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The Fabric of Our Hearts

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Martha turned off the taps, slid open the shower curtain, and stepped carefully onto the bath mat. It was a quick matter to dry off, and, as she ran the towel over hair, she couldn't help catching sight of her body in the mirror. It certainly wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, especially considering her age. In fact, she was certain that many women would be a bit envious. However, that didn't stop the thread of self consciousness that weaved through her mind. She remembered what her body had been like all those years ago (never mind the reactions that body had caused) and was only too aware of the direction it would go.

A sigh passed her lips as she looked away, tossing the towel on the counter, and grabbed her brush, running it absently through her hair as her thoughts continued. She supposed she wouldn't care half so much if things weren't going so well with Violet. It was amazing how another person could make you care so much about what had never really bothered you before. Not that it was Violet’s fault, mind you, it was just that their relationship was going so well and she couldn't help feeling like a teenager again sometimes.

She grabbed the lotion and spread it on her skin, the sweet lavender smell helping calm her nerves. Violet was coming over tonight for dinner; Sherlock had left for Uni that day and Violet wasn’t ready to have a truly empty house. When they had talked earlier, Violet hadn't been sure about spending the night yet, but Martha had assured her it was fine, it was all fine. Now that she had more time to ruminate on it all, she realized the anticipation was making her jittery.

Martha grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her torso. She tried not to think about tonight and what promise it held. They hadn’t gone further than gropes and snogs, but that had really only been due to circumstance she suspected. The few instances that were promising had been, conveniently or not, interrupted by explosions from Sherlock’s room or frantic phone calls from John about pyrotechnics elsewhere.

As she grabbed the knob, she gave herself one last glance in the mirror before opening the door. Martha padded down the hallway towards her room, but stopped halfway; she could hear someone rummaging about her kitchen cabinets. She grabbed a small statue from the hall table and crept back towards the kitchen. She paused for a moment, just outside the door, before jumping into the kitchen, a yell tearing free of her throat.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Martha screamed, brandishing the statue in front of her. She didn't really want to fight anyone, but more hoped that her display would scare them off. What she didn't expect was the resultant shriek followed by a fit of giggles.

Martha finally looked at the intruder. “Violet?” She let the statue fall to her side. “I thought you wouldn't be over until later?”

A hand covered Violet’s mouth as she attempted to stifle her laughter. “Sorry,” she eventually squeaked. “Its just you make quite a sight.” Violet let her eyes drift up and down Martha’s body.

Eyebrows furrowed as Martha took in the statement. It dawned on her that she was still wrapped in a towel, but she didn't think she looked that bad.

“And the Queen definitely adds to the look,” Violet continued, pointing to the statue. She took a step closer. “Although, next time you are attacking a would-be intruder, you may want to keep your eyes open.”

Martha blew out a breath, angry at the chiding but also drawn in by the heat in Violet’s eyes. She folded her arms and turned away.

“Well, its not like I actually wanted to hurt anybody. And if I did, I certainly didn’t want to see it!” Martha knew she was pouting but didn't really care. Hands slid up her bare arms as Violet pressed a warm kiss to the back of Martha’s neck. She couldn't help leaning back slightly into the touch.

“Sorry, love,” Violet whispered into Martha’s hair. “I wasn't trying to be mean, just having a bit of fun.” She slipped her arms around Martha and pulled her against her chest.

Martha sighed and melted into the contact. “No, I’m sorry. Just a bit out of sorts is all. I’ll be right as rain here in no time.”

“Out of sorts?” Violet turned Martha around in her arms. “Why? What happened?”

Martha felt suddenly shy about it all and refused to look at Violet.

“Oh, its nothing.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Just me being a silly old bird.”

Violet squinted her eyes at Martha. “You know I can just—”

“I know you can,” Martha snapped, instantly sorry at her tone. She didn't need reminding that her partner could simply ‘deduce’ everything about her, but Violet also didn't deserve to be scolded. They stared at each other for several moments before Violet finally gave in.

“Oh, love,” Violet whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice. She leaned down and gave Martha a chaste kiss on the lips. Without waiting for a reply, she kissed the side of her jaw, the crook of her neck, the hollow of her throat. As she stood up, fingers worked the statue free from Martha’s hand and set it on the table. “You’re beautiful.”

Martha could only just stare back at Violet, unsure what she should do. When Violet went for the corner of the towel still tucked under her arm, her hands reflexively flew up to stop her. “I…”

Violet stopped but didn't move her hand from where it rested over Martha’s. “Please, can I see you?”

Martha’s fingers worried the bit of towel between them. The look in Violet’s eyes was so open and honest; she took a deep breath and let her hand fall.

Violet only hesitated a moment before plucking the corner out and letting the towel fall to a puddle on the floor. Her eyes wandered up and down Martha’s now exposed body, ignoring the slight flush of pink on her cheeks from embarrassment at being naked.

“I realise that I—” Martha was cut short by a finger to her lips.

“No…” Violet’s eyes flitted once more over Martha. “You’re not beautiful... but gorgeous and amazing and exquisite…”  She leaned in and claimed Martha’s lips for a much more heated kiss.

After the initial shock wore off, Martha’s hands came up and worked open the buttons on Violet’s blouse. Slowly, she walked them towards her bedroom. Neither said a word as they flopped on the bed, each much more intent on exploration than self consciousness. As the last bit of fabric was tossed carelessly to floor, Martha idly wondered why she had ever been so worried.