She doubts he’s got a sixth sense (well, she reasons to herself, he hasn’t got any anymore), but she’s certain he can feel her watching him.
“I’m not that cold,” Owen tells her.
It takes Martha a moment to realise just who it is that he’s talking to. “Excuse me?” she says.
“You were thinking about what it would be like to kiss me, I could tell.”
“I’m pretty sure most psychiatrists would have a field day with me if they got their chance, but that’s just wrong.”
“Look,” he says to her, “think of it as an experiment.” Martha looks at him and wonders what on Earth he thinks it is that she’s been doing here. Of course she doesn’t tell him that she’s been questioning it herself lately.
Martha gets back to business. “Looks like you’re keeping that hand well protected, which is good.”
“What’s it called? Keeping up appearances?” he ponders.
She smiles at him and goes to pack her things away. “I’m going home now,” she tells him.
“Home, home? Or your hotel room, home? ‘Cos I don’t sleep now. Well, I never did at all really. You could have my bed if you like.”
“You’re dead, Owen,” she reminds him quite firmly. “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped all this?” He walks away first, back to his new space next to the coffee machine.
She’s seen witches swarm in the sky, scarecrows limping through fields, the end of the world, even, but she feels like she this is the most important thing she has ever witnessed. She’s a doctor, after all, and spending time with a dead man makes her feel like she’s almost lucky.
Then she remembers that she’s not retired, she’s not swapping stories at dinner parties and that she’s here to help him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she calls out.
-
After she’s made her way through the various one way systems in Cardiff, she arrives at her hotel to find a message waiting for her.
How am I supposed to change now?
She goes upstairs and thinks about her response. When she doesn’t come up with one, she wonders how you’re supposed to grieve for someone they meant more to you dead.
Martha/Owen
“I’m not that cold,” Owen tells her.
It takes Martha a moment to realise just who it is that he’s talking to. “Excuse me?” she says.
“You were thinking about what it would be like to kiss me, I could tell.”
“I’m pretty sure most psychiatrists would have a field day with me if they got their chance, but that’s just wrong.”
“Look,” he says to her, “think of it as an experiment.” Martha looks at him and wonders what on Earth he thinks it is that she’s been doing here. Of course she doesn’t tell him that she’s been questioning it herself lately.
Martha gets back to business. “Looks like you’re keeping that hand well protected, which is good.”
“What’s it called? Keeping up appearances?” he ponders.
She smiles at him and goes to pack her things away. “I’m going home now,” she tells him.
“Home, home? Or your hotel room, home? ‘Cos I don’t sleep now. Well, I never did at all really. You could have my bed if you like.”
“You’re dead, Owen,” she reminds him quite firmly. “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped all this?” He walks away first, back to his new space next to the coffee machine.
She’s seen witches swarm in the sky, scarecrows limping through fields, the end of the world, even, but she feels like she this is the most important thing she has ever witnessed. She’s a doctor, after all, and spending time with a dead man makes her feel like she’s almost lucky.
Then she remembers that she’s not retired, she’s not swapping stories at dinner parties and that she’s here to help him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she calls out.
-
After she’s made her way through the various one way systems in Cardiff, she arrives at her hotel to find a message waiting for her.
She goes upstairs and thinks about her response. When she doesn’t come up with one, she wonders how you’re supposed to grieve for someone they meant more to you dead.