(Untitled)

[not_the_chav]

It had been raining for two days. Buckets of the stuff, propelled sideways by a constantly-gusting wind, the skies so densely clouded that it felt like evening even during the day. It was miserable weather; spooky, unpredictable weather. The sort that made you want to stay in and lock the doors. Martha Jones' current disposition made a strange

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[weary_head]

Dean sank into the couch opposite her, popped collar doing nothing to mitigate the rivulets of rainwater soaking down from his sopping hair into his shirt collar.

His hair was plastered flat to his forehead, boots squishing at the smallest movement of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. With a dramatic sigh, Dean gave up, leaning forward to undo his laces.

"Does it do this often?"

[not_the_chav]

Martha had to chuckle at the drowned rat seated across from her. God, her mother would have had a fit to see him sitting on the furniture when he was wet like that.

"No, not really, and I've been here over a year. Of course, I stopped hoping for logic about six months in." She lowered her novel and arched both eyebrows. "There's clean towels in the loo, you know."

[weary_head]

Dean stared at her, half-bent over his left boot. "In the what now?" He thought he'd heard Tamara use a similar word, way back when, but hell if he could remember what it meant.

[not_the_chav]

Cute but not terribly bright, then. Martha just smiled, still amused. "The bathroom," she clarified, and motioned over her shoulder with her paperback. "There are towels in the bathroom. So that you can dry off and not get the sofa all wet. Unless you like wearing wet blue jeans."

[how_itgoes]

Ivanhoe is in the room before Sam can even get in and he swears to God that cat has a genius mind of its own and it's programmed to make him suffer. "Ivanhoe!" he shouts as he comes to a stop, barely preventing the orange cat from leaping atop Martha Jones, claws ready and about to go for the jugular.

Well, the jugular of the ankle.

He stiffens slightly as he draws to full height and stares down at her, barely an emotion on his face as he looks at her. "Martha," he acknowledges curtly.

[not_the_chav]

Looking at Sam hurt in ways Martha wasn't quite prepared to acknowledge, especially after that frosty greeting. She peered up at him uncertainly, a measure of guilt obvious enough in her expression. It wasn't his forgiveness that she was after, but rather some sort of emotional compromise. Yes, she'd been stupid, but he'd given up, and which was worse she couldn't say.

"Sam," she replied, and lowered her novel.

[how_itgoes]

Ivanhoe is still struggling in Sam's arms and making what should be a tough front look rather comedic, so he lowers the cat to the ground and watches him bat at invisible predators in the room while Sam keeps his gaze on Martha. "I heard," he offers lightly.

If he'd stayed, if he'd followed, he might have been there at the final moment.

"Are you okay?"

[not_the_chav]

Martha nodded swiftly once. "I'm fine," she curtly replied, hesitated, then reconsidered her answer. "Better," she clarified, and dropped her eyes. "There wasn't anything else I could have done. I'm just glad it's over."

[just_a_cag]

It had been a frakking miserable trip up to the compound. A break in the rain made Lee think that he could make it up the main path before it started up again, but he'd barely gotten past the Hamlet before the downpour continued.

It nearly reminded him of the rain on Kobol: cold and miserable. So he'd taken the rest of the trip at a jog, managing to get soaked in the process. By the time he made it up to the compound, he wished that he'd just stayed home.

On his way to the laundry room for a towel, he passed the rec room and happened to look in and see Martha sitting there.

"At least some of us can manage to stay dry." Lee remarked.

[not_the_chav]

He was miserable, that much was clear. Martha, however, couldn't find much to complain about. Her brows arched in interest over the top of her paperback.

"If you're going to change," she began, lowering the book with a smirk, "can I come watch?"

[just_a_cag]

Lee shook some of the water out of his hair and squinted to try and keep it out of his eyes.

"I wouldn't want to keep you from your book," He said, with a nod towards Martha's paperback.

[not_the_chav]

"Why don't I believe that?" Martha asked. Having laid the novel aside, she unfolded her legs and stood to cross the short distance to Lee. "It wasn't what I would call great literature," she clarified, and pushed the damp hair from his forehead.

[sortofaman]

The Doctor was pretty certain that this weather wasn't a fluke. Not when it had been going on and off again for this long--in the tropics, these things tended to blow over, or at least they had in the past.

Now if he could get something out of the bookcase besides Monsoon Wedding, it'd be all right. Or at least, he thought it would, until he spotted, in a rather awkward fashion, Martha Jones, neatly placed in a chair. She looked as if she completely belonged, he thought, then wondered where the hell that idea came from.

[not_the_chav]

When Martha looked up and noticed him, she stared back over the top of her novel, uncertain of what to say. They seemed a bit beyond apologies by that point.

She cleared her throat and placed the book face down over one thigh. "Hello," she greeted, and it sounded so bloody formal, so inappropriate. And yet, she was unsure how else to begin.

[sortofaman]

The Doctor swallowed and managed to clear his throat. "Hello," he said, and blinked a few times, feeling like there was something else to the greeting besides that, but he wasn't sure what it was. "Chucking it down yet," he added, as if it wasn't obvious by his hair.

[not_the_chav]

"Seems like," Martha agreed and managed an uncertain smile. He'd been in her thoughts, lately -- Him, this him, not the him she'd left behind. Of how he was handling the Master's death, if it was more easy to take here than it had been at home.

"Are you all right?" she asked, not wanting to pry, but needing to know.

[doesntlooktired]

Miserable weather was hardly a new thing for Harriet but it was still unwelcome given the amount of time she spent walking to and from the compound. She had managed to grab a heavy coat from the box that helped matters but she was still somewhat wet as she entered the rec room, shrugging off her coat as she did so.

"It's still heavy as ever out there," she remarked conversationally to the rest of the room before she got a good look at the other occupant.

"Dr. Jones," she beamed as she recognised her. "I didn't realise you were here."

[not_the_chav]

Good God, it was Harriet Jones. For a long moment, Martha could only blink in disbelief back at the woman, astounded that she would know who she was.

"I... didn't realise you were here, either," she returned as she sat up properly in her chair, suddenly acutely aware of her appearance. "You must be from my future, I'm not a doctor yet, and- Well, this is the first time I've met you."

[doesntlooktired]

"That does seem to be the trend," Harriet remarked wryly and she tried not to read too much into that.

"Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister," she introduced herself with an offered hand. "It was an honour."

[not_the_chav]

Martha reached up and gave the proffered hand a solid shake. "Oh, I assure you, the honour's all mine," she insisted, and wisely neglected to add that only a few weeks back she herself had killed the man who had taken Harriet's place. "I wished you'd been able to stay in office," she added, and there had never been truer words.