#lifeinaperceptionfilter

Now edited and up over at Ao3!

Alex set the tray on the coffee table and perched herself on the edge of the sofa. Glancing at the foul-tempered man taking up most of the space next to her, she busied herself with preparing tea for the both of them, making sure to get his just as he liked it. He may be a scowling grump at the moment but she still found him oddly adorable and the added knowledge that he was still in pain added to her sympathy. Nevertheless, the foul look on Matt’s face was unbecoming and she hoped to snap him out of his bad mood.

“You’d better watch out, darling, or your face will freeze like that,” she told him lightly, watching his face snap over to look at her.

His gaze softened considerably but still his eyes still harbored the look of frustration and pain that she hated to see. Quickly, as if to prove to her that his face was not, in fact, frozen into place, he pulled a ridiculous look, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out quickly before returning part of his former glare to his face, turning slightly so as to avoid pointing the glare at her.

Tutting softly, she picked up his cup of tea, cleared her throat pointedly, and handed it over to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly, stubbornness dripping from his voice as he took a sip and then turned back to the football match playing on the television.

Sighing impatiently, she stood up from the edge of the sofa and placed her hands gingerly above his wrapped ankle, part pushing it up and part motioning for him to lift it. “Come on, make some room.”

Huffing quietly, he helped her lift his own leg enough for her to slip under it, joining him properly on the sofa with his damaged leg draped over her lap.

Reaching over to the end table for her own cup, she inhaled the steam for a moment before drinking. When she looked back up again, she could feel his foot wiggling gently in her lap and heard the sharp intake of breath coming from him.

“Stop moving it,” she told him sternly. “The more you move it, the less it will heal.”

“Can’t help it,” he said through gritted teeth. “It hurts not to move it, it hurts to move it, there’s no winning here.”

“Just keep still. The painkillers will start to kick in soon and you’ll start feeling better, so long as you rest.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he groused, crossing his arms across his chest and glaring at his foot.

“Now, I understand you’re in pain, Matt, but why on Earth are you so angry? It was just an accident!”

Instantly, his face turned from angry to pouting. “Because it’s always an accident with me, isn’t it? Once again, I have a stupid, clumsy accident, and this time it results in a sprain. A sprain! I haven’t had a sprain this bad since my football days and now I’m on those stupid, bloody crutches,” he motioned defiantly at said crutches in the corner next to the door, “and I start filming the Christmas special in a week! It’s my last episode and I’m supposed to be at my best. How can I do that when I’m limping all over the place?”

Alex reached over, stretching out her hand to run through his bristly, still-short hair, massaging his scalp gently. “Matt, you tripped while out on a jog. It was an accident, darling, it happens. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’ll absolutely still be at your best for filming. If they have to slow things down a bit to accommodate your leg, they will. And they are aging you up quite a bit for a lot of this – maybe they can give you a cane? Make your limp a part of the elderly Doctor’s character?”

Face lightening a bit more, but still sour as if he didn’t want to admit to being comforted by her words, he conceded her point. “I guess that could work. Maybe. We’ll see. Still hate this, though.”

“I know, darling,” she said, pulling her hand from his scalp, running it softly over his face before pulling back completely. “I mean, who’s going to get that pot on the top shelf in the kitchen while your out of commission? But you know what? I think I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

Still frowning slightly, he narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She leaned over plucking her bag from the table in front of them and rifled through it until she pulled out a handful of markers, brandishing them in front of him. “I know it’s not a proper cast, but who says we can’t still decorate it a bit? Cute drawings or dirty limericks?”

At that, his eyes lit up, all traces of his foul mood suddenly gone. “Could you do both?”

She laughed, glad to have finally broken through his moroseness. “Only if you can keep that smile on your face the whole way through.”