*crawls out from under a rock* h-hey. Hey beautiful people of the internet. I'm super sorry again. Clearly I'm not a fantabulous updater. BUT I'M REALLY GOING TO FINISH THIS EVENTUALLY REALLY I AM. AND I LOVE YOU. Yes you. So read on… enjoy… I'm sorry… don't hate me :0
After Alex gathered Matt's belongings, the pair returned to her flat to change for breakfast, a thought that presented yet another confounding dilemma.
"Uh… Matt?" Alex said awkwardly, holding a combination of clothes that was she felt might be strange enough for him to actually wear.
He was in her bedroom, searching through her closet for something that would look lovely on her, but, that being everything, he hadn't gotten very far. "Yeah?"
She shuffled nervously, almost tripping over her own feet. She huffed at how difficult his body was to maneuver with its ridiculous gangly limbs. "Well—when you change—I mean, could you… um… close your eyes?"
He spun around in a very Matt fashion, which he would have to stop because Alex's body looked ridiculous doing it. "Oh," he said simply. Right. She's naked under here. "Yeah—yeah! Of course. Yeah. I mean. You too, then, yeah?" He was floundering because, yes, he had thought about Alex in that way before. What she looks like anyway. He'd seen Moll Flanders and Essex Boys, probably more times than she needed to know, but it wasn't his fault! It was hers, really, being all gorgeous and what not. He wanted to respect her, but he hadn't realized that changing clothes while his mind was in her body would probably be the only chance he'd get to see. But then if he looked, well, he was quite sure he'd never be able to get over it—get over her.
"Yes! Of course. It's just—weird. You know?" she said, her cheeks flushing royally. Matt's pasty white skin was no help in hiding her bashfulness. "I'm not embarrassed or anything, but—it's you." His head shot up with hope at that. "Friends shouldn't see each other naked."
Oh. "No, no of course not. I agree. One hundred percent!" he hoped she didn't pick up on the disappointment in his voice and body language, but it was her voice and body language, so she probably did. "Whenever life requires that was bare something that we really shouldn't be looking at, we close our eyes."
"Right," she smiled. He thought she looked almost sad, but it was probably his imagination. "Better get to it then." She held up his clothes and walked past him into the bathroom to change. As soon as she shut the door, she dropped to the floor and leaned against the bathtub. Letting out a deep breath and running a hand through his hair, she chided herself for nothing in particular. Maybe for asking Matt not to look at her naked body which was now his. It wasn't like she thought he should see it, she just wanted him too—no, that wasn't right either. She was trying incredibly hard to not understand what her embarrassment and flirting and everything meant, but she could hardly deny it: she was a mad, old, heartsick woman. She wanted to protect him from her despicable cougar tendencies and protect herself because, if he looked underneath those clothes, she new he wouldn't like what he saw. Or something. And she just wasn't sure she could take it.
Outside the door, Matt was contradicting her every self-deprecating thought with his own musings. He looked down at her body, then into the mirror, and all he could think was that she is perfect. He wished he could tell her because who doesn't like to hear that they're perfect? But she just saw him as kid, and it'd probably sound weird and creepy.
After each conquered the task of changing without the help of sight, Matt and Alex walked to a nearby café. They were in Cardiff, so Whovians were always about, but they were more or less successful in going under the radar.
"I wonder," Matt began, "if what I usually drink will still taste good to me… or if I'll have to get your order." He shuddered at the thought and Alex playfully smacked him on the arm. "Careful, Matty," he smirked as a few people glanced at them, "can't hit a girl."
Alex rolled her eyes. "Oh, I think you can handle it."
They ordered their drinks from the café and promptly had to switch once they realized taste buds had remained in their respective bodies.
"All right," Alex sighed as they began the trek back. "Where should we start?"
"Let's see…" Matt thought. "I'm Alex Kingston. Sexiest woman alive. Can barely keep my clothes on when I get in front of a camera. Can flirt with a stick. Beautiful daughter whom I love more than anything on this earth. Terribly kind. Did I leave anything out?"
His quick analysis earned another eye roll from Alex. "Doesn't respond well to flattery?" she huffed. "I'm Matt Smith. Mind of a child. Floppy hair that truly is impossible. Cocky at times, but can usually back it up. Love my best friends Kazza and Darvill—"
"And Kingston," Matt added.
"And the fabulous Alex Kingston and my sister the most. Still loves football. Misses it a bit. But really content. And I love the Doctor."
"All very true. I think we'll be fine. If we don't know something about 'ourselves', we'll just make it up, yeah? No-one will know. I mean, obviously. It's not like they're going to guess that we've switched bodies."
"You never know. The Whovians know anything is possible."
"Ah, oh well! It'll be exciting!" Matt grinned at her. It still hadn't set in—the phenomenon of looking at someone else and seeing her face. It was all cute and fun now, but just how long would they be stuck like this? Suddenly her cell phone's ring interrupted her thoughts.
"Oh I'm receiving a call! A Kingston call!" Matt pulled her phone out of the purse he was carrying and looked to see who it was. "Uh-oh," he looked up at her worriedly.
She looked at the screen and immediately understood why. It read Florian Haertel. She couldn't just ignore it (Florian didn't just call to chat for fun; it had to be important). Matt was going to have to be in character for a conversation with Alex's ex-husband on his first day on the job. He knew Florian and Alex were okay/not great, but he didn't know how do be Alex-talking-to-Florian. And it sounded scary.