To say that Tommy was panicking was an understatement. He'd just watched a woman, a very important and very well-liked woman, die. And her death was more or less his fault.
It happened like this.
Private Thomas Bailey had been transferred to UNIT in late November. He was a young man, fresh out of the academy.
He'd been briefed on the purpose of the Taskforce, and while it did seem quite far-fetched, it explained a thing or two quite well. There were a lot of odd things that everyone had seen but simply didn't bring up. It was nice to know he wasn't losing his mind.
Things seemed to slow down when he joined. There was rarely anything more interesting happening than paperwork. Slow days for aliens he figured.
He'd been informed of all sorts of basic information. Who was in charge of everything, who his direct superior was. He'd been introduced to the Scientific Advisory department. The head of it, an older man, a Doctor of some sort whose name he'd never been told, and his assistants, a cheerful blonde woman named Jo Grant and a curly-haired brunette woman with what he could only guess was some sort of piebaldness with fading dye who'd addressed him by name before he even introduced himself named Marion Henson.
And after he'd met them, it wasn't long before he was being pulled aside and told stories.
They were mostly lies he was fairly certain. He wasn't sure why telling outrageous stories about the scientific advisor's assistant was the particular flavor of hazing that his new colleagues went with, but there were worse ways to mess with the new recruit.
Sure, she knew his name and his face before he'd introduced himself and seemed to hesitate for a moment when she realized that he didn't. But, that could easily be explained by her having read his file and having expected someone to have already told him about her. And sure, she seemed to only remember conversations they'd had half the time, but if you eliminated the more fantastic and impossible aspects of the stories he heard, it sounded like the poor girl had experienced a lot of head trauma. It was no surprise her memory was as unreliable as it was. And that was that.
Although, the woman being infamously accident-prone would likely help convince the Sergeant and the Brigadier and the Doctor that what had happened was an accident.
Because it was an accident. He hadn't even touched her!
What had happened went like this.
It was December now and close enough to Christmas for the shops to be decorated with red and white and green lights.
The Sergeant had approached him with three mugs of hot chocolate and asked him to bring them to the Lab.
Technically, that wasn't his job.
But also, he had been told that he could keep one of the mugs for himself, and as long as it didn't happen too frequently and the woman in question backed you up, the Brigadier tended to accept "Miss. Henson dragged me into a conversation" as a legitimate excuse for not finishing paperwork in time and well, he was already a bit behind. He needed all the excuses he could get.
When Miss Henson was at UNIT HQ she could always reliably be found in one of three places. In the lab or wherever Miss Grant was, or wherever the Scientific Advisor was. He found her alone in the lab. He set the tray down on a table.
She was dressed in a green and red jumper. And she was standing on top of one of the rolling stools that populated the lab. Wires hung down from her ears to a device in her back pocket. He assumed it was that small screen he caught her glancing at every so often. But naturally, that meant that she didn't notice him coming in until he was right next to her.
All he had done was call out to her, and she jumped and the stool moved, and before he could catch her, the stool's wheels had rolled out from under her. She screamed in surprise and then she fell and her head slammed into the linoleum floor hard enough that she bounced with a dull crack.
And she wasn't moving.
He had been watching her for several seconds and she wasn't moving.
The wires that had been in her ears had fallen out and he could hear the music that Miss Henson had been unable to hear him over.
"Oh my god!" He whispered in a hushed tone. He crouched down next to her quickly and brought his fingers to the side of her neck. Nothing. Someone had to have heard the scream. And he could hear footsteps rushing towards them.
"Oh my god." he whispered to himself, "She's dead! I killed the scientific advisor's assistant. Oh my-"
"Private?" It was The Sergeant. "Why did I hear screaming? What's this about- Marion."
"I-" If Tommy had been a little quieter and a lot less panicked, he might've heard the sound of skull fragments shifting into place or seen the way the muscles around the nose of the woman who was supposed to be dead scrunched up.
"I'm so sorry." the young man said breathlessly, "I didn't mean to. She, she didn't hear me come in! I didn't mean to startle her. And she-"
The woman's neck suddenly shifted and her eyes opened wide as she sat up with a start. She absentmindedly rubbed at her neck.
"I'm fine." the woman had just been a corpse said. She reached into her pocket and retrieved the small device and tapped on it. The music stopped. "Sorry about that. You startled me. Judging from your face I got you right back."
"Marion," said the Sergeant, looking down at the woman "What happened?"
"Oh, it's not his fault. Completely an accident. No harm done Benton." the woman suddenly stood up, "Oh! Hot chocolate. Great!" The woman exclaimed. "Did you bring this in?" She nodded her head towards Tommy.
"I- yes?"
Tommy had no idea what was going on.
"Thank you!"
"Marion." The Sergeant repeated.
"Oh wow! This is good! Who made this!"
"Marion!"
"Well I know I certainly didn't make this!" she looked down at the mug, "Oh I suppose I could have." she took another sip, "No but I've been here all afternoon. And there shouldn't be another me here at UNIT at the same time unless something's gone wrong. The Doctor's still talking with the Brigadier but-"
"Marion!"
"Yes, Benton."
"I heard a scream and when I came into the room you were on the floor and Private Bailey was in a panic."
The man's eyes suddenly moved from the half-done string of fairy lights with the dangling edge and the stool that Marion had pointedly kicked aside as she moved to perch on the table with her drink.
"Marion."
"You sure do love saying my name."
"Were you standing on that stool?" He sounded disappointed, but not surprised.
The woman stared at Benton for a moment. Her mouth moved into a sheepish smile. "Ok so here's the thing-"
"Did you or did you not fall off the stool you were using to put up decorations and snap your neck."
"I don't think I was out for long enough for it to have been a fatal neck injury. This December, was still playing. It's not that long of a song. I think it was blunt-force trauma. That tends to fix itself easier."
"This December?" Tommy asked.
"Oh, it's a song I like. And it's not very long. Only three minutes or-"
"Marion!"
"Geez Benton," Some of the things that Tommy had been told about Miss Henson were starting to make some sense. Other things were starting to make less sense. "You sound like Jo. Speaking of Jo." the smile on Miss Henson's face dropped, "Please don't tell Jo."
"Tell me what?" the woman in question was standing at the door to the lab looking at them incredulously. "Someone told me they heard screaming coming from the lab. Marion! What were you doing?"
"Oh speak of the devil- Oh of course you're not a devil are you. You're an angel. I-Wow-I can't believe that you could- I- Uh-" Marion put down her mug, grabbed a different one, and then pressed it into Jo's hands. "Hey! You should try this hot chocolate Bailey brought me. You've met Bailey before right-" the woman turned her head, "You've met each other before, right?"
"Yes ma'am."
Tommy chose not to mention the fact that Miss Grant had been standing right next to Miss Henson when he had first met the two of them. He had already known that her memory was erratic. And he was pretty sure that she'd just been dead a few moments ago.
The woman grimaced.
"Please don't call me ma'am. I'm not that old. You're going to make me cough up dust."
"I'm sorry. Miss Henson."
"Oh no it's quite alright. I just-"
"Marion! What happened."
"She fell!" said Tommy.
"She what?" asks Miss Grant.
"It was an accident!" Tommy insists, "I well. I came in. And she didn't realize I was there because had those speakers in her ears. And she was hanging up Christmas lights in the lab. And when I called out to her, I startled her, and she moved too fast and the stool slipped out from under her-"
"The stool?" Miss Grant asked.
"That one." Tommy pointed to the stool in question, which was on its side.
Miss Grant got an expression on her face and then turned to glare at Miss Henson who looked away sheepishly.
"Marion-"
"Jo. I have to say. Have I ever told you how much I love your hair? It's marvelous. What do you put in it? I'll have to try it myself."
Miss Grant looked even more frustrated. "Marion! You and I BOTH know you would sooner take a bullet to the chest than straighten your hair and that none of the products that work for me would work for you. Stop trying to change the subject. You were putting up Holiday decorations with a rolling stool, weren't you? You KNOW that's unsafe."
"Yes, but consider this," Miss Henson gently set down her cup, "Did I die?"
"Marion!"
Neither Jo Grant, Marion Henson, nor Sergeant Benton seemed angry at him Tommy quickly noticed. Miss Henson herself seemed almost embarrassed, the Sergeant seemed concerned and then amused, and Jo Grant seemed furious. At Miss Henson. Not him. They seemed to be largely ignoring him.
"Marion!" Miss Grant demanded, "Why didn't you just move a table?"
"Move a table? And-" Miss Henson stopped, "Huh. I didn't think about that."
"Did you also not think about locking the stool's legs so it would be more stable?" the Sergeant asked. Miss Henson seemed alright, and Tommy figured that that was why he seemed more amused than concerned.
"Well, I- well the thing as if the wheels were locked, I would've had to have kept getting on and off the stool to move it."
"As opposed to what, Marion!"
"As opposed to bracing off the wall and moving that way." Miss Grant opened her mouth to speak. "Now, hear me-" Miss Henson's explanation was cut off by Miss Grant.
"MARION!"
"JO!"
The woman continued to stare at each other until Miss Henson looked away.
"I'll be more careful next time," she mumbled.
The Sergeant let out a short laugh that he hid with a cough.
"What?" Marion said. "I will!"
"I'm sure!"
"You know what!" Marion reached for the tray and lifted up the last mug. She marched pointedly towards Bailey.
"Hold this."
"What?" Tommy asked, confused.
"Just for that, Private Bailey gets to have the hot chocolate. Not you."
"I already have had some." the Sergeant replied.
"Well, you don't get to have more!" Marion crossed her arms and retrieved her own mug.
"Oh no, whatever shall I do." replied Benton, "I suppose I just have to make some more!"
"You made this?" Marion leaned forward, "Wow- hey you didn't use any of the Doctor's lab equipment did you? Because he's been doing some things in these beakers, and I don't think any of these are food-safe. Jo, Bailey, don't drink anymore until Benton answers."
Without waiting for an answer, Marion took another sip.
"Miss you just took another sip."
Miss Henson stared at him for a moment. "I've drunk cyanide before. I just spit it out. Didn't even kill me."
"Oh, Marion!" Miss Grant stared at her with concern. "That's awful. Why would you- what did you want to know what it tasted like?"
"Did I- What? Oh. Oh no. It wasn't ah- someone slipped it into my drink. It tastes acrid and bitter by the way. Nothing like ginger ale."
"Why would you compare it to ginger ale?"
"It was my ginger ale he slipped it into."
"I didn't use the lab equipment to make cacao," Benton said slowly. All three of them stared at Marion.
"Oh. Nevermind then. You two can drink."
"Why did someone try to poison you? With Cyanide"
"He'd killed one person. And was trying to kill more people. And I managed to intercede and save the other would-be victims and get them to safety. He wasn't very happy about that."
"Did you ever catch the murderer?" Miss Grant asked.
"Yup." Miss Henson replied quickly.
"Was he arrested?" the Sergeant asked.
Miss Henson shook her head. "Drowned."
"How?"
"Fell in a lake and never got back out. No big loss. He tried to-" Miss Henson cut herself off. She was holding onto her mug so tightly her hands were shaking, then she froze and looked down at it. She set her cup down gingerly. "Well, never mind. He wasn't going to stop trying to hurt people and he ended up stopping himself by mistake and that's all there is to it. "Now-," Miss Henson stood up, walked towards Tommy, and looked up at him. He had at least a head over her. "You're tall and my step stool privileges have been revoked. You could probably reach up there if you lifted your arms up a bit. Mind helping me put up the rest of the lights? If you're not doing anything important right now."
"I-"
Tommy looked over to the Sergeant who nodded.
"Of course Miss Henson."
"Thank you now you just…"
Miss Grant and the Sergeant left not long after that. There wasn't that much to put up really. Just the rest of the string of lights and a handful of sticky snowflakes stuck onto walls and on the large police box that occupied the corner of the room.
"Well." Miss Henson clapped her hands. "That's done. Thanks for your help, Bailey. I'm going to go see if the Brigadier is still lecturing the Doctor about not filing any of his reports." The woman walked out of the lab. Stopped, and then ducked her head back in. "Oh, and if you've got something you're avoiding doing too well." She smiled at him conspiratory, "I said I would be right back, so you decided to wait for a while. And then I just. You know. Forgot I said that."
And then without another word she was gone.
Tommy did have work to do. And he was only a Private. He couldn't slack off the way that the Scientific Advisor apparently could. And so the young man went to collect his mugs and return them to the kitchen with the rest of the used cups and then he stopped. There was a puddle around the bottom of the cup and on careful inspection. There was a deep crack on the side. It wasn't big enough to make the cup fall apart, but certainly enough for anything put inside of it to gradually spill out.
Tommy wondered how it got there. And how long it took Miss Henson to notice that it was there.
"Marion's a better liar than this." That's true. But she's not lying. She's deflecting because she's embarrassed. Marion is good at deflecting unless your definition of "good at deflecting" includes being able to successfully hide that you're trying to deflect. In which case she was terrible at deflecting.
This story is largely meant to be silly.
Also, the next chapter will be out next Thursday.
"Why was Marion listening to 'This December' by Ricky Montgomery specifically?" There's one of you who might go "hey was that a reference to-"
Yes. You know who you are.
