Chase The Wind: Doctor Who/Studio C [Book 1]

The Problem With Acting

The Problem with Acting

(Pre-'Human Nature' Interlude: Part 2)

John Smith did not think himself a fool.

He had known for a good many years now that his adored little sister had always fancied his childhood best friend, and he had known for almost as long that the feeling was certainly mutual.

Honestly, what surprised him the most was how long it had taken Matthew to come and speak to him about taking Mallory's hand.

John had been only too happy to approve of that, the big brother giving permission in their long-dead father's stead. The pair was giddy in their adoration of each other, even if their wedding had been unexpectedly postponed more than half a year now after the disastrous house fire late last winter. And he had always thought, more or less, of Matthew as a brother. He had thought privately to himself long before that it was high time they made it official.

He was pleased to see that their series of misfortunes had not dampened their spirits. Within just a few weeks of arriving at the school it became common—nay, expected—to find the young couple firmly entranced with each other's company, most often in the library. After all, that had been John's own little way of helping them out; the school had needed a librarian after theirs had fallen ill and left last semester, and here John was, with a sister who was perfectly capable of doing the job.

It became something of a running joke at the school—wherever one was, the other was almost guaranteed to be close by. John rather thought they were a little too close at times. Perhaps it was time to give them a friendly reminder that he wished to see them wed before he died of old age.

~~~

They worked out a routine between them rather quickly.

'Matthew' and 'Mallory' were their 1913 counterparts—it became something near a reflex to refer to each other that way in public. As soon as they were alone, however, they dropped the pretense and swiftly turned back into 'Matt' and 'Mal.'

Most of the time.

"A quarter of the way there," she said with a longing sigh, three weeks into their jokingly-termed 'exile.'

Matt glanced up from what he was writing, thinking dimly to himself that he'd never realized he could miss AutoCorrect. "Hmm?"

"We're a quarter of the way through. Three weeks down, nine to go," she clarified, glancing at him oddly. She swept back a strand of hair that had come loose from the severe bun she'd taken to keeping it in, setting aside the books she had been sorting and turning to face him fully.

He wanted, more than anything, to tug out the myriad of pins that must be keeping her hair up, to watch it tumble free around her shoulders and frame her face in a way he hadn't seen in what felt like years. Why had they landed in such a stuffy time period?

"Matt?"

Her boots clunked against the wooden floor as she made her way over to him and he couldn't help sweeping his gaze over her for a moment, taking her in from crisp collar of her white shirt to the hemline of her long, dark skirt. "You pull off 1913 so well," he found himself blurting, his eyes widening as he heard himself speak.

She paused for a moment, before chuckling and propping one hip up against the desk he was sitting at. "Are you all right? Did you eat something funny?" she asked, half-jokingly.

"No," he said defensively, before realizing that was basically the correct answer to both of her questions. No, he was not all right, because it was getting harder and harder to play the part of a ridiculously in love engaged couple in public and then having to switch it off the moment they were in private, especially when he couldn't seem to go more than twenty-four hours without having another stupidly vivid imagining of her tearing down the barriers between them.