A fic about volleyball. Out of character, probably anachronistic, AU and quite feminist. Featuring Isobel/Dr Clarkson and appearances from Mrs Hughes, Sybil and Matthew. In the style of Feminism Begins at Home and Drunk Mrs Hughes. It is probably impossible that it could be any sillier.
Something of a Prologue: The Morning After.
When Isobel awoke, it was with such a feeling in her head that no polite words could describe. As if from a great distance, she heard herself let out a groan: the light in the room seemed very bright indeed, and that probably meant it was morning by now. It was then that she realised that she did not appear to be waking up in her own bed. Or indeed, in a bed at all. Feeling cautiously around herself, she discovered that she was lying on the couch in the front room, of all places. She sat up slowly and immediately regretted it: a dull ache filled the bottom of her back and her left knee, and she groaned again. Once she had manoeuvred herself into a sitting position, she glanced across the room to where she could just about see the top of her head in the mirror over the fireplace. To say that her hair- that had been so neatly pinned back for her yesterday- stood at a jaunty angle would have been an understatement.
And then, when her eyes flitted momentarily towards the floor, she saw something that nearly made her roll sideways off the couch. Sound asleep on the carpet beside the couch where she had apparently slept for the night, was Dr Clarkson. Memories of the previous afternoon and evening began, one by one, to fill her mind and she was struck by the over-whelming urge to curse out loud. Hastily, wanting to rule out the worst possibilities, she scanned his clothing for any signs of anything- or anyone- having lain on top of during the night (thankfully, she did not find any). That was something of a relief: the chances were, then, that she only had to feel embarrassed about her foolish activity of the previous afternoon, as opposed to last night as well.
She was sitting there propped precariously up on her arms, aching all over her body by now and squinting against the bright light, when the sitting room door opened. Frantically, she wondered what possible excuse she could give to Molesley to account for this odd state of affairs. However, it was not her butler's bewildered face that she encountered, but her son's. Matthew took in the scene; his mother, looking very much worse for wear on the couch, and the sleeping doctor on the floor and simply gaped towards the older generation, at a complete loss for what to say. Really, Isobel thought, he had even been there for most of the afternoon, he had less grounds than most people would have done to be shocked. Still, when she opened her mouth to say some intelligent and wise in her defence, nothing particularly came to mind. All she seemed to be able to manage was to look sheepishly at her still bewildered son.
"Dr Clarkson came to call then?" he surmised, barely keeping the mirth out of his tone, "It's alright," he added quickly, obviously seeing the look of mutiny on his mother's face, "I'll go and keep Molesley at bay until you get the chance to sort yourself out."
And with that, he leapt back out of the room and just managed to get the door closed on time to muffle the laughter that Isobel heard issuing from the corridor. Isobel groaned again, lying back down on the couch with a dull thump. She did not notice that her company was stirring too.
"Mrs Crawley?" a confused voice issued from the direction of the floor and she quickly sat up again.
Dr Clarkson was now propped up unsteadily, taking in his surroundings- and the back of his hair sticking up, much like the whole of Isobel's head was.
"Hello," she smiled down at him, too cheerfully, the most irrational impulse to act as if this was completely normal coming over her. It seemed to confuse him even more.
"What happened?" he wanted to know, "How am I here?"
"Don't you remember?" she enquired, "Allow me to jog your memory. Volleyball!"
It was his turn to groan audibly and sink back down to where he had been lying.
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