Who: Martha Jones and Handy Where: Currently the Hallway When: Sometime after Handy and Jack's discussion What: Martha decides she needs a bath and a change of clothing.
Handy took the lift down from his room once more, thinking of dinner. He'd taken a bottle of paracetamol from the infirmary so he wouldn't have to keep going back there for more, but food was an ongoing problem. He didn't really want to talk to anyone about what had happened, particularly not the people who had chased him down and tied him up, but he still needed to eat.
Emerging from the lift and turning to walk down the hall, the first thing he noticed was Martha. The second was that Martha was sitting on a chair he knew would not normally be there. He halted, looking for a moment like he wanted to go back the other way, but then forced himself to approach her.
"Martha!" he called. "What are you doing out of the infirmary?"
Martha started, and then winced at the pain. "Doctor! I'm... trying to make my way to my room." He looked like he didn't want to really see her, and she had to admit she was more than a little embarrassed around him too. If memory served her right, the last thing she had done was angrily kiss him and stalk out of the infirmary yelling at Jack. This was after she had preformed surgery on him without anesthetics and then finally sedated him.
Perhaps luckily for Martha, even though Handy remembered bits and pieces of that he didn't trust that those memories were real. He came to a stop a few feet away from her, leaning heavily on the wall so he could take his weight off his injured leg.
"There's no shame in asking for help," he said, a little reproachfully. "Jack tells me you have broken ribs."
"What if we got the alarms to go the minute you start sleepwalking?" She thought harder. "You're handy with tools, and I could probably figure out some way to link it to your system." She started pacing as she started thinking, getting excited over something that was not saving the world.
"It'd need to be reliable," Handy pointed it out. "And it couldn't be something I could just pull off myself - I can pick locks in my sleep; I might not leave a bunch of little wires and diodes in place long enough to let them set off an alarm."
She stopped mid-stride and stared at him. "You can pick a lock in your sleep?" Then she realized how tired she was and sat down in a chair. "OK, so not something on your person. Perhaps you were right in the first place." She thought about it. "I'm nervous though. What if the Hotel is messing with us? It might do something to the alarm and then we're back where we started."
"Either that or the hotel's been undoing all the locks I've put on the door for me," replied Handy wearily. He ran a hand through his hair, considering their options. "We should look in the infirmary and see what kind of equipment is even available," he pointed out. "If it'd be possible to set up a direct monitoring system, it would probably be better - that way I wouldn't even get out of bed without the problem being taken care of."
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Emerging from the lift and turning to walk down the hall, the first thing he noticed was Martha. The second was that Martha was sitting on a chair he knew would not normally be there. He halted, looking for a moment like he wanted to go back the other way, but then forced himself to approach her.
"Martha!" he called. "What are you doing out of the infirmary?"
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"There's no shame in asking for help," he said, a little reproachfully. "Jack tells me you have broken ribs."
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