Disclamer: Not mine. John Finnemore's (Except for Mrs. Duwn and her... lovely... daughter but I doubt he would like to have her, frankly.

A/N: This hasn't been betaed nor Brit-picked. Sorry. I did try to find most of my mistakes but some might have stayed. Sorry for the inconvenience.

"See you on Wednesday!" Douglas said just before climbing inside his Lexus.

Martin was standing outside of Carolyn's house, waving goodbye to Arthur. Carolyn still didn't pay for the pick-up taxi and he was dreading the walk back to his flat. After a week flying around the world, all he wanted was a hot bath and a comfortable bed. Of course he'd have to settle to a, hopefully, hot shower and his old mattress but he still wished he could have taken to van to cover the distance between his and Carolyn's home. As things were, he barely had enough money to keep the van running for the jobs he had lined up over the next three days.

As he slowly walked home, the rain the sky was threatening to let go begun. First in very small, cold, droplets but quickly becoming a downpour. Martin stuck his hands inside his jacket cursing himself on choosing to wear his spring coat. It was in better shape then his warmer coat and the weather had been clement for the season a week ago, but it was now so cold it was a wonder the rain wasn't snow. It was, after all, the beginning of January.

Martin finally reached his flat and began to search of his keys. I'm sure I left them in my coat pocket... were are they? The search became more frantic, looking in every pocket. Please, please, pleeaase! Oh please don't have fallen out... Out of pocket option he desperately opened his overnight bag, hoping against hope they he put them there and he didn't remember. HAH! He had them. When did I put them in my bag? I must be more tired then I thought... He unlock the door with a shivering hand and turned the handle.

But the door refuse to budge.

With a frown, Martin tried again, turning the handle rapidly and pulling with all his strength. When nothing happened, Martin tried again. And again. Each time pulling harder on the useless doorhandle. Why me? Why now? Please just open! He had known for a while the handle was reaching the end of its lifespan because it kept blocking and gave him, more often than not, a hard time we he opened his door for the last few months now. But the timing with which it decided to finally die was so bad, one had to wonder if it didn't do it on purpose. If it had broken in four days, FOUR DAYS, the students would have began to return from their Christmas holidays and someone would probably have been there to open from the inside. Thrust his luck to have it break on a year were every student went back home and just a few days before the first one returned.

Not letting go of the handle, Martin put his forehead on the door, heaving a shuddering sigh. He felt miserably cold and his boots, that needed to be changed last year, were taking on water and his coat was far from being made to resist more then a few minutes to the flood currently ongoing. Okay, think. Just think. I could call the landlord! He'd have to come even if it's getting late already, right? Right. Calling the landlord. It was a luck he remembered the number.

Pushing himself off the door and stooping to pick up his bag, Martin begun his quest for a phone booth. This is why I need a cellphone. They are ratter expensive but it would be so much help whenever something like this happens! It was only wishful thinking of course: he'd never be able to pay for one.

When he reach the closest booth, thankful for the rain protection, he dig up the £0.60 needed to make the call and picked up the handset. Just as he was about to put his money in however, he remembered something devastating: his landlord had mentioned going away to Italy for the new year. He was due back... in four days, just in time for the students... Of course. OF COURSE! Damning his luck he put the handset back and looked for a locksmith still open at this hour.

He had four choices, but only enough money to call one. Biting his lips, he chose one at random, hoping it was the cheapest.

"National Locksmiths, how may I be of service?"
"H-hello, yes, erm... I need- well, maybe you can't help for, for this, but, see... I'm locked outside of my flat, only the lock works fine! It's just the handle that-that doesn't... work...?"
"Okay. First since I think you might want the service right away, I need to advise you that we'll be charging for emergency services, which start at £65. If you say it's a door repair you need, and it sounds like it, our emergency services start at £55 and hour for a minimum of two hours."

Martin kept silent, screwing his eye shut. I can't pay that. I'm sure the landlord would repay me but if I pay this I won't even have enough money to fill the van's tank for my job tomorrow...

"... Sir?" he heard coming from the phone he had lowered a bit.
"S-sorry. I-I'll cal y-you back!" And he hung up.

***

Martin drew a shuddering breath. His head hung low, his eye were still closed and he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. Okay. What now?

He needed to sleep. He already had some trouble keeping on his feet and the cold from the rain was adding to the exhaustion of the quick succession of shady motels and long flights he was already feeling earlier. Trembling, he pushed the phone booth door open and returned to the freezing rain, his feet making him move toward his flat once more. About halfway there, seemingly to twist the knife a bit, a car passed at high speed on the big puddle of water that had accumulated on the side of the street, achieving a magnificent wave that crashed right on Martin, soaking him more when he though he couldn't get any wetter.

He stopped a bit, frozen by the sudden spray, and then resumed his walk, sniffling. He wanted to cry. It's not like anyone was there to see the tears, anyway. Not like anyone would care, he thought. Putting his hands under his armpits and hunching under the... Hail? Oh great! I need that. He wasn't able to stop the small whining noise coming out of his throat. He stopped in front of his door, shivering so much he hoped his spine wouldn't break, and looked around, lost, unsure where to go. He bit his lower lip to keep his teeth from shattering and decided to lock the door. It was useless, he knew, because the stupid door wouldn't open anyway, but at least this way he was doing something that seemed meaningful even if it was just for a moment.

With the door now locked, he turned and looked at the street. His building didn't even have a small awning to protect him from the elements. A strong burst of winter wind made him turn his head to the left in a vain attempt to protect himself. That when he spotted his van.

Sobbing with relief he hurried to the back door. Unlocking it proved more difficult than it should have been with his hand seeming to have a life on it's own, jutting from left to right on its own accord. Finally, using both hands (one to stabilise the other a bit) he succeeded and jumped inside his van, rapidly closing the door behind him.

He took the heavy duty sheets he used to protect his customer's furniture as cushion and wrapped one around himself for warmth. The sheets were old and had been sitting in the cold van for an eternity, but it was still better then being outside in the rain. He dig his travelling alarm from his wet travelling bag and set it to go off two hours before his first job. He then took a t-shirt he used to sleep this week that wasn't too dirty and a pair of jeans and led them down to dry a bit. It was a luck he had clothes other then his uniform with him. Otherwise he would have had to work with it tomorrow. He reluctantly removed his coat and his uniform, shivering more then ever, and led those down to dry too.

Martin rolled himself in the sheets and tried to go to sleep.