Hayfever (The Imitation Game; M) [For VoOs!]

[Spoo]

I originally started messing around with this back in December when I first saw The Imitation Game. Then I saw it a second time and knew that it HAD to become an official thing. This is 100% dedicated to VoOs, because I love her and the adorable way she swoons over Benidoo Cumberboo. Also, the story takes place when Alan and Joan are still "engaged".

I hope you like it, my dear! (also, sorry for the lack of creativity as far as a title goes )

Hayfever

by Spoo

Joan wasn't at all surprised to see that Alan had come round while she'd been fetching the post from her landlady. He typically welcomed himself over whenever he pleased, which wasn't at all improper anymore since they were engaged (prior to their engagement his foremost method of entering her flat had been, amusingly and dangerously enough, through the window).

Well, at least he now had the luxury of using the door. She was certain that his trousers would appreciate not tearing - as they'd done on more than one occasion - while he fumbled over the windowsill in a desperate attempt to show off whatever he'd managed to smuggle out of Hut 8.

"Alan?" she called, setting a letter from her parents on the table.

Joan had yet to see him physically; the only indication that he was even in her flat was the tweed blazer settled over her kitchen chair. When there was no immediate response (he must have been distracted by something) she crossed into the bedroom to see if, perhaps, he was sprawled along the floor somewhere, pouring over a sea of crumpled documents.

"Alan?" she attempted again, and this time she heard muffled movement. Ah. So he was in the washroom, then. Joan smiled. "I'll put the kettle on."

Without waiting for a response, she left him to his business and returned to the kitchen to prepare them some tea. She'd not yet grabbed two cups from the cupboard when she heard Alan's measured footsteps approaching from behind.

"If I'd have known that you were coming, I would have waited until you'd arrived to fetch the post," she said, turning to face him. "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter now that you're…oh. Alan, are you quite well?"

"I'm fine," he dismissed as he briskly turned around to avoid seeing her worried expression.

"Clearly you're not," Joan disagreed, abandoning the cups and unfilled kettle. "Have you been crying?"

"N-no. No. I-I-I'm simply encountering an irritant," Alan dismissed. "Most likely from…"

He trailed off, which only deepened Joan's concern. "Alan, has something happened?"

She was well aware of his ongoing struggles with Commander Denniston, as well as his frustration with Christopher. Both problems had been increasing in severity as of late, and she feared that they'd steadily begun to ruin him.

Joan had nearly reached Alan and set a hand against his back when he suddenly snapped forward and convulsed.

"Heh'ekghschh!"

"God bless you," she said, yet before she could say anything else he sneezed three more times in rapid succession.

"Ehh'kggschh! Heh'eksschh! Heh'EKTSCHhh!"

The last of the trio was the most desperate of all, and it left him sniffling drippily into his hands. The poor thing. Had he even thought to bring a handkerchief? She feared that he'd left it on his desk, buried beneath papers and pencils and other office supplies, yet was relieved when he fumbled in his pocket to produce a folded white cloth.

"Do excuse me," he apologized, snuffling.

While he tended to his nose, Joan circled him and - much to his chagrin - finally received a good look at his features. Alan's eyes were inflamed and flooded, and though she couldn't see his nostrils she imagined that they were just as violently affected.

"You look dreadful," she observed with a frown. "Are you ill?"

Alan shied away from the warmth of her gaze. He had yet to recover his composure from sneezing so wildly, and he thought it best not to answer straight way. Nevertheless, the overwhelming urge to correct her false suspicion eventually outweighed his desire to remain mute.

"No, I'm not ill," he managed. "Th-this is nothing more than a case of hayfever."

"Hayfever?" Joan repeated. "Oh, I…I didn't know."

"It isn't something I choose to advertise," Alan admitted, lowering his handkerchief from his face. "It impairs my work and makes me less capable of focusing."

Joan could see what he meant. She imagined that constantly sneezing would interrupt the strict work ethic that he fiercely employed, along with gathering unwanted attention from Hugh, Peter, and John.

She felt it necessary to ask if she could do anything for him, but her inquiry would have to wait; Alan appeared to be teetering on the edge of another sneeze. She watched as his slender nostrils twitched, the delicate ellipticals contracting into wide, trembling circles, before he urgently pressed his handkerchief between steepled hands and succumbed.

"Hehh'ekggschh! …ihhh-hh…hehh'ehktschhh!"

"God bless you," Joan said, again.

Alan, feeling a touch more embarrassed than before, muttered a quiet "excuse me" before stepping into her bedroom. She heard the soft, damp sounds of him blowing his nose and felt, for lack of better wording, powerless. She very desperately wished to help him, but she was unsure if she could do anything.

"…hh'mmpphffff!"

Well, Joan decided. Standing a room away wasn't going to do anything. Slipping her coat from her narrow shoulders, she went after Alan and found him exactly as he'd walked away - hunched and buried in his handkerchief. He looked exhausted and as if he'd been suffering all day.

"Maybe you ought to sit down on the bed," she said, unintentionally startling him.

He opened his eyes, which looked even mistier than before, and attempted to speak around the hitching breaths that were spilling from his parted lips. "I--hiihh…should b-bhhhe alrighhh…alright."

"I don't care if you should be alright," Joan remarked, huffing. "You're not alright at the moment. Now please, Alan. Sit down."

Alan hesitated. He'd never actually occupied a woman's bed (for any reason) and he didn't think that his mother's bed held the same significance. Even if he and Joan were engaged it felt…wrong. There was no place for him on her bed.

…Or so he thought before she took it upon herself to guide him onto the edge, where he sat, stiffly, upon her soft mattress.

"Here," Joan said, producing a handkerchief from a drawer she rummaged in. She strongly felt that the one he was using now was the same one he'd been using all day. A clean handkerchief might have done him some good.

Knowing that she wouldn't take no for an answer, Alan accepted the handkerchief and removed the old one from his significantly redder nose. "It wasn't my intention to trouble you."

"You're hardly troubling me," Joan reassured, sitting beside him. She frowned as she watched him dab at his tearing eyes, which looked sore and horribly itchy. The latter was confirmed when he rubbed his waterline with the edge of his fingertip. "Have you always suffered from hayfever?"

"Yes," Alan replied, though he didn't elaborate.

There were far too many negative recollections associated around his hayfever - most of which involved the schoolmates who had antagonized him throughout his education at Sherborne. He tried not to think of those terrible springs when he was subject to consistent teasing and torment for his disruptions in class (disruptions that were out of his control). He also tried not to think of the one person who had never laughed or made fun of him.

"Is there anything I can do?" Joan finally asked.

"No. It's best to simply wait it ouhh…hh!…out." Alan's sclerae watered with the undeveloped sneeze, prompting another delicate wipe.

Joan couldn't help but find herself concerned about the state of his eyes; they were looking more irritated by the second. Making up her mind, she stood up and said: "Stay there. I'll only be a moment."

Alan watched as she strode away to the washroom, though he was only able to observe for so long before he was yet again consumed by the crippling condition that rendered him absolutely helpless.

"Ehh'kghschh!" And again: "Hehh'ehkschhish!" And twice more this time: "Heh'etschhhh!--hh'EKGSCHHhhh!"

By the time the cruel sneezes released him from their fiendish imprisonment, Alan's eyes were overflowing onto his cheekbones; the tears raced down his face faster than he could chase them, dripping off and landing on his sleeve. Distressed, he relied on the back of his hand to rid him of the streaks of moisture before using Joan's handkerchief and granting the same attentiveness to his nose.

And speaking of Joan, she soon came back and retook her previous seat beside him on the bed. "God bless you," she said, belatedly. She then raised a hand and extended it towards him, yet he, trusting and untrusting at the same time, leaned away from her.

"Wh-what is that?" he inquired, looking at the cloth in her hand.

"I've soaked it," Joan explained, showing him the facecloth she'd returned with. "Would you prefer to do it on your own?"

Alan, who was rather inexperienced when it came to acts of kindness (especially when they were directed at him), wondered briefly if she was pitying or trying to help. Of course, he quickly ruled out the former theory and forced himself to comprehend that her actions were genuine and not born from mockery.

Without saying anything, he leaned forward again and allowed her to gently brush the facecloth against his eyelids; it felt cool and relieving from the hot, insatiable itch the pollen caused him.

"When we're married," she began, applying the facecloth to his opposite eye. "I'll gladly do this for you whenever you need me to."

At this, Alan felt a cold pang of anxiety bloom in his stomach. When they were married. It wasn't something he liked to think of, and he could only hope that he would be able to endure all that came with their matrimony.

When Joan felt that the compress had rested along his eyes for an adequate amount of time, she withdrew the facecloth and smiled. "How's that?"

It hadn't cured him, nor had it eliminated the irritation, but Alan, in spite of being on the verge of another sneeze, still said: "Behhtter. Thha--ehk'ghtsschhh!…snf! Do excuse me. Thank you."

"God bless you. Why don't you have a lie-down while I finish the tea? Then we can discuss whatever you've brought me." Assuming that he had brought her something.

Handing him the facecloth, in case he wished to reapply it, she stood up and strode back to the kitchen, leaving Alan alone on the bed. Sniffling damply, he glanced down at the two items in his hands. In truth, they were not the first facecloth and handkerchief to be offered to him, nor were her caring, brown eyes the first to look him.

Laying back, Alan settled the cloth over his eyes and willed the painful memories to return to the encrypted vault inside his brain. He would rest, he would return to Bletchley, and Christopher would work.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

My reaction, upon seeing this thread title: "Squee!"

My reaction, upon actually reading the story: "Oh, honey!

Alan--the Alan of the film, of course; I would never presume to know about the man himself--is exactly the sort of character I want desperately to comfort, while knowing that he would at best struggle with such comfort and at worst refuse it, a trait you've done a remarkable job of showcasing here. Both Joan's desire to take care of Alan and his discomfort with her care come through clearly and beautifully...and does the subtlely heartbreaking detail about who might have comforted Alan before.

Brava.

[cally]

I have to first say that I'm a bad fangirl and never got to the cinema when it was out here. You can all chastise me now and kick me out of the club.

Of course I had to read this, as you wrote it, and I knew you'd be writing it, and of course it exceeded all expectations.

(and now I must see the bloody film!)

[Shay]

I'm not familiar with the fandom at all, but I did really enjoy reading this and your descriptions of the hayfever misery.

[VoOs]

This story is the sweetest, most heartbreaking thing. I had to read it in small portions with pauses in between to coo and whimper with sympathy. Like myownprivatesfc says, Alan is just the kind of character you'd want to protect and take care of, even though he would never ask for or willingly accept any help. Poor, long-suffering darling. You've captured him so beautifully here, my heart can barely take it.

Alan shied away from the warmth of her gaze. He had yet to recover his composure from sneezing so wildly, and he thought it best not to answer straight way. Nevertheless, the overwhelming urge to correct her false suspicion eventually outweighed his desire to remain mute.

^...like here, for instance. So Alan. Ow, my heart. <3 <3 <3

She felt it necessary to ask if she could do anything for him, but her inquiry would have to wait; Alan appeared to be teetering on the edge of another sneeze. She watched as his slender nostrils twitched, the delicate ellipticals contracting into wide, trembling circles, before he urgently pressed his handkerchief between steepled hands and succumbed.

You and your descriptions. Ugh, so lovely. *hides behind hands*

Alan hesitated. He'd never actually occupied a woman's bed (for any reason) and he didn't think that his mother's bed held the same significance. Even if he and Joan were engaged it felt…wrong. There was no place for him on her bed.

There were far too many negative recollections associated around his hayfever - most of which involved the schoolmates who had antagonized him throughout his education at Sherborne. He tried not to think of those terrible springs when he was subject to consistent teasing and torment for his disruptions in class (disruptions that were out of his control). He also tried not to think of the one person who had never laughed or made fun of him.

Alan, who was rather inexperienced when it came to acts of kindness (especially when they were directed at him), wondered briefly if she was pitying or trying to help. Of course, he quickly ruled out the former theory and forced himself to comprehend that her actions were genuine and not born from mockery.

Handing him the facecloth, in case he wished to reapply it, she stood up and strode back to the kitchen, leaving Alan alone on the bed. Sniffling damply, he glanced down at the two items in his hands. In truth, they were not the first facecloth and handkerchief to be offered to him, nor were her caring, brown eyes the first to look him.

Laying back, Alan settled the cloth over his eyes and willed the painful memories to return to the encrypted vault inside his brain. He would rest, he would return to Bletchley, and Christopher would work

Just rip my heart out and stomp on it, why don't you?

No, but seriously, Spoo, thank you so, so, SO much for writing this. I've been secretly hoping someone would write a TIG fic ever since I read the script (that was over a year ago!) but I never really thought it would happen, and yet here it is, and it is perfect.

Let me love you.

Edited January 18, 2015 by VoOs

[stargazer]

This made my day. I never expected anyone to write an IMG fic. This was perfect.

[Dusty15]

Nghhhhh THIS IS GOOOOOD!

Spoo! Such incredibly lovely descriptions and I could hear every single word clearly in the voices of both characters. Incredibly well done, love

[Garnet]

So I haven't seen this movie (and to be honest probably won't), but I know enough history about Alan Turing to make a go of it. I would have read this anyway because it's mah Spoo, and HNNGH. The stiff restraint and stilted air between them is so very delicately balanced, almost intimate in a way that is obviously not intimate at all. If that makes any sense. I love all the little details like knowing that he's there because of his jacket, and the approaching footsteps, the careful aversion to letting her see how miserable he is.

And as always, you write the very best allergic tear sequences ever. THE VERY BEST. Congratulation. It you. Your medal will be arriving in the mail shortly.

EDIT: a word

Edited January 18, 2015 by Garnet

[Incendias]

Wait but the best part about this is that Alan Turing actually had hayfever.

Quote from Jack Good, a cryptanalyst who worked with him:

"In the first week of June each year he would get a bad attack of hay fever, and he would cycle to the office wearing a gas mask to keep the pollen off."

For the love of god can someone please draw some fan art of that spectacle. I love him to death.

[Spoo]

Wait but the best part about this is that Alan Turing actually had hayfever.

Which is precisely why I wrote this. Also, if you have a request for fan art you should post it in a separate thread, rather than in a comment on a story.

To everyone else that has thus far commented: THANK YOU SO MUCH! And VoOs, ajsdlkfasf So glad you like it, dear~

[beatlelover22]

I went and saw this at the cinema today too! Oh my gosh, I was so excited to find that you'd written this. Ah, I love Benedict Cumberbatch so much! I might have to write something too haha Thanks!!

[phoenix]

I haven't seen the film either, but this whole thing was just perfection.

She felt it necessary to ask if she could do anything for him, but her inquiry would have to wait; Alan appeared to be teetering on the edge of another sneeze. She watched as his slender nostrils twitched, the delicate ellipticals contracting into wide, trembling circles, before he urgently pressed his handkerchief between steepled hands and succumbed.

I can see it so perfectly. *falls to pieces*

Alan's sclerae watered with the undeveloped sneeze, prompting another delicate wipe.

I don't remember ever reading the phrase "undeveloped sneeze" before, but it is, as I keep saying, perfect.

Also: those spellings. *sighs dreamily*

And, of course, the way he maybe finally accepts the comfort she wants to give him (and I'm right there with her on that!) even though it's not at all what he really wants.

The whole thing is just... *smushes fic.* Wonderful.

[AngelEyes]

I've seen TIG twice and am going again on Wed. (Me? Obsessed? What?) Brilliant movie. Everyone should see it. And this is an absolutely brilliant story. You captured both characters perfectly. I totally read it in their voices. I like that you included Alan's stuttering speech patterns but didn't overdo it. Really authentic. And their attitudes and mannerisms are spot on. I Adore this!

[Vintagedarling]

Amazing!!!! *WHEW* the detail!!! Love it!!!

[sapphiremint]

This was just so amazingly detailed and perfect as always. I loved TIG so much, I really hope that it wins at the Oscars. Benedict was beyond amazing.

[TaurielRiver]

Oh gosh, this is just beautiful, I love the gentle way you capture the bittersweet dynamic of their relationship! Joan’s delicate, careful way of understanding Alan’s complexities is just so touching.

From the moment Alan first comes out of the bathroom all allergic-weepy, my heart just melted!! Such a situation would be incredibly uncomfortable for such a reclusive, polite character as Alan, but you seamlessly captured Joan’s way of taking things in her stride and being as practical as she is tender. And I loved the period-perfect manner of speaking throughout, I could hear their accents at every line!

And the reflective ending was wonderful, very poignant and true to the plot of the film. Your writing is breaking my heart right now!!

[Zuki]

I just saw this movie tonight and spent an indecent amount of time at the end of the film trying not to sob grossly, much to the concern of my friend who went with me. This is a lovely fic, and it's so much like the characters.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I've not seen the movie yet, but I still enjoyed this immensely. I was going to try to wait to read this until after I saw the movie. However, it's written by Spoo so I couldnt resist.