"Mind if I sit down?" Martha asked, gesturing to the chair next to Steve's, not wanting to impose herself on him. Her gaze dropped to his sketchbook as his did, caught a few more glimpses of people (real people, not so impossible things, though to be honest, most things weren't impossible--just improbable--particularly around here).

"I sort of know the feeling. I wanted to be a baker, for a while," she confessed with a faintly wry smile, "when I was younger, because I thought it'd be fun. Making people happy, delicious food, maybe go to France and learn. I wasn't half bad at biscuits, to be honest." Her smile was soft, a little wry, a little nostalgic. "But I was good at science and then I got into a good secondary and helping people, the doctor thing, seemed more useful, and you know, better money, and I liked it about as well."