Elsie and Mark's First Foray into Adultery

[Elsie James]

MARCH, 2020

Elsie stretched, easing the kinks out of her neck and back. It was late, so late she'd lost track of any inkling of the time. She glanced sideways at the man beside her, her tutor. His head was bent over the work still, and she looked away quickly. Girls - no, women - who wanted to be top surgeons did not develop pointless crushes on their elder, married, mentors. Even if they happened to be Mark Dashwood: practically a god, and as equally proficient with a scalpel and thread as he was with healing charms and potions.

It was he who had recommended her for this fast-track scheme, had believed that she had the potential to go far. And so she had to repay him by not fancying him, by not behaving like a silly, idiotic schoolgirl. She took a deep breath in, pep talk over.

"So," she leant her arms on the lab bench, talking more to herself than to Mark. "If the alpha-helix coding is actually there to encrypt the beta-pleated RNA in the nucleus of the virus, then to create a magical cure for it, you'd have to develop something that could rupture the bonds in the helix, so that the RNA would be accessible, and then you could..." She trailed off, biting her lip, looking down at the petri dish in front of her.

Her eyes slid sideways again, meeting Dr. Dashwood's this time, and she continued, "Then we could work in a simple charm that would disable the RNA, so the virus couldn't replicate. Would that work?"

There was a charged silence for a minute, and then she shook her head, rubbing a hand over her face. She was imagining the tension, surely: too much caffeine and too little sleep, the life of a trainee Healer entering one of the most fast-paced specialities at twice the normal speed. "No, because we'd have to ensure that it didn't affect the surrounding cells."

[Mark Dashwood]

Mark stared intently at the documents in front of him, making sense of medical journals without a hearty cup of tea, black, in front of him was positively suicide. His focus was waned every so often as the word peptide repeated itself somewhat unceremoniously throughout the entire research article in itself. He was attempting to both look through the article and pay attention to his student at the same time, which of course he seemed to be doing poorly.

He could hear the young girl in front of him rattling off, and see the words in regards to performing a charm to regulate the progression of diabetes in the magical bloodstream, but paying attention to both seemed impossible. With a slight huff, he closed the journal in front of him and looked up at Elise, noticing for what seemed to be the thousandth time that night, just how attract she appeared when her hair hung down her face in frustration. He shook his head, honing in on the words coming from her lips.

Married, he repeated the word to himself, smiling at Elsie. Yes, he was married, and with two children, a boy who just started his learning and a girl who he aimlessly worried for whilst she was home alone with her mother. Mark took steep breath in as Elsie bit her lip, she was making things difficult.

He caught the tail end of her comments and formulated a response rather quickly, he may have been getting old - or was old - but he knew his medicine.

"You have to be careful with the charm, Elsie. A simple, yet quick charm could cause more damange than good. RNA replicates from DNA, you disable the RNA for too long you risk a greater chance of of the virus spreading because as you said, you risk infecting the surrounding cells, but if you can create a shield charm as well as a charm to disable the RNA, then you should be able to extract the virus. . ." he leaned back in his charm, hoping that she understood his words, but didn't doubt for a second that she hadn't. She was an absolute genius.

[Elsie James]

"Ri-ight," Elsie thought for a moment, jotting down some notes in her own peculiar form of shorthand(ish). "So even though the diabetes is a genetic condition, the principle with the kidney cells that don't release insulin would be the same. Because then we could just extract faulty cells, and we already have the mechanisms to mark which ones they are for that, and replace them with duplicated fully-working cells."

She stabbed her pen hard on the paper, a definite full stop as she pondered the issue further. Unfortunately, it being past half past ten at night, and rapidly approaching eleven - she'd finally located a watch in a pocket to check the time - the issue seemed to have stopped being finding an effective cure for diabetes in wizards, and seemed to be... well, Mark.

She took one of the medical journals off of the pile next to him, leafing through it to find the section she wanted. "Third late night we've had on this thing this week," she commented lightly, not really minding in the slightest: this was an amazing opportunity, she knew. Not many people could say they'd worked on a highly important research project with one of the top Healers in Britain before they'd heard back from the places they'd applied to for specialist jobs, after they'd finished their foundation years at St. Mungo's. She was a very, very lucky girl.

She found her page, and swivelled round so that she was perched on the edge of the bench, long legs stretched out in front of her as she surreptitiously regarded her tutor over the top of the book. He was bloody good-looking, she'd give him that. It was a widely held opinion among the young female medical interns that, well, to put it crudely, they'd do him whenever. Just a shame he was married, really, they'd all joked.

Married. Right. She pulled herself together, and said, equally glibly, "Your wife'll thing you've got lost." It was a meaningless comment, she just needed to say 'wife', to make it seem more real, to remind herself that he was one hundred percent out of bounds, for so so many reasons.

[Mark Dashwood]

"Exactly," Mark nodded, bringing his hands together in front of him to give her a slight round of applause. She'd managed to accomplish fete that most wouldn't have been able to with twice her education and age behind her. "You're both able to save kidney function and replenish the Insulin - something the muggles have been attempting for years. But remember , it is a genetic disease, you're working against nature so not all charms will be successful. At times our biggest enemies are are our own bodies." He laid down the bit of philosophy with a smile in her direction, tapped his fingers down on the desk and then stretched in his chair.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting in a deep breath and then letting it out to steady himself. He was getting tired, too tired for his good; that liminal state where he wasn't sure if he wanted to move or state put, but he knew he had to venture home to a wife who as of late was less than pleasant. Going home to see Becky however was worth it; he loved his daughter.

He reopened his eyes when he heard her pull a medical journal off the stack in front of him. The professional in Mark snapped back into place and he straightened himself out. Improperly, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and raised a brow playfully as he caught her peering at him over one of the journals she'd just picked up.

Mark shook his head, dropping his brow and smiling again - he smiled constantly; an awful habit to have when he was constantly surrounded by young giggling girls that often thought the smile was angled at them. Right now his dimples did dent in for the girl in front of him because of the look she seemed to be aiming at him over the cover of her book.

"Some type of joke I'm not in on as to why you're using the journal as a mask?" he asked jokingly, then soured slightly, almost unnoticeably, but quickly recovered.

"Kate is an understanding woman - and truthfully she wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if I got lost along the way," he laughed shaking his head and opened his moth to further explain. "I'm a genius when it comes to medical and magic, but at times I can be a bit . . . flustered." He shrugged, smiling once more at exposing his dirty little secret.

[Elsie James]

Elsie beamed radiantly, proud and slightly flushed at Mark's approval. "Nice philosophy, Doctor Dashwood," she teased gently, marking the page in her book and putting it to one side, blowing her fringe upwards out of her eyes, a childish habit she'd never quite grown out of. The action reminded her that she needed a haircut - well, needed time to get a haircut really.

She met his eyes defiantly as he leant forwards, closing the gap in their personal spaces slightly. Her eyebrow rose in a mirror image of his. "No," she denies smoothly, swinging her legs, "Only I can't check that you're not asleep through the pages of a book, so I had to look over the top."

"Although," she said slowly, biting back a smile - her resolve to work was almost completely gone now, although she thought she ought to, knew she ought to really, "It would make a good mask, should someone ever want to go to a fancy dress party as a... library, say?"

She'd looked down at the exact moment his face fell, noticing a stray cat hair on her trousers and brushing it off. She therefore did not see his reaction to the mention of his wife, though had she, the knife would have twisted a little further into her heart. "Genius, huh?" she grinned, looking up, "What's the square root of thirteen thousand, nine hundred and seventy-nine?"

Kate. The name sounded funny in her head: Kate Dashwood. It shouldn't have sounded odd to her, she knew: it was a name she'd heard many times before. Mrs Dashwood was... stunning, incomparable, really. And a lawyer - Elsie thought she recalled someone mentioning that she was an expert in family law, but she wasn't completely sure. The point was, she was remarkable.

"By flustered, do you actually mean 'completely bemused and wandering the streets in only your slippers and a bed-sheet, with a saucepan on your head as a hat'?" she queried, lips twitching as she leant ever-so-slightly in, conspiratorially.

[Mark Dashwood]

"Perhaps I should fasten myself as the next great philosopher, then, ay?" He remarked proudly, indulging himself in her praise for a swift moment, though straightening himself up immediately and regain professional etiquette. He wasn't pompous in the slightest the vast amounts of medical knowledge he ticked away in his mind; for he knew that there was always someone out there that knew something he didn't.

His face contoured into a mock scowl of disapproval when she accused him of sleeping. "I would never ever fall asleep!" In dramatic fashion he emphasized his point by placing a hand on his chest and crossing his finger over his heart. "Cross my heart in truth," he toyed, yawning almost as if on q. He couldn't help it, he hadn't wanted to show how tired he was, but he'd been up for the most part of the day. Before he'd come into work, he'd spent the earlier part of the day with Becky, running through some of her more mundane lessons in French because Kate liked her children well rounded. Becky hadn't quite taken to the French, however, and they spent the morning reading and telling tall tales for entertainment.

Mark chuckled at her joke about the mask, however, and smiled once more, thankful that she didn't seem to go giddy when he did. She was a professional - a beautiful professional far more adversed in her craft than anyone he'd met in a while. A long while. She was focused too - he loved to watch her when she was intently pondering through something. She showed great fascination with everything and her brows would crinkle together to outwardly show her enthusiasm.

"I said genius, not maths genius," he responded at her rebuttal to his claim. "Though, I'd have to know that the answer must be in the realm of a hundred and something. A hundred and what, I'll never know." He had a weird quirk when it came to numbers and calculations, which could be seen as an odd game of guessing.

"And no," he took great delight in imaging the image she placed into his head of himself wondering the streets blindly with a pot on his head. "Hopefully I'd at least have a robe on. Wandering the streets in absolutely nothing but a bed sheet would be awfully cold. May I at least have a pair of pants?" he asked, laughing once more at the images in his head. He watched her as she leaned in, and did not bother to move, though he knew he should have. There was something about Elsie he generally enjoyed being around - she made him feel. . . happy, peacefully at times.

"Flustered more so that I never know what time it is, I can't ever find my glasses - and yes, I do need my specs at times to read - I'm that old, I know, shocker. And if she didn't lay out my ties in the morning I may never know where they were. . ." He wondered for a moment what any of this information meant to her when a thought struck in his mind.

"If I ever got to the point where I was completely bemused and wandering down the road in onl a bed sheet would you come to collect your dear senile doctor and take him home, or would you cart me off to St. Mungo's mental deficiency ward?" he queried curiously and jokingly.

[Elsie James]

"Ah, but the you'd need to come up with loads of... philosophical sayings," Elsie deliberated, suddenly noticing their proximity but being unable to move away; partly because she wasn't sure how to do so without making it look awkward, but mostly because she was finding that she didn't actually want to. She liked that he could make fun of himself; that he was a brilliant, brilliant man with an almost encyclopaedic knowledge for everything that she'd asked him so far, and yet he was modestly self-deprecating, never pushing himself forwards too much, content just to be doing the right thing.

She giggled - yes, actually giggled - as Mark yawned, trying to stifle a 'caught' one of her own upon seeing his, She'd been on call since five thirty this morning, only finishing her shift at five thirty this evening in time to grab a quick bite for to eat for tea in the staff canteen before meeting with Mark to work on the project. "I think you're lying, and that you're actually completely exhausted," she declared, much in the jabber of Sherlock Holmes making a grand deduction, rather than Elsie James stating the obvious. "And, also, if you really were a genius, you'd definitely be able to do maths, no two ways about it!"

She bit her bottom lip for a moment again, shaking her head slowly. "No, no pants, no boxers and absolutely no trousers... I'm sorry, it's the price you have to pay for intelligence." Shit, was that flirting? Probably? She winced inwardly, hoping against hope that he'd be oblivious and that she would not, therefore look idiotic.

She smiled up at him as he spoke about his family life, feeling alien and envious and happy for him all in one go. The mood that was bordering almost on tenderness was shattered by the laughter Elsie gave at his next words. She thought for a moment, biting her lip again, playfully this time, before deciding on: "Well, I'd say home, but I spend so much time here, you may as well come here!"

[Mark Dashwood]

"Don't have the time, Miss James," he stated with a wisp of his nuckles on the table and a straightening of his posture. "I'm a very important man, I run this place," he continued, indulging himself once more in a teasingly manner. As stated before, Mark was a humble man, but didn't quarrel when it came to indulgence. Kate had often said that was one of his problems. He chuckled once more to show that he was only joking and continued to be oblivious to how close they were in proximity.

He shook his head, somewhat dismayed by her giggle and in turn his thoughts delineated for a moment as he began to wonder what she was thinking. He didn't show his wonder outwardly, however, but kept himself focused. A giggle wasn't always a sign of a flirtation coming from a woman, was it? No, Kate would maintain that women could giggle if they wanted, whenever they wanted. But he wouldn't mind if she was slitting with him, would he? He shook his head, throwing these thoughts from his mind just as easily as they'd entered it.

"Well, detective I think you're on to something. By George, you've actually gotten it!" He teased her playfully for her blatantly assimilation of pure facts into an undeniable truth. "Maths just aren't in my vocabulary, besides, I said it'd be in the realm of 100's, that's a big accomplishment if you ask me..." He broke off just in time for her to begin speaking next.

Fuck. She was flirting now, wasn't she? And she was biting her bottom lip. Why was she biting her life so invitingly. No, she wasn't - she wasn't biting her lip and she wasn't flirting. She couldn't be because he was married and he had children and a wife who never talked to him and a son who was certain to hold resentment and a job that kept him unbelievably exhausted and fulfilled all at once - it was exhaustion, he was seeing things, right? But then her words. . .

"I'm trading clothes for intelligence?" he asked, his hand drumming along the table again. He knew he should be thinking other thoughts right now, but a part of him couldn't help manage to think of what she'd look like in her pants. He cursed himself for being improper and smiled softly.

He caught her laughter and her words, feeling himself tugging in he direction - their proximity setting in as he realized they were mere centimeters apart and that he should move, but didn't. "Well, I meant return me to my home. . ." he added, his voice low as he realized the words that had left her mouth. She was flirting with him - and a part of him wanted to flirt back and the other part was attempting to refrain.

[Elsie James]

Elsie pretended to look astounded, and innocent all in one go - the effect didn't quite gel, but she had a jolly good shot at it. "You runthis place?" she asked, eyes wide and a teasing smile barely concealed, "Damn, I thought I did..."

She was fiddling haphazardly with her pen, absent-mindedly clicking the lid of the ballpoint on and off as she twirled it between her fingers. As a sudden silence befell them, suddenly the pen was all she could hear. She stopped fiddling, looking back up to meet Mark's eyes. There was an emotion there she wasn't quite sure of, but she had a horrible feeling that it was probably reflected in her own eyes.

She leant back on her arms slightly, trying to create a little bit of space between them - space she needed desperately to think rationally right now, but all that really achieved was that her hips were angled towards him a minuscule amount more, and that her back arched slightly.

"Yeah, it's a tough deal," she said, grateful that the silence was eventually broken. It hadn't been an uncomfortable quiet as such, just filled with the sorts of things that were best left unsaid and unthought, and that she could drown out with normal conversation: those types of things. In truth, she wouldn't mind - at all - if the man next to her did have to choose intelligence over clothing. As already noted, she did find him remarkably attractive.

"Your home?" she asked, voice equally conspiratorial: despite her best machinations in order to move away, she'd failed completely. She swallowed, trying to pull herself together a bit more, "I don't know where you live," she shrugged, eyes meeting his in a direct contradiction of the innocence of her words. In truth, she wasn't one hundred percent sure what they were talking about now.

[Mark Dashwood]

Elsie's current facial expression alone, not paired alongside her words, sent the already laughing Mark into a frenzy of chuckles, his smile brimming. He shook his head, placing his hand over his face and shaking his head, unable to gather a substantial comment at the moment either than a laugh. He managed to pull it together after a few moments and saluted her as if she was completely and utterly right. "Ay, ay, boss!" He poked fun at her words, his breath catching in his throat, though hiding his expression as she leaned back, his eyes gaining an appreciative view of her.

A tiny voice screamed at Mark, telling him to look down at his hands, that he was a married man who'd pledged his life to the one woman he loved, and he did love Kate, but at the moment, Elsie was everything. She was listening to him, carrying about what he said, and . . . but he was married.

He closed his eyes, attempting to avert his gaze from Elsie, but couldn't, so instead he opened his eyes and smiled, the silence finally broken. "Isn't that a bit of a backward slide for man. . ." he asked, thinking of the muggle version of evolution, which he knew a little about, but not enough to form a complete conversation around. For a moment it dawned on Mark that Elsie was a muggleborn, or so he thought, and maybe, just maybe she'd know more, but he didn't push it. Instead he took the cheap route, so to say, and acknowledged her flirting with a flash of his dimples.

"Well," he began, attempting to explain his words. "You said you'd return me home, your home was the implication since you spend your time here. . ." he knew what he was trying to say, but she was starring at him so intently and he was starring back that coherent, sensible thoughts were evading him once again. The conversation had taken a rather. . . odd turn, but Mark knew what was being unsaid: they were attracted to each other.

--




so sorry! Such a bad reply, but i'm literally falling asleep!

[Elsie James]

Elsie tried not to notice that Mark's pupils dilated as she adjusted position - it wasn't the effect her actions had meant to provoke, and a tiny rational part of her mind was shrieking against whatever was going to happen next, and yet the rest of her ignored it, unable to stop, unable to be sensible, to move away. She raised an eyebrow into a near-perfect arch as he made fun of her, sticking her own tongue out in retaliation. "Ha. Ha."

The silence fell again, awkward this time, the unsaid things cluttering it once more, their quietness fighting to be heard. 'I fancy you' was one, 'More than that' another, and 'Kiss me' most insistent of all.

"A bit of a backwards slide, I suppose," she shrugged, eyes skimming over his eyes and lips as she tried her best to dredge up her primary school memories of sunny afternoon lessons on the Theory of Evolution and Charles Darwin. His dimples appeared, and she could have sworn that her heart physically fluttered.

"I'd have taken you to yours - hypothetically, of course - but I assumed that if you were wandering the streets near naked and needed escorting home, that you were more likely than not to not know exactly where 'home' was," she explained, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself.

Her smile faded, as, like a moth drawn to a flame, her lips parted and she leant in infinitesimally, heart pounding. She couldn't stop herself, couldn't find the sheer bloody magnetism that this man seemed to radiate. Her breath seemed to have stopped, and she hoped - oh, Merlin, she hoped beyond hope - that he'd kiss her back. It wasn't thoughts of idiocy or her career that made her thoughts run thus, just that right now, she felt that she'd die if whatever they'd accidentally started was not allowed to run until it's destined finishing point, wherever that may be.

[Mark Dashwood]

As Elsie continued to speak, Mark watched her, a smirk on his face as she made an equally clever statement every so often. There was still much of the unsaid hanging, rather dangling - limply, waiting for excitement, in mid air. He knew he shouldn't be watching her, shouldn't be starring at a woman so intently who in no way shape or form was his wife. She didn't even resemble his wife in the slights, not with her light eyes and blonde hair, but damn it if she didn't look good, and the way she stared at him, she as telling him, letting him know that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same. But this was wrong, this was all wrong. He was married, yes, married, he quickly reminded himself. He attempted to shake his head, shaking all wrong thoughts of Elsie from his retina's but then she kept making those jokes, those innuendo jokes and talking about nakedness, and . . . and everything was sliding down fast.

Once again he attempted to focus and opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, Elsie was coming toward him, her lips parted, and then. . .

then they kissed. He kissed his student. His lips met her soft silky ones and he couldn't deny the feeling in the pit of his stomach any longer. He wanted her, and right now he had her. His mouth parted hungrily, his hand trailing up to the side of her face, bringing her closer and his tongue gently slipped into her mouth.


He wasn't sure where this was going, but damn it if he didn't want it to end.

[Elsie James]

Elsie's own hand slid along the chiselled edge of Mark's jawbone, dipping under his ear to curl around the back of his neck, willing conceding to his attempts to manoeuvre themselves even closer together. She let out an involuntarily - but almost inaudible - sound as her lips moved against Mark's and he deepened the kiss. It was oddly chaste and wanton at the same time, but however she looked at it, it was the best snog she'd had in a bloody long while.

She eventually moved back, unsure as to how long exactly the kiss had lasted - a few seconds, a few minutes? - lips looking slightly kiss-bruised as she regarded him uncertainly, every doubt and sensible notion she'd ever had rushing into her mind all at once: what in hell's name had she done?

"I... er. I, um," she stammered, finally taking in a deep breath. Terror and exhilaration were coursing her bloodstream in pretty much equal amounts. "D'you, urm." She looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on her hospital scrubs. "I'd better go," she steeled herself somewhat, but still didn't meet his eye. The door was the other side of Mark - it was so close, and yet, to get there... She tried to stiffen her resolve yet further. "I'll just... be going," she stood up, trying to remember where she'd left her bag - was it in her, or the locker room?

All she could think of was kissing Mark. Of kissing her married boss. She'd managed to kiss two of the major groups of people it was generally considered 'not a good idea to kiss' by most of the major population, and she'd done it in one go. So why did she want to do it again and again?

[Mark Dashwood]

With much fever and lust, Mark returned her kiss, his hand cupping the opposite side her face as he drew her in closer, only to be perceivably disappointed and relieved at the same time when she pulled away.

Breathing heavily, Mark stood in front of Elsie his eyes washing over her and stopping to linger on her bruised lips. What was he doing, this was his student, his colleague, HE WAS MARRIED. But still, as she stood there, voice low and eyes searching for an exit, he couldn't help but be attracted to her. She also understood him, cared for him in a round about silly way. She was knew where he was coming from, and he in return knew where she was too. But Kate, the kids. . .

The kids.

With a shake of his head, his hand reaching up to ruffle through his hair, Mark finally spoke. "Elsie - Miss James, I don't. . ." he had no idea what to say, breaking off before he'd even managed to complete his lost thought. He was still breathing heavy and Merlin, she was beautiful.

He took a step back, away from the door, giving her room to exist, though he did not want her to leave. He didn't want to watch her walk away and was almost certain he'd probably stop her if she'd let him. Warily, he looked up at her, it was clear, utterly clear that she wanted him too, but he couldn't, couldn't beg her to stay. He could ruin their lives, but at the same time he couldn't watch her leave either.

[Elsie James]

"Mistake, right," Elsie half-laughed for lack of any idea of what else to do, finishing what she perceived to be the unsaid end of his sentence. She made the mistake of looking up to meet Mark's eyes, and goddamnit, she regretted it right away. There was a look in her eyes that she knew was reflected in her own, and it was a look that indicated that no matter how idiotic and career-threatening and selfish and marriage-threatening their actions had just been, it hadn't done anything to get the feelings they had out of their systems. Mark was still breathing heavily, and she could feel her own heart still hammering in her chest - part nerves, part adrenaline, part lust - as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

She wanted to stay, she wanted to be able to give him her contact details, to take him home as she would have done if he'd been just a man and she'd been just a woman, and they'd just happened to meet in a bar - no other strings tying them down, just feelings. But it wasn't that simple, and it never would be. She met his eyes again, hoping he'd understand: if he said one word, just one word, she thought she'd drop it all for him, ignore the world for just a little while and kiss him again.

She located her bag where she'd kicked it haphazardly under another bench. Silently, she bent to pick it up, sliding it over one shoulder, her eyes finding Mark's yet again. She nodded pointlessly once more, a futile attempt to try to make herself feel like she was in control of this situation, or, if not her, then someone at least. Taking a deep breath in, she stepped past Mark Dashwood.

It felt like she'd never needed so much willpower to do something in her entire life.