A bus from the Conrad hotel is currently rolling south down I-55, toward Oklahoma. Which is the most logical place for a bus from a hotel in Chicago, right? Loaded onto the bus are a couple ancient and forever boys, a Time Lady, a couple doctors, and a couple guardian angels who really didn't have any choice in the matter (one of those people was
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Why Des chose seats in the middle of the bus is beyond anyone. This is just what Des does- be completely illogical and slightly annoying.
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She has to decide if she wants to go over or under them, because she is tiny and going over things is difficult. Martha doesn't want to wake him up, because he needs his sleep and she's trying to be a good girlfriend after telling both of her boys that they weren't allowed to drive and making them sulk.
However, this attempt is not going well. Martha tries to stretch her leg up over Des' legs and trips over them, twisting around and landing sideways in the aisle way with a squeaky yelp.
"Ow," she says, making a face on the floor of the bus, her legs still twisted up with Des' a bit. "...that was dumb."
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"You know, Martha Jones, you could have told me to move," he grins, teasingly.
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She rests her head against the aisle and she stares up at the ceiling of the bus.
"Y'know, it's really not so uncomfortable down here. Not nearly as much as you'd think, and you're trapped this way," (yes, trapped by her legs of tangled doom, right) she says. "It's a bonus. Somehow."
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Des very delicately pulls one of his legs free of the tangle and braces his foot against the seat in a pathetic attempt to disentangle himself. "I can get out of this any time I want... Oh God, I hope Donna doesn't hit the breaks. I like my tailbone where it is."
Because at the rate he's going, he's going to wind up in the floor, honestly.
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"Really?" She raises her eyebrows, again, smirking and calling out, "Quick, Des! Call the White House! If the President knew that my being nice is what actually keeps the terrorists from winning maybe America wouldn't be at war with them right now."
She is just going to watch his attempt to disentangle himself while the bus is in motion and he's lying down.
"I was going to let you go, but this is kind of hilarious to watch. At least from this end, which would be the down here on the floor end of things. I was wrong before apparently. It does hurt a bit. The floor."
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He adjusts himself and then leans over the seat to offer the poor Martha on the floor a hand, "Well, we don't want you to be in pain and the floor is no place for Marthas."
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She takes his hand, still grinning a little, and uses his leverage and strength to help her get up off the floor. Martha leans over and kisses him for being such a gentleman and helping her off the painful floor where Marthas don't belong, apparently.
"And how are we enjoying the trip to Oklahoma so far?" Martha smiles, cause y'know 12 trips in a bus to Oklahoma are so very entertaining.
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She pauses for a second, and then kicks his legs. Lightly. Really more a nudge than anything. "I'm not climbing over you."
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Des has the logic. Des has all the logic ever.
He does, however, rather graciously move them and scoots up so that he's not taking up two seats and rests his back against the window. "Are you fetching snacks? How much do you love me?"
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She steps past him, down toward the back, and then pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. "I am, and since you moved your legs... a little more than I loved you when you were in my way. What do you want?"
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He rests his shin on the back of the seat in front of him and gives her an adorable puppy dog look. "Something with chocolate or caffeine. You know, when I couldn't die, sleeping was something that happened to other people unless I felt like sleeping. This being mortal thing has a lot tougher than it looks."
And yet, after a year, he's almost gotten used to it. Sorta.
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She returns with chips and Fresca for herself, chocolate chip cookies and a Coke for Des, and drops into the seat across the aisle from Des, handing over his goodies with a smile. "Never let it be said that I never did anything nice for you," she says, settling down and getting comfortable. She has books at the front of the bus, but she's been reading for a while, and she's ready to take a break to chat with her ward. "So do we actually have a plan, or are we just... showing up and seeing what happens? Because that plan didn't work so well for Napoleon."
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