Long time, no me. Uni is a nightmare sometimes, plus some other big stuff has been going on in my life. I'm in the middle of writing a Christmas fic though, which ties in with EOTD (another one, I'm sorry, though this fic here does not.) and which I will start posting mid-November so all the chapters can be up by mid-December.

This one's just short and silly. Just a bit of fun, not particularly deep and meaningful as some of my other fics have attempted to be. I've been talking with slenderpanda597 about putting it up for a while. It's set probably mid-series 4(5), after Martina has split with Shifty for the first time.

It was silly.

Very silly. Ridiculous, even. Pointless.

But that's so often the way that these things happen, isn't it?

It was the most ordinary of days, and Joey Boswell was reclining in the chair in front of Martina's desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leather jacket draped over the back of his seat, a cheeky smile on his face and a ridiculous claim on his tongue.

She listened. He gabbled on. She stopped listening, fed up, and sent him on his way with a few carefully selected sharp words.

Joey got up, kissed her hand and sauntered away, quite forgetting the jacket on the chair.

Five minutes later, Martina closed her partition and started packing up for the day.

And that's all it was, really.

Martina was round the other side of the desk, pushing all the chairs back into their nice, neat order, cursing under her breath that so many of her clients insisted on moving the furniture around so they could have a good old chat while waiting for their numbers to come up. They could go to a coffee shop if they wanted to natter- this was the DHSS, and she had a system to run.

She stooped, picking up the crumpled tickets that littered the floor, grumbling as she made her way over to the bin with them (really, it was four feet away- couldn't they at least make the effort to dispose of them properly instead of just tossing them on the ground?), pushing chairs in towards the counters as she went.

And that was when she noticed it there.

There was no question of whom it belonged to. No-one else she knew owned flashy garments like that- no-one who came in here, anyway. The jacket, just by existing, was practically wearing a sign saying property of Joey Boswell.

Martina rolled her eyes at it, reaching out with one hand and pulling it off the chair, intending to put it away somewhere until Mister Boswell could come back and pick it up. He could have a good old telling-off, she decided, for leaving expensive garments lying around the place as if they were disposable, while the rest of her clientele struggled to make ends meet.

But as soon as she folded it over her arm, Martina was struck with the most overwhelming temptation. It was silly. It was petty. It was ridiculous- downright childish, this idea that had set up camp in her mind. It went against the grain of her resolve to have nothing to do with Boswells other than to catch them red-handed at their dirty little schemes, and nothing- nothing, would be gained from pursuing this odd course of action.

But then again, the wicked little version of herself on her shoulder whispered, no-one was around to see. No-one would ever have to know. And it wouldn't hurt, would it, really? It would just be…well, it would just be…

She couldn't even bother to finish her justification. Glancing around furtively, even though she was quite sure she was alone, Martina dropped all the rubbish she'd collected to the ground and slipped into the leather jacket.

And ahhh. She hadn't expected this at all. Joey Boswell clearly had better taste than she'd been giving him credit for- he clearly didn't choose this jacket based on the style alone. The lining was thick and soft, and it was still warm- partially because he took it off not ten minutes ago, though she was sure it would be anyway- and it was, quite frankly, the most comfortable thing she'd ever worn in her life. Martina just stood there and exhaled, melting into its warmth, shutting her eyes and succumbing to the pure bliss of this lovely garment. It was no wonder he was willing to spend so much money on these, she thought- it would be worth it to feel this comfy while looking outwardly stylish.

Right, that's it, she thought. I've 'ad me fun, it's time to get this thing off and put it away.

She tugged at the collar, intending to slide it off her arms, but as she did so, Martina noticed her reflection in one of the far windows, and instead found herself crossing to examine herself more closely.

And oh, she didn't half like what she saw.

It didn't look exactly right on her- well, it wouldn't, would it, being a man's jacket after all- the shoulders were a bit too broad and the sleeves a little too long, and the whole thing a bit too loose, but it did give her a rather dangerous edge, she thought.

Hmm.

She pulled her hair out from under the collar, arranged it over one side, then the other, her back, both shoulders, making note of how it looked each way. She turned the collar upwards, and, feeling slightly silly but reassuring herself that no-one would ever know, she struck a pose, leaning on her left leg and blowing a kiss to her reflection.

That's it, she told herself again, that is IT. You're gettin' ridiculous now. Take it off before you regret it.

And again, she ignored herself. How much longer was she going to be able to wear this, anyway? Joey Boswell would be back tomorrow to reclaim it, she was sure of that. She would hand it back, delivering it with a free lecture on the morals of wasting one's money and a few questioning remarks about where he got said money to buy it in the first place. That was what she'd do- she had no doubt about that. And Joey would saunter off wearing it, having completely disregarded her chides and her feeble attempt to make an honest man of him. Everything would be as it should.

But in the meantime, there was no harm with someone safeguarding it for him, was there?

Having made up her mind, or, at the very least, conned herself into thinking those were her motives, she turned back to the window and studied herself again. It was just such a brilliant garment, making her look a little like a femme fatale from some black and white film, and, with that image in mind, she put one hand on her hip and winked, making a little gun shape with her hand and blowing imaginary smoke from her fingertip.

'Suits you, that.'

Martina turned around so fast her back thumped against the window.

The blood rushed through all her veins at a tremendous speed, her heart doing triple- no, quadruple time. She could feel her face burning.

'Greetings!' said Joey Boswell, looking at her as if all his Christmases had come at once. Martina did her best not to look directly at him. She ripped the jacket off at once, mortified as she had never been mortified before. This just wasn't fair- she was never rash or impulsive like this, she was always sensible, and yet the one time she did something a little bit frivolous she was caught out just like that. It was utterly humiliating.

'What are you doin' 'ere?' she demanded.

Joey kept on grinning like there was a contest on for the biggest smile around. The look made her guts churn, and she tried to fix her eyes on anything but that maddeningly amused face.

'I was merely clamberin' into me J- I mean, into the Jaguar that was so kindly loaned to me…'

She may have been in a state of embarrassment, but Martina couldn't help tutting at that.

'And I realised I had misplaced my jacket. So, seein' as I couldn't drive around in a stylish car without looking the part- I mean, one has a certain image to uphold, doesn't one- I decided to return to this establishment and enquire as to its fate.'

Martina glowered, knowing she really should say something at this point, but still so stunned that the entire English language seemed to have evaporated from her brain.

'Er.'

'So,' said Joey, taking a step closer towards her and reaching out to run his hand over the leather, 'someone handed it in, did they?'

'Just take it and go.'

'Oh, no, sweetheart. And pass up an opportunity like this? I never thought I'd get somethin' on you, Miss Martina.'

'Just take it and go!'

Joey laughed away her protests. 'And I thought,' he said, raising his eyebrows at her, 'that you were the advocate for honesty and not cheatin' people out o' things?'

Martina opened her mouth, but what could she say to that?

'And yet here you are,' Joey continued, 'havin' stolen some of me gear, as if…'

'I did not steal it!' Martina thrust the jacket viciously at him.

'Oh, yeah? Then what were you doin' with it?'

'I…' it was ridiculous, but she was thinking on the fly, and having to plunge through layers and layers of embarrassment to get to any coherent thoughts at all, 'confiscated it.'

'Oh?' Joey's voice broke briefly, the noise coming out of his mouth as half-word, half-laugh. 'And why does it need confiscatin'?'

'You…you shouldn't 'ave it, that's why. You bought it with ill-gotten money, no doubt.'

'Whereas you merely nicked it…'

'Mister Boswell,' she shoved the jacket at him again, slamming it against his chest, 'I did not…'

'And 'ere I was, thinkin' you were such a saint,' Joey sighed dramatically as he put his arms through the sleeves, 'sittin' there behind your counter, chidin' me about the evils of gettin' things by dishonest means, taking the moral high-ground, when all the while you had a secret thievin' streak…'

'Thieving streak?!' Martina spluttered, horrified.

'Or perhaps Shifty was just too much of a bad influence on you…'

'He had no influence on me whatso-' Martina realised too late she'd walked into his trap.

'Ah, so you admit it- you had criminal tendencies all along! And yet you used to let me have it for bendin' the Social Security rules…'

This whole experience had been bad enough for Martina, but it was at that point that she suddenly realised just what the consequences of her actions truly were.

'You're never gonna let me forget this, are you?'

The smile dropped from Joey's face instantaneously.

'Martina,' he put one hand to his chest. 'What sort o' man do you think I am?'

Martina's heart began to slow down. Perhaps he was better than she thought. If he could just wave this whole thing off now, and never mention it again, there was the smallest chance she could look him in the eye again.

'Of course I'm never gonna let you forget it! Not as long as I live, dear lady!'

Martina's hands came up to catch her face. Oh, this wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening- couldn't this be a dream? Please?

Joey took another step closer and patted her on the shoulder. 'Don't you fret your pretty little head, sweetheart. Perhaps in, oh, say, ten years, I'll have grown weary of remindin' you about this.'

Martina let her frustrated shriek out into her hands. Joey patted her again and stepped away, striding off in the direction of the door. She watched him go through the gaps between her fingers.

'Oh, and Martina?'

She wasn't sure she wanted to hear his parting comment, knowing with a sinking heart that whatever it was, it was bound to leave her permanently cringing. She might never be able to leave the house again, let alone come to work and face him.

'Yes,' she said warily, 'Mister Boswell?'

'It did suit you, you know,' he said, his voice soft in a way which didn't allow her to determine whether he was being serious or not. 'Made you look quite…desirable.'

He tilted his head to the side as he winked, and then he disappeared through the doors.

Martina stared at the space where he had been, feeling her face heating back up, and then she put her head in her hands again.