counting stars

Liam took a sip from his tea, and glanced around the emporium, trying to decide for himself if people seemed off like she said. He could have sworn he seen a couple people staring at Evie, and felt a swell of jealousy that he knew almost immediately was irrational. Evie was a friend, and the mother of one of his students. What on Earth made sense about him getting jealous that people were looking at her like they wanted to ask for her hand in marriage that very second. 

“Everything seems normal to me. It’s just another day. Actually, things seem to be a bit more normal than usual - so in that sense, I suppose you’re right. Things do seem to be a bit off.” He shrugged, setting his glass back on the table. Was he overcompensating to how off he felt himself? He definitely was overcompensating. Hopefully she hadn’t caught the way he glared at the guy across the cafe a moment ago. 

She rolled her eyes gently -- leave it to Liam to find fault in normalcy -- the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe he was right. Maybe she really was just imagining things. Maybe, against all odds, things really were as he said -- normal. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Of course, they weren’t, were they? Certainly not with Liam, who seemed... edgier than usual. Like maybe there was a chip on his shoulder? Or a bee in his bonnet?

Was he... glaring at the man across the way?

Slowly, she turned her head just so, following Liam’s gaze before returning her own to him once more. Yeah, something was definitely off. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed, even if she didn’t strictly believe it, “Are you enjoying it -- this rare bout of normality?”

aevummedicus:

Brooms! Brooms were always nice. Nice and strong, brooms were. With their coarse bristles and their ability to pick up the tiniest little specks of dust and…

Oh. 

Had he really been standing there this entire time admiring the broom that he was supposed to be using for sweeping the corridors with? Simple answer; yes, he was. But in his defense, it was a nice broom.

Engrossing himself back into the wonders of a broom, the Doctor didn’t even notice the other being approaching him down the hallway until she spoke up. Peering over his spectacles, the Time Lord arched his brow and dropped his head so he could see her more properly.

“Hm?” He started, still essentially not paying attention - that was until he could clearly see that the woman before him was distressed. “Oh! Hello! Sorry, myself. I was just… inspecting this broom before I use it on the floors. Wouldn’t want a dirty broom.” He grinned at her as he set the broom aside and glanced around as he allowed his mind to playback what she’d said.

“You’ve lost your daughter? Millie Smith.” He repeated the name and searched his memory. “Good name; Smith. It’s my last name too.” He grinned again, before turning to head towards the nearest computer. “If you give me a moment, I can search the cameras and see if she’s anywhere in the school. Or we can look for her together…” he trailed off as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “You said she looks like you, yes?”

Doc had been heading back to the staff room after his last class, when he spotted a familiar silhouette in the corridor.

A very familiar silhouette. And he was wearing the blue suit too, the cheek. And the brainy spectacles. Honestly, the school was only big enough for one blue suited spectacle wearing Doctor with great hair.

He’d just started to saunter up to the Doctor when someone else beat him to the punch, and he arrived just in time to hear the tail end of the exchange. 

“Oh? Another Smith? Good! We can always do with more Smiths,” he said, stepping up beside the Doctor and giving the mother-of-Millie-Smith a big smile. “Millie Smith, eh?” He wracked his memory. “Millie Smith, Millie Smith… OH! Millie Smith! That’s right. Likes the middle row, doesn’t like to speak up in class, wears …” his eyes trailed to the mother’s hands, “…gloves a lot? The last time I saw her was about” (exactly) “thirteen minutes ago, after the last class. I thought she was headed towards the canteen.”

Realising belated that he’d completely skipped over introductions, he gave Millie’s mother a big smile. “I’m Doctor John Smith, by the way. No relation to him,” he nodded at the Doctor. “Well, not really. Well… it’s complicated.”

@evieofthestars

Oh. Well he was eccentric, wasn’t he? And a big fan of brooms. Then again, maybe not so strange for a caretaker. She’d stick with that, sure. And anyway, she wasn’t looking for strange, she was looking for Millie. Millie who was definitely not lost.. probably. Millie who this other Smith (well, at least she’d picked a generic name, yeah?) seemed to think he could help her find. 

Millie who... 

The other man in the same blue suit with the same spacey hair seemed to know an awful lot about. Maybe they were twins? Though was seemed more likely was that one (if not both, let’s be real, it was worse case scenario time) of them was definitely there to... well, kill her seemed the most generous scenario. So much for blending in. 

“She’s got... allergies,” she stammered, realising just a moment too late it didn’t need saying -- people who have nothing to hide rarely respond to such obvious baiting. “We both do...” 

Come on, Evie. Get it together. 

If one -- or both -- of them had her daughter, well, she’d just have to out smart them, wouldn’t she?

“Is that so,” she started, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a step towards them -- trying not to appear as scared as she felt, “how does that work then?”

Still, even as she looked around the Tea Emporium she got the sense that something was off...

Brilliant.

Or well, not definitely at all. But she was late, and that was more than enough ammunition to put Evie’s nerves on end. It was silly, she knew. Irrational, even. Things were fine. Bordering on normal even. Bordering because one could never truly feel normal wearing gloves all year round. But it was winter, there was a chill in the air, and everything was fine. 

Except that it wasn’t because she had been waiting for Millie out front of Coal Hill Academy for ten minutes now and she was nowhere to be seen. There was definitely going to be a chat about good manners when they got home. 

(If they ever got home. That taken theory was still gnawing at the back of her mind.)

With her head held high in determination, she made her way up to the entrance, through the doors, and straight up to the first person she saw.

“Sorry, don’t mean to be a bother but was supposed to meet my daughter out front,” she paused to check her watch, “Approximately,” exactly, “Eleven minutes ago. Don’t suppose you’ve seen her. Millie. Smith. Looks like me but shorter,” a beat, “and tardy,” she finished, gesturing to her own face, which was admittedly more intense than strictly necessary. She cleared her throat and gave a half shrug, not wanting to come off as a completely overprotective parent, even if she probably was. “She’s got ballet.”

            The coffee burned her tongue almost instantly, and even though it’s satisfying taste and sharp caffeine properties woke her from her dead-woman-walking slumber, she flinched. Coffee, of all things, was the first thing to physically harm her around these parts. She cleared her throat and resumed signing the discharge forms of a patient. Despite her best efforts, part of her physique showed minor signs of a doctor on call and a haggard one-woman surveillance team two days into the job ; the messy bun, the hastily applied mascara, the stiffness of a hand accustomed to holding a scalpel for no less then hours at a time. 

           The ER had a moderate buzz around her, nothing too serious going on. She was a trauma surgeon, not an emergency physician or flimsy emt, so this rendered her duties otherwise unoccupied at the moment. Boredom never suited her well, so instead of twiddling her thumbs or resuming her Coal Hill surveillance ( School was over, anyways, ) Martha began to look up lab results for one of the clinical trial patients. After a few minutes of reading through pages of files and examinations done by her residents, a figure came into shape in front of her. Without taking her eyes of the computer, she took an automatically professional manner and subconsciously straightened her back; she only paused to look up at the person after her last word at been uttered. “ Hello, I’m Doctor Jones, just give me a moment…..how may I help you today ? ”

Evie cringed, her nose wrinkling cutely. She was meant to be on a mission. Well, not a mission exactly. Evie didn’t do missions anymore -- just regular humany things with humany people - or staying in with Millie and whatever her newest Netflix obsession was at the ‘mo, mostly the later if she’s being honest - as to keep her cover. Except for when she so happened to be doing missiony type things. Like checking up on alien activity for Me, and making sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. 

(Not that she thought Martha’s hands were the wrong hands exactly. They were good hands. Talented hands. She just wasn’t convinced they could be trusted exactly with the alien... stuff). 

Like then, for instance. 

She’d caught wind of something green and oozy coming out of one of Doctor Jones’ patients. And while it was very likely pus, she thought she’d better check it out first. 

“Doctor Jones, sorry just me Evie --” a pause and another nose wrinkle (a sympathetic one this time, it was really more embarrassing for Martha than her, after all, wasn’t it?) “Er-- Doctor Smith. Was wondering if you’d heard back from the lab about a patient. Figured I’d check seeing as you’re...” how to word it without coming off rude, she still had a bit of difficulty navigating human egos, “...Preoccupied.”

Lying. Acting cool under pressure. She definitely still needed to work on that as well.