Finally updated in a slightly shorter timeframe! Usual disclaimers apply. In which Joey and Martina realise they have some acquaintances in common, and some slight crossoverishness ensues. Probably should add a warning, there is going to be a lot of sexual tension in the next few chapters. This fic was originally M-rated, but I bowdlerised and cut a few scenes a couple of chapters down the line from now, because I hate dealing with the filters, so you'll get the T version for now. I may upload them separately one day, but I doubt I'll be bothered. Anyway, either way, lots of Joetina ahead. Enjoy.


19

The dilemma of Joey Boswell

Joey woke with a ringing in his ears and a million marching drummers banging their instruments inside his brain. He cracked an eye open and was immediately assaulted by the sun coming in through Martina's living room window, burning a stinging red spot onto his vision.

Bloody hell.

He shut his eyes again, rubbing his forehead as hard as he could manage, realising as he tried to sit up that doing so was making his stomach turn.

Aw hey, son. Never again.

He hadn't even realised he'd drunk so much…glasses had blended into each other, chasing down the bitter taste of Leonora's horrendous family, but he was sure he'd been managing. Martina had been teasing him, and he'd still been able to hold his own, except…

…except, at one point, his body had seemed to act without the consent of his brain, and he'd been a hair's breadth away from…well, he wasn't sure exactly what. Having her that close to him, in that position on the sofa, had been intoxicating – hazing up his mind even more than the liquor and the nastily strong coffee Martina had tried to force down him. Joey could have sworn when she looked at him, he'd seen almost the same ambivalent desire in her eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder, just for a moment, what would have happened had he not stopped himself. And then he reminded himself – the copious wines he'd consumed could well have skewed his version of events. God knew what it looked like from Martina's point of view; she may have been horrified.

Joey groaned, pulling a cushion over his face. He couldn't dwell too much on it now – deep, meaningful thinking was compounding his aggressive headache. His most pressing concern was getting rid of the pain – or the nausea; both were torture.

Slowly, for fear of provoking himself into a bout of projectile vomiting, he turned over on the sofa and reached for the coffee table, where he'd left his jacket and keys.

And nearly knocked over a glass right in front of him. Joey groped around it, eventually giving in and opening his eyes blearily, taking in what was before him – a glass of water and two paracetamol. He snorted as he picked up the note beside them.

Don't pretend you don't need them. – M.

In spite of his headache, Joey smirked at the sight of it, pulling his gold pen from his pocket and adding his own note to the back.

Kind of you but unnecessary.

He paused for a moment. He couldn't back down in front of Martina – he had been insisting all last night he hadn't had more than he could handle, and he meant to stand by that. He'd keep up the charade as long as he could, pretend he was fine – but he took the paracetamol all the same. She need never know.

Running water sounded in the background – Martina was in the shower, and Joey pondered whether he should creep out now, save her seeing him in this state. He shifted a bit, feeling his stomach lurch again. No, he couldn't bring himself to move yet. Besides, there was something about leaving without seeing her first that didn't sit well with Joey. Not after his drunken blunders – he needed to try and salvage some normalcy, make sure they were all right.

He lay back on the sofa, massaging his temples and taking deep breaths to quell his nausea.

When she finally emerged a few minutes later, Joey pretended to be asleep, unsure exactly how to face her, cracking one eye to observe her. Martina seemed unperturbed by his apparent unconsciousness, going past him into her little kitchen, where she proceeded to make an unholy racket in the sink. God knew why she was washing dishes at this hour, but she was horribly heavy-handed with it, clinking plates together so clumsily and loudly the sound reverberated through the flat, thumping through Joey's temples.

He groaned before he could stop himself.

'Joey?'

Joey froze. Well, that gave the game away a bit, didn't it? Still, Martina blessedly stopped washing the pots, giving his head a bit of a reprieve.

'I know you're awake. Get up and help me.'

She was standing in front of him raised his head slowly, squinting at her, eyes narrowed to slits to try and keep too much light from filtering in.

'Why're you doin' that now?!'

Even uttering that many words compounded his headache. Joey hoped to heaven the paracetamol would start pulling its weight soon; he was drowning trying to feign wellness on his own.

'Because it needs doing. I didn't get a chance to last night; your bloody do went on so long. And unlike some of us, who have a whole house full of little brothers and mothers and grandads to share the load, I live alone. And if I don't do it, nobody's gonna come and take that job off me plate. And the longer I leave it, the higher the chance I'll wind up with rings and crusts that won't come off.'

'You wouldn't catch our Grandad helping with the pots,' Joey snorted, immediately regretting his compulsion to split hairs as another wave of pain crested in his head.

He shut his eyes, trying to burrow into the sofa and block her out. Sod normalcy and seeing if they were all right – when every sound around him was drilling holes in his brain, all of that was eroded away, superseded by the desperate need to get her to be quiet.

'Just soak them or something,' he mumbled into the cushion.

Martina leaned over and shook him hard.

'Geroff, Martina!' Joey moaned, clapping a hand over his forehead. 'Me 'ead's murder!'

He glanced up at her. Martina looked unbearably smug, and Joey realised in his weakened state of defence he'd completely forgotten his charade of being fine.

'Hung over, are we, Mister Boswell?'

Joey scoffed. 'No.'

'All right.' She picked up his empty glass, clinking it loudly onto the plate she was holding.

'God, can you not?!'

The smug look intensified and Joey realised exactly why she'd been doing dishes at seven in the morning. And he'd just walked into her trap.

'It's a migraine, all right?!' he insisted anyway.

'A migraine that just happens to manifest after you've been drinking?'

'Oh, piss off.' Joey stuck two fingers up, raising his hand clumsily in her direction.

'Er – this is my flat, Mister Boswell. We play by my rules 'ere.'

'Or what?'

He immediately regretted his minor rebellion when Martina showed him or what, shaking him so roughly his head seemed close to rattling its way off his neck.

'Aw hey – will you cut that out?!'

'Oh, you want me to stop, do you, Mister Boswell?'

'God, Martina, what d'you want from me?'

Joey was aware how petulant he sounded – and on some level, he took a guilty pleasure in it. It was nice to be in this position for once – handing responsibility to someone else, whining at them and indulging in self-pity over something trivial. At home, the roles had always been reversed, and it had fallen upon him to do the reprimanding and looking-after while someone else lay on the couch moaning after their misadventures.

'That's up to you, Mister Boswell. I might want you to help finish me washing up. Or I might want to take pity on you and bring you a cup of tea to help clear your head.'

'If you could see your way to doin' that last one, sweetheart, it'd be much appreciated.'

'All right.'

Joey wasn't fooled by her concession. Her smirk was so wicked it could give a ghoul lessons, and his apprehension wasn't in vain.

'Just soon as you admit it.'

Joey pondered. On the one hand, there was his dignity to uphold. On the other, he didn't think he could bear another shaking or another rendition of Martina's plate-and-cup orchestra. The woman could be brutal when she wanted to be – and as she'd shown last night, she was well able to tease him mercilessly when his defences were down, on par with his own ability to wind her up. She'd been hiding that talent up until now. Or perhaps, now she knew him better, she'd worked out what buttons to push to get a reaction from him, and was now setting about perfecting her newfound skill. Whichever it was, he couldn't cope with much more at present.

'Okay,' he muttered. 'All right. I admit it.'

She folded her arms. 'Go on.'

'Go on what?'

'Let me know what you're admittin' to.'

'You're loving this, aren't you?'

Martina shrugged, mouth twisting.

Joey rolled his eyes. 'All right, Martina. I'm hung over – okay? Happy now?'

She shrugged again. 'For now, Mister Boswell. For now.' And then she was gone from his line of sight, wandering off in the direction of the kitchen. 'I'll make you that tea.'

Joey had managed to hoist himself into a half-sitting position by the time she returned. He sipped at his mug slowly (she'd thankfully given him a normal strength beverage this time), letting it and the paracetamol do their work.

'Eh,' he murmured, as the buzzing in his head slowly died down. 'Sorry, sweetheart.'

Martina blinked. 'What for?'

That gave him pause. Joey wasn't sure himself what for, whether he wanted to venture down the track of discussing what very-nearly-almost-could-have happened, or whether he wanted to play it safe and apologise for getting bladdered.

He settled for the latter, to which Martina gave a haphazard shrug.

' 'ere. I want to ask you something.' She elbowed him until he sat up properly, moving across to make room for her on the sofa. 'It's about last night.'

Joey felt his blood run cold.

'Er,' he laughed uneasily, 'listen –'

'D'you always sleep like that? Or was that the drink?'

Joey blinked, a flood of relief rushing through his system mingled with confusion.

'Like what?'

'All night I could hear you tossing and turning and groaning.'

'Oh, God. Sorry.'

'Don't be,' Martina's hand on his shoulder was gentle now. 'Is it always like that?'

'Much as I'd like to say it was the drink, I highly doubt it. It's been like that for a while,' Joey admitted. 'Well, if it's not one thing, it's another, know what I mean? I don't remember the last time I slept well. There's too much on me mind and it all comes out and muddles in me head at night.'

'I thought as much. Roxy?'

'Not just her. The family as well. And me future…and then there's my –' Joey stopped himself before he could say job, though Martina clearly noticed.

'Well,' he said, ignoring her raised eyebrow, 'other things I have to do. It's just everything. I can't find peace with any of it.'

He refrained from mentioning her part in his sleepless nights. She'd become very prominent in his disturbed dreams nowadays (and not all of those dreams were entirely wholesome. Tuesday night's had involved her and the hearth rug in his hotel room in Scotland, and had led to him taking an icy shower to chase away the residual memory of it). Not nightmares as such, but they still left him alert and unsettled, albeit in a different way.

Speaking of which…the disturbed nights had started more or less the day Roxy left him. Those couple of weeks in Gretna Green had been horrific, every night more horrifying than the last, and if Martina had been there for one of those…

'That reminds me…did…I do that in Scotland as well?'

Martina appeared taken aback he'd asked about that fateful trip without jesting.

'Well…no. I mean….I don't know. I was exhausted that night; I slept like a log. So…' she shrugged. 'Maybe you did, but I didn't notice.'

'You mean to say you were too knackered to care about my plight? What kind of friend are you, then?'

He couldn't resist the tease, and when Martina's own smile glimmered around her face, he was pleased he'd attempted it. His own tortured mind wasn't the best topic of conversation when he was trying

'The kind that hadn't manifested yet. I was out to get you then, don't forget.'

'Meaning you're not now. Bless.'

'I didn't say that.'

'But you thought it,' Joey looked her in the eyes, aware he was unable to keep his face straight, aware she was struggling on that front herself. 'Came out in your subconscious, there, didn't it? "I was out to get you", you said.'

'Your hangover's disappeared, hasn't it, Mister Boswell?'

'Are you trying to deflect, Miss Hennessey? What, force me to admit a humiliation then weasel your way out of admittin' one of your own?'

Martina tilted her head, trying to stare him down, and Joey stared back, the two of them falling into their inevitable game of who could blink first.

Although he usually lost these games, he was in luck this morning – Martina snorted and sniggered and gave in, letting her face crease into a smile. She bumped him with her shoulder and leaned against him, and Joey reacted instinctively, wrapping his arm around her.

'You know,' Martina said, resting her head against his, 'out to get you I may be – and I am still out to get you, make no mistake…'

'If you say so, sweetheart.'

Martina elbowed him.

'But… I don't like to think of you suffering like that.'

'Eh, it's not as bad as all that. I can survive on very little sleep, you know. It becomes habit when you're used to stayin' up all hours to…'

He trailed off, leaving a deliberately ambiguous hint about the nature of some of his earlier work. And it wasn't in vain; she raised her eyebrows in warning, able to keep a resurgence of severity intact for all of a few seconds before she gave in to her laughter again.

'Eh – I never said anything, did I? Nothing that'd hold up anyway.'

And there was that smile again – her natural, beautiful one, coming out in all its glory when she couldn't control it, and Joey realised if he wasn't careful, he could well be on the throes of acting again. His headache temporarily neutralised, he was beginning to feel the effects of his close proximity to her again – and God, he didn't know when it had become this difficult to be around her without a heretofore hidden desire coming out, but now it had made itself known to him, it was running rampant through his body, even as he tried to shut it down in his brain.

'Anyway, I'd best make tracks,' he stood up abruptly, a wave of hangover-related nausea hitting him as he did so, 'me Mam'll be wondering where I am – I didn't tell her.'

Martina arched an eyebrow.

'And I thought she was lettin' you be your own man.'

'She is, but – basic courtesy, you know.' Joey shrugged, trying to conceal that his departure was fuelled by his own muddled state of mind. He could still feel her eyes on him as he left, regarding him with confusion, and Joey wondered what the hell he was doing.


'Oh! Joey,' Nellie's surprise (and mild worry) were evident in her voice when he walked into the kitchen, but she did her best to smother it with feigned nonchalance. 'There you are!'

Joey saw through her charade and smiled at her.

'I would've rung, Mam, but...Jack's do went pretty late. Didn't wanna disturb you. And I'd had a glass or two, so I didn't wanna risk it.'

'As long as you're safe and well,' the same forced flippancy. God love her, she was still struggling with it, but they were making progress, Joey thought, and he appreciated it.

'You didn't stay with those….those…'

Nellie was trying to find the right word in her vocabulary to describe Jack's almost in-laws, and the eldest Boswell chuckled in spite of himself.

'No, fear not – I stayed with a friend.'

'Aw 'ey!' Joey hadn't noticed Billy, who'd taken this opportunity to quietly scoff the breakfast, 'if I'd stayed at Connie's you'd have 'ad me by the throat!'

'Yes, well, if you stayed at that Connie's, she'd have had you by something else!' A bit crude for Nellie Boswell, who was clearly trying to find an outlet for her mood. She looked on the verge of adding a comment about Billy's girlfriend's long legs, when the front door opened.

'Anybody home?'

Oswald was looking decidedly dishevelled, Augusta alert and chirruping in his arms, a hopeful look in his eye suggesting he was on the hunt for a decent meal.

Nellie beamed at his entrance (since when did she beam at Oswald? Joey thought with a strange lump in his throat).

'You're just in time for breakfast, love! Come in!'

Oswald didn't even try to pretend he wasn't scrounging. An enormous smile came to his face as he took Aveline's seat at the table, and Joey wondered briefly whether his scrounging was wholly connected to the food, or whether he was on the cadge for a bit of maternal affection from Nellie as well. They'd grown inexplicably close since his absence, bonding over Aveline's risky pregnancy, Oswald's near-starvation at home and his Mam's desire to replace the role of family protector, and though Joey still felt a twinge of jealousy, he was surprised to find it didn't bother him as much as it had a few months ago. His Mam had still been visibly concerned for him – she still cared, but she'd let it drop, let him be himself instead of forcing him back into that box. And if Oswald wanted to take up a couple of pieces of that mantle now and again…Joey supposed, reflecting, that was all to the good.

He observed his Mam and his brother in law as they chatted, Augusta on Nellie's lap, looking far more like Oswald than Ursula did, and far too pleased with herself, having grabbed a serviette off the table to crumble between her tiny fingers.

That was another tangle in his life sorted in some way. Oswald could have the mother figure he was clearly dying for, his Mam had someone to vent to, Joey had his family and his freedom, if he could let himself actually claim it – everybody got a bit of what they wanted, and just maybe, if his life was a bit more in order, he could let himself start to think about those errant thoughts he was having for Martina…

He was replaying this morning's conversation with her, chewing on the merits of having taken it further, when Billy addressed him, spraying toast crumbs on him as he did so.

'Eh, Joey – when me and Connie were at the precinct, we bumped into Carol. Remember her mate Sandra? She's havin' a party next Saturday! It's gonna be mega! I'm gonna bring Connie now she's me proper girlfriend.'

Nellie paused her conversation with Oswald to look scandalised.

'You see?! He's bringing her to meet the cousins now? You see, Joey? Oswald?! If we don't do something, he and that madam will be getting serious!'

Joey shrugged; it had become apparent that Billy intended to be serious with Connie, no matter what anyone else (including Connie herself) might say.

'You'll come, won't you, Joey? She said you were invited. We all are! Only our Adrian and our Jack won't go. They're too busy with their marriages and their babies. We're the only ones left, you and me!'

Joey pondered. Much as he liked his cousin Carol and her flatmate Sandra, much as he wanted to get out there and enjoy life, he didn't relish the prospect of another hangover like the one he'd just endured. He'd been hoping (much to his own surprise) to earmark next weekend for some quiet time with Martina – her dull afternoons doing jigsaws had begun to grow on him, and he was finding himself looking forward to them more than his grander plans.

'I'll think about it, son.'

'You went to Jack's thing last night!' Billy said indignantly.

'That was fam-i-ly!'

'This is family!' Billy insisted. 'It's our Carol!'

'Billy, every time we to go summat with Carol and Sand, I end up stuck talkin' to our Lucien all night. I don't fancy another chat about rabbits. And if you're gonna be off with Connie, I'll have nobody else, will I?'

'You never do anything with me, you do!'

Joey shook his head. Slightly unwell as he still was, he couldn't be bothered to deal with a guilt trip from Billy.

'What time is this thing, then?'

Billy looked far too smug. 'Seven o'clock.'

'All right, then, son.' Joey sighed, 'I'll come.'


'Your round.'

Evan made a face. 'I'm skint.'

'How can you be skint already?!' Joey couldn't believe his partner-in-crime sometimes. 'We only got paid yesterday!'

'I've got our Vera and the kids to think of, haven't I? Gotta keep them fed and clothed.'

Joey rolled his eyes. Evan's wife worked as well; he was clutching at straws, trying to cover up the very obvious reason he was already broke. 'And gotta keep yourself in cases of Scotch, clearly.'

It was possibly a bad idea, doing their business in the pub every week, given Evan couldn't keep away from the sauce. Then again, the idea was to be circumspect. This way, they looked like mates having a drink, not two small business owners discussing money laundering. Not that he wouldn't consider Evan a mate – he was a great bloke when sober, and Joey had found himself thinking more and more about their idea to go into business once they'd untethered themselves from Yizzel and his mate. They worked well together – if he could keep Evan off the bottle and be sure he wouldn't waste the profits, the two of them could have more success together than they'd be having from their own ventures. Not to mention, starting a third business between them would get them more Social Security benefits.

'Look, you can lay off these for a start,' Joey leaned across the table and pulled Evan's shot glasses away from him. 'We need to focus. We've got one more month with Slicer and Slasher, and then we can cut ties with them and think about ourselves. But you've got to be on the ball if we're gonna make it big. You can't burn the profits on drink.'

'You know what we need? Someone to do the books for us. Keep all that in check.'

'What we need,' Joey shook his head fondly, 'is for both of us to keep our own takings in check.'

He took another sip of his beer and considered. He knew someone who'd be great at doing their books, if they started a business – pity she probably wouldn't go for it. She had too many scruples for that, plus, in spite of their recent friendship, he doubted she'd be up for openly helping him in money matters. The thought of it made him smile nonetheless.

'What are you smirking at?' Evan demanded.

Joey pushed the thought aside, straightening his face.

'Nothing, sunshine. Nothing.'


The week passed in a bit of a daze. Joey divvied up his time between agonising over his interactions with Martina last Friday night and trying to strongarm Evan into managing his money better so they could make a go of a proper business. The fella had business sense; if he could just lay off the sauce a bit more they could really make a go of it, Joey felt. And he was determined to make it happen – even if they'd been coming up with blanks when trying to brainstorm new business ideas, and Joey kept getting sidetracked daydreaming about asking Martina to come in on it and do their books. His Dad had made an unexpected reappearance in the Place of Nonpoisonous Substances as well, making it more difficult for Joey to conduct his laundering, and he'd had to resort to waiting til Freddie waltzed off for a lunch break with Lilo Lil to tot up Evan's fake orders. Between worrying over that and driving himself doolally over the events of last week, Joey desperately needed a break.

He could have done without another night out after the week he'd had, but Billy had been nagging him every day, reminding him of his promise to attend, and so Joey had grumbled his acquiescence and escaped the house on Saturday afternoon, determined to get some quality time in with Martina before he had to endure it.

The sunny day and unseasonably warm weather did wonders for his mood – and for a while, strolling through the park with Martina, taking in the bright colours, he felt uplifted.

Pity every time he glanced at Martina – dressed for the warm weather and walking perilously close to him – his mind and body attempted to reopen the gateway to the confusion in his head.

'You're quiet today,' Martina observed. 'I almost didn't recognise you without some sort of opening speech.'

Joey attempted a winning smile, realising instantly he wasn't going to pull it off.

'Just replenishing my energy, that's all. I've got another social engagement tonight.'

'Listen who's talkin'. For all the times you dragged me out against me will, now who's complaining about goin' out?'

'You can't hold last week against me – that was rubbish! I've just had a rough week, that's all – doesn't mean I don't wanna get out there and enjoy meself. Least this one's with people I like. I'll be stuck on me own again, though – our Billy's bringin' Connie, and I don't fancy spending the whole night chaperoning them.'

Martina smirked. 'Well, you're gonna have to brave this one all by yourself, I'm afraid. I've got me own to go to.'

'Since when do you go to social occasions?' Martina was the crabbiest little hermit he'd ever met. He couldn't imagine she was going to this willingly.

'It's a family friend; I could hardly say no.'

Joey paused, considering. 'It's not Sandra Hutchinson's do, by any chance, is it?'

Martina's eyes widened.

'How'd you know?'

'I'm goin' as well. I'm surprised you know Sand. Doesn't seem like your sort of person.'

'She's me cousin Beryl's best friend,' Martina elaborated, 'and what d'you mean, my sort of person? I might work in the DSS, Mister Boswell, but I am capable of bein friends with nice, normal people. Apart from you, of course. I should be askin' the same thing.'

'She's me cousin Carol's old flatmate,' Joey shook his head. 'And what do you mean, nice and normal? I am nice and normal! And I'm a good influence on you, me.'

'Oh, yeah? How so?'

'I don't feed your unhealthy obsession with stayin' in doin' jigsaws all the time.'

She stopped walking, looking him squarely in the face.

'Just because you're bored out of your mind making your own entertainment doesn't mean everyone is. You've got no imagination – except when it comes to that creative drivel you spout when you put in yer claims.'

That last accusation wasn't entirely true. Right now, Joey's imagination was running away with him. Ever since that night at her flat, his desire for her had increased a hundredfold, and he couldn't ignore it anymore; it coloured their every interaction. She was still going on, mocking him about his short attention span or something along those lines, but he couldn't really take it in – not when she was stood in front of him with the sunlight in her hair, stoking that desire to almost unbearable heights.

The short-ish denim skirt Martina was wearing wasn't exactly doing much to quell that, either. Yes, it was a warm day, but seeing that much of her legs, while the skirt fitted tightly around her hips and enhanced the rest of her anatomy, was making it hard for Joey to concentrate on their conversation.

'God,' he said, interrupting whatever she was saying. 'Why d'you have to look so bloody great? Should be illegal.'

Martina paused to give him a strange look. 'Excuse me?'

'You look fantastic in that skirt. It's distracting me.'

Martina's look turned suspicious. 'What's this buttering up in aid of? What d'you want?'

'Oh, nothing, nothing,' Joey held up his hands. 'No favours; it was just a compliment, that's all.'

'Hmm. I'll reserve judgement on that.'

'I mean it, sweetheart. If you weren't me best mate, and I saw you lookin' like that, I'd be tempted to buy you a few drinks and take you home with me.'

Martina's face softened into a smirk, eyes twinkling. 'Oh, yeah?'

'Yeah.'

She shrugged. 'Don't let that stop yer.'

Joey couldn't tell if that was a tease or not, but it was too tempting. He sighed, stopped walking, sat down, raking a hand through his hair. (It flopped over his face as soon as his fingers left it. Bloody Martina, making him grow the blond out. He looked daft at the moment; he craved a haircut, but was refusing to on principle.)

'Martina, look…'

She moved to sit down beside him, and Joey slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.

'I can't do things like that.'

'Things like what?'

'The whole…friends with benefits thing. I can't do blurred lines.' This was a tad hypocritical, given the amount of lines their friendship already blurred, but to smudge such a significant boundary was just asking for trouble. 'I've never been able to. I've got to either be in or out. No halfway compromises.'

He'd been prepared for offense at this comment, but Martina just shrugged again.

'I think I've made my views on that clear already. And you were the one makin' lewd comments about me skirt.'

'I know, sweetheart.' Joey wasn't sure what to say. True, she'd already told him she was after the real thing; that her position on this almost mirrored his own. And a part of him would like to have just said sod it, taken Martina to bed and let whatever this was run its course. A larger piece held him back. He'd been wounded so deeply, taking another plunge with someone, especially only five months after being left at the altar, was an enormous risk, especially if it meant risking failure and potentially damaging their friendship. But that meant closing that door for good, dialling it all down, confining their interactions to the purely platonic, and they weren't really doing that anyway…he could just kiss her now; she looked so tempting, so inviting…

'D'you ever think about it?' he blurted. 'You and me, I mean?'

Nicely done, son. That's really smooth, that is.

Martina nodded so slightly he might have missed it. 'Yeah. Sometimes.' She sounded a bit cagey, though, a bit wary, and Joey missed the comfortable ease of a few minutes ago. Still; he'd blundered into this conversation; might as well see it through.

'Because, truth is… I do sometimes and all. And maybe not at first, but over time, I started to hope… God, it's selfish of me. I've not even got anything to offer you.'

'First time I've heard Joey Boswell being humble,' Martina snorted. 'Did I ask you to offer me anything?'

'Well, no, it's just…' his body acted of its own accord again, his hand coming up behind her head, fingers threading through her hair. It was as if he no longer had any self-control, where she was concerned, his subconscious (or physical) desires in charge. 'I wish I wasn't such a bloody mess.'

Martina smiled wryly. 'You're looking well on it from where I'm sitting.'

'I'm serious. I'm a nightmare-stricken pathetic sod with no real job and more baggage than a bag lady. And yeah, things are better than they were, but…'

'You liked yourself better when you were an arrogant bastard and everything was going well for yer.'

'Eh.' He nudged her in the shin with his foot. 'Watch who you're callin' an arrogant bastard. I don't think anything has gone well for me, anyway. Not for a long time. Years, maybe. But I suppose you're right; there was a more successful version of me once. Someone who could provide everything. I don't know what happened to him.'

'And you know what?' Martina said. 'I much prefer this version.'

'What? The useless one?'

She shook her head. 'The human one.'

There was something about the gentleness in her voice, in her words, even though he didn't fully understand them, that compelled Joey to act. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he found himself drawing closer, bringing her towards him as well.

Martina reached up, her hand meeting his, staying him.

'Don't mess me around, Joey,' she said softly. 'You have to mean it.'

Her lips were parted slightly; she was flushed, pupils inky black, even more devastatingly beautiful than she'd looked that night after Jack's dinner. Joey's chest (not to mention other parts of his anatomy) ached from the sight of her, and he knew if he did it, he was implicitly signing up for far more than simply appeasing his desires. They really should discuss it more, talk it over first...and yet he didn't think he had it in him to resist his more driving urges right now.

And then, just to make a mockery of his life, his mobile started to shriek.

'Oh – bloody hellfire!' Joey burst out, unable to contain his frustration. Martina watched him in amusement as he fished for it, almost tearing the lining of his pocket in his irritation. He wouldn't have taken it with him at all – but his family had promised him they'd only ring him in emergencies, and so far they'd stuck to that. Whatever warranted a phone call must be pretty urgent, untimely as it was.

'Sorry – I'm so sorry –' he muttered in her direction. He felt Martina's hand on his arm; a silent reassurance.

'Hello, yes?'

'Joey – the gov's here. He's wondering where you are.' Evan's voice turned Joey's blood cold. In the midst of everything, he'd completely lost track of their next organised meeting with Yizzel's mate.

'Oh, God, I forgot… look, I'll be there now.' Joey hung up, cursing his luck. Meetings with Yizzel and his mate were excruciating as it is – even more so now he and Evan were trying to hide the fact they were planning their exit strategy – but to be dragged away to one now, when he'd come this close…

'Sorry, sweetheart, I'm gonna have to go.'

Martina smiled ruefully. 'Genuine need?'

'Not a family crisis…an…appointment I forgot.'

'Oh, yeah? An appointment, you say?'

They were in the throes of an agonisingly tense moment, and yet Martina still had it in her to shoot him her most wicked look.

'Anything the DSS should know about?'

'If it were, d'you really think I'd tell you?' Joey teased back. 'I'll, er…I'll see you at Sand's tonight, okay?'

Martina half-smiled.

'Yeah, all right. See yer.'

'And we'll, er…' Joey wasn't sure how to phrase it, 'talk.'

She shrugged and nodded.

'And, erm…things.'

She shrugged again. 'Yeah.'

'I, er…'

Martina gave a fond roll of her eyes. 'Go on. Sort out whatever you have to. I'll see you tonight.'

Joey sprinted off, cursing Evan, Yizzel and the whole lot of them for their impeccably terrible timing.