Title: Minutes to Memories
Rating: G
Word Count: 2127
Summary: “Never thought I’d see the day,” he murmurs, breath teasing a stray strand of hair and sending goosebumps up and down her arms like a military formation. “Karen Gillan playing mum.”
Spoilers/References: Set during the Confidential and episodic filming of "A Good Man Goes to War," though I don't think it's all that spoilery.
Written For:
mattkaren 's
ficathon (still open and accepting prompts/stories. Come on by!)
Disclaimer: No money, no truth, no problem. Title from the John Mellencamp song.
The set has always been akin to a lively but ultimately confused concert hall, for the noise that ricochets off vaulted ceilings is sometimes more of a frenetic cacophony than a symphony, with differing tempos and instruments swinging on a pendulum between harmony and discord. Even so, Karen’s not entirely prepared for just how loud the stage is; her ears take a moment to adjust, and she’s able to focus on the one sound that she never thought she’d hear at work: an infant’s cry.
There’s been a knot lining her stomach since she read the script the first time, but not because of the episode’s reveal. Instead, she’s been half-dreading this day, because it’s centered around the singular thing acting classes or life couldn’t teach her: how to be a mum.
It’s something she’s though about fleetingly; an idea that zips through her head faster than her transport driver had rushed to get her to set this morning. But today’s anxiety is borne more of the physicality of the issue versus the philosophy; she’s never held an infant before, let alone a three-month-old. What if she drops it? What if it won’t stop crying? What if it’s her insecurity, not Amy’s, that plays to screen?
The bulge moves past her heart and into her throat, and she tries in vain to clear it away as the PA guides her to stand in between the director and an unfamiliar petite, brown-haired woman. She offers both a smile, but when Peter introduces Danielle and Karen notices the tiny bundle in her arms is squirming in its sleep, she doesn’t hear anything besides her heartbeat reverberating loudly in her ears.
Unfortunately, it’s not loud enough to drown out the sound of her terrified hesitation.
Danielle must read the nervous tension in her face and offers a gentle smile, turning slightly to offer Karen a better look. “This is Madison,” she says softly, the edges of her mouth turning further upward with pride.
Karen’s index finger rubs the baby’s tiny, chubby fist. “She’s gorgeous.”
Danielle extends her arms, and Karen’s surprised how instinctual it is for her to lock her arms and support the baby when the brunette hands Madison over. That rush of surprise turns many temperatures as it runs through her, ever changing with the onslaught of emotion; there is fear as red as her hair (perhaps tinted with a little bit of orange annoyance toward Steven Moffat’s brilliant but certifiably mad mind), bluish doubt, and just the lightest stroke of yellow relaxation when she secures the baby against her chest and Madison snuggles contentedly against her. She looks at Danielle, words tripping over the lump in her throat as she asks, “That’s it?”
The other woman nods encouragingly. “That’s it. You’re doing wonderfully.”
“Wow.” Karen can’t help but drown in the awe-striking sanctity of life literally cradled in her hands. It’s probably as close to perfection as she’ll ever come, and is glad when that, not her own limitations, takes her breath away.
She feels a shift in the air behind her, but she knows it’s not just the general vivacious bustle of the crew that she’s learned to tune out; her suspicions are confirmed when Matt enters her peripheral vision, a smile on his face. “Now that’s a sight.”
She chuckles lightly, running a finger over the feathery tuft of hair atop the baby’s head. She starts slightly when another cry pierces the air, and immediately looks at Danielle, eyes wide with worry.
But the mum doesn’t seem fazed in the least, tucking the blanket swaddling her daughter tighter and asking with an ease that nearly turns Karen green with envy, “Do you mind watching her while I go attend to her brother?”
It’s Matt who answers. “No problem. We’ll be right here.”
After Danielle offers her thanks with a nod and heads in the general direction of her son’s cries, Karen’s focus is pulled slightly away from the infant when Matt leans in a little closer, nearly resting his chin on her shoulder. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he murmurs, breath teasing a stray strand of hair and sending goosebumps up and down her arms like a military formation. “Karen Gillan playing mum.”
She rolls her eyes a bit, shooting him a disbelieving look. “Do you not remember the Great Bump Dance of ’10?”
He shakes his head, dark tresses flopping languorously against his forehead. “Not the same,” he counters. She feels his hand on the small of her back, and starts a bit. He’s touched her before - a hundred thousand times, in fact - but there is something different in this glancing pass of his fingers against her. There’s a weight to it; a heavy sense of inevitability that burns through her heavy coat and costume, and she raises her eyes back towards his, unsure if she’s asking if he felt it too.
His gaze remains on the baby, though she knows him well enough to deduce that his attention is still on her. “You ever think about it?” he asks quietly. “Being a mum?”
“A bit,” she replies, tightening her hold on Madison as the baby starts to stir. “You?”
He finally looks at her, eyes as serious as she’s ever seen them, boring a hole so far into her soul that she immediately knows all her hard-kept secrets are laid bare for him to read at his leisure. “Missing a vital part of the equation right now. But maybe someday.”
Karen’s brow furrows, and a hundred questions leap to her lips, but Madison snaps the suddenly tenuous silence, letting out a loud wail that escalates into the most heartbreaking sound Karen has ever heard. The baby’s chin quivers with such intensity that it almost makes Karen - silly, goofy, but always carefully in control Karen - want to burst into tears herself.
But in a flash - as he has done so many times and in so many ways - Matt carries her when she feels like the world’s cut her off at the knees. He deftly slides his arms beneath hers, easing Madison from Karen and resting the baby on his shoulder. His hand circles the baby’s back as he tries to soothe her, and his lips purse in a contradictory intensity as he shushes her. He sways slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, murmuring with a reverence that begins Karen’s chills anew, “What’s a-matter, love?”
Karen knows she should be shocked; knows her eyebrows should be flirting with her hairline in surprise, as she knows he’s had as little experience with infants as she has. Instead, she just watches a tableau of familiarity - of family - unfold in front of her, framed by the most ardent desire she’s ever felt.
She’s always been one to work on instinct, taking flight and flying wherever fanciful winds guide her, but in this instance, she is rooted to this spot; rooted to the idea of not of a future in general, but of a future with this man. This mad, glorious, loves-to-take-the-mickey-out-of-her-at-every-possible-juncture man, who’s turned from a colleague to a friend to something completely indefinable.
This man, to whom she’d give not only her world, but the entirety of her universe; grant him the access she has denied so many.
This man, her best friend, her partner in crime, to whom she has said silent vows of “for better or for worse,” and meant them with the greatest emphasis she could ever hope to muster.
The knot in her stomach bursts, birthing a million butterflies, but still, she can’t look away. He feels her gaze on him and shifts his own. She feels a rush of color tinge her cheek, and he smiles, taking a half-step toward her. She nearly protests that he’s going to drop the baby when she sees his left hand slide from Madison’s upper back, but bites back the chastisement when he secures the infant tightly and his free hand comes to a rest on Karen’s hip, his thumb rubbing circles over the bone. “I think you’ll make a great mum,” he says softly but earnestly. But she sees the twinkle in his eye and knows he’ll break the noose of tension that’s looped around her neck. “And even if you’re not, I reckon the kids’ll be right gorgeous, so they can just skate through life on their looks alone; should be able to make enough money to find a really good psychiatrist.”
He’s given her an out - granted her permission to hide behind the humor she dons as an impenetrable shield to protect herself from the lingering feelings she has toward her co-star - but she decides not to take it. Instead, she reaches up to cup his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, eyes sliding shut when he presses a swift but definitely not platonic kiss to her forehead.
It feels warm, safe - the epitome of home - but still she takes a half-step backward - no need for the crew to walk in on a fiercely private moment - and then notices Madison has quieted, tucking her fist beneath her chin and curling herself around Matt’s shoulder. Karen ghosts a hand atop Matt’s as it’s splayed protectively across the baby’s back and interlocks their fingers for a moment. “We make a pretty good team,” she offers, watching the baby relax contentedly around him.
Matt nods. “Always do.”
Karen’s quiet hum of affirmation gets lost between his next slowly ventured words. “Can you imagine how incredible our kids would be?” He abruptly changes speeds, rushing on before she even has time to process the remark. “Think about it: your looks, my talent…”
She arches an eyebrow. “Talent at what, exactly?” she ribs, feigning confusion. “Frightening us sane folks by going ‘round with a badger on your hand?”
“Don’t knock the badger,” he warns.
She ignores his defense of the puppet and instead pretends to mull his question over. “At the very least,” she finally says, “they’d have amazing hair.”
He’s quiet when he does it, but laughs fully, and something blooms in her chest. “Maybe he’ll be the next Beckham. Imagine all the free football we’d get to see.”
“Maybe she’ll be the next Margaret Thatcher,” she counters. “And you already watch far too much football as it is.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No such thing.” He eyes Karen for a moment, and she knows he’s thinking the same thing she is: how is it they’re discussing their future children when they haven’t even been on a proper date? After a moment, though, it makes perfect sense: they live in an utterly nonsensical world, the only sane part of which is how much sense they make together. The only certainty she holds in this indeterminate existence is that all her definitions - happiness, sorrow, exhilaration - are tied to his presence in it.
Over his shoulder, she sees Peter pop his head out from behind the walls of the nursery set and motion that it’s time for her to block the scene. Matt sees her jut her chin forward in acknowledgement and hands the infant back to her so she can practice setting the infant in the warmer.
She smiles, a combination of thanks and something far greater that’s muted beneath the flush that freckles her skin when Matt offers seriously, “You’ve never looked more beautiful in your life, Kaz.”
The weight of now-or-never crashes upon her like a tsunami on the shore, and she knows she’s standing at her line in the sand; it’s time to either respect it or cross it. She barely blinks as her mind whirls, drinking in the sight of him and the memories of all they’ve done - and will do together - and knows there’s only one thing to do. “Tell you what,” she says, leaping over her boundaries and running so far past she can’t see them anymore, “why don’t we discuss how best to prepare a child for Oxford over dinner?”
He can’t control his delighted grin. “A good a plan as I’ve ever heard.”
She nods, her own uninhibited smile even more contagious. She walks on set and puts Madison in the cot, arms feeling like jelly from exhilaration and anticipation when she pulls them from beneath the baby’s body. She worries that in her giddiness she’s set the infant down too quickly or sharply when Madison starts moving again, and later the “Confidential” episode will show that she muttered a litany of “Oh, no” and “Oh, God.”
What it won’t show is her glancing toward Matt as he lingers in the doorway, hands in his pockets and right ankle crossed across his left, a loving, gentle and encouraging smile on his face telling her any child would be lucky to have her as a mother.
fin