all_inclusive | Gathering: New Year's Eve Gala

Gathering: New Year's Eve Gala

The annual Nexus New Year's Eve gala began at 8 in the evening. Too grand to be contained by the lobby or dining hall, the gardens at the front of the hotel were employed, with long strings of white lights forming a twinkling canopy from the front doors all the way to the hedge maze. The weather was temperate and calm, and the night perfectly clear.

Drinks were served at various bars set up throughout the gardens and lobby, with champagne cocktails being the specialty of the night. Wheeling through the crowd was a bartender with golden cart providing warm drinks on the go: Tom and Jerrys, rum punch, negus, and Irish coffee.

Crisply-dressed wait staff wove through the collected guests with an abundance of hors d'oeuvres for all different tastes. The Bistro remained open with a limited selection of items for those who were wanting something more substantial.

Above the front doors was hung a large, gold-rimmed clock counting down the last hours, minutes, and seconds of the current year.

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Martha catches her drink before it spills, though it's nearly time for a refill anyway, though she pauses before she takes a fresh sip. The Scotsman is in full regalia, kilted and the like (and Martha is not going to ask him about his underwear, she is not), so a moment or two of appreciation is required.

Just for a moment, though, and a smile; she's not rude.

"No worries," she says, and it's like taking off a coat, somehow, speaking to someone who's at least from the same island--even if it's the other end of it. Words come easier, a little. "It's the kind of night where we're all pretty much in the same boat."

"Aye, it is that. Always liked the end of the year. Sweep away the old, bring in the new." It's always a big to do in Scotland anyway and hearing someone from his part of the world, even if it is a sassenach, is nice.

"I'm James Fraser, miss. At your service," he says, dipping his head a bit in deference to her. "But ye can call me Jamie, if ye like."

Fortunately, this man--Jamie, it seems--has an accent that's easily understood (she's met the occasional Scot that was beyond her, with a registrar from Paisley being particularly memorable).

"Good to meet you, Jamie," she says, extending a hand with a nod of her own. "I'm Martha. Dr Martha Jones if I'm in trouble, but I'm hoping I'm not at the moment?" She can't help but grin a little, and if she's trying to be charming, well. He's nice-looking, and she's pretty sure most blokes from Scotland know exactly what appeal their national dress has on ladies south of Hadrian's Wall.

"Aye, no trouble. A doctor, ye say? Are all sassenach women doctors?" Jamie almost adds 'in the modern era' but he doesna know when this woman is from or if she knows about time travel and the like. The things he talks about with Claire aren't exactly things he talks about with anyone else.

"Because I know another lass who's a sassenach and a doctor, mighty fine one at that."

As it happens, Jamie's found one of those hotel folk who do know about these things, though Martha's experiences with time travel...vary somewhat in their nature and general level of pleasantness. (She'd be more than happy to never see London in the 60s ever again.)

She's not entirely familiar with sassenach but gathers from context more of the meaning and grins. "Not all of us, some though. Enough of us. I'm sure there're loads in Scotland as well, you just happen to be running into the best England has to offer." This is, admittedly, accompanied by a self-deprecating smile and a wink. "Do you know what she specialises in? Now, if it's the same as me, that'd just get strange."

"Nay, I dinna know that. She's just a doctor and good at keeping me mostly whole," Jamie says, grinning. He misses Claire every hour of every day but he's made a conscious decision to put one foot in front of the other and keep living. It's what she'd want.

"General surgeon, if I had to guess."

Martha nods, because that's fair--her own brother couldn't tell someone her specialism most of the time. She grins, then, considering Jamie a little more. "I take it you find trouble fairly often," she says. "To be keeping you patched up, at least."

Though what kind of trouble that is, she can't really say--he's not visibly scarred so it's likely not Glaswegian pub brawls.

"Oh, I get by," Jamie says. "Got a temper, ye see, and it tends to get me in the worst situations. Claire set all the bones in this hand once," he says, showing her his right.

It's not the best set, he knows, but she's made it so he kept the hand in spite of a little stiffness in his ring and pinky. "Had it smashed with a hammer, ye see. I think she did a good job."

"Smashed with a hammer," Martha repeats, but instead of looking horrified, she leans in and looks more closely at Jamie's hand. "She did it all herself, and you can still move it with full function? Pretty damn impressive, pardon my French."

She's preventing herself from asking why he didn't go to a hospital, because usually people have their reasons.

"Aye, well, the last two fingers dinna move so well," Jamie says, demonstrating it for her. "Bit stiff, ye see? But she did it in the field and I canna ask for more from her. I'm left handed, so it's no real matter to me."

He grins a bit. "Bloody impressive, indeed. My Claire's a fine surgeon. What sort of doctoring do ye do, Martha?"

Even so, for field work, it's pretty damn amazing. Martha's seen folks lose the hand in cases like that. Though it doesn't explain why someone went to the trouble of breaking Jamie's hand with a hammer--if he'd been in the city or run afoul of gangs, he seriously could just get to a hospital, or at least a free clinic, unless he was on the run. She's a pretty good judge of people by now and Jamie seems all right, so she's taking this as whomever did it was a shitty person, no questions asked.

But rather than all the field doctoring she's ever done...Martha finds she's trying not to think of the bones of the hand, listed off to try to prove her humanity.

"Emergency medicine," she says, smiling, banishing the thought. "So I appreciate fine work. I'd like to shake her hand, your Claire." Interesting phrasing, that--a lover, maybe?

"Aye, would that ye could. I would be happy to let ye meet her," Jamie says, giving Martha a sort of sad smile. "She's not come through, ye ken, and I miss her dearly. It's been a long time since I've seen her. I miss her more than I can possibly say. She'd like ye, though. I can tell ye that."

Any woman who's also into doctorin', well. Claire's type of people.

"Oh," Martha says, and winces a bit, because she really had ought to have seen that coming. "I'm sorry, mate. Time and space like in this place are pretty fickle like that."

She doesn't really go in for the kind of sympathy that says things like 'hope you'll get to see her soon', not anymore, so instead she says, "Bet I'd like her too. Could I get you a drink? We can send her a toast, wherever she's at."

"I'd like that," Jamie says. "You're a good sort, Martha. Anyone who offers a drink to a grieving Scotsman can be considered a friend." That, at least, is said with a bit of a laugh. He's grieving, yes, but he's got to put one foot in front of the other or Claire would hate him for it. He canna just quit.

"What's your drink?"

Martha smiles, softly, and winks. "I find it works wonders, not just on Scotsmen," she admits. "And I'm on the Irish coffee--but no, please let me get it. I was planning on big spending tonight anyway, sort of ended up here by mistake."

London venues charge through the nose at Christmas and New Year's (and like hell she was giving some random bartender her card) so at least she's got enough cash to get by for a while, this time.

"Aye, well, I'll have a debt, then. Not such a good idea to carry a debt into a new year," Jamie says, grinning a bit. He's very superstitious, in his way, and he doesna want to be in debt to anyone, even a lovely lady.

"So I'll be needing to get the next round after, Martha, just to ease my conscience."

Martha considers this, then nods, smiling a little more. "All right, that's fair play," she agrees. "What are you having, Jamie? So that we can get ourselves right before the clock strikes."

"A whiskey, neat," he says. It's a simple drink but in a lot of ways, Jamie Fraser is a simple man. While he likes wines and champagnes, a good whiskey aged in an oak barrel is still the best.

"Got it," says Martha, who ends up at the bar, asking for a neat Islay and another Irish coffee (she's gotta stop with these or she'll never sleep tonight). The order's fast, though, and she's back in a moment or two.

Jamie's not hard to find, considering the kilt, though there are one or two more about in the crowd. He's the best-looking, even if she's Not Going To Hit On Him, having seen the way he talked about this Claire.

"Slainte, isn't it?" she says, handing over his glass before raising the tempered glass mug.

"Do dheagh shlàinte," Jamie says in response. "And aye, you have the right of it. To good health and a great year." Martha is one of the better sorts he's met since being here and she makes him feel like he's not quite so far from home. Granted, in his day, there wouldna be many lady doctors with skin so dark but he's discovered that just because something's familiar, doesna mean it's right. He's glad that things have changed in the future.

A nod and a sip to the toast, and Martha lets the warmth of the coffee run through her for a moment. "Good health and a great year indeed," she agrees. "So I take it you're based here these days, then, not getting home much?"

She's trying to put it in as gentle a phrasing as possible, seeing as it's a touchy subject for some.

"That's the way of it," Jamie agrees. "Havena been able to go home since I came here a year ago. I've tried, ye ken, but the doors dinna seem to work for me that direction. I can go other places but I canna go home. It's troubling but I'm hoping that I can get back one day. What about you? Can you go back and forth, then?"

"Sort of," says Martha, gesturing a little with her glass. It's a very timey-wimey gesture. "I can go back, but getting back here is a bit awkward, much more random. It does seem to happen more when I'm going somewhere at home that I don't really want to be, to be honest."

"Bit of a nice escape, then," Jamie says with a little chuckle. "Reminds me of when I was a wee boy and me feet found me in the stables instead of at the table for supper or to my father for a beating. Funny how the doors can do that for ye."

Martha smiles and takes a big sip of her drink. "Some of an escape. Other times it's just a bit inconvenient, but things just seem to get that way for me..."

She trails off, lifting an eyebrow slightly at 'for a beating' and 'stables', and more than that, the casual way in which Jamie referred to both. Neither are exactly usual conversation in her day, and put together... "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Jamie?"

This might not be a good idea, but she's curious.

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