Author's Note: So, I came up with this AU this morning. Planning on writing more, so I'd love to know what you think!


Savoring the warmth of the sun on his skin, the man stopped, gently tugging at the leash to alert his dog that he wanted to stand for a moment.

The battered pavement rested beneath his boots as the cars in front soared past, their familiar exhaust fumes reaching his nostrils.

Everything around him always moved so fast, zoom-zoom-screech-zoom; he felt so out of place, a lost soul stuck amidst the chaos and the clamor of the world but never truly a part of it, a man frozen in time.

He heard the traffic halt, listened for any outlying vehicles, before letting his animal companion tug him forward.

But a quarter of the way to the other side of the road he began to sense that something was wrong—the sudden gust of wind against his side, the loud barking of his dog.

"Look out!" a woman screamed from behind as the unmistakable engine of a car skirted closer, closer, closer, deafening his ears, rendering him paralyzed and confused, until a pair of strong arms broke through the insanity, pulling him to safety.

His breathing sped up, his heart beating rapidly, thumpthump-thumpthump-thumpthump, and only then did he realize how his body was shaking.

"It's okay, it's fine, I've got you, you're going to be fine." The frantic voice from earlier now soothed him.

He flexed his hand, suddenly terrified at the absence of the leash.

"Where's Idris! Idris!"

"Who's Idris?" the woman asked softly, her arms still firmly around him.

"My dog."

"Shhhh. Shhh. It's okay. I've got her. She's right here." She brought his trembling hand to the familiar soft fur, and he knelt down immediately, clutching the animal like a lifeline.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're safe, Old Girl." The golden retriever licked his face. Feeling around for the woman's hand, John squeezed it tightly. "Thank you. You're very kind." He smiled.

"No problem."

"What happened? I thought the road was clear." John mumbled.

"Well, apparently not. But you couldn't have known. And you're fine now, that's all that matters."

"What about you, though? You—you just—just pulled me out of a busy street! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" his voice quivered.

"No, I'm fine, Sweetie." She brushed his fringe to the side. "Promise."

Sweetie? A blush crept into his cheeks.

"Come on, dear, let's get you to a bench or something." Looping an arm around his shoulder, she led them off the street and to a small London park. "Here you go." The kind woman perched herself beside him, Idris lying at their feet.

"Okay. Th-thank you, again. You didn't have to do that, you know." He whispered, fingers reaching for her face. "May I-? I mean, I—I'd like to get an idea of what my rescuer looks like."

"Of course." Her response surprised him; normally people would flinch and turn away. But she pressed his hand to her cheek, letting him stroke the contour of her face—her full cheeks, magnificent nose—and oh that hair—corkscrew curls that sifted through his fingers like silk.

Wow. You're beautiful.

"Thank you, Sweetie." She giggled softly.

"H-hang on, did I—did I just say that out loud?" his heart fluttered. He withdrew, embarrassed. "S-sorry. You must think I'm mad. I just—I needed to—it's how I remember people—since I can't—I mean…"

"I don't mind."

"Really? Most people do. They think it's weird. Or they just shrug and pity me. But you don't, do you? You're different. Why?"

He could hear her weary lapse of breath.

"Because I understand. My dad's blind. I've helped mum take care of him for years. I saw firsthand how people began to treat him after his accident, and I know how it hurts him. How could I do that to someone else?"

"Hmmm. Wish other people thought like that. And I meant what I said, you know. You are beautiful. In the best way. You have a beautiful heart."

His words drifted amid the air.

A sudden ringing interrupted the heartfelt moment.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, I have to get this." A pause. "Mum? Yeah, sorry. Something came up; I had to help someone…I know, I'm sorry, but it was important…Yes, I'll be there as soon as possible…Love you, too, bye."

She sighed.

"I..erm…have to get my brother. I'm supposed to pick him up from school. My mum was worried."

"Was I—was I holding you up? I'm sorry, if I'd known, I would've—"

"No, no, it's fine. I promise, it's fine…So…you're definitely okay? Do you know where you are? Do you need help getting home? Should I call someone?" she sounded frantic, slightly uncomfortable, and he wondered if he should've kept his thoughts to himself.

"Nope. I recognize the place. And I've got my mobile right here. I'll just call my sister, Clara, and she'll pick me up in a jiff. I'll be fine. Thank you again."

"You're welcome."

"Hang on—I never caught your name—"

But she'd already gone out of earshot, leaving the young man lost to his thoughts.

Who are you?

He wondered if he'd ever know.


John Smith fidgeted nervously with his bowtie as his sister led him down the familiar corridor.

"John, I keep telling you, it'll be great! You love your job! The whole summer you're bored out of your mind, and you're always saying how much you miss teaching. Come on, aren't you meeting your new assistant professor today?"

Groaning, he shrugged his shoulders, unable to hide the paranoia.

"It's not that simple, Clara…"

"Hey," she halted, turning to face him. "I know how much you miss Donna. She was your best friend, John, and I understand that, believe me, I do. But after the amnesia…it wasn't safe for her to come back. Just keep an open mind all right?" Her hand cupped his cheek.

"Okay…"

Satisfied with herself, Clara looped her arm through his, practically yanking him to the door of his office.

"Well, here we are. I suspect the assistant professor will be here shortl—" A shuffling noise caught her attention. "Actually, I think she's already inside. One sec."

She poked her head at the door window, eyes locking onto the striking woman at the desk.

"It's your lucky day, John. She's gorgeous."

"Oh, shut up, Clara." John retorted, perplexed.

"Just thought you should know. Now, go knock on the door so she knows you're here." Clara instructed.

"I'm not a five-year-old, Clara; I know how to handle myself in these situations." Although he couldn't see her, he imagined his sister must've rolled her eyes.

Knocking softly, John opened the door, hearing the woman's surprised gasp.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I'm rubbish when it comes to first impressions. My sister here can attest to that. Anyway…hello…I'm the professor of historical studies, Dr. John Smith. And you are?"

"Melody Williams." She breathed, shaking his hand.

"Lovely name, Melody." Her hand quivered slightly in his. "Wish you'd told me that the last time we met." He smiled shyly, having quickly recognized the voice and touch of the woman who'd saved him.

"Wait—you know her?"

"Well, we met once. Last month. Remember that day I almost got run over? This is the woman who saved me. Have to say, I had no idea she'd be my new assistant professor."

"You mean the woman you never stop talking about?"

"Clara!" John blushed, scratching his cheek.

"Glad to know I left an impression on you, Sweetie."

"Oh, she calls you Sweetie, too! No wonder you can't stop thinking about her." She chuckled to herself. "Anyway…" Her tone grew serious, empathetic. "Thank you for saving my brother. Not many people would do that, you know. Much as I love to wind him up, I really am grateful, truly. It was nice to meet you, Melody. See ya later, John."


"Don't mind her; she's just my sister." He waved his hand in dismissal, setting his bag on his desk. "Tell me, Melody, what brought you here?"

"I'm actually looking to be a professor of archaeology someday. But this position was open, and I thought I could use the experience, and well, my dad's blind, so I thought assisting a blind professor wouldn't be much of a stretch."

"Archaeology, eh?"

"Yeah. I double majored in archaeology and historical studies. Got my master's degree. Still working on my doctorate."

"So that would put you around your mid-twenties, maybe?"

Melody laughed.

"N-no. I'm actually 30. Got a late start after I spent a few years helping my dad."

"I see. Only a year younger than me, then. Hmmm." His fingers tapped atop the desk. "I suppose you know that your job is fairly specialized. Not your ordinary assistant teaching position. It can be quite frustrating at times. Having no sight inhibits me from doing tasks ordinary professors would have no issue with. Like writing lesson plans, grading papers and providing visuals for my students. We'll have to collaborate a lot. You prepared for that, Ms. Williams?" he challenged.

"Always."


Soon enough, the students returned, and Melody had never seen John so happy, so in his element.

On the first day, he entered the room, looking much like a madcap professor, tweed jacket, red bowtie and all.

"Hello, everyone! Hope you enjoyed your summer holidays! I'm Dr. John Smith, and I'll be your history professor for this semester! How exciting! And this is my assistant professor, Ms. Melody Williams, who is well-qualified in the field, and I lover of history herself. She will be assisting me throughout the class and occasionally giving lectures, too. She's brilliant! You'll love her!" his hands gestured wildly to the class, and Melody felt relieved that he couldn't see her blush.

John continued in much the same fashion, the students quickly warming up to him.

They looked so engaged, which was often a rarity, Melody knew, especially with university students. She'd had her share of dull professors in the past. But Dr. John Smith was anything but dull.

Enthusiasm just oozed off of him and onto everybody else in the room.

He clearly loved teaching and adored his students; Blindness never set him back.

Sometimes, when John Smith was engaged in his lecture, hands fluttering about, bright smile on his face, Melody forgot he was blind. But then he would flash her one of those sideways looks and she would remember, taking the cue to write on the board.


Over time, they developed a sort of language.

She could read his gestures and expressions better than a well-worn book. And he could read her too—he knew her mood by her tone of voice or her pattern of breathing. What he lacked in sight, he made up for in other senses—hence the impeccable hearing.

Together, they made quite the team and got along rather well, apart from the daily bickering.

"No, Melody, that can't be right! I have a perfect memory and I know the date you're giving me is wrong!" he huffed.

"Well, Sweetie, according to my research from the latest and most respectable historians in the field, it happened in 1876. Not 1863."

"Did not! It couldn't have! It doesn't make any sense, Melody!"

"But that's the date the students' textbook has, Sweetie." She reasoned, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Forget the textbook, Melody. It's rubbish and inaccurate and biased and stupid!" his back hit the chair harder than he'd anticipated.

Melody sighed.

"You haven't eaten lunch yet, have you?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed him wearily.

"I…erm…I may have accidently left it at home." He admitted sheepishly.

"You really are the absent-minded professor, aren't you, Sweetie?" Her hand subconsciously drifted to his bowtie, and she straightened it fondly.

Opening her lunch bag, Melody removed its contents and passed them over to John.

"Here. BLT. And don't give me that look because I know for a fact you love those." Her voice grew stern. "Now, stop groping and eat! You still have a few classes left!"

"But Melody!" he protested, his face scrunching up. "This is your lunch. I—I can't possibly eat it! That would be incredibly rude and selfish of me. What will you eat, then?"

"I could just go grab something in the faculty lounge. Or wait until I get home."

"No, no, that's not fair to you…I can't eat this…"

"I'm not the one lecturing for the next hour, so yes, you can and you will, and if you don't I will make you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Now eat."

But it's your birthday! John almost exclaimed, before reconsidering. Gentle though she could be, Melody was also very strong willed and he found it best not to argue with her when she'd made up her mind. It usually ended in him feeling like an idiot.

"Fine, Melody! You're worse than my sister!"


While John scarfed down that BLT, Melody leaned back on her desk, tired of their arguing.

It was then that she noticed it in the corner of her eye, a small vase filled with flowers. Beside the vase, a note was written in scraggly handwriting, 'For Melody. Happy Birthday. X'

Her heart thudded and she took a shaky breath. The red carnations looked pitiful—half of them wilting and withered.

"What is this, a joke?" she wondered aloud, mind whirring.

"What, what is it? What's wrong?" John's head shot up instantly. "Melody?"

"Someone thought it would be funny to give me wilted flowers as a birthday present. Who even knows that my birthday is today, anyway? And look, they even made a note. With the sloppiest handwriting I've ever seen. Must be a grad student. They probably looked up my information and thought this would be a hilarious prank. Well, we'll see about that." Angry, she chucked the bouquet in the rubbish bin. "Some birthday this turned out to be."


"You've been awfully quiet since your last lecture, John, something wrong?" Melody wondered.

"I'm just…worried about you. Are you feeling alright? After earlier?" his voice filled with emotion.

"John, what—oh, you mean the flower thing? I thought we settled that it was some stupid joke. I'm over it now—"

"Melody… I'm the one who got you the flowers." He whispered softly, hand sifting through his hair.

"What?" she squeaked, suddenly horrified.

"I…I picked them out myself this morning. That's—that's why I forgot my lunch. I was…distracted. I thought maybe they would…brighten your day. Obviously not. Sorry. The note was also from me. I haven't been blind my whole life, so I can still write sometimes…but my handwriting's rubbish because I can't see. I was hoping to get you a better present…when I had more time…I'm so sorry, Melody…"

"John…Oh gosh…I'm an awful person." A tear slipped down her cheek.

"No, you're wonderful, Melody." John stroked her face, hand trembling as he wiped her tears. "Really. I'm very sorry for upsetting you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I—I wasn't thinking—I never thought—that you would…" she sniffled, extricating the wilted bouquet from the rubbish bin and carefully placing it back in the vase. "Sweetie, this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you." Melody kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She giggled this time, watching as his face turned bright red. "John, you're beautiful, too, you know. You've got a beautiful heart."

"So do you. Happy birthday, Melody." He squeezed her hand comfortingly, just as she'd done the first time they met.

"Do you…would you…like to come over to my parents' house for my birthday dinner? It would be a shame for my best friend to miss it. Especially considering how awful I've been to him today."

" 'Course I'll come. Wouldn't miss it for the world." His grin brightened.

"Good. Just wait 'til you meet my mother. She'll love you. I just know it."

"Wait…she's Scottish, isn't she?" he croaked.

"What? Yeah, so?"

"She'll eat me alive, Melody!"

"Oh, shut up, you'll be fine. I promise."