One of the things that Martha was the most glad about in the city of Baedal was the fact that she didn't need to be so attached to the communicator. Whereas on the Barge she needed to make sure that seeing every message was a priority, she'd fallen out of the habit of doing it. Here there were other doctors to handle crises and the if someone did need her the little ping that alerted her to a message intended for her was rather like what she expected when they were home.
Home. It was still an odd concept to her, and one that she was working on lining up in comparison to what it had been six months ago. Severus's departure and subsequent return had made her evaluate it differently. Six additional months on the Barge (where she had wanted to stay. Why had she wanted to stay? Staying seemed completely insane once that Severus had graduated an inmate. Especially Sirius Black.) Six months in London and six months in the city of Baedal. Maybe, just maybe they were going to need to look at this as a permanent position rather than something transitory.
She'd already been making small movements towards permanence. The mark on her wrist was a sure sign, the biggest and the most outward, but there were others too. Martha had gotten involved with helping people below the radar of the Militia and she'd volunteered some of her time at the temples in the city hoping that whatever gods or karmic force would take perhaps help them and make things easier.
Also she'd missed being as busy as she was aboard the Barge. She didn't want to ever get that much like a workaholic again, but Martha Snape-Jones wasn't the sort of person who rested on her laurels.
Another concession was the manner in which Martha had slipped back into reading fiction. She devoured it whole in hours like she hadn't since she'd been in medical school. (While she was a student the only novels she'd allowed herself were certain ones of a magical persuasion.) The little alcove in their bedroom with the large comfy chair had been slowly but surely surrounded by books. If she had been familiar with Bookford cottage, she would have lamented the lack of library along with their lack of life.
Deciding that the book she was currently reading required tea, Martha had moved downstairs into the kitchen. Coming past the living room, and spotting him there with the drink made her frown a bit, and she stepped closer to him. At some point in the evening, Martha had slipped on a jumper of his because she was cold. Considering it hung like a dress, she hadn't bothered to add additional clothing.
"Everything alright, love?" There was concern in her tone as she perched on the edge of the couch and touched his shoulder.
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Home. It was still an odd concept to her, and one that she was working on lining up in comparison to what it had been six months ago. Severus's departure and subsequent return had made her evaluate it differently. Six additional months on the Barge (where she had wanted to stay. Why had she wanted to stay? Staying seemed completely insane once that Severus had graduated an inmate. Especially Sirius Black.) Six months in London and six months in the city of Baedal. Maybe, just maybe they were going to need to look at this as a permanent position rather than something transitory.
She'd already been making small movements towards permanence. The mark on her wrist was a sure sign, the biggest and the most outward, but there were others too. Martha had gotten involved with helping people below the radar of the Militia and she'd volunteered some of her time at the temples in the city hoping that whatever gods or karmic force would take perhaps help them and make things easier.
Also she'd missed being as busy as she was aboard the Barge. She didn't want to ever get that much like a workaholic again, but Martha Snape-Jones wasn't the sort of person who rested on her laurels.
Another concession was the manner in which Martha had slipped back into reading fiction. She devoured it whole in hours like she hadn't since she'd been in medical school. (While she was a student the only novels she'd allowed herself were certain ones of a magical persuasion.) The little alcove in their bedroom with the large comfy chair had been slowly but surely surrounded by books. If she had been familiar with Bookford cottage, she would have lamented the lack of library along with their lack of life.
Deciding that the book she was currently reading required tea, Martha had moved downstairs into the kitchen. Coming past the living room, and spotting him there with the drink made her frown a bit, and she stepped closer to him. At some point in the evening, Martha had slipped on a jumper of his because she was cold. Considering it hung like a dress, she hadn't bothered to add additional clothing.
"Everything alright, love?" There was concern in her tone as she perched on the edge of the couch and touched his shoulder.