentatively, "Do you need help, Dr. Jones?"
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"I hope this place wasn't too much trouble while I was away. No serious injuries or anything?" Her tone is laced with worry, but it's difficult to hear.
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He hadn't seen Ricky in a while, partially because he too had been holed up in his room.
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"Hey." He raises his eyebrows at the bandages. "What happened to your hand?"
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