Well I've had this half-written since about April, and Torie Rilistkrytcat has been betaing it. I've got about eight full chapters, which I'll try to upload soon, and then some half-written bits I'll try to shape into chapters in a bit. I'm not sure about this one though, I'm worried it seems a bit silly. Hope you like.

This starts around halfway through Series 5 and then goes AU from there onwards, but with a few canon details worked in. Mr. Wilson is a real character, he appeared once in series 1 and once in series 2.

~1~
Encounters

'And as you can see, someone with such a fragile little body, whose mind is becoming more fuzzy with each passing day, whose hearing is little more than a faint buzzing, whose eyes…'

'Er- do you mind if I stop you there, Mister Boswell?' Martina felt this was as good a time as any to cut Joey off, or his long, overdramatic reel of his Grandad's ailments would soon start trailing right to the floor. 'Only if you keep going, you'll cause my tear ducts to burst and the whole building will flood.'

Joey grinned, flashing a smart set of white teeth at her. 'I can dry them off, if you wish…' he made a move as if to brush a tear from her cheek, and she pursed her lips.

'Did this list of sob-stories about yer grandad have a point?' she interrupted, fixing him with her trademark stern glare and trying to stop herself fuming at him. 'Or did you just come in here to waste my morning?'

'Well, from my description of his ailments, surely you realise that an old man with such a frail little life clearly needs all the help he can get…'

'He's already got more than all the help he can get, Mister Boswell,' Martina said, not allowing her resolve to be broken by his pathetic excuses, 'you all have. Your family claim to be struggling through life,' she made a pained expression as she said this, 'and yet you have enough to provide for ten large families, while the rest of us all try to scrape by on whatever we can.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'We don't all have guardian angels looking after us, making sure all the good fortune that rains down from the sky lands in our laps…the rest of us have to manage without.'

She managed successfully to make Mister Boswell pause, if nothing else. He sat back in his chair, mulling his options over- but Martina had known him for too long to be deceived into thinking he'd back down now. When he was silent for a considerable number of minutes, it was only because he was busy conjuring up a new plan of action- or worse, a new tease.

'Why, sweetheart,' Joey said, grinning at her in that wicked way that always, always meant he had some poetic speech or punishingly witty remark in mind, 'but you're my guardian angel!'

Martina rolled her eyes. Another winner. 'And what would give you that impression, Mister Boswell? I'm out to get you, you know. One tiny slip-up in one of your otherwise cunningly-crafted plans and I'll have you right where I want you, Mister Boswell. Now where would you get the idea that I was watching over you?'

Joey paused, though whether he was actually pondering or if it was just for dramatic effect the DHSS lady wasn't sure. 'Well, you give me money…hmm, maybe that makes you my Money Angel…'

Martina couldn't believe her ears. 'Money…Angel? You're not serious…'

But Mister Boswell was too busy humming some angel song to himself to hear her comment.

'Would you mind moving on now, Mister Boswell? It's nearly five o'clock and we're due to close…'

Joey finished his signature with a boastful flourish and handed back the form, a devious glint in his blue-green eyes.

'Ah, well then. Until next time, Angel. Until next time.' He reached his hand up to his face, pressing his fingers to his lips and blowing a kiss towards her. Martina let her eyes roll back in their sockets for the second time that afternoon, sighing in frustration and shaking her head. Joey Boswell was just…so…irritating. Time and time again he strode into the DHSS, his very stride boastful, his very demeanour arrogant. He just exuded every quality that sent Martina's nerves into overdrive.

And that was before he'd even opened his mouth.

He seemed to know every big fancy word, every crafty little phrase, every tone of voice that drove her mad, and somehow, while harassing the state and making her job a misery, he'd always manage to turn it into a joke. He'd make fake proposals of marriage, call her all sorts of pet names in mocking tones- and now, it seemed, she'd have to be adding 'money angel' to that list. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare as he leapt to his feet, still in an annoyingly cheerful mood and putting her in an even bleaker one.

But as soon as he was out of sight, her mouth automatically turned up into a smirk. She couldn't help it- her face had some sort of perverse sense of humour- it forced itself to contort without her consent. Whenever she argued with him she had to hold it back, and she hated herself, sometimes, for not having more self-restraint- especially around someone she hated so much. She shook her head and went back to her work, trying to block him out of her thoughts.

'I told you, Mister Wilson, there's nothing I can do!' Martina couldn't help raising her voice- there was just no other way to talk down some of the more aggressive clients. This bloke's visit had been non-stop violent threats- he'd opened the show with a 'right you, gimme my money or I'll mug you' and had then gone on to argue, in a very loud voice, about the fact that one of his allowances had been cut off, and followed it up with a 'you wouldn't have a job if it weren't for the likes of me!'

It took all of Martina's strength of mind to stay firm, to not cower away from him, but she managed as always. They all lost their tempers ever so often- some more than others- and she always dealt with them, always fended them off. But Mr. Wilson was a class unto himself- it seemed every time he set foot through the door he was already bellowing, red in the face. He'd made death threats more than once- to her and to anybody else who happened to be in range, including a terrified-out-of-his-wits Adrian Boswell- and although she ignored these, keeping her stony and somewhat bored expression upheld at all times, it was hard not to miss the sheer size of the man. That, coupled with his temperament, made him more than a little frightening.

'You're not making any friends round 'ere, you know, little DHSS lady!'

Martina forced a roll of her eyes. 'I'm not here to make friends, Mister Wilson. I'm here to do my job-'

'And your job is to give me my money!'

'I've given you your money,' Martina said calmly, 'it's not my fault your second allowance was stopped.'

'You wanna watch it, little child of joy,' he snarled, 'you think you're all high and mighty, all safe there in yer little glass lie-detector box,' he gestured roughly to the half-wall and desk that framed the DHSS clerks, 'but if you was ever out in the real world, you'd wanna watch yourself! If you should ever be walkin' down a dark alley at night…' He was leaning right over the desk now, teeth bared and shoulders tensed as if he wanted to strike her. Martina didn't bat an eyelid. He couldn't keep this up forever, surely at some point he would have to admit defeat and go away…

'Greetings!'

Oh, no. Two different shades of terrible clients in one day- both ends of the spectrum come to ruin her life at once- the terrifyingly aggressive Mister Wilson, shouting and threatening to get his way, and the devious, blithe Joey Boswell, with his seamless lies, who grinned his way through his visits and always came out with half the world's money. It just wasn't fair.

Mister Wilson turned round at the sound of the voice, giving Joey a glower that Martina envied for just a moment.

'What do you want?'

Joey's grin didn't even flicker. 'Are you quite finished? Only I've got a lot to do today and I would rather like a word with this lovely lady before the DHSS closes…'

Mister Wilson gave Joey a strange look, glanced towards Martina and back to Joey again. 'She thinks she owns the bloody universe, this one,' he turned back to the counter, his voice instantly climbing in volume as he addressed the DHSS lady, 'you bloomin' well think you're God almighty, don't yer! Well you just watch it, little DHSS lady! I'll be back!' he stormed toward the door, letting the chair tip over and clatter to the floor.

Martina shut her eyes and sighed, allowing herself a few moments to regain her composure. When she opened them again the chair had been righted, and Joey Boswell was occupying it.

'Fear not, my Angel,' he said, reaching out to touch her arm, 'he's gone now.'

The DHSS lady didn't bother to stifle her next sigh. It seemed Joey was not in a hurry to forget the 'Money Angel' gimmick of his last visit. She wondered how long it would take before that joke got stale- knowing Joey Boswell, and his tendency to carry on and on about things, probably never.

'It's not yer Grandad again, is it? Come down with new ailments since yesterday, 'as he?'

'No, it's not our Grandad, Angel,' Joey smiled wolfishly, 'it's our Mongy.'

Oh. The only thing worse than a claim about the Boswell paterfamilias was a claim about the Boswell 'guard dog'.

'Which- as you remember- is a necessary attachment in these times, owing to the fact-'

'-that society has produced an unsafe atmosphere in which to live?' Martina asked, a sardonic smile on her face, 'rendering the human race in need of alternative protection?'

She'd learned the dramatic speech off by heart, hand gestures and all, but this, for some reason, didn't indicate to him how ridiculous it all was, but rather encouraged him all the more. No matter how many times she mimicked it, his face always lit up at the thought that she had remembered something he'd said.

'Precisely!' he lightly slapped his hand on the desk, his grin actually in danger of reaching his ears now. 'Dear little Money Angel, always so attentive…'

She couldn't stand it. The ridiculous fake flattery was killing her. It was times like these, when Joey Boswell teased her relentlessly and smiled his way through pointless transactions, that usually resulted in her giving in and slamming a form down on the table, not during all those fits of fury from the likes of Mr. Wilson. She could handle the stock-standard boorish idiots. She hadn't yet quite worked out how to tackle Joey's unique brand of cunning.

Not that that wouldn't stop her trying to catch him out. He might win the little battles, get his forms now, but one day she would crack just how he was cheating the state, and then she'd win the war.

'Go on, Mister Boswell,' she said, resting her chin on her hand as if she was really listening, and letting her mind start conjuring up the ways in which she would bring him down in the end.

All in all, it hadn't been a particularly good week. The staff had all had pay cuts and their coffee breaks shortened, she'd had nine Boswell visits from four separate Boswells, and now she'd had to stay incredibly late to finish off a thick stack of paperwork. It was six by the time Martina left, and already dark, and a slight sprinkling of rain was pattering down on her. Pulling the collar of her mac up around her neck, she started off into the street.

The streetlights around her sputtered and dimmed as she passed. The facilities in Liverpool had never been the best- something always seemed to be shorting out these days, but at this time of day, when the streets looked unsafe and unforgiving, shadows lurching out all over the place, the situation seemed about ten times worse. Martina kept her stride brisk. The sooner she got home the better- Liverpool wasn't exactly the safest place to be out at night in either. During the day people would go about stealing the wheels off your car, snatching your purse and making off with it. It didn't bear thinking about what would happen when nobody could see.

Martina kept her head down as she rounded a corner. She kept pushing forward- there were another eight or nine blocks before she got home, and she wanted to get through them as quickly as possible. Another few steps, however, and she found herself colliding with another person.

'Watch it!'

'Oh,' she muttered, sidestepping the man. 'Sorry.'

'Well, wouldja look who it is!' The bloke grabbed hold of her arm and Martina's heart did a funny jump. She recognised that voice. 'It's our little child of joy from the DHSS!'

There were snickers from somewhere in the vicinity and it dawned on Martina that Mister Wilson was not alone.

'Not behind yer desk now, are ya?' His voice was slightly slurred- he was probably drunk. 'Not so tough now, eh?'

'You can't threaten me, Mister Wilson,' she replied, although her voice was shaking. Martina shook him off and made to continue on her way, but another man stepped in front of her.

'Where'd you think you're going?'

'Yeah. You've made our lives hell in that Social Security office, and it's about time we repaid you fer that…'

If they had been in the DHSS she would have stood her ground. If they were in the DHSS she wouldn't have worried. She would have known there was nothing they could do to her.

But they weren't in the DHSS. They were down a darkened street, and they were in their element. They were out of sight, and no-one would see if they took out their aggression out on her.

It wasn't typical of her, but it might be the only thing to do in this situation. She turned and tried to run.

'Don't you run off on us!' she could hear from behind her. Martina picked up the pace, her heels making it difficult to steady herself on the wet concrete as she ran. She didn't know where she was going now, where she was, even, just that the most important thing at this moment was to put as much distance between herself and the others as possible and go from there. Not that that was proving an easy feat in itself- they were proving impossible to shake off…

And then, about five feet in front of her, one of the cars standing at the side of the road flashed its headlights once, twice. Only quickly, but long enough for her to recognise the car- the classic design, the colour, the number plate, the silver emblem of a leaping jaguar perched on the bonnet.

Joey Boswell's car.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or startled- Joey Boswell wasn't exactly the sort of person she would like to trust in the dark of night down some back alley, and she had no way of knowing whether the signal was meant for her or her pursuers- who knew what he got up to, and who he got involved with? But she had no choice but to keep going towards it- the only alternative didn't bear thinking about.

As she was almost upon the car the passenger door swung open. She made for the opening at once, and a hand reached out of the Jag, took hold of her arm and pulled her inside.

'Fancy seein' you down here at this time of night, sweetheart!' Joey said, leaning over her to shut the car door and immediately turning out into the middle of the street. 'Doesn't really seem your sort of place- need a lift?'

Martina sat rigidly against the car seat, still in shock, heart beating wildly. 'I-you-how-'

Oh, and now she wasn't coherent either. Lovely.

'I may be lyin' in the gutter- no job, no education past a certain level- but I can put two and two together, you know,' Joey said. 'You wanna be careful, sunshine- that lot aren't known for their patience.'

He paused for a moment, turning his head a little to survey her. 'You all right?'

'Fine,' Martina murmured, her breathing slowing.

'They didn't hurt y-'

'-No.'

Joey let out a breath of air. 'Good.'

They were silent for several more moments and Martina was able to get her bearings properly. Now her mind was having a chance to work at a normal pace, it occurred to her that she was, in fact, in a car, and it might be a good idea to put her seatbelt on. She did so, mulling over in astonishment the fact that a few minutes ago she had very nearly been attacked, mugged or worse, and that she had somehow been rescued by Joey Boswell, of all people. She didn't know whether she felt relieved or grateful- or resentful at the fact that she now owed him. She wouldn't put it past him to use this to his advantage somehow, start dragging out all those 'I saved your life' excuses next time he wanted to claim for something.

'Where were you headed, sweetheart?'

Joey's question snapped her back to attention, and she directed him in a monotone, still not quite able to believe the whole situation. Joey Boswell had actually had the decency to help someone in trouble. You turn left here. What did that mean? Could she put it down to an actual human side of the wicked, money-thieving mastermind- or did he have some ulterior motive? Take the second right here. As the streets around her became more familiar, more illuminated with streetlights and closer to home, Martina's mind sank deeper into confusion. And then the first left. He couldn't actually care all that much about what happened to her- that just couldn't be right at all. He only loved himself and his family- he made that much crystal clear almost every time he opened his gob. So what did he hope to achieve? A better reputation? Some sort of special treatment from her down the DHSS? Or maybe he just would have felt guilty had he not stepped in and done something- maybe even he couldn't even ignore the plight of the helpless…Just here will be fine.

The car ride had ended far more quickly than Martina would have liked. Desperate as she was to get out of the questionably legal Jaguar, she knew when he stopped the car there should come some sort of acknowledgement of what he had just done for her, and she wasn't entirely sure how to phrase that.

He was setting the parking brake now, turning the engine off.

'Thank you,' she said quietly.

'No sweat,' it was fairly dark inside the car, but even in the faint few shreds of light she could tell he was grinning. 'You be my guardian angel, sweetheart, and I'll be yours.'