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Who: Martha Jones and Severus Snape (Jack Jones)
What: Running into the wife when she doesn't remember who he is. Yay angst.
Where: The inn.
When: TBD.
Notes: Martha's going to remember... eventually.
Warnings: Angst.

There were some things that a person got used to quicker than others, and given the travelling Martha'd done in time, adjusting to a new place was something that she'd had a leg up on. The fact that she'd found an organization like Torchwood (where she had been planning on going immediately after she resigned from UNIT) had helped with the adjustment without a doubt.

Being employed, being a doctor, was a brilliant thing and she was happy with having gainful employment. Her free time at the inn was coming and end, and despite the fact that Martha had been spending some time cottage hunting, she wasn't finding anything. Places just didn't seem proper, for reasons that she couldn't quite press her finger on. It was like there was a place she was picturing in her head and nothing else could hold up.

Carrying a box through the hallways, Martha had a pleased smile on her face. She'd find a place soon, and then she'd move and then she'd worry about going home. There was a large and person-shaped hole that she was assuming was Tom. After all, who else could it have been. Clothing shopping had been done, so she felt a bit odd in the black jacket, but at least the style was one that was familiar.

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"What he did to Harry was because he wanted his daughter back, and he wanted her safe. Wouldn't you make a deal with the devil if it meant having me safe? I would, for you." She would, there was little doubt of it. If it meant assuring his safety, Martha would make a deal with Saxon himself. And Martha wasn't unaware of the fact, that in essence, he had done it before. He'd made a deal with Dumbledore in order to save Lily. Even if it didn't work, he'd made the effort and that didn't mean that he hadn't make the effort.

"And how are we going to explain us living together?" It was a forgone conclusion, naturally. Martha had just found him again. "That we're doing it for the same reasons? That it's convenient?" She didn't like this at all. She understood it, that much was certain, but liking it was another matter entirely.

And she did know that he loved her, and Martha had known what he'd meant when he said it. Severus Snape loved her to bits and right now that was a weakness and he was shutting down everything else to protect it and her.

She felt miserable, her head hurt and she just want to go home, to be home.

Under normal circumstances, he would be willing to sit here and patiently explain to her every angle of his plan. Every reason why it wasn't simply paranoia, how it should work. But his foot ached and his arm throbbed with pain; he hadn't slept since he arrived here, and he had already lost his temper once. So when she asked question after question, poking holes in his plan simply because she didn't like it, he reacted. Poorly.

"You tell me what to do, then," he snapped angrily. "Shall we go about this as ourselves? Shall we let the Lestranges know I'm here, Muggle wife in tow? And if they kill you for sport or spite, Martha, what then? There is no death toll here - I asked."

Once the final sentence was out, he looked stricken and quickly, almost guiltily dropped his gaze. There was absolutely no reason for him to have asked such a thing upon his arrival. Not when he supposedly had his mind on other things, such as getting home. Or the loss of his wife.

"Tell him what you like."

He'd asked about the death toll. He'd only been here days and he'd asked about the death toll. Martha's breath was a sharp intake and she just looked at him. Even if she had known about the death toll, asking about it's relevancy here wasn't something that she would have done, especially not so soon.

Everything else was forgotten for a moment. The situation, the fact that they were stuck here, the way they were arguing about what was happening (though that argument was likely only tabled for a moment) slipped by the wayside as she stared at him in completely shock and concern.

There was a precedent for his thoughts, and Martha remembered it. Even more so, she could hear it thoughtfully provided by Stephen Fry's voice during lengthy flights. “Gone … dead … I wish...I were dead... There was no other need to know whether or not a person could die here. Doubt and worry moved over her-what would have happened if she hadn't remembered? What would he have done if she'd not been here at all?

Her heart was feeling like there was a hole carved in it as she reached over and took his chin in her hands. The touch was loving, but firm and Martha held it so she could peer into his eyes. Her voice was soft. "Sev, no. Never, don't do that. I'll find you. Somehow, even if I need to go back to the Barge to get back."

He moved as though to jerk away from her, but at her words, he reach up, took one of her hands away from his face, and fixed her with a look. A pointed reminder that she couldn't very well get him back if she couldn't remember a thing about him.

Granted, it hadn't been the case during those first eight hours in the arrival room, but it invalidated her assurances nonetheless. She would never even have known.

Instead of offering a response, he decided to keep things on-topic. "What would you like to do, Martha, about our present situation? Are you willing to accept the risk posed by the Lestranges?"

Martha just stared at him blankly for a moment when he took his hand away from her face, and at the look. She couldn't have found him if he'd...

She didn't want to think about it not one little bit. Thinking about losing him made her stomach clamp up tightly and ball itself into lead and fear. The memory of what it had been like to see him be decapitated came to her suddenly, and Martha needed to swallow around the bile that built in her throat.

Pulling away a bit, Martha removed her hands from her face and settled them into her lap. Four versions of themselves had found one another, and he had been thinking about ending his life. It made her hurt.

"Your Jack Jones," she sounded tired. "I'm Martha. Married to keep people from asking stupid questions or chatting me up." Some of the fire was back in her voice. "We just want to go home. You don't love me, it's nothing but an arrangement as far as Lovegood is concerned."

He waited until she had repeated back to him the entirety of the plan, then nodded with satisfaction. Or, perhaps, resignation. He didn't particularly want to lie - certainly not using a mirror of the truth.

But it was the safest option. He reached out and took one of her hands, holding it reassuringly for a moment as though to remind her that it was nothing but an act. "We'll escape. We'll return to the Barge, Martha. And then home."

He didn't want to think about Mozenrath's reaction to his disappearance. He had enough to be getting on with at the moment. Releasing her hand, he gestured to his arm. "Xenophilius. Please."

Martha just looked exceptionally unhappy. It was written in the line of her shoulders, in her face and in the sigh that she made when he nodded. Her lips pursed for a moment as if she was going to say something in disagreement with him but she didn't want to at the moment. Not when everything had just happened.

They'd discuss it again later, but for now she just gave his fingers a squeeze as he held onto her hand. Returning to the Barge, picking up Mozenrath and then home.

As he released her hand, Martha released a lengthy breath, and then after a moment she responds to it. Her voice is soft but clinical, she's definitely in Doctor mode when she speaks. "I know him from where he was before." The camera moves towards Severus, showing him for just a second, and later she'll go back and delete the response.

"We're in the library and need it. Please come." She was counting on him being a good man, but right now, Martha didn't know if they could trust him or not.

He was sorely tempted to relent and allow her to tell the other man the truth, simply because of the expression on her face. This would be a strain, he knew - things wouldn't quite be the same between them. Keeping their marriage a secret once before had gone over exceptionally poorly.

But she had never been particularly happy with his methods for keeping her safe. It was simply the way things were, and they would have to soldier on. He couldn't protect her if the situation wasn't completely controlled.

"What is he doing?" he asked finally, leaning up to see when he heard no response from Xenophilius. The image showed...a ceiling. Exasperated, he asked, "Did he leave?"

And then they had kept their marriage quiet for a bet. From their friends with the intention of it being a secret that only they could share between them. It was something that had been fun and positive.

This was neither of those things. This was negative. It was negative and it would mean them hiding their emotions and everything else. It would mean that everything they did from here on in would have at least some element of a lie in it. Right now Martha was attempting to determine if their safety was worth that. Looking at him, thinking about what he had thought about doing; Martha knew that he was worth it.

It just was going to be difficult. Incredibly difficult, and she didn't like it one damn bit. Right now in her head she was drawing parallels with the time she'd spent in 1913. Look how well that had turned out.

Flicking the mute button on the communicator, Martha shook her head. "He's looking for it, I think."

He noted the way she muted the device and raised his eyes to her, questioning the action. Perhaps she would argue his decision, after all.

Perhaps when he was in full health, when his arm didn't scream with pain, he could allow a cooler head to prevail. Then again, he didn't think she would be happy about this one way or the other.

"Martha," he attempted flatly. "You know this is for the best."

"I thought it would be better if he wasn't able to listen in, in case that was what he was planning on doing." Her voice was a bit flat in response to his questioning of it, and she didn't like that in the least.

"I've had about three minutes to deal with the fact that I lost over two years of my memories, the fact that my husband considered killing myself when I wasn't here, and now I need to tell people that one of the things that I'm most proud of and glad for in my entire life is a ruse so people don't hit on me. Sev, don't tell me this is for the best."

He opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, and looked away. What could he say to that, really? He was asking her to hide what they were. And from the perspective of a husband - as opposed to a protector, as opposed to someone who should take care of her - it did strike him as wrong. No, he would have liked very much not to hide what she was to him.

He couldn't think of a thing to say in response to make things better, so finally, quietly, he replied, "Yes, dear."

For a moment, Martha didn't know what to say to that. She was torn between laughing and crying over it. 'Yes dear'. A part of her wondered if he wished that he had any of those fight coupons in his pockets. For a moment, Martha just sighed, and then she touched her ring before she leaned over and kissed him softly.

"We made it through the barge and got married. We can get through this."

"Of course we can," he replied flatly, as though that was never the problem. After all, there had been worse things. The time he lied. Sirius. They had managed through that; this would be comparatively simple, if emotionally frustrating.

He reach over to tilt her CiD toward him again, wondering just what Xenophilius could be doing. How long did it take to find dittany?

As if by magic-- or rather, literally by magic, but it's rather serendipitous all the same-- the CiD reveals nothing but the ceiling of a little Flyside apartment, and due to the fact that it is muted, there's no warning when--

Crack!

Xenophilius appears, a little off-balance and dazed as he occasionally tends to be when Apparating in a hurry. His wand is out, just in case, a long thin carved in the design of a narwhal horn, and fly-away white-blonde hair somewhat mussed, but that's a little usual too.

Most importantly, in his hand is a palm-sized vial, half-filled with liquid, and a little greasy to touch.

Martha's hands were still entwined with Severus's when there was the cracking sound of someone apparating in, and before he could pull away from her, she pulled from him. They were going to be planing a game, and Martha didn't want to blow it before it had begun. After all, she'd been the one to tell Howie about their marriage in their first day or so of doing it.

Swallowing, Martha remembered to offer him a bit of a smile before she moved forward towards him, one hand out stretched towards the bottle that was in his hand. "Hello, I'm Martha." Even though they'd met once already on the network. "I'm a doctor, may I have that, please?" First things first: stopping the bleeding, then afterwards they'd deal with the awkward of who was who to whom.

He should have known Xenophilius would simply...arrive. And leave his communicator sitting back in his flat. Sometimes, Severus wondered whether the man really was as barking as he seemed. Some of his behaviour seemed quite contrived, really.

Then again, perhaps he was just very good at being a madman. As Martha dealt with him, Severus turned his attention to the jumper currently serving as a makeshift bandage. He painstakingly unwrapped it, noting with cool detachment that there was a good deal of blood soaking it through.

"You can trust her," he tossed out dismissively. Just in case it needed to be said.

As she approaches, the vial is clutched to Xeno's chest in great uncertainty, more than ready to give it to Snape instead when he inches back a step, wand held out but pointing at no one. The word 'doctor' doesn't do much to reassure him - pureblood he isn't, and wizard supremacist he isn't either, but he is still a result of wizard culture insulation.

But he twitches a glance to Severus, and then down at the sight of blood. Even the smell of it is starting to soak in beneath the scent of books and dust. "What's happened?" he asks, in a little wonder.

But he is handing her the dittany essence, wiping his hand off on the front of his robes.

"He was splinched." Martha said the words quickly and clinically, as if doing so would remove some of the guilt she felt for causing him to lose his focus. If she'd not stamped down on his foot then... Well, there was nothing that could be done for that. The if onlys would do nothing but drive her mental.

Martha's experience with potions bottles had never left her hand feeling greasy before, and she had a moment of doubt of whether or not this would help. A quick look was flashed to Xeno before the doctor focused once more on her patient and the wound in his arms.

He was going to need a blood replenishing potion if this didn't work soon.

Wishing for the Barge, Martha pulled the stopper on the bottle and then put one hand on his arm above the wound. "You ready Sev..erus?" The second thirds of his name were added on as a bit of an afterthought, because she was reminding herself that people in ruses didn't need to hold a person's hand.

He frowned visibly at Martha's non-explanation of the events; he knew it was better to give less information than more (of course he knew), but he didn't particularly like being made to seem inept at something so mundane as Apparition. He wouldn't have been splinched if someone hadn't jumped on his foot and screamed in his ear.

And someone would have done neither of those things if he'd acted with a bit more decorum, he supposed. Served him right, then.

"Get on with it," he replied, not bothering to shoot her a warning glance about the slip-up. Part of him wondered if she would even be able to keep their secret - at least, this part. Perhaps not to preserve her life, but his own. In hardly mattered, of course, unless Xenophilius began asking questions - which he might not do.

Severus focused instead on dabbing away blood as she applied what he hoped was dittany.

It is, at least, dittany. Things of theory, earthier practices and pragmatic solutions were always Xeno's strengths over charming and combative practice (and as an unrelated aside, failing Magical Creatures by getting side tracked on the ones that didn't exist), and what had been the occasional hobby of herbology back home has blossomed into a means to pay his way, pardoning the pun. He stands anxious and watches the interaction, fingers knotted together once he's pocketed his wand.

"Nasty thing, splinching. It's a good thing you didn't put that in my mind before I came here, I'd've been tempted to take the bicycle. You were where the professor was before?"

Martha kept her face carefully composed, and she didn't lock eyes with him when he told her to get on with it like that. Fighting in front of someone who wasn't all that trustworthy to begin with wasn't going to solve anything.

Deja vu walked a cold path down Martha's spine and she could do this. Martha'd done it before in 1913, and she could do it now. Somehow now felt worse though. Now hurt more, to try and hide the way they felt towards one another.

Moving the dittany over Severus's wound, Martha focused on that for a moment rather than answering the question. "Yes, I knew him before."

Edited 2011-11-13 17:02 (UTC)

Severus shot a look at Xenophilius. It was jarring how the other man segued from one topic to the next; one moment talking about splinching, and the next, asking questions he ought not be asking. It was almost as though he was attempting to catch them off-guard; it was a good tactic, actually. One which was beginning to convince Severus that the other man was, indeed, saner than he let on.

His attention returned to Martha and the injury. It was painful (of course it was painful) but he was quite practiced at detaching himself from it. Living inside the pain rather than succumbing to it. It brought things more sharply into focus.

And right now, he could tell with painful certainty that Martha was not pleased with him. She hated lying, she hated when he lied. There had to be a better way - and didn't he owe her for what he'd done in the hall?

"Martha Snape-Jones, Xenophilius Lovegood." That should suffice. It would have to; that was the extent of the information he would be dispensing. "Did you distill this yourself?"

"Oh, we met a little on the networks, did we not..."

But Xenophilius is saying this while he configures what Severus just said, pale eyebrows going up as slightly cross-eyed gaze slants towards Martha. "So you did find someone you know," he says, with conspirational warmth for the pair of them as opposed to tripping over little details like the potions professor from school marrying a Muggle in the time it took for him to travel dimensions in three years.

The why of that seems less immediately concerning than the fact of it itself, and someone who sews together stories, both true and not, can put the pieces in place just fine.

Martha hadn't been expecting him to come out with it, at all. Her hands stilled for a moment, and her eyes went wide when he actually called her Snape-Jones. While it hadn't been her name for very long, it still made her smile to hear him say it, even though it was a little one. One side of her lip twisted upwards, half a smile just for him. After all, she was trying to be stealthy.

"I did." Martha said, looking over her shoulder with a smile as the dittany did it's job. "I'm incredibly lucky that way." She couldn't keep the warmth from her voice, and she then looked back to the wound. It was mostly healed, and Martha frowned for a moment. "I need to get a proper bandage from my room. I'm afraid this will leave a scar." There was guilt in her tone that she didn't bother to make the effort to hide.

"Thank you, Xenophilius. I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you didn't have this."