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The sky is heavy with clouds, grey marring what one could only imagine is a beautiful blue sky hidden somewhere beneath the madness. A chill hangs in the air, and it looks for all the world like it could rain at any given moment. Well. It is Cardiff; the skies were bound to break open at any moment, probably. At best, there would be a light mist that would leave everything vaguely but frustratingly wet. At worst, a torrential downpour that ruined at least a bit of filming equipment before the tarps could be draped.
The four of them sit in a tiny circle made of director’s chairs, scarves pulled tightly and coats fully buttoned as they wait for a tech somewhere to fix something. They are used to waiting—acting was, after all, mostly waiting. Hours of makeup and test lighting and ‘cut,’ resetting, and checking for continuity. There was very little actual acting that took place, and usually on set their time waiting was filled with inside jokes or various silly games that kept them entertained, but the thick weather has gone on for days, and everyone seems to be feeling it more acutely than usual.
“I think I legitimately have SAD.” Karen says, sighing as she shifts in her director’s chair and rests her hand on her chin, her bottom lip jutting out a bit.
“Very existential of you, Kaz.” Arthur snorts, twirling an empty lighter in his right hand.
“No,” Karen rolls her eyes, “Seasonal Affective Disorder, I have it.”
“Sure it’s not MAD?” Matt asks, and at Karen’s confused look, he continues, “Moon Appearance Disorder?” The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile, proud of his joke, pathetic though it may be. It has been a slow day, at any rate.
Karen narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to respond just as a PA runs up to them, slightly out of breath. “Okay, so, there was a thing, and then we lost it, and…” He trails off, his eyes slightly bewildered. He hasn’t talked to the cast yet, this is his first go. He shakes his head, resolving to try again, “Long story is we’re wrapped for the day.” He looks at them expectantly, “Early.” He clarifies, then clears his throat and is gone just as quickly as he came.
“Early?” Arthur repeats, his eyebrow quirked in disbelief. Finishing early is a rare occurrence that leaves everyone feeling a bit stunned. Usually, they’re running over into the night.
Karen lifts her head from her chin, a smile spreading widely across her face, “Okay, SAD officially over! Let’s go to the pub!” She claps her hands delightedly, “We’ve been doing nothing but filming this block, and I want to let loose!” Karen looks at Alex, the only one she knows will need convincing to go to a pub instead of directly into a warm bathtub, “Alex, please, please, please, please, please come with us! You never come with us!”
Alex, silent until now, surveys the three of them. She looks at Karen’s bright eyes, Arthur’s hopeful eyes, and Matt’s seemingly distracted eyes, which have taken a sudden interest in the toes of his shoes. She cocks her head to the side and considers him, wondering what sort of alien world he’s found there—he’s been acting so strangely towards her since she’s been back, and she can’t figure out quite why. She’s meant to make time to ask him, but they’re never alone together, and the way he keeps his eyes trained on his shoes now as though they could unlock the secrets of multiple universes makes her wonder for the first time if that’s not on purpose on his part.
Alex bites her lip, considering the invitation. Karen, recognizing the moment of decision, pushes on.
“Oh, please Alex! Don’t you want to cure my SAD?” Karen pouts her bottom lip out just a bit, even though she knows that her pout doesn’t work on Alex. Karen tries signaling Matt to help, knowing that his pout has all the power, but he keeps staring at his shoes.
Alex chuckles, and watches Matt scuff the heel of his right shoe against the toe of his left, “I thought you said your SAD was over?” She arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow, returning her gaze to Karen.
Karen laughs, “Oh, it is. But if you don’t come, I just know it’ll be right back.” Karen sighs dramatically, “You’ll be solely responsible for my relapse.”
Alex rolls her eyes but finds herself agreeing nonetheless. She hasn’t been out with them—well, with anyone, really—in ages. “Fine.” Alex says with a sigh, rising from her chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder, “I have to pop by my flat for a bit, but I’ll meet you there in a while.” She notices Matt still hasn’t looked at her once, though his eyes have moved from studying his shoes to examining his nail beds. Shrugging since now is hardly the time to bring it up, Alex turns to leave, making her way across the set.
“Wear something sexy!” Karen calls out after her.
Alex waves her hand once over her shoulder but doesn’t turn back to look at them. By the time she’s made her way to her flat, she’s talked herself in and out of going to the pub at least a dozen times. The soft click of the lock as she makes it inside her flat has her reconsidering yet again. Her flat is warm, her flat is safe. It doesn’t have any young, strikingly appealing coworkers behaving strangely inside of it. As she takes her clothes off and pulls on a pair of jeans and a soft lavender sweater, she tries to catalogue the last few days.
Rather, she tries to catalogue her interactions with Matt over the last few days since she’s been back—there haven’t been many, and the ones they’ve had have felt off-center in a really generic and yet strangely specific way. She slides her heels off, slips socks over her bare feet, and slips into her old pair of Converse, vaguely wondering if there was anything she could have said since her arrival to upset him; it would certainly explain his behavior, and she couldn’t think of anything else that logically would. Usually, when the prospect of her spending time outside of filming with the three of them is presented, Matt is the most enthusiastic of all, but today he hadn’t even looked at her, despite Karen’s exaggerated glances at him for help. Alex runs through their encounters since she’s arrived, looking for anything that could have possibly upended their friendship, made him cross with her, uncomfortable around her. Finding nothing, she sighs and sits on her couch, bending down to tie the laces of her shoes.
Guess you’re going, then, her subconscious taunts her. As though she possibly had another choice. There was a time when she may well have; when she could have resisted any and all urges to be in Matt’s presence—but now, ever since she realized that she’d started to think about Matt quite a bit differently, she certainly didn’t have a choice.
And, okay, she wasn’t going to let the shift in her thoughts about Matt turn into anything more than a harmless little crush, but it still felt vaguely wrong when she thought about it. Which lately, was quite a bit. She went to war with herself near daily, especially while she was in Cardiff, but usually whichever one of her was saying it’s just a crush, and you haven’t had one of those in such a long time won out. Not that the other, supposedly more sensible, one of her put up much of a fight—after all, neither of them had had a crush in a very long time.
So, she had a crush. An entirely inappropriate crush on her much younger and super sexy costar, but still. It was just a crush, she reasoned with herself, when she was feeling guilty about it (which wasn’t as frequently as she would have imagined, actually). The illicit crushes were always the most fun, anyway. She thinks back to her university days when a certain professor took up most of her fantasies. Oh, yes. The illicit crushes were certainly the best. Not that anything had happened between she and her professor.
And nothing is going to happen between you and Matt, either, Alex. She whispers to herself as she stands and looks in the mirror to assess her appearance. She knows that, of course she does. Matt Smith is nearly twenty years younger than her, he could have his pick of any woman in Britain and probably most other countries, too. And for her part, she could have her pick of any number of age-appropriate men. But, still. Before this time back, anyway, sometimes Matt looks at her and she just wonders—sometimes he looks at her like something could happen if she’d just let it.
She sighs, smoothing her hands over her jeans and fluffing her hair a bit in the mirror. She pulls out a light gloss and puts it on her lips, then tugs the v-neck of her sweater down just a bit, exposing more cleavage. It’s not sexy as per Karen’s directive, but these days Alex was entirely too conscious of trying too hard. It’s why she hated some of her costumes as River—critics accused her of being too vampy, and she wasn’t even really trying at all; she just was herself. She had no interest in cow-towing to any notion of what women nearing fifty should be like, but she was just as sensual now in a sweater as in a little black dress of her youth. With her age came confidence, and she’d earned that, thank you very much.
With a final sigh and a final fluff, she slings her brown hobo bag over her shoulder and tucks her mobile into the back pocket of her jeans.
The walk to the pub is short, but the moisture in the air still manages to wreak havoc on her hair if her reflection in the window of the pub as she passes by is any indication. Heaving a sigh, she pulls the door open and steps inside. The smell of beer hits her instantly and she smiles; it’s not a smell she necessarily enjoys, but it’s come to remind her of this place, these people, this life.
It’s a Wednesday, and the pub is quiet, though people still mill about—it is Cardiff after all, there’s not too terribly much to do. She spots Karen in the corner talking to some tall muscular guy and Alex smiles. Her eyes wander around the place looking for Matt and Arthur when she finally spots them seated at the bar, two pint glasses in front of them.
She weaves her way around a few people and is about to approach Matt and Arthur from behind when she notices Matt’s attire, pausing to admire him a bit from afar. Surely, despite her jokes to the contrary, that’s not a crime even if she is old enough to be… well. He’s wearing tight jeans, a well-worn band t-shirt, and a leather jacket. If you’d have asked her three years ago, she’d have told you she probably couldn’t think of a more unattractive look on a man. But, here, in this dingy pub in Cardiff, seeing it on her forbidden costar, she certainly doesn’t hold that opinion. Looking at him now, Alex feels the butterflies take root in her stomach and mentally chastises herself: Butterflies? Honestly, Alex? Despite her earlier reminisces, she is not a schoolgirl anymore, hasn’t been for nearly two lifetimes now.
She stands, waiting for the moment to subside, and the conversation between Matt and Arthur floats to her ears, the lazy Wednesday night allowing for perfect eavesdropping conditions. She wouldn’t normally dare, but she needs a moment to compose herself, to stop the ridiculous fluttering happening in her stomach.
“Oi!” Matt says, curling his hand around his beer, “Will you stop, mate?” He shakes his head, “She’s not my type, I’ve told you.”
Arthur scoffs, draining the remnants of his pint, “Yeah, sure, mate… whatever you say. It’s why you follow her around like a love-sick puppy all the time.”
“You keep saying that, but I haven’t been this week, have I?” Matt picks his glass up and brings it to his lips, “I’m serious.” Matt says, shaking his head again then taking a long pull from his glass.
Alex freezes, unable to move. She feels a little niggling in her stomach, something that tells her this conversation is about her. She doesn’t want to hear it. She wants to be eight million miles away from Cardiff right now, away from this pub, but her feet are working in concert with her brain and neither of them will allow her to move even an inch. It’s like she’s rooted to the ground, and she is unable to take a step in any direction.
Arthur rolls his eyes then signals the bartender for another pint, “Oh, okay,” He laughs, his tone clearly indicating his disbelief. “Mate, she is everybody’s type.” At Matt’s look, Arthur shakes his head, giving an exasperated sigh, “Fine. I’ll play along. If Alex isn’t your type, then who is?”
Alex shuts her eyes at the mention of her name—no plausible deniability left, then. She should really, really move. She should leave this pub and go soak in her tub with a glass of wine and an obscene amount of bubbles, but the unbearable desire to know, to see the train wreck no matter the damage is keeping her in place.
Matt draws little circles in the sweat on his glass, “Models,” He says with a smirk, before picking his glass up and taking a sip, “Tall, slender, pliable models, mate,” Matt sets his pint glass back on the bar, looking at Arthur rather deliberately. “Young models.”
At his words, Alex wonders where her heart went, because it’s damn sure not beating in her chest anymore. She vaguely wonders if anyone else can see it, because she’s absolutely certain that hearing those words fall from Matt Smith’s lips has ripped it directly from her chest and left it in a broken puddle on the floor of a Cardiff pub. She should move. She should really, really move but she can scarcely breathe now, let alone consider advanced motor functions such as walking.
Arthur’s mouth drops open and he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again, seemingly at a loss for words.
Just then, someone trying to get by jostles Alex from the side, and she stumbles forward directly into Matt and Arthur’s line of sight. When she got her motor functions back, she had been planning on using them to walk precisely and directly away from the men in front of her, but apparently now she was going to have to remember how to speak, instead. And she was going to have to do it without crying, which seemed quite the task given the lump that had taken residence in her throat.
Arthur wipes the shock off his face within a fraction of a second and smiles, greeting her warmly, “Alex! You made it!”
Summoning all those years at RADA, Alex pastes a bright smile on her face, “I did!” She says, though she can feel the tears burning behind her eyes, “I actually…” She trails off, looking anywhere but at Matt. She looks at Arthur, concentrates on his warm gaze, “I came to say I couldn’t make it. My mobile died, and I’ve lost the charger, picked one up on the way here,” She adds hastily; she smiles again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “Just didn’t want you to worry.” She explains, gesturing vaguely at her mobile in her pocket.
“Alex, no!” Arthur says, “Stay! Come on, stay.” But Alex is already shaking her head as she takes a small step back. The only thing she wants in this moment is to leave.
She finally chances a glance at Matt, and he sits stock still, watching her, his eyes sweeping over her face looking for something and she knows exactly what. His face is as red as she’s ever seen it, and his eyes look like they’re trying to tell her something, but her heart can’t bear to look, to see whatever it is; her heart can’t bear much of anything else tonight.
“I’ll see you on set tomorrow,” She says, before turning on her heels and leaving the pub. Instead of turning left to take her usual way home, she turns right and heads down an alley, trying to keep her emotions in check. As she steps into the shadows of the alley, she hears heavy footsteps come out of the pub, and she knows either Matt or Arthur has come after her. Moving quietly further down the alley, she ducks behind the back of the building, lest either of them see her.
After taking a shaky breath to collect herself, she makes her way home quickly, and she is so proud that she remembers to walk one foot in front of the other, that her legs don’t give out beneath her, that she doesn’t fall to the ground and weep for all the things she’s never wept for.
When she is finally back to her flat, the door locked behind her, she slides her back down the door and she finally, finally does.
-
Matt stares at the back of Alex’s head as she weaves her way through the tiny pub. “Shit,” Matt whispers under his breath.
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees, shaking his head.
Matt slides off the barstool and makes his way through the crowd, shouldering anyone who happens to get in his way. When he pushes the door open, the cold air hits him full blast and he turns left, toward the direction of their flats. He doesn’t see her, and he scans the empty streets, looking for her curls and finding them nowhere. With a sigh and a sick feeling in his stomach, he goes back into the pub.
He crawls back on the stool next to Arthur and wraps his hand back around his pint. “Do you think she heard me?” Matt asks, his voice oddly quiet.
Even as he asks the question, he knows the answer. He had seen it in her eyes—the quick flash of pain before the smile slid back on her face. Alex was an incredible actress, and if he weren’t so intimately familiar with every one of her facial expressions, he might have missed it altogether.
“Yeah,” Arthur nods, his tone serious, “Yeah, mate, I think she did.” Arthur considers him, “So, you want to tell me why you said it?”
Matt stares at his beer, watching as little beads of sweat roll down the glass like they can’t get away from his hand quite fast enough—for a moment, he feels a kinship with them. That’s what he’s been doing ever since he figured it out. He’s been running. Matt shrugs, his hair falling over his eyes.
Arthur pushes his unfinished pint away from him, then slaps a bill large enough to cover both their drinks on the table, “Well, at least you’re not telling me it was the truth.” Arthur shoots Matt a scathing look, then heads toward the door of the pub.
Matt scrambles off his stool, following Arthur out into the night, “Hang on,” He grabs Arthur by the arm and whirls him around, “Why are you mad at me?”
Arthur has a cigarette dangling from his mouth and he pauses before lighting it, “Because Alex didn’t deserve that, Matt.” He flicks the lighter open and sticks the tip of his cigarette into the flame. The orange glow is faint and grows brighter as he inhales. He exhales the smoke, takes the cigarette from his lips, and points a finger at Matt. “Especially when it’s a bloody lie in the first place.” Arthur fixes him with a stern look, “Right?”
Matt sags against the wall, the brick cool against his skin even through the leather of his jacket. He sighs, “Course it is.”
Arthur takes a long drag, “Then why’d you say it?”
Matt looks at Arthur guiltily, “She wasn’t meant to hear it.”
Arthur narrows his eyes, “Didn’t stop her from hearing it anyway. So, why’d you say it?” He repeats his question, determined not to let Matt out of answering.
Matt shrugs again, “Everyone—you, Kazza, even bloody Steven—has been teasing me about it so much recently, and I just…” He trails off, not sure how much to reveal, “I just wanted it to stop.”
“What, cause it’s true, you mean?” Arthur shakes his head, “Everything we say is true. But we only said anything because we wanted you to get off your bloody arse and do something about it.” Arthur considers him, “Besides, we’ve been teasing you about it for ages, and it’s only now that you’re tetchy about it?”
Matt leans his head against the wall, enjoying the way the roughness of the bricks scrapes against his scalp. Arthur could see right through him, he knew; they all could. And in trying to save face around his friends, he’d hurt one of his best ones with something that wasn’t even close to the truth; once upon a time, it might have been—but ever since he met Alex, he’d only had one type. Her. Matt sighs, a new wave of nausea flowing over him, “I’m a right – ”
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees, stubbing his cigarette out on the brick wall next to Matt’s head, “Yeah you are.” He fixes Matt with a stern gaze and his meaning is clear: fix it.
Matt pushes himself up from the wall, “Tell Kaz bye for me?”
Arthur nods once, then opens the door to the pub disappearing into the sparse crowd.
Matt turns in the direction of their flats and walks—his steps are slow and measured, and they feel heavy with the weight of shame. He’d hurt Alex tonight; he hadn’t intended to, but he had. And over what? His bloody pride?
The cool night air wraps itself around him and he pulls his jacket tighter against himself. He could remember the exact moment he’d realized it—everyone had been teasing him about his crush on Alex for such a long time that it felt like second nature, and in the beginning, it hadn’t really bothered him. She’s sodding Alex Kingston, for god’s sake, of course he had a crush on her. Most anyone who’d ever met Alex had a crush on her. Of course, he’d do her bidding for free if only she asked. It wasn’t unusual, and it wasn’t embarrassing—she was unlike anyone he’d ever met before, unlike anyone he would ever meet again. He was glad he got to even be in her damn orbit, so the jokes and the teasing didn’t really bother him.
Until about a month ago, when he was in Tesco and it hit him like a freight train—it was something little, so painfully small that he can’t even remember what it was that had happened. Some funny sign on some fruit or something, and he thought to himself I can’t wait to tell Alex about that. And that’s the moment.
That’s the moment his entire universe imploded; he was standing in the produce aisle, and his world fell apart, right next to the tomatoes—he briefly wondered how everyone around him wasn’t gaping at him because surely this implosion had caused some sort of noise. But everyone was just going about their business, fondling the apples, looking for a bruise, and all while his whole world was in shambles.
Because he didn’t have a crush on Alex Kingston the way almost all of Britain did. No. He was sodding in love with her.
He remembered being a little boy and asking his mum once, when he was very small, how he would know he was in love. His mum had smiled, wrapped him up in her arms, and pressed a tender kiss to his temple: Oh, you’re quite young to be thinking about that, Matty. But someday, you will love someone, and your whole world will topple on itself.
His eyes went wide, It sounds scary.
She’d smiled, It is a bit. But, oh, it’s wonderful. It’s so wonderful when you realize that you love someone like that. Like their happiness becomes your own, like you want to save their smile and put it in your pocket for when they need it again.
He’d beamed up at her, Like I love you, mummy?
She’d laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of his childhood bedroom, No, not quite.
His brow furrowed, a serious look coming over his little face, Then how will I know? How will I know if I’m in love?
She’d pulled the covers up around him and tucked them under his chin, brushing his floppy hair out of his eyes, Oh, my sweet boy, you’ll just know.
And standing there in the middle of Tesco, he did.
It was the scariest most brilliant beautiful thing he’d ever learned about himself: he was in love with Alex Kingston, and it changed everything.
-
Alex sits on her couch, staring at the ceiling. After she picked herself up from the floor, washed her face, and threw her pajamas on, she planted herself on the sofa—her bed was entirely too big to be alone in tonight; she needed to feel safe, and curling up on the tiny couch in her flat seemed to offer her at least that much. She wanted to take a bath, to allow the warmth of the water to seep into her bones and wash the day, the night, the pub away. But she doesn’t have the energy for that tonight, so she ends up on the couch instead, trying to quiet all the self-deprecating thoughts running through her mind like a highway between what she wants and what she needs, all the signs of what she can’t have glowing bright neon, blinking.
She listens to the ticking of the clock above the telly, its rhythm oddly comforting, and she tries to think of anything except what she heard in the pub tonight. She curses herself from hours ago for agreeing to it in the first place—if she’d stayed home instead, crawled into a hot bath with some wine, none of this would have happened.
Oh, Alex, you stupid, stupid girl.
The real problem, she knows, isn’t tonight. It is the fact that at some point, the crush she’d developed on her sweet and exceedingly young costar had apparently morphed into something more than that, despite how frequently she told herself that it wouldn’t, that it couldn’t. She’d feared as much, honestly, but she’d never stopped to examine her feelings too closely to be absolutely sure. Until tonight. Hearing his words tonight cut her so deeply and thoroughly that she knew any illusion that it was just a small harmless crush she was harboring for him was summarily shattered.
She sighs and turns on to her side. She’d flirted with him shamelessly since the day they’d met—but she flirted with everyone at all times. There was a different type of exhilaration that came when she flirted with Matt, though, and she began to crave it. She began to look explicitly forward to seeing him, began to anticipate days, weeks, sometimes even months in advance. It was a problem, she knew, but Alex did what she always did—she compartmentalized.
She liked to envision her relationship with Matt as a kind of arching, sweeping map or Atlas of some kind. A big one. There were all sorts of worlds and lands she allowed herself to explore on that map: they were the places rooted in friendship and familiarity, in companionship and joy. They were safe places, and she even let herself occasionally venture into some dangerous territories, too. And then there were the places she absolutely didn’t allow herself to go, the ones in the corner of the map emblazoned only with a little symbol, dark and mysterious. She knew just what the legend would say next to that ominous symbol:
There be monsters.
And so, she shouldn’t be surprised about what she heard—about what he thinks. It’s what she’s been telling herself for months, but there’s something about hearing it from him that makes it hurt so much more. Because that’s it. Before, she had hope. Silly, ridiculous, tucked away in a corner full of cobwebs and old dreams hope—but hope, nonetheless. Now… she’s mortified. Of course, he’d been acting strange since she arrived; he’d managed to pick up on her little crush and it had made him uncomfortable, so he’d avoided her. Maybe she wasn’t as great of an actress as she gave herself credit for, then, if he’d been so easily able to suss it out. She should have known. She should have known.
She sighs again, feeling the tears well in her eyes again and she fights against them, swiping at her eyes furiously with the backs of her hands. You’ve done enough crying for tonight, Alex. You’ve done enough crying for your entire life. She focuses on the ticking of the small clock, letting it lull her into a half-sleep until she’s startled by the sound of a tentative knock at her door.
Alex looks at her door but doesn’t move. She doesn’t have the energy to do this tonight—she knows who it is, knows who is on the other side of her door, and she is too vulnerable, too tired, too everything to open it tonight—there be monsters.
-
She’s avoiding him. And oh, she is very, very good at it. He goes to seek her out, even goes so far as to stand behind her when she’s finishing up a conversation, but she still somehow manages to dodge him; it’s a talent quite like he’s never seen before. He stares at her all morning, watching her every move and his heart aches at the way her smiles, so freely given even to him from across the room, don’t quite reach her eyes today. He’d done that. He knows it, and his heart aches for it.
Matt had gone to her door last night knowing she wouldn’t answer but needing to try anyway, knowing he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to fix what he’d done, though he didn’t have any clue where to start. He’d pressed his ear up against the door, listening, hearing only silence before he knocked once more. He’d stayed on the other side of her door for a long while after he knocked, still listening. Hoping to hear some sound from the other side, something to tell him that she was alright.
Of course she was alright. Alex Kingston, he knew, didn’t fall apart at some offhand comment at a pub, not after everything she’d been through. But he fell apart—after he got back to his flat, he tossed and turned for hours. He picked up his phone a dozen times and set it back down one more time than that. He wanted to call her, to hear the dulcet tones of her voice down the line. He considered calling just to hear her voicemail message, but his fear kept him from dialing her number. He wanted to text her I’m sorry, it’s not true. But his fingers couldn’t move—she deserved so much more than a text message apology, anyway, and he didn’t want to fix this without looking at her face, without being able to read anything she might try to hide from him. It wasn’t exactly fair, he knew. In the end, he put his phone next to him on the bed full volume just in case and fell into a fitful sleep.
He went to find her in makeup first thing in the morning, but it’s like she’d known that’s exactly what he would do, because she wasn’t there. She was always there before him, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, looking radiant despite the early hour. But she wasn’t there today. He didn’t see her until she had to film her first scene, and it wasn’t with him.
Now, it was lunch, and he’d only seen fleeting glances of her as she’d flitted around set talking to everyone except him, carefully avoiding him despite his very best efforts. He’d done the same thing to her the day previously, but she was so much better at it than him because he was deliberately seeking her out and still couldn’t pin her down.
Matt’s picking at his sandwich on the bench across from Arthur when Karen breezes in and sets her sandwich and water bottle down.
“Do you guys know,” She asks around a mouthful of turkey, “What’s wrong with Alex?”
Matt and Arthur exchange a glance, and Matt winces guiltily, bracing himself, hoping Karen hadn’t seen it but knowing she had.
Karen swallows her food, “What was that?” She picks up her water bottle and points it between Matt and Arthur, “What was that?” Her voice is high-pitched, like she knows there’s a secret she hasn’t been let in on and she absolutely won’t stand for it.
Arthur looks at Matt until Matt finally inclines his head—the universal sign for go on, then.
Arthur tells Karen what happened last night. When Arthur finishes, Karen looks at Matt with abject horror before slugging him on the arm. He’s wearing a thick coat, but he can still feel the punch of her little fist as it digs into his muscle. She’s surprisingly strong, and he winces a bit.
“Deserved that.” Matt says, shrugging as he rubs his bicep.
Karen narrows her eyes at him, “You’re bloody right you deserve it.” She sighs dramatically, “Why would you say that, Matt? To Alex, of all people!”
“Oi!” Matt holds up his finger, “I did not say it to Alex.”
“No, stupid face.” Karen huffs, “You said it in her general vicinity and she heard you.” Karen stands, grabbing her sandwich and clutching it angrily to her chest, “I’m going to find Alex. You,” She points her finger in Matt’s face, “Stay away from her for a bit and try to think about how you got to be so stupid, and then figure out how to undo it.”
Matt does as he’s told for the rest of the day—he leaves Alex alone. In truth, he doesn’t really even know what he would say if he did manage to get her alone. He can think of nothing that doesn’t leave his heart entirely bare or fall into the realm of disbelief or both. So, he lets Alex avoid him, and he tries to do what Karen suggested—tries to think about how he got to be so stupid that he would ever say anything so careless and mean in a pub to a mutual friend about a woman with whom he was so stupidly, madly in love.
People always ask him what he would do if he really had a TARDIS—what moment he would go back to, what moment he would fix. He’s never really had a moment before; if you’re thinking logically about it, he knows, you can’t change something very big for a lot of people because who knows how that would turn out. And his life had turned out pretty well, despite it not going at all the way he’d thought it would. But now, he knows, if a TARDIS dropped out of the sky, the first thing he would do is take it back to that pub and stuff every single careless, thoughtless word back into his mouth.
But he doesn’t have a TARDIS, a real one at any rate, and so he spends the rest of the day keeping his distance from Alex; the same thing he’d been doing since she got here for this block of filming, his first time seeing her since he had The Realization in the Middle of Tesco, as he’d come to call it.
Towards the end of the day, Matt and Arthur are standing near his trailer; Matt’s not really doing anything except staring at a spot in the dirt pondering his own morbid stupidity when Karen rushes up to them.
“I’ve convinced Alex to go on a girl’s night at the pub with me,” She tucks her scarf around her neck, “You two aren’t invited,” Karen narrows her eyes at Matt, “Especially you.”
Matt scowls at her, and she sticks her tongue out and then saunters over and knocks on Alex’s trailer. Matt watches as they walk down the steps. Alex turns in his direction and offers him a tight smile and a little wave to say hello or goodbye. It’s more than she’s given him all day and he should feel pathetic at how his stomach turns over on itself when she looks at him, but he just feels glad that she acknowledged him at all, instead.
-
All Alex wants to do is stumble into her flat, kick off her shoes, pour herself a very large glass of wine, and watch crap telly until she falls asleep drooling on a throw pillow. And she wants to do it all in her bra and knickers with some decadent dessert spread out on the coffee table; something chocolatey and sinfully delicious that will make its way right to her hips, but she won’t care because it tastes that good, and she’s always loved her hips, anyway.
So, when Karen corners her at the end of the day and begs for a girls’ night at the pub, she really, really wants to say no. She tries to say no, repeatedly in fact, but Karen has been so sweet to her since lunch that Alex finds her ‘no’ becoming less and less firm the more Karen asks. She feels her resolve shrinking, and while the very last thing she wants to do is go back to the pub where her world crashed down around her just last night, Karen can be very persuasive when she wants to be. She can make a lot of sense, especially when she doesn’t stop talking.
“What you need,” Karen says, right before they’re about to wrap for the day, “Is a good old-fashioned girls’ night! You need to get a bit dressed up, go to the pub, and just forget about everything for a while.”
Well, at least Karen got one thing right. Alex certainly needs to forget everything. Preferably for more than just a while.
That fact is exactly how she ends up standing in her flat in a low-cut black v-neck dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. It’s how she ends up bent over the bathroom mirror muttering “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” right before she draws a pinky-mauve lipstick across her lips.
“You’ll be glad you did!” Karen says enthusiastically as she drags a pair of very high heels out of Alex’s closet.
Alex eyes her in the mirror, “I’m not wearing those.”
“Yes,” Karen nods once, sliding them closer to Alex, “You are.” Karen grins, “If your feet hurt, you’re halfway to forgetting.”
Alex rolls her eyes but slips her feet in the shoes nonetheless.
By the time they get to the pub, Alex is cursing Karen out in at least three different languages in her head, and she swears she hears her arches crying. Alex pauses outside the pub to adjust the strap on one of her heels as she glares at Karen, “I hate you so much for these shoes.”
Karen simply shrugs and opens the door to the pub. It’s significantly more crowded than the previous night, and they snake through a group of people to sidle up to the bar. Karen orders for them, and the bartender, a young muscular man deposits their drinks in front of them, winking at Alex as he slides a napkin across the bar towards her. She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.
Karen takes a sip of her drink—some pink concoction Alex has never understood—and then giggles, her eyes shifting to the bartender dramatically. “That dress,” Karen says, eyeing Alex’s chest pointedly, “Is really working for you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Alex smiles, shaking her head and taking a sip of her drink, enjoying the way it slides easily down her throat and settles in her belly.
As two people from the bar leave their stools, Karen hops on one and motions for Alex to sit on the other. “Okay,” Karen holds her finger up as she takes a long drink from her straw, “Part 2 of girls’ night! I’ll be right back,” She slides off the bar and disappears into the crowd.
Alex feels her aloneness immediately, and she sighs into her glass. She doesn’t really go out to pubs alone (or ever, really) anymore, and she feels awkward and on edge, particularly given that where she really wants to be right now is submerged in an almost too-hot bubble bath. She takes another sip of her drink and lets her eyes drift around the bar. There are familiar faces in the pub—the regulars that she might know by name in a different life where she didn’t do what she did for a living, in a different life where she actually went to pubs in her late 40s. She checks her watch, watching as the seconds tick away—she has an hour before she can conceivably beg off and still feel as though she’s fulfilled her friendly duty.
Alex is looking for Karen when she spots him and her pulse spikes instantly, a knot tying itself tightly in her stomach. He’s sitting in a corner, nursing a half full pint, an empty pint glass already in front of him, and he’s watching her intently. Matt. He wears an outfit similar to the one he wore last night, and she feels her stomach tighten at the sight of him. He’s staring at her, his eyes dark, and she feels herself flush, but she can’t say quite why. It must be residual embarrassment from what she heard last night, she rationalizes, even knowing that the rationalization doesn’t quite fit.
Any other time she would have offered him a warm smile, gone over to join him, invited him over to join her. But she’s feeling a bit raw—and she knows it’s not her place, she does, but she’s feeling a bit hurt from what he said about her, so she just gives him a wan smile, then drops her gaze down into her glass. She swirls the liquid around listening to the ice clink against the sides of the glass and then brings the glass to her lips, tipping her head back she swallows the contents in one swift gulp, the familiar burn coating her tongue before it settles in her stomach and she feels the knot loosen just a bit, just enough.
She considers acting as though everything is normal, but before she can fully form the thought, Karen appears at her side, two men trailing behind her. Alex arches an eyebrow at her in question.
Karen leans in and stage whispers, “Part two.” She winks at Alex, picks up her brightly colored drink and swirls on the stool to face the gentlemen she has dragged behind her.
Loath to be rude, Alex follows suit, swiveling around to face the men. She looks them over, then looks at Karen.
“Alex,” Karen says, “This is Kellen,” She indicates the man in front of her, “And this is Sean,” She smiles widely, nodding at the man standing in front of Alex, “He’s yours.”
Alex looks at him and raises her eyebrows—he’s a good-looking man somewhere in his late 40s, early 50s. He has salt and pepper hair and a classically handsome face; his eyes crinkle pleasantly as he regards her with a smile.
She considers him and smiles back, arching a single eyebrow, “Is that right?” She lets the innuendo seep into her words; it’s not out of any sort of intent, it’s just how she is. How she always has been, really.
Sean chuckles, and it’s not an unpleasant sound, “That can certainly be arranged,” He lets his eyes roam her body in a gaze that feels appreciative instead of creepy. She’s thankful for that—it feels nice to be appreciated by a man, a good-looking one at that, particularly after the blow dealt to her the night prior.
Alex swirls the ice in her glass, dislodging what little liquid remains. Bringing the glass to her lips, she smirks, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The four of them fall into an easy conversation, and she finds Sean to be quite the conversationalist. He’s smart and witty and she’s quite pleasantly surprised by how charming he is. Karen doesn’t always have the best radar when it comes to men, so when she’d dragged Sean over to the bar, Alex hadn’t been expecting much. That’s what happens when the bar is set so low, she supposes. Alex had caught Matt’s eye once more since she and Sean started talking, and his gaze was even darker than before. Without looking, she can feel his eyes burning into her back, and she feels positively watched. It unnerves her a bit, particularly because she can’t figure out quite why Matt is staring at her like that.
Alex doesn’t mean to do it; she’s not properly interested in Sean, and while flirting with everyone she meets is all well and good, she knows there is intent behind Sean’s flirting with her, and normally she would hold back, reel it in on her side. But she can only hear Matt’s words from last night echoing in her head, she can feel his eyes boring into her now, and so it makes her flirt all the more with Sean, who is a perfectly nice bloke, but not her type at all if she really thinks about it. Sean is significantly more handsome than her type, actually. She prefers an interesting face to a uniquely handsome one. Still, in another life, she might have been interested in Sean. In a life where she wasn’t yearning for her young costar, the man standing before her would have had a chance. A small one, but a chance. Now, he has none, and only she knows it.
And yet she finds herself leaning into him, touching his arm as they speak, throwing her head back and laughing as she enjoys his gaze on the column of her throat. And she knows he’s looking—and she knows Matt is looking, which she should be ashamed to say is precisely why she’s doing it, but she just can’t be anymore.
-
Karen’s spotted him. He’d been doing a good job of blending in and hiding from Karen so far but watching Alex flirt with some handsome bloke at the bar has made the anger radiate off him so much that he’s a bit surprised he’s not suffocating everyone in the pub with it.
So he’s not surprised to see Karen stalking over to him, an angry look on her face as she drags whatever Bloke of the Week she’s found behind her by his collar – which, really, he doesn’t seem to mind too terribly much. To some men, apparently Karen was quite appealing.
Matt sees the rage in her eyes, but he’s got quite a bit of rage burning in his eyes now, too, so he fixes it all on her as she approaches his booth.
Matt narrows his eyes, “Kazza, what the hell?” His voice is loud, but still hushed, so it doesn’t carry all the way to Alex. Matt glances over Karen’s shoulder and sees Alex run a hand down the man’s bicep and feels his stomach turn over.
Karen glares at him, “What part of ‘you’re not invited’ did you not understand?”
Matt watches behind Karen as Alex leans in to listen to something the man says in her ear; Matt watches as a smirk spreads across her face, and he clenches his hand around his pint, resisting the urge to stalk over to the bar and rip the man away from Alex. Alex tips her head back again and laughs, the throaty sound making its way to his booth where his heart clenches at the sound. Matt closes his eyes in frustration.
“Seriously, Karen, what the hell?” Matt’s voice is rough, and he opens his eyes and fixes Karen with a hard stare.
Karen sees the look in his eyes and softens a bit, glancing over her shoulder to Alex and then back at Matt. She cringes a little, then sighs, “That’s Sean. She wasn’t meant to actually like him! He was just supposed to flirt with her a little, get her spirits up since you basically said she’s unshaggable.” She explains.
Matt watches the scene behind Karen, “Well, then, it’s a good job he’s certainly not looking at her like she’s unshaggable.”
Karen reaches across the table and smacks Matt none too gently on the side of the head, “That’s because she’s Alex Bloody Kingston, you idiot.” Karen turns and murmurs something to the man who’d been standing quietly behind her looking quite besotted. He nods and then heads to the bar. Karen looks at Matt, then slides in to the booth next to him, “Fix it.”
Matt watches as Karen’s new suitor makes his way to the bar, says something to his friend, and then suddenly Alex is alone again. He watches as she sets her empty glass on the bar and the bartender slides another in front of her. Matt vaguely recognizes that he doesn’t like where the bartender’s gaze drifts, but he’s got bigger Sean-sized fish to fry right now.
Matt looks at Karen for a moment, “What do I…”
Karen sighs dramatically, “I don’t bloody know. Fix it.” She pulls the cherry from her drink and sucks it into her mouth.
Nodding, Matt leaves the booth. Even as his feet carry him towards Alex, he doesn’t know what he will say when he finally gets to her. She’s looking away, down the bar, where a band is setting up to play for the night. She doesn’t see him approach, and he lowers his mouth so it’s close to her ear when he speaks.
“I know what you’re doing…” His voice is low and rough, he can feel it, and she startles a bit and then stills when he speaks. He doesn’t, actually, know what she’s doing, but it’s the only way he can make sense of what he’s been watching for the last twenty minutes, so he goes with it anyway.
She pauses, and turns to look at him, “Is that right?” She smirks at him over her glass. “Enlighten me then, darling.” She takes a sip and looks at him expectantly.
Her voice is like warm honey and it slips inside his veins, courses through his body until he’s warm all over. Just a pet name, and he feels himself melting. She’s calling his bluff.
“You’re trying to make me jealous.” His breath is hot against her ear, and she doesn’t move except to pull her head back to look at him properly.
Her eyes search his face. “Oh?” The corner of her lips quirks up in a half-smile, “And why would I try to do that, darling, when we both know…” She stirs her drink, now half-gone, then looks at him pointedly, “I’m not even your type.”
He’d known she’d heard him, of course, but hearing the confirmation from her lips makes it hurt worse somehow. He sees a quick flash of something in her eyes before it’s gone, and he doesn’t have time to think as the band starts up, the bass of the drum reverberating around the tiny pub. He grabs her by her wrist, his hand encircling the tiny bone, and he tugs her from the barstool. She follows him easily, grasping her drink in her hand as she trails behind him.
Matt leads her through the throng of people crowding inside the tiny pub to the sidewalk outside. The cool air whips around them, and he leads her to the end of the wall near the alley. He spins her around as gently as possible and looks at her—her cheeks are a little pink from the alcohol and the wind making its way down the street. Her hair is a bit wild in the way that makes him want to shove his fingers into it and tug her lips to his; he’s always liked her hair like that.
“Alex,” He looks at her like that word is enough to explain everything. Of course he knows it isn’t, but it’s all he can think to say. He fixes her with a look, trying to convey everything he means to say because he doesn’t know what, precisely, to say.
Alex sighs and sets her glass down on the windowsill of the pub, “Matt.” She mimics his tone perfectly, and even though she’s not saying his name in the way he’d always wanted to hear it fall from her lips, he feels a stirring of arousal. It is amazing how little it takes from her, really.
Matt takes a steadying breath, “I know you heard me last night, Alex,” He watches as her eyes widen slightly and her nostrils flare just a touch, “But, the thing is… it wasn’t true, not any of it.” He drops his voice, “At least, it’s not anymore.”
Alex narrows her eyes, considering him, letting his words sink in, “Then why say it, Matt?” Her tone is light, conversational, but her eyes convey the exact opposite.
And that’s the question. He knows that’s the question he has to answer, but to answer it honestly would be to reveal everything, and while he’s never thought of himself as particularly cowardly, what he learned in Tesco that day has him more on edge and scared than he has been in ages. She scares him—because there are so many ways that his confession, if he makes it, could go so spectacularly wrong.
He steels himself and opens his mouth to tell her the unfiltered truth. She’s watching him, waiting for a response, and he feels his resolve weaken, and he begins to listen to that little warning voice in his head that’s screaming at him: you could ruin everything.
“I was—I was just tired of everyone teasing me,” Matt shrugs, suddenly unable to meet her eyes, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes instead, “I wanted them to stop. I thought… I thought that was the best way.” He jams his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “I never meant to hurt you, Alex.” He confesses quietly, finally chancing a look at her.
She looks disappointed and he feels that ache in his chest return, because he’d done that, too. “You didn’t, Matt.” She says, and then opens her mouth to say more, but as she does, Karen, her bloke, and Sean stumble out of the bar and make their way over to them, “You didn’t, I’m fine, it’s fine. Go home, Matt.”
Matt can see she’s lying, he’d seen it on her face last night, and he’d seen it again tonight at the bar when she parroted his words back to him. He wants to do something, but Sean slides his arm around her waist, murmuring something about dancing, and suddenly the group is walking away from him and back into the pub, Karen glancing apologetically over her shoulder.
Matt stands there for a bit helplessly looking through the window, watching as Sean spins Alex around on the dance floor before he pulls her close to him as she wraps her arms around his neck and laughs, tilting her head back, her curls spilling over her shoulder. His stomach churns at the sight and he feels a chill run through him that has nothing to do with the cold he’s currently standing in.
It isn’t until he watches Sean tuck a curl behind Alex’s ear as he leans in close to whisper something into her ear that he finally answers the warning voice in his head from earlier:
You already have.
-
She can feel Matt’s eyes on her as she walks back into the pub, she can feel his eyes on her as Sean leads her to the dance floor, as he pulls her close against him. She resists the urge to push Sean away; the feel of his hard body against hers, his hands gripping her waist isn’t something that she wants, not really.
But outside, Matt had confirmed her fear—not only was she not his type, he was outright embarrassed about everyone teasing him about her, the thought of she and him together so far outside his realm of possibility that he needed to remind even his closest friends in private that his type was essentially everything Alex wasn’t. She’d known that, of course she had, but hearing him confirm that to her hurt in a different way.
So she lets Sean pull her close to him, she throws her head back and laughs, she puts her hand on his chest when he whispers in her ear. It’s not what she wants, but after the blow to her ego, it’s nice to feel wanted at all. And when Sean presses his hips against hers, she knows that she is—she can feel that she’s wanted, in the basest sense of the word. The realization sends a jolt through her body, and Sean’s hands on her body, his hips against hers, it’s suddenly all too much. She pulls away from him with a light gasp, turning to see if Matt’s still watching from the window, but he is gone, and she feels at once relieved and bereft, the combination striking an odd chord in her.
“Sean…” Alex’s her voice is full of regret. She’s had to let a lot of men down easily in her lifetime, but it’s still been awhile.
Sean looks slightly embarrassed, “Sorry, Alex, I…” He trails off, not entirely sure how to explain himself.
Alex holds up a hand, waving it lightly, “It’s fine – I’m just… tired. I think I need to go home.” She sees a flicker of hope in Sean’s eyes and she winces a bit, “Alone, I’m sorry.”
Sean chuckles a bit, then shrugs, “No need to apologize. I’d like to call you sometime?”
Alex shakes her head lightly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea; I’m not here most of the time, anyway.” She leans in and presses a small kiss to his cheek, “It was lovely meeting you, Sean.”
He smiles at her a bit sadly, “You too, Alex.”
She sighs and turns to find Karen, glancing around the pub and finding her in a corner close to the band dancing with Kellen. Alex taps her on the shoulder, smiling at her when she turns around.
“I’m going to go home,” Alex raises her voice over the clatter of the bands cymbals and Karen looks over Alex’s shoulder with a look of surprise and guilt that Alex doesn’t understand, “Alone,” Alex clarifies, rolling her eyes.
“Oh!” Karen leans forward, “Alright then – you want me to come with you?”
Alex laughs, “No, honey,” She glances at Kellen, “You stay.”
Karen mouths thanks, then leans forward to kiss Alex on the cheek.
“Have fun,” Alex winks, a knowing grin flitting across her face before she narrows her eyes, “And I still hate you for these bloody shoes.”
Karen just laughs, then smiles, “You wouldn’t if you could see what they do to those calves of yours.”
Alex rolls her eyes, then turns around waving her hand as she makes her way through the pub and out into the cold Cardiff night. By the time she’s halfway home, she is seriously resisting the urge to rip her shoes off and walk home barefoot, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it, so she lets her mind wander instead, trying to think of anything except the pain in her feet. Damn Karen.
Her mind drifts back to the pub, to Sean. He was a perfectly nice bloke, and she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a part of her that did want to take him home with her tonight. He wanted her, and he’d made that very clear—and it was nice to feel wanted; it always had been, but after hearing Matt say that about her the night before, it was especially nice. She could have taken Sean back to her place, shagged the daylights out of him, and sent him on his merry way. She might have felt a bit better for a while.
But she’d done that before—used sex to fill some kind of void, and it worked well enough, really. She wasn’t ashamed of it, but it felt vaguely wrong somehow this time; she felt distinctly sure that it wouldn’t solve anything, that it wouldn’t bring her the comfort she really wanted. She’d made the mistake of thinking that sex with a stranger could fix things one too many times, and she wasn’t ready to make it again tonight. She smiles as the wind whips around her and she pulls her coat tighter, unfortunately for Sean.
As she nears the end of the block where her flat is, she thinks about Matt, even though she really doesn’t want to think about Matt. He looked so good tonight, and she doesn’t want to think about whether or not that’s the real reason she didn’t let Sean come home with her. As she makes her way up to the second floor of the building, her keys in hand, she wonders why Matt was watching her so much tonight—his gaze dark, inquisitive, filled with something she realizes now she can’t name. She’d thought it was guilt, but she’d seen that flash in his eyes when he came up to her at the bar. When he was watching her with Sean, it was something else she saw in his gaze.
When she gets to the top landing, she sees Matt, sitting on the floor leaning against the door of her flat. He looks rumpled, even though she hasn’t been at the pub much longer than he was—she feels her stomach tighten and her heart flutter as she looks at him as he’s so clearly waiting for her, and she mentally chastises herself for the hundredth time tonight: this has to stop, Alex.
She steps forward and the sound of her heels on the tile alerts Matt to her presence and he turns his head to face her, the guilt on his face evident. She sighs heavily moving down the hallway toward her flat. “I meant your home, Matt.”
Alex walks to her door, and it isn’t until she’s standing directly in front of him that she notices he’s looking at her legs, his hazel eyes trained directly on the expanse between her heels and the hem of her dress. She snorts a bit in spite of herself—maybe Karen was right about her calves in these heels.
She slides her key in the lock, then glances down at him, “Can I get in my flat, darling?”
Her question startles him into action, and he pushes himself from the floor, standing up and brushing the back of his jeans off before running a hand nervously through his hair, “Oh, yeah, ‘course.” He grins at her sheepishly, stepping away from the door to allow her access, “Sorry.” His voice is quiet, and his skin is tinted a slight shade of red.
Alex rolls her eyes and turns the lock, turning the knob and opening the door. She steps over the threshold and kicks her heels off before turning to face him, her hand still on the doorknob. “Why are you here, Matt?” She tries to keep the exhaustion out of her voice, but even she can tell she’s not all that successful.
Matt swipes his hand through his hair again, “Right, Well… I…” He looks at her, “The thing is that…” He sighs, “Can I come in for a bit?” He asks the question tentatively.
She considers telling him no, but she doesn’t have that much willpower right now—besides, she’s never really been able to refuse him anything, especially not when he looks so hopeful. Instead, she pushes the door open and gestures with her hand, inviting him in.
Matt walks past her and she can smell his light cologne, a fresh scent that she’s always loved on him; she tries not to think about what the scent of him does to her. She closes the door and steps in front of it, crossing her arms over her chest a bit defensively as she waits. She’s had a rough couple of days at his hands, whether he meant them or not.
He spins around and looks at her, then takes a deep breath. Releasing it, he rushes his words out, “Alex, I lied earlier.” Her eyes widen, and he presses his eyes shut for a second before opening them again, “Well, not lied, I did want everyone to stop teasing me, but I didn’t tell you the whole truth back there.”
“Okay,” She says carefully, drawing the word out a bit, unsure where he’s going with this. When he doesn’t speak, she resists the urge to roll her eyes again; she looks at him cautiously, skepticism lacing her words, “What is the whole truth?”
In answer, he crosses the distance between them and she backs up on instinct until she feels the door against her back. His lips are on hers immediately, and before she has time to think, she’s returning his kiss—he slides his hands up into her hair, his fingers moving against her scalp as he presses her closer to him. His tongue slips into her mouth, and he groans before deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over hers.
Alex feels her stomach flip and her heart clench as she tastes him, and she is seconds away from wrapping her arms up around his neck when her brain finally stops short circuiting from the surprise of his rather talented mouth on hers.
There be monsters.
She places her hand on his chest and pushes him away—he stops immediately, pulling back and looking at her, a dazed look in his eyes as he removes a hand from her hair and balances himself against the door, one hand above her head, one still buried in her curls. He is breathless, and she is too; she takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady her heart rate and then curses herself for the way her lungs shake as she draws in air.
She narrows her eyes and lets herself step into the anger that she suddenly feels coursing through her veins because last night she heard him say, very forcefully and very clearly, that she was not his type, and now he is kissing her against her door like his very existence depends on it, and god she didn’t realize how much she really wants him until he kissed her like that.
Alex keeps her hand on his chest, warding him off, “So, what?” She stares at him, ignoring the wobble in her voice; her voice is like steel when she speaks next, “You want to shag me against my door, so you can feel less guilty about what you said, is that it?”
Matt makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, “Alex, no. God, no. That’s not… that’s not what this is!” The desperation creeps into his voice and his hand slides from her curls to cover hers against his chest, his thumb grazing the back of her palm.
Alex looks at him, her eyes dropping down to see his hand covering hers before they lift again, scanning his face, “Oh? What is this, then?” Her heart is slamming in her chest, and she can feel that his is, too.
He smiles down at her, and there is no mistaking the tenderness that floods his eyes now, “This,” He squeezes her hand lightly, then cups her cheek gently, his thumb running lightly over her cheekbone, “Is my bloody confession.” He dips his head again, and kisses her gently, his lips moving over hers reverently, slowly.
Matt kisses her tenderly, and she hasn’t been kissed like this in so long that she feels the emotion swell in her chest, and she doesn’t even have time to try to tamp it down. It overcomes her, and she’s kissing him back, her hand still on his chest as she loops her free arm around his neck and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. When he pulls back from her, there are tears in her eyes and there is reverence in his and her breath has stolen away at the sight of it, at the sight of Matt Smith looking at her like that.
Matt traces her bottom lip with his thumb, “I don’t just want to shag you against a door to assuage my guilt, Alex. That’s not what I want from you.”
She has to ask—she has to hear him say it, even though she knows just from looking at him, even though it’s on his face, in his eyes, even though he is not hiding from her anymore, “What do you want from me, then, Matt?”
“God, Alex, everything.” He leans down and kisses the tip of her nose gently, “I want everything from you.” His thumb strokes her browbone now and her eyes flutter closed, “I want you sleepy eyed in the morning; I want you pressed against me all night long, even if we’ve spent the evening rowing. I want you on your bad days, on your worst days when you think the world is out to get you, on the days when you think you might just let it. I want you when you’re so sad you can feel the weight of it crushing you, on the days you cry so hard you can’t breathe; I want to save your smile and put it in my pocket so I can give it back to you when you need it the most. And I want you when you’re happy, Alex, when you have so much joy you could light the bloody world on fire—I want to make you happy, Alex.” His voice is quiet with emotion, “I want you, every part of yourself you’ve ever tried to hide, I want it.”
She’s crying now, and his thumb moves down to swipe at the tear she can feel rolling down her cheek, “Why?” Her voice is only a whisper, and it breaks on even the single syllable.
“Because,” He whispers, leaning forward and kissing at her tears from her face, “You silly woman—I’m bloody well in love with you.” He sighs, “I want whatever you’ll give me, Alex, but I’m rather hoping you’ll give me everything.”
Alex gasps at his words; she knows there are so many reasons this is a bad idea, so many reasons she shouldn’t believe him, shouldn’t let him, but she’s spent too many years denying her heart what it wants, and she’ll be damned if she spends another second of this life doing that. Her past whispers at her that she shouldn’t believe him, that he’s lying, that he just couldn’t, because there are so many things she can’t give him, things that he might want.
And she knows part of that is true. She can’t give him so many things, she knows, but she can give him this: the benefit of the doubt.
There is a list of reasons she’s been writing on her heart since she first met him, she can recite all of them chapter and verse: no children, 20:11 is at the top of the list, highlighted, starred, underlined. But Matt knows that – they’ve talked about it; she’d cried on his shoulder when her marriage ended, when she finally accepted that she’d never have another baby.
Matt knows how old she is, he knows the hell she’s been through, and even with everything she can’t give him—this, she can.
So, leaning up and brushing her lips against his, she does.
-
Alex Kingston is kissing him. Alex Kingston is kissing him. Alex Kingston is kissing him. That’s the only thought that’s running through his mind as her soft mouth moves against his—he’s just told her that he loves her and she’s not running away from him, she’s kissing him instead.
Of all the ways he expected this to go, this certainly hadn’t been it. But, oh, he’s glad this is how it’s going, after all. He drops his hand to her waist and pulls her against him, enjoying the way her body fits so perfectly against his.
As if reading his mind, Alex deepens the kiss, and she tastes like tequila and cinnamon and all his wildest dreams coming true. She loops her arms around his neck and sighs into his mouth as she kisses him softly, exploring his mouth with her tongue, and he’s never felt anything quite like it. The woman can kiss.
Still, Matt manages to pull back from her; he looks at her, and she is stunning. Her eyes are hooded, her hair is still wild, and her mouth curled up into a pleasant smile, “What is this, Alex?”
Alex’s eyes flutter open and meet his, the blue-green color is deeper up this close; she smiles, nudging her nose against his and he finds himself smiling back, “This is me… saying yes.” Her voice is low and deep and it shoots a spark through his body before settling low in his belly.
“To everything?” He speaks against her lips, pressing a light kiss to them once, twice, three times.
She nods, “To everything, darling.” She says it genuinely, but he can hear the innuendo laced in her voice and he chuckles against her lips.
“Oh, I’m looking very forward to that.”
His hips rock gently into her and she throws her head back in laughter. “As you should be, darling,” She purrs, her head still back as he presses into her.
Matt leans down and presses soft open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat, still rocking his hips into her rhythmically smiling against her throat when she matches his rhythm.
“And I’m,” Alex says, rocking her hips back into him; she drops her hand to the front of his jeans, “Looking very forward to that.”
At her touch, he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Alex grins at him wickedly, then grabs him by his t-shirt and leads him down the hall to her bedroom, closing the door behind them as they enter, even though no one else is in her flat. As she strips her dress from her body, her eyes are dark and she never drops her gaze from his; when her dress pools at her feet and her bra soon follows, he’s reminded that this reality he’s suddenly found himself in is a thousand times better than every fantasy he’s ever had. And thank any god he ever maybe believed in for that.
Matt lays Alex down gently on the bed, and his hands set to work, his mouth following suit: they learn her curves, learn what makes her clutch at his back, what makes her claw at his skin, what makes slide her fingers through his hair and pull him closer, closer, closer. He learns what makes her tip her head back and moan, what makes her keen and cry out his name like a prayer, like a promise; and the noises she makes when he touches her create a symphony of emotion within him because he is doing this to her, and she is letting him, finally, after years.
Her name falls from his lips only seconds after his falls from hers, and it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said.
He drops his head into the crook of her neck, his tongue running along her collarbone and he knows—he knows.
He will spend his life here. And she will let him.
-
Their limbs are tangled together and they’re on top of the covers, sated as their breathing finally begins to return to normal. Matt runs a hand languidly up and down her spine, drawing little symbols into her skin and she shivers, then presses a kiss to his chest.
“Bless Sean.” She says, her lips still against his skin as they curl into a smirk.
Matt barks out a laugh, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her against him. “Bless eavesdropping.” His hands slip into her hair, tangling in the damp curls at the nape of her neck.
“Bless lying.” Her nail traces a circle around his nipple.
He turns his head to press a soft kiss to her forehead, “Bless my type.” He takes his free hand and curls his fingers against her hip bone, “You, by the way, only ever you now, in case what just happened here somehow left any doubt.”
Alex chuckles and the sound rumbles in her chest against his ribs and he feels a shiver run through him, “Oh, darling, no doubt.”
He traces his name against her hip bone, “Bless everything.”
“Mm,” Alex agrees, nodding against his chest, her curls tickling his skin. She runs her fingernail lightly down his sternum, “Bless monsters,” her words are quiet whispers against his chest.
Matt lifts his head up, his eyebrows rising in question, “What was that, love?”
Alex shakes her head, “Nothing.” She curls her body into his, enjoying the warmth of him against her, his arm wrapped protectively around her as he plays with her hair, the sensation sending little jolts of pleasure through her body.
Bless everything, she thinks.
The Atlas has no more hidden bits now—there be monsters—and they are hers.