who john smith!ten & carol danvers what random meeting! where his favorite coffee shop that shall remain nameless when early november warnings very PG! status complete
Perhaps it was due to Clara’s talk of Daleks that had led him to dream of his worst enemy, Davros. Never the Master of course, because it was never as simple as good against evil when madness manipulated the strings. The dream had left him unable to focus on the repairs to the TARDIS, that in itself an upward battle without the rest of her missing parts. She was as broken as he was, a Time Lord with only one heart.
So, he went for the next best thing: his love of banana-flavored coffee. It was a specialty of the establishment he frequented and never ceased to calm his nerves in the way chocolate or a fine wine might for another.
In his trademark trainers (courtesy of Cindy) and his long, billowing coat that somehow dwarfed him in spite of his tall stature, he burst into the coffee shop like the veritable Oncoming Storm he had dreamed himself into being… Then, proceeded to apologize to anyone he might have bumped into or otherwise made feel uncomfortable.
By the time he sat down with his own TARDIS-blue mug at an empty table, he was lacking any of his usual flutter and cheer. Sulking over a banana latte, that was his mission for the day.
“You look like someone just ran over your puppy.” Was it rude? Maybe. But Carol had been sitting, enjoying her coffee after coffee after coffee for the day -and yes, she was going to be jittery later, but she really didn’t care because she had two articles finished, an edited draft for next months magazine and two specials organised for the Thanksgiving and Christmas editions.
Productivity never smelled so much like black roast coffee.
So a little distraction, even if it was the sullen looking man plopping himself at a table across from her, might keep Carol from vibrating out of her skin.
Looking up from the drink before him, John blinked in surprise at the intrusion. He didn’t have a puppy. Well, not a real puppy. He did have something of a tin dog, much smarter than any living and breathing creature, and equally loyal. That wasn’t exactly the train of thought she was looking for in her remark, he quickly reasoned before his mouth could run away with a spoonful of unwanted information for the stranger.
Catching a glimpse of Carol, his frown suddenly flickered to life like a candle. He was meeting a brand new person in a coffee shop! How bad could his day go from there? Never mind the nightmares and threats of Daleks haunting his sleep.
“Be an awful thing to say if someone legitimately had,” he retorted cheekily. “Might cry into my latte. Didn’t happen though, so I’ll refrain from ruining such a delicious drink. Have you had it? Banana lattes, genius!”
Reasonably, had his dog just got run over, she likely would’ve felt guilt for weeks. Be that as it may, the resemblance stood, at least until he started talking. Some people just liked meeting people.
“It’s a bit sweet for my liking,” although she had tried it. They seemed to be finding many ways to make coffee more appealing to people who didn’t want to fill their cups with sugar and creamer. For Carol the coffee needed a nice bitter kick. If she wasn’t in the mood for black, she’d had a little milk or creamer, but that was it. “Although the smell is significantly more appetising than the taste, personally speaking.”
“Is it?” He glanced down at his cup as though in surprise. John and the Doctor of his dreams both shared a love of sweets, though he did try to avoid them in excess. He had nice teeth and was keen on keeping them that way. Not that coffee would do him any favors in the long run, but a man could dream.
“Love bananas,” he elaborated after a much needed sip. “Bananas are good. How are you taking yours, then?” John leaned over to spy her drink of choice. “Something black and bitter? Bit contrary to your persona at first glance,” he’d decided that already in spite of commenting on his previously glum appearance.
“Some of my employees might disagree with you there.” Carol didn’t think she was bitter, she was jaded, yes. A lot of the world was opened to her in her chosen profession previous to moving here, it meant she’d seen the seedier side of life and accepted the less appealing of human nature. “But I try not to be, yes.” Maybe she’d end up that way, but until then she’d just hope for the best.
“I like it with a bit of a bite.” One of the few ways to really drink coffee in her opinion. “I’m Carol, I apologise for presuming about your sad state of pets.”
“What would they do that for?” He asked, offended on her behalf by the looks of it. He didn’t think she’d intended any harm with her observation. Then again, he couldn’t just run around judging books by their covers even if it was in a positive light. That was the Doctor, not John Smith.
He cracked a grin at her choice in coffee. “Fair enough…” Glancing her up and down for good measure, he decided he did in fact like her and wouldn’t be swayed on that. “Well, Carol who apologizes unnecessarily, I’m the…” Oh, that was becoming an awful habit, wasn’t it? He felt like him and not the human he recalled growing up as and being until landing on this network and dreaming. “Well, John Smith, but I rather prefer being called the Doctor these days. Just Doctor will do, if you please.”
At that, he held his hand out to her, smile wide. “Good to meet you.”
“Deadlines, errors, I can be a bit of a … oh, what do they call it, heinous bitch?” Carol shrugged, sometimes she was a little blunt and sharp with people, but she had an entire magazine to run and she wasn’t overly patient with cock-ups that held up the production. Least of all silly little mistakes that would’ve been caught with a proof-read. “Work, sometimes it’s stressful.” She coped fine with the perceptions though.
“Doctor,” Carol just nodded, she was fine with calling people what they preferred, even if it didn’t make a lot of sense to her. People wanted to be called whatever they wanted to be called. “Are you? A doctor, I mean.” Slightly nosey, but she was a reporter.
“Strong words,” he remarked, seemingly pouting on her behalf over the awful title. He didn’t have a problem with being direct or sharp these days, not with a Time Lord taking over his head. Companions were there to keep him in check for the most part, but he lacked one of them at the moment to reel him back in. “Well, stress itself is a form of work, so it’s only natural they go hand in hand, isn’t it? Bit of a daily regimen never hurt anyone, don’t know why people get fussy about deadlines. Ah, well.”
With a shrug he lifted his mug for a sip of his latte, then tilted his head into his empty free hand. Eyes on Carol all the while, his little pout turned into a cheeky grin at her inquiry. “Depends on the day, but strictly speaking, yes. Yes, I am. A Doctor of history, specifically. Nothing too fancy, just a means to pay the bills. What is it you do that dredges up rubbish nicknames? Said deadlines, so is it something in the legal field? High stress environment, often calls for coffee and question-asking, but…” He paused a moment to size her up again, eyes squinting with a hint of mischief. “Nah, you’re no lawyer. They don’t presume anything. Go on then, what’s your occupation, Carol the Boss?”
Deadlines were part and parcel with the state of things, she had deadlines, so she needed all of her staff to work to deadlines, to give her what she needed in a timely fashion. Keeping them all up to standard was a full time job on it’s own. Between managing the people who worked for her, getting freelance writers involved for some variety, overseeing the designs and layouts, proof-reading the articles and writing on occasion for the magazine herself, Carol was more than happy to be a bitch if it got the magazine out at the right time with the right content.
“Nothing too fancy,” she just chuckled a little at that. “I don’t think anyone has ever called a doctorate in History nothing too fancy.” Education was important, history was fascinating, that was important for the next generation. But then, some people were just dismissive about their professions.
“I’m the editor of a magazine.” Not just as stuffy as a lawyer. Carol probably would’ve punched someone if she’d had to go to law school. “I was a writer for the same magazine in New York, but… a promotion came up over here and I was the lucky one to get it.” A little glossing over the real facts there, but Tracy had told her she was qualified and she wanted her to take it, Carol knew that part of it was to help her get through her grief and anger. She wasn’t hating it so far. “Have they not?” He genuinely questioned with a bit of a pout, then ultimately shrugged. “Not terribly empirical, least of all objectively. History’s rather malleable, then again… Suppose so is science and math at times, but they’re not as fun as recalling tales of days long ago.” It’d be better if he could see them with his own eyes, but that was for another time. When the TARDIS was repaired, he’d be on the first randomized trip to the unknown.
His face seemed to light up at the job she held. “Ah, you’re in the business of creativity! Look at that, now that is fancy. Well, then! Congratulations on your promotion. Ought to be loads of things to write about here! What sort of magazine is it?”
Objectively, math and science and history, they were all important, but rarely the subjects that people got so very passionate about. And those that did, well they usually ended up sticking with them, didn’t they. She couldn’t deny that aspects of history interested her. Although it was usually the less talked about ones.
“It’s a… It’s a woman’s interest magazine.” That almost sounded like she was asking a question herself. “Public interest, a few articles on reviews and things, the typical magazine for housewives.” And it might’ve slowly been draining Carol’s will to live if she wasn’t also doing a lot of freelance herself. “I’m more of a criminal justice writer in my free time.”
Arching a brow at her delivery, John grew all the more curious. As a staunch advocate of feminism, he didn’t see anything outwardly wrong with a woman’s interest magazine. So, as soon as the eyebrow fell, a smile lifted to replace it.
“Sounds brilliant,” he exclaimed. “Men have loads of magazines to themselves, don’t they? Only fair the ladies have a slew. No doubt yours is marvelous! So, why is it you don’t think so?” He gathered as much from the way she tried to talk up her hobby rather than her occupation itself. A simple enough deduction, he supposed, but one he couldn’t help to address!
That was probably very obvious in her delivery, yes. “Have you ever believed in something so resolutely, and had a million ideas for how it could be, only to find that you’re in the minority and actually, what people want to do is stick to the norm with the monotonous tips and hints and five ways to make your hair look perfect.” Carol didn’t understand why so many young women was so resolute that they must look a certain way, that they had to diet and slim and do their make-up to attract men.
She’d gotten just a little bit disillusioned constantly reading about how to keep her man honestly. Like feminism never happened, like the uphill struggle towards equality wasn’t happening.
“I’d rather write full time, but editing takes up a lot of my time.” A single shoulder shrug, like it wasn’t that big a deal, but really it was bothering her. Not enough to whine at a stranger though.
“Oh, yes!” He said, laughing into his mug. That wasn’t just the story of the Doctor’s life, but his own. There were no doubt flaws to the magazine itself, the negativity not-so subtly promoted and all else, but that there could be one at all? Well, that was progress. As in most things, progress could always be that much better. “Although I do appreciate the hair tips, mind you, I understand what you mean. It’s wrong. Doesn’t mean it can’t be changed, all it takes is the right person.”
Already, he was pinning that mantle on her. She had the drive for it, that was easy to glean. He had to wonder what really held her back from it.
“Why don’t you?” He questioned, eyebrows raising in a semi-daring fashion. “What’s got you so committed to your day job that you won’t make one of your hobby?”
There wasn’t an awful lot of crime to note in the OC, not like Carol was used to in New York, not like she’d been involved in with her early days of reporting, before the scandal and Frank’s murder. It had taken a lot of her enthusiasm for it away. “Well, I did just move cross country and the job is secure.”
And it did keep her busy, stop her thinking too much on things. She’d moved there and taken the job so that she didn’t spend her time obsessing over what happened to Michael, and even with the distractions, that was getting harder and harder to do. “It’s not terrible, just somewhat disappointing when you have all these ideas and it doesn’t pan out.”
It wasn’t all that, it wasn’t all beauty tips and how to’s for the housewife demographic, there were business articles and public interest pieces, just like most magazines, but there was still a long way to go for things to really get where Carol imagined them.
“Fair enough,” he nodded, though didn’t altogether buy it. Everyone had underlying reasons for the things that they did. If he knew her better, he’d prod her further, perhaps. John wasn’t the most adept at intentionally getting close to people, it was something that just happened. He had an odd way of going about all things.
“Bet they will eventually,” he offered nonetheless, content to contribute some optimism. Maybe she needed it, maybe she didn’t. Either way, he gave it freely and happily, his smile wide and impossibly childlike despite the way his eyes suggested something much more ancient now.
“Sorry, suppose this isn’t ideal first chat material, is it?” He chuckled over the rim of his mug. “Quite nice listening to your thoughts on the matter though, for what it’s worth!”
Maybe if she wasn’t looking to give herself the time to think about Michael, maybe if she wasn’t looking to get herself in some kind of hole like in New York. Maybe she’d be more invigorated towards a new life if she’d actually settled what she’d left behind, rather than just sidestepping it all. She had no closure on Michael’s death, it was less than ideal for someone like Carol.
“Well, I did start the conversation with dead pets, so I think this is a step forward at least.” Not that Carol minded, sometimes it was nice to just talk for the sake of it.
She was clever. Not just because she ran a magazine and had a brilliant hobby, but there was something else about her that John had instantly taken a liking to. She was the sort of person he suspected he’d open up the doors of the TARDIS and offer the trip of a lifetime. Perhaps just one journey, given his dreams.
“Oh, ten at least,” he said with a wink. “Join me, if you like. Chat a bit more ‘til one of us has to go.”
He had a gob on him that could carry a conversation for days, but he wasn’t too worried about any lulls. This was just the reprieve he needed from the dreams he was having. He appreciated it more than he’d ever let on.