AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys! Sorry for the four-month delay; I actually got busy this summer writing a novel. You can find more details about that on my Tumblr (same username as ). Here's a short update, picking up largely where we left off...


Time passed, slowly at first—and then all at once, abruptly halting with the sharp click of pencils being laid down as the last grain of sand dropped into the bottom of Kat's hourglass. The term was over. Silence gave way to assorted mumblings of relief and second-guesses.

Ponder leaned back in the chair as the students filed leisurely past the desk, delivering their papers until a mess of completed exams occupied the corner. He had offered to proctor Kat's last exam so that she could meet with the graduate students before they left for the break, a proposal that she had seemed inexplicably glad to accept. Watching the last of the boys exit the room, he stood, pocketing the hourglass before shuffling the papers into a more cohesive pile, which he tucked into a plain folder. Slipping the folder underneath one arm, he headed for the HEM.

On the way there, his thoughts turned to Katarina Smith. She'd been oddly excitable lately, something he chalked up to the success of the trio's research on narrative causality. The three of them were actually rather brilliant-he'd double-checked their reports, and fully agreed with Kat's opinion that they should start experimentation after returning the holiday.

The HEM seemed deserted, the main room empty and silent, but the smell of coffee was strong enough to lure him into the lounge. He stopped just outside of the doorway, startled to see that Kat was already there, standing in front of the window. She was squinting at her reflection in the glass, mouth pursed in concentration while attempting to re-pin her hair at the back of her head.

She was, he thought, rather pretty-not that it mattered, because he wasn't interested in that sort of thing. He filed the thought away in his mental cabinet of things to never think about again.

He wondered if he should clear his throat or something as he entered, to let her know that he was there, but instead he tripped on the doorframe and dropped the folder.

The loud thud of heavy paper coming into contact with the floor startled her. Kat spun, quickly, dropping a pin as her hair fell from the bun she'd been constructing at the back of her head. "Mis—Ponder!"

"Er," he began. "Hi. Sorry."

"Um," she said. "Hi."

He watched as she quickly ran a hand through her hair, untangling the knots that had formed while she was trying to pin it up. Smiling nervously, she approached the door. "Are those my exams?"

"Yes," he answered, picking the folder up from the floor. "Sorry I've dropped them."

"I don't think you've hurt them."

Their hands brushed as she took the folder from him; Ponder was surprised by the warmth of her skin. Noting the faint blush across her cheeks, he asked, "You're not ill, are you?"

"No!" She replied, snatching the folder away. "Sorry. No. I'm fine. I'm just... excited, is all. The, uh, the trio is very... smart." She looked down at the folder, her nose wrinkling slightly. "I'd much rather grade them all over again than read all of these."

He laughed. "For what it's worth, Ridcully won't notice if you don't grade them."

She arched one eyebrow at him, her expression cool even though her cheeks were still flushed. "But you will."

With what he hoped was a mischievous grin, he asked, "What am I going to do if you don't turn them in? Fire you?"
"I'm the only professor you've got."

"My point exactly," he replied.

"Riiiiiight," she said, drawing the word out. "Oh, before I forget—hourglass." She held out one hand, palm up, waiting.

"Yes," he murmured, digging it out of his pocket. A thought occurred him as he placed it in her expectant palm, keeping his fingers on the silver longer than he had to. She wasn't thinking, her digits instinctively closing around his hand.

He didn't know exactly why he hadn't let go of the hourglass. It was still warm from being in his pocket, a soft flush of heat against his fingers, but Kat's hand was warmer still, and softer. The strange combination of metal, glass and flesh against his skin felt—

"Ponder."

She was staring at him, brown eyes wide and wary, her lips slightly parted.

"Sorry," he muttered, wrenching his hand free of her fingers.

"S'alright," she whispered, transferring the hourglass to her own pocket.

"D'you'wannaget dinner?" He asked, the words running together in an effort to escape the awkward situation he'd created.

He watched as she swallowed, withdrawing her hand from her pocket, her fingers curling around the edge of her sleeve.

"Sure."

"Okay."

They stood there, next to the doorway, unmoving.

"You first," Ponder suggested, weakly.

Her eyes flicked between him and door. "You're in the way."

Stepping aside, he very carefully looked at the ceiling as she walked past him, fingers still clutching her sleeve.


Much later, Kat stood in the bathroom attached to her office, dripping water onto the floor as she examined herself in the mirror. Her chin was a bit weak, she thought, and her nose a little sharp, but it wasn't bad. The tan and freckles that had appeared with the Fourecksian sun had faded considerably, the mirror presenting her with a much paler image than she was used to seeing. The effect wasn't unbecoming, but she preferred the tan. Perhaps she'd go back to Fourecks for Hogswatch after all...

With a sigh, she shrugged on her bathrobe, wrapping a towel around her dripping hair. She was grateful the University had been able to afford her an office with a real bathroom, with pipes, largely uninterrupted by magic and meddling. Then again, she thought, you couldn't have a woman making the trip down the hall to the standard, shared bathroom, could you? It wouldn't be appropriate. She might get ideas!

Trudging across the office, she slipped through the curtain to her bedroom and flung herself onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, Kat wondered what the university officials would do if they found out she already had ideas.

She had plenty of ideas, for example, about Ponder Stibbons, none of which were appropriate in any way, shape, or form. The Librarian's romance selections had taken a turn for the racier as of late, and despite some heavy blushing and occasionally having to bite her lip while she read, Kat had pressed on, determined to finish every page.

There would be no time for romance novels now-she had to grade the stack of exams sitting on her desk. The trio had left behind a heavy notebook documenting their findings; she had to look through it before they returned from holiday, before they could officially begin practical experimentation. She didn't want to do any of it. There was still one book lying unread in the bag thrown casually under her desk, hidden in plain sight to avoid the prying eyes of housekeeping.

Studying the cracks in the plaster, Kat thought about that afternoon, when Ponder had given back her hourglass. She mostly thought about his hands, which she'd been secretly observing for the past week anyway, stout, callused fingers with short-clipped nails, always busy. He hadn't removed his hand. Why? It had been too definite a gesture to be an accident.

It wasn't as though she could complain, though—the memory made her heart flutter against a squeeze of tightness in her chest. She smiled. His hands had been warm, the feel of his skin so different from her own. It had been nice to make contact, if only for a second—to feel as though she wasn't so damnably separate from everyone else in the University. Aside from jostling in the hallway—during which she was generally avoided, anyway—and accidental brushes of hands during mail delivery—which didn't happen often—nobody seemed to connect.

Was she lonely? She was used to being different, but being different, being separate, was different from being alone. Maybe that was the reason for her embarrassing preoccupation with Ponder Stibbons, that he didn't seem inclined to leave her alone, that he recognized her as something more than a woman. Kat was a scholar, an academic, a researcher—she was smart, capable, well read, just as much so than any other wizard, even if she was female. She would rather be a scholar than a woman, anyway—although the women in the Librarian's books seemed to be happy being women, and not much else. Frowning, she flipped herself over on the bed, burying her face into the pillows, contemplating the impossible.

Could she be both?