Play
Who_Daily Link: < a href="http://persiflage-1.livejournal.com/147487.html">Play by < lj user=persiflage_1> (Characters: Martha/Nine | Rating: NC-17 | Spoilers: 1.03)
Title: Play
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Nine
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: The Unquiet Dead
Summary: Martha is invited to an evening at the theatre.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Author Notes: This is the fourth story in my unplanned Martha/Nine fic series. The previous fics are Patient, Fish and Chips and To The South and West.
~~~~~~
It was a couple of days before Martha saw John Smith again; she had been even busier than usual as she had started revising for her exams as well as continuing her duties at the hospital, and while she'd noticed his absence, she hadn't really focused on it.
"Don't look now, but I think you've got an admirer," said Martha's friend, Julia, as they left the hospital together when their shift ended.
Martha looked up and saw John watching her from across the road; he was leaning against a wall and smiling broadly.
"How do you know it's me he's admiring?" she asked curiously.
Julia snorted. "Because he looked straight through me like I didn't exist when I saw him, then grinned when he spotted you."
"Oh." Martha wondered if she was blushing, it certainly felt like it, given the heat in her face.
"He's a bit of alright, isn't he?" Julia continued, oblivious to her friend's discomfort. "Looks a bit of a bad boy in that leather jacket, a bit rough and ready." She nudged Martha's arm. "Is he?"
Martha shot her a warning look. "Leave it, Julia."
Her friend giggled, unabashed. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then. See you tomorrow." She set off down the street and Martha shook her head with a scowl, then crossed the road to join John.
"Alright then?" he asked cheerily as soon as she reached the pavement.
"Hello John." Before she could decide whether or not to kiss him, he'd wrapped an arm around her and was kissing her in such a way as to leave her breathless and tingling.
"John!" she half-protested, laughing, once she'd caught her breath again.
"What?" he asked, adopting an innocent air.
"Anyone could be watching."
"Not ashamed of me, are you?" he asked, surprised.
"No, of course not. It's just that if anyone recognised you from the other night, there could be awkward questions."
"Tch, let 'em talk. I ain't your patient now, so it ain't unethical." They set off in the direction of Martha's flat. "What you got planned for tonight?"
"Just some more revision for my exams," Martha answered.
"What, on a Friday night?" he asked disbelievingly.
She shrugged. "Examiners don't care about our social lives."
"When are the exams?"
"They start four weeks on Monday."
He snorted. "Then you can spare one evening to have a bit of fun."
"What did you have in mind?" asked Martha curiously. She still didn't know very much about John Smith, and she wondered what he liked to do for fun.
"We're going to the theatre," he said, surprising her.
"What are we going to see?"
"It's a musical play called 'The Big Life', about some of the men who came over on the Empire Windrush, but the storyline's based on 'Love's Labour's Lost'."
"Sounds intriguing. Are you a Shakespeare fan?"
"Not this time," he answered.
"What do you mean, 'Not this time'?" asked Martha, puzzled.
"You got a pretty dress to wear?" he asked, apparently not hearing her question. "I ask 'cos I've only ever seen you in jeans or your birthday suit."
"John!" she exclaimed, sounding scandalised.
He grinned wickedly at her.
"I've got a couple of dresses," she admitted.
"Good." He waited for her to let them into the terraced house where she had her flat, then followed her upstairs.
"What time does the play start?" she asked, unlocking her front door.
"Half seven."
Martha looked at the clock in her sitting room: it was only four thirty, which meant she had plenty of time to shower, change and get something to eat. She dropped her shoulder bag on the floor by the sofa.
"I'm going to have a shower first," she said.
"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, looking delighted.
She lifted an eyebrow at him, wondering why he was so pleased, while he shrugged out of his jacket.
"What?" he asked, noticing her quizzical expression.
"I was just wondering why you were so pleased at the prospect of me taking a shower?"
He stepped closer, sliding her jacket off her shoulders. "Because I'm going to join you, silly." He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly, and she felt desire filling her body. "Never shared a bath or shower with someone before?" he asked.
Martha shook her head, wondering why their kisses never seemed to leave him as breathless as they left her.
"Well you've been missing out then." He dropped her jacket on top of his, then knelt down to take off her boots and socks. Then he unfastened her jeans and slid them down her legs, and Martha lifted her feet out of them automatically.
He grasped her hips, burying his face between her thighs, and she let out a low moan when he dragged his tongue up the length of her sex, pressing the material of her knickers tight against her skin so that the friction intensified her arousal.
He got to his feet, grinning in that wicked way he had, then lifted Martha's t-shirt up and over her head, before applying his mouth to her breasts, sucking on each nipple in turn until they were hard beneath the cotton of her bra, and she was clutching his shoulders to stop herself from collapsing.
He bent and pulled off his boots and socks, then straightened up and pulled off his jumper, black today rather than the dark red one she'd seen him wearing before.
"Ready?" he asked, still grinning madly.
"Yeah," she answered, feeling both excited and aroused.
"Good."
He surprised her by grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her over his right shoulder, legs dangling against his chest.
Martha couldn't help yelping in astonishment, but before she could properly protest, he'd carried her into the bathroom and set her back down on her feet.
"You rotten devil!" she exclaimed, once she was on terra firma. "I ought to punish you for that."
He paused in the act of sliding down her knickers to look up at her, a queer gleam in his eyes.
"How would you punish me?" he asked, his voice huskier than usual.
Martha shrugged, not having considered the matter yet. "I don't know, spank you maybe?" she suggested; she noticed he grinned at her response and filed that away for future consideration.
He finished removing her knickers, then took off her bra, before he dropped his trousers, revealing that he was already half hard.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing at the shower.
Martha pulled open the door of the shower cubicle, then stepped in and he followed closing the door behind them. She turned on the shower, while he reached around her to take the bottle of shower gel from the shelf below the water controls; he poured some into his hand, then reached around her again to start lathering it onto her body as he stood behind her.
Martha couldn't help moaning softly as his hands found her breasts and she wriggled against him, her bottom rubbing against his rapidly growing erection.
"Spread your legs," he said, his voice husky in her ear.
She did as he said and gasped a little when he pushed inside her from behind.
"Okay?" he asked once he was fully sheathed.
"Yeah." She was breathless with desire now; he seemed to have entered her more deeply in this position, and she knew she was already on the brink of an orgasm.
Martha had quickly discovered that sex with John Smith was better than she'd had with any of the few other men she'd been with; he made her come more often and much quicker, and he seemed to care more about her pleasure than his own. He also appeared to enjoy introducing her to new positions that she'd never thought of trying before, such as having sex in the shower.
Now he pulled her closer as the water poured over them both and thrust steadily, one hand reaching up to tease her nipples, while the other snaked down over her belly to tease her clit. Martha moaned and pressed her hands flat against the tiles in front of her, knowing she wasn't going to last very long at this rate.
"Martha Jones, my dark beauty, come for me, I want you to come for me," he murmured in her ear between nips at her earlobe and kisses to the side of her neck.
She cried out as her orgasm swept through her, leaving her with trembling legs and feeling a little light-headed.
"Good girl." He pulled out, stepping back, and Martha couldn't help whimpering a little at the sensation of emptiness.
"Shh, it's okay." He turned her around gently, reaching up to turn off the shower for the moment. "I didn't put on a condom," he told her, guiding her hand to his aching cock.
"That's a shame," she murmured, beginning to slide her hand up and down his length.
"Yeah, it is." He agreed, then gasped an "Oh" as she flicked her thumb over his tip; he wrapped his arms around her so that her breasts were pressed firmly against his chest, and slid his right hand down over her bottom, pushing a finger inside her.
"Think you can make me come before I make you come?" he asked, grinning again.
She grinned up at him. "Yeah." She knew it would take some concentration on her part not to succumb to the sensations he was producing, but she was determined to succeed.
His grin widened, and he dipped his head to kiss her hungrily, his tongue stroking firmly against hers as her hand moved quicker on him, and his fingers pushed deeper. He felt himself tightening up and fought to make Martha come first, but he was too slow; his cock twitched and pulsed as he emptied himself over her hand, and then her internal muscles were clenching tight around his fingers as she followed him over the edge.
* * * * * *
After they'd finished showering properly, they went to get something to eat.
"What do you fancy?" asked Martha, opening the fridge to see what she had.
"You," he answered, his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.
She laughed softly. "I was talking about food."
"Yeah but you're definitely good enough to eat," he teased, nuzzling her neck.
"Have you got some kind of neck fetish?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Mmm maybe."
Martha felt herself growing aroused again and wondered if they were actually going to manage to leave the house this evening.
"John." She turned in his arms, distracting him. "We need to eat if we're going out to see this play."
He sighed heavily. "Yeah, alright."
She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "We don't have to go, if you'd rather not. It was your idea, so it's your decision."
"Nah, we'll go." He slid his hands inside her bathrobe and cupped her buttocks, pressing her body closer against his as he bent his head to kiss her at length.
Martha couldn't help wondering if deciding to put off dressing until after they'd eaten was such a good idea, even as she appreciated the sensation of his body pressed against hers.
"Okay, you keep that up and I can't be responsible for what happens next," she told him once he allowed her to catch her breath again.
"That's okay," he told her, "I'm good at taking responsibility."
"Nevertheless, I think there shouldn't be any more kissing until we've eaten."
He pouted at her in an exaggerated fashion, then crossed his arms over his chest, which just set Martha off giggling. She resolutely turned her back on him and opened the fridge door again, taking out chicken breasts and vegetables.
"You do eat chicken, I presume?" she asked as she opened a cupboard and took out a frying pan.
"Yeah. Eat most things, me."
"Good."
"You making stir fry?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. "That okay?" He nodded. "There's some white wine in the fridge, if you want some to go with it?"
He opened the fridge again and took out the wine, while Martha pulled open a drawer and took out some knives to cut up the chicken and chop the vegetables.
"Got any noodles?" he asked after he'd opened the wine and left it to breathe.
"That cupboard," Martha answered, pointing with her knife before going back to cutting the chicken into strips.
If you'd asked her, she wouldn't have guessed John was the sort to cook: he had struck her as a strictly take away only man, unless someone else was doing the cooking. She wasn't to know that he really wasn't the domestic sort, and that he was only helping her now because he wanted to be near her: she intoxicated his senses until he wanted to lose himself in her. He knew that it was dangerous, and that he could, and mostly likely would, hurt her (not that he wanted to hurt her, but he knew what his life was like), yet he couldn't seem to help himself. She made him forget about the guilt he felt and the burdens he carried; he could have lost himself in Rose and he might have done that, if he hadn't met Martha before he'd had a chance to get to know Rose properly.
* * * * * *
"Are you interested in history?"
Martha looked up from her plate, surprised by John's question given they'd been talking about food for the last few minutes. "A little," she answered. "Why?"
"Just wonderin'. If you could meet anyone from history, who would you choose?"
"Haven't really thought about it. After all, it's not going to happen."
"But say you could," he persisted, "who would you choose to meet?"
She drank some wine, looking thoughtful. "Florence Nightingale? Louis Pasteur?" she suggested, "you know, someone who was responsible for something significant in medical history."
He looked, she thought, slightly disappointed by this response. "Not someone like Charles Dickens?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno. Dickens is alright, I suppose. I quite like A Christmas Carol, but a lot of his stories are pretty depressing."
The look he gave her at this remark was a combination of shock and disappointment, and she immediately felt guilty.
"I take it you’re a Dickens fan?"
"Yeah, you could say that." He went back to his food, and Martha wondered why she minded that he was disappointed with her answer, even though she couldn't help thinking that wanting to meet medical heroes was a predictable desire for someone in her shoes.
They finished eating and Martha washed up, then went to get dressed; John had already swapped the towel he'd been wearing for his jeans and jumper, and he watched as she pulled a purple dress and a pair of lighter purple shoes from her wardrobe.
"Would you mind fetching my bag from the sitting room?" she asked. "My hairbrush is in there."
He went to get it and she quickly put on some underwear and her dress, then sat down to put on some make-up.
"Are you wearing your hair up or down?" he asked as he set the bag down beside her.
"Down, I think."
"With this?" he asked, lifting a netting hair band out the open box of hair accessories on the corner of her dressing table.
"If you like."
"I do. I think you'll look gorgeous," he told her.
"Thanks."
Fifteen minutes later, they were in a taxi and on their way to the theatre, and Martha couldn't help thinking about how much her life had changed in the space of a week, just by meeting John.
Wonder what mum would think of him? she thought, then decided she wasn't going to rush into introducing him to her mother just yet: Francine Jones had a habit of disapproving of any man who was interested in her daughters, purely on principle. It's too soon. I'll wait and see where this is going first. She'd be immersed in exams and revision soon, and he might well lose interest in her once she was giving all her attention to her studies. For now, though, she was just going to enjoy having him around.
Title: Play
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Martha/Nine
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: The Unquiet Dead
Summary: Martha is invited to an evening at the theatre.
Disclaimer: I don't even own my brain any more, never mind Doctor Who!
Author Notes: This is the fourth story in my unplanned Martha/Nine fic series. The previous fics are Patient, Fish and Chips and To The South and West.
~~~~~~
It was a couple of days before Martha saw John Smith again; she had been even busier than usual as she had started revising for her exams as well as continuing her duties at the hospital, and while she'd noticed his absence, she hadn't really focused on it.
"Don't look now, but I think you've got an admirer," said Martha's friend, Julia, as they left the hospital together when their shift ended.
Martha looked up and saw John watching her from across the road; he was leaning against a wall and smiling broadly.
"How do you know it's me he's admiring?" she asked curiously.
Julia snorted. "Because he looked straight through me like I didn't exist when I saw him, then grinned when he spotted you."
"Oh." Martha wondered if she was blushing, it certainly felt like it, given the heat in her face.
"He's a bit of alright, isn't he?" Julia continued, oblivious to her friend's discomfort. "Looks a bit of a bad boy in that leather jacket, a bit rough and ready." She nudged Martha's arm. "Is he?"
Martha shot her a warning look. "Leave it, Julia."
Her friend giggled, unabashed. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then. See you tomorrow." She set off down the street and Martha shook her head with a scowl, then crossed the road to join John.
"Alright then?" he asked cheerily as soon as she reached the pavement.
"Hello John." Before she could decide whether or not to kiss him, he'd wrapped an arm around her and was kissing her in such a way as to leave her breathless and tingling.
"John!" she half-protested, laughing, once she'd caught her breath again.
"What?" he asked, adopting an innocent air.
"Anyone could be watching."
"Not ashamed of me, are you?" he asked, surprised.
"No, of course not. It's just that if anyone recognised you from the other night, there could be awkward questions."
"Tch, let 'em talk. I ain't your patient now, so it ain't unethical." They set off in the direction of Martha's flat. "What you got planned for tonight?"
"Just some more revision for my exams," Martha answered.
"What, on a Friday night?" he asked disbelievingly.
She shrugged. "Examiners don't care about our social lives."
"When are the exams?"
"They start four weeks on Monday."
He snorted. "Then you can spare one evening to have a bit of fun."
"What did you have in mind?" asked Martha curiously. She still didn't know very much about John Smith, and she wondered what he liked to do for fun.
"We're going to the theatre," he said, surprising her.
"What are we going to see?"
"It's a musical play called 'The Big Life', about some of the men who came over on the Empire Windrush, but the storyline's based on 'Love's Labour's Lost'."
"Sounds intriguing. Are you a Shakespeare fan?"
"Not this time," he answered.
"What do you mean, 'Not this time'?" asked Martha, puzzled.
"You got a pretty dress to wear?" he asked, apparently not hearing her question. "I ask 'cos I've only ever seen you in jeans or your birthday suit."
"John!" she exclaimed, sounding scandalised.
He grinned wickedly at her.
"I've got a couple of dresses," she admitted.
"Good." He waited for her to let them into the terraced house where she had her flat, then followed her upstairs.
"What time does the play start?" she asked, unlocking her front door.
"Half seven."
Martha looked at the clock in her sitting room: it was only four thirty, which meant she had plenty of time to shower, change and get something to eat. She dropped her shoulder bag on the floor by the sofa.
"I'm going to have a shower first," she said.
"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, looking delighted.
She lifted an eyebrow at him, wondering why he was so pleased, while he shrugged out of his jacket.
"What?" he asked, noticing her quizzical expression.
"I was just wondering why you were so pleased at the prospect of me taking a shower?"
He stepped closer, sliding her jacket off her shoulders. "Because I'm going to join you, silly." He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly, and she felt desire filling her body. "Never shared a bath or shower with someone before?" he asked.
Martha shook her head, wondering why their kisses never seemed to leave him as breathless as they left her.
"Well you've been missing out then." He dropped her jacket on top of his, then knelt down to take off her boots and socks. Then he unfastened her jeans and slid them down her legs, and Martha lifted her feet out of them automatically.
He grasped her hips, burying his face between her thighs, and she let out a low moan when he dragged his tongue up the length of her sex, pressing the material of her knickers tight against her skin so that the friction intensified her arousal.
He got to his feet, grinning in that wicked way he had, then lifted Martha's t-shirt up and over her head, before applying his mouth to her breasts, sucking on each nipple in turn until they were hard beneath the cotton of her bra, and she was clutching his shoulders to stop herself from collapsing.
He bent and pulled off his boots and socks, then straightened up and pulled off his jumper, black today rather than the dark red one she'd seen him wearing before.
"Ready?" he asked, still grinning madly.
"Yeah," she answered, feeling both excited and aroused.
"Good."
He surprised her by grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her over his right shoulder, legs dangling against his chest.
Martha couldn't help yelping in astonishment, but before she could properly protest, he'd carried her into the bathroom and set her back down on her feet.
"You rotten devil!" she exclaimed, once she was on terra firma. "I ought to punish you for that."
He paused in the act of sliding down her knickers to look up at her, a queer gleam in his eyes.
"How would you punish me?" he asked, his voice huskier than usual.
Martha shrugged, not having considered the matter yet. "I don't know, spank you maybe?" she suggested; she noticed he grinned at her response and filed that away for future consideration.
He finished removing her knickers, then took off her bra, before he dropped his trousers, revealing that he was already half hard.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing at the shower.
Martha pulled open the door of the shower cubicle, then stepped in and he followed closing the door behind them. She turned on the shower, while he reached around her to take the bottle of shower gel from the shelf below the water controls; he poured some into his hand, then reached around her again to start lathering it onto her body as he stood behind her.
Martha couldn't help moaning softly as his hands found her breasts and she wriggled against him, her bottom rubbing against his rapidly growing erection.
"Spread your legs," he said, his voice husky in her ear.
She did as he said and gasped a little when he pushed inside her from behind.
"Okay?" he asked once he was fully sheathed.
"Yeah." She was breathless with desire now; he seemed to have entered her more deeply in this position, and she knew she was already on the brink of an orgasm.
Martha had quickly discovered that sex with John Smith was better than she'd had with any of the few other men she'd been with; he made her come more often and much quicker, and he seemed to care more about her pleasure than his own. He also appeared to enjoy introducing her to new positions that she'd never thought of trying before, such as having sex in the shower.
Now he pulled her closer as the water poured over them both and thrust steadily, one hand reaching up to tease her nipples, while the other snaked down over her belly to tease her clit. Martha moaned and pressed her hands flat against the tiles in front of her, knowing she wasn't going to last very long at this rate.
"Martha Jones, my dark beauty, come for me, I want you to come for me," he murmured in her ear between nips at her earlobe and kisses to the side of her neck.
She cried out as her orgasm swept through her, leaving her with trembling legs and feeling a little light-headed.
"Good girl." He pulled out, stepping back, and Martha couldn't help whimpering a little at the sensation of emptiness.
"Shh, it's okay." He turned her around gently, reaching up to turn off the shower for the moment. "I didn't put on a condom," he told her, guiding her hand to his aching cock.
"That's a shame," she murmured, beginning to slide her hand up and down his length.
"Yeah, it is." He agreed, then gasped an "Oh" as she flicked her thumb over his tip; he wrapped his arms around her so that her breasts were pressed firmly against his chest, and slid his right hand down over her bottom, pushing a finger inside her.
"Think you can make me come before I make you come?" he asked, grinning again.
She grinned up at him. "Yeah." She knew it would take some concentration on her part not to succumb to the sensations he was producing, but she was determined to succeed.
His grin widened, and he dipped his head to kiss her hungrily, his tongue stroking firmly against hers as her hand moved quicker on him, and his fingers pushed deeper. He felt himself tightening up and fought to make Martha come first, but he was too slow; his cock twitched and pulsed as he emptied himself over her hand, and then her internal muscles were clenching tight around his fingers as she followed him over the edge.
* * * * * *
After they'd finished showering properly, they went to get something to eat.
"What do you fancy?" asked Martha, opening the fridge to see what she had.
"You," he answered, his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.
She laughed softly. "I was talking about food."
"Yeah but you're definitely good enough to eat," he teased, nuzzling her neck.
"Have you got some kind of neck fetish?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Mmm maybe."
Martha felt herself growing aroused again and wondered if they were actually going to manage to leave the house this evening.
"John." She turned in his arms, distracting him. "We need to eat if we're going out to see this play."
He sighed heavily. "Yeah, alright."
She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "We don't have to go, if you'd rather not. It was your idea, so it's your decision."
"Nah, we'll go." He slid his hands inside her bathrobe and cupped her buttocks, pressing her body closer against his as he bent his head to kiss her at length.
Martha couldn't help wondering if deciding to put off dressing until after they'd eaten was such a good idea, even as she appreciated the sensation of his body pressed against hers.
"Okay, you keep that up and I can't be responsible for what happens next," she told him once he allowed her to catch her breath again.
"That's okay," he told her, "I'm good at taking responsibility."
"Nevertheless, I think there shouldn't be any more kissing until we've eaten."
He pouted at her in an exaggerated fashion, then crossed his arms over his chest, which just set Martha off giggling. She resolutely turned her back on him and opened the fridge door again, taking out chicken breasts and vegetables.
"You do eat chicken, I presume?" she asked as she opened a cupboard and took out a frying pan.
"Yeah. Eat most things, me."
"Good."
"You making stir fry?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. "That okay?" He nodded. "There's some white wine in the fridge, if you want some to go with it?"
He opened the fridge again and took out the wine, while Martha pulled open a drawer and took out some knives to cut up the chicken and chop the vegetables.
"Got any noodles?" he asked after he'd opened the wine and left it to breathe.
"That cupboard," Martha answered, pointing with her knife before going back to cutting the chicken into strips.
If you'd asked her, she wouldn't have guessed John was the sort to cook: he had struck her as a strictly take away only man, unless someone else was doing the cooking. She wasn't to know that he really wasn't the domestic sort, and that he was only helping her now because he wanted to be near her: she intoxicated his senses until he wanted to lose himself in her. He knew that it was dangerous, and that he could, and mostly likely would, hurt her (not that he wanted to hurt her, but he knew what his life was like), yet he couldn't seem to help himself. She made him forget about the guilt he felt and the burdens he carried; he could have lost himself in Rose and he might have done that, if he hadn't met Martha before he'd had a chance to get to know Rose properly.
* * * * * *
"Are you interested in history?"
Martha looked up from her plate, surprised by John's question given they'd been talking about food for the last few minutes. "A little," she answered. "Why?"
"Just wonderin'. If you could meet anyone from history, who would you choose?"
"Haven't really thought about it. After all, it's not going to happen."
"But say you could," he persisted, "who would you choose to meet?"
She drank some wine, looking thoughtful. "Florence Nightingale? Louis Pasteur?" she suggested, "you know, someone who was responsible for something significant in medical history."
He looked, she thought, slightly disappointed by this response. "Not someone like Charles Dickens?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno. Dickens is alright, I suppose. I quite like A Christmas Carol, but a lot of his stories are pretty depressing."
The look he gave her at this remark was a combination of shock and disappointment, and she immediately felt guilty.
"I take it you’re a Dickens fan?"
"Yeah, you could say that." He went back to his food, and Martha wondered why she minded that he was disappointed with her answer, even though she couldn't help thinking that wanting to meet medical heroes was a predictable desire for someone in her shoes.
They finished eating and Martha washed up, then went to get dressed; John had already swapped the towel he'd been wearing for his jeans and jumper, and he watched as she pulled a purple dress and a pair of lighter purple shoes from her wardrobe.
"Would you mind fetching my bag from the sitting room?" she asked. "My hairbrush is in there."
He went to get it and she quickly put on some underwear and her dress, then sat down to put on some make-up.
"Are you wearing your hair up or down?" he asked as he set the bag down beside her.
"Down, I think."
"With this?" he asked, lifting a netting hair band out the open box of hair accessories on the corner of her dressing table.
"If you like."
"I do. I think you'll look gorgeous," he told her.
"Thanks."
Fifteen minutes later, they were in a taxi and on their way to the theatre, and Martha couldn't help thinking about how much her life had changed in the space of a week, just by meeting John.
Wonder what mum would think of him? she thought, then decided she wasn't going to rush into introducing him to her mother just yet: Francine Jones had a habit of disapproving of any man who was interested in her daughters, purely on principle. It's too soon. I'll wait and see where this is going first. She'd be immersed in exams and revision soon, and he might well lose interest in her once she was giving all her attention to her studies. For now, though, she was just going to enjoy having him around.