Work Text:
Dr Crowley never talks about his private life at all. Many first-years almost assume he doesn't have one, as if he gets folded up and left in his desk drawer overnight like some overdue essay. It isn't as if any of them are brave enough to bring it up anyway, and most are too busy trying to keep up with the information in the lecture to consider anything else.
Dr Fell talks about his dear husband Anthony at the slightest excuse, almost exclusively referring to him as 'Dear Anthony' to the point that most of his students think of it as part of his name. In fact, the general consensus and common wisdom for dealing with forgotten work is to bring 'dear Anthony' up and let Dr Fell ramble about him for as long as possible. It's not even a hardship, because he always brings the topic back to Literature at some angle and some association of topics known only to him. The only odd thing about it, is that no one has ever seen Dear Anthony with Dr Fell.
One first-year speculates idly, "Do you think his husband really exists? I mean we only hear about him from Dr Fell. Nobody's actually met him, have they?" and as it's a quiet day in the rumour mill, it takes off wildly. Students are suddenly talking about nothing else, between lessons and in the corridors, heedless of who might hear.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dr Crowley snaps, when a loud and excited discussion sweeps past him in the corridor, and the group as a whole flinches at the sharp edge to his voice, all but wishing they had never dared to mention it in front of him. "Of course he exists." He doesn't leave them caught under his scowl for long, but stalks past them, heading for the lifts.
Dr Device overhears the end of Dr Crowley's retort as she turns the corner and stops with a smile to reassure the group. "Oh, yes, absolutely he exists. I've met both of them, they make a delightful pair. Excuse me, I have a lecture to get to," and with that, she too is gone.
She catches Crowley up at the lifts, and they carefully don't look at each other until they're safely inside, for fear of setting off the other's laughter.
***
Abby found herself hovering on the edge of the discussions. Dr Fell used Dear Anthony as cover, or as a way to be open without having to actually say it, or as a defence against - who knew what.
Wait. Anthony . She'd heard that name somewhere else. Still Dr Fell, but talking to someone not about them. She racked her brains for it. Anthony. Dear Anthony this, dear Anthony that. Anthony dear... ohshitohshit. The driver. In the rain. Who had hardly spoken a word, but Dr Fell had addressed him as 'Anthony dear.' She screwed her eyes closed against the budding headache. He'd been nothing more than a shadow in the twilight and he drove like a wild thing. And he understood about safety photos because he had flicked the lights off for her to take hers.
It wasn't going to make her anymore likely to recognise him though, and she seriously doubted that mentioning it was going to add anything to this discussion. And - she didn't want to have to explain the circumstances they'd met in. Which, remembering the looks he and Dr Fell had exchanged, he'd probably understood better than most people did, even if he hadn't said anything out loud.
He had been - helpful, kind, patient. And if he happened to be around to hear what was being said (or even heard it second hand) she dreaded to think how he might be feeling about it. But - there wasn't anyone she could go to and ask for advice on this was there? It wasn't as if 'dealing with rumours about your professor' was going to be included in those resources Dr Fell had offered, was it?