FIC: The Waiting Is the Hardest Part
Title: The Waiting Is the Hardest Part
Author: blue_fjords
Characters: Lisa, OMC, Ianto
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word length: ~650
Summary: Lisa is waiting for Ianto.
A/N: I was supposed to be doing a different post, but this came out instead. It’s … odd. Not sure how I feel about it. Spoilers for COE.
“There’s a new flavor of ice cream in the cafeteria.”
Lisa grunts.
“It’s, well, chocolate-based. Creamy chocolate. And there’s a white swirl, kind of sticky, and some nuts. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Lisa grunts again, and mumbles something that sounds like “rroawr der.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” her companion continues cheerfully. “Anyway, this ice cream I’ve invented - it needs a catchy name. Something that says ‘I am tasty and sophisticated.’”
Lisa looks out over the field. It’s sunny today. It was sunny yesterday, too, and the day before. Every day since she came here, it’s been sunny.
“What do you think, Lisa? I was thinking ‘King Solomon’s Mines.’ Unless that’s too pretentious? It is just ice cream, after all.” He thoughtfully taps his empty spoon against his lips. “Or maybe -”
“It’s rocky road, Wilson,” Lisa cuts him off. “And it’s been around forever. We had this same conversation last week. Only then, you were sure I invented it, and you wanted me to name it ‘Wilson’s Nutty Pudding Ice.’”
Wilson blinks owlishly at her from behind his glasses. His mouth opens and closes like that of a dying fish. Lisa looks away. It’s a typical expression on him. Hers is a typical reaction.
“Have I told you about the meat pastry?” he starts after a moment. “A tubular construction, with a rather rubbery casing around the meat?”
“The hot dog,” she answers, not even bothering to sigh. There’s no point in showing exasperation; it just makes Wilson babble even more.
“Right.” Wilson’s feet drum against the wall. He can’t touch the ground. Lisa runs her bare foot over the soft grass up against the base of the wall. She can reach the ground.
Wilson starts to hum to himself. It’s the Spice Girls’ paean to safe sex. Lisa can’t think of a more inappropriate song for her former boss to sing to her, unless there’s one about punching holes through the condoms first. There probably is a song like that. In another week, Wilson will be humming it, no doubt.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that dress,” Wilson interrupts himself abruptly. “What color would you call it?”
Lisa unconsciously fingers the fabric, rubbing it between her finger and thumb. “Yellow.”
“Ah.” Wilson takes off his glasses and blows on the lenses, then rubs them with his ink-stained button-down. Wilson has not yet changed his clothes. Lisa changes hers every day.
Somewhere off in the distance, a breeze begins. Lisa closes her eyes and raises her head, like a heroine in a Disney film. There’s a change a-comin’.
“I say,” Wilson starts up again. “But I do believe we’re getting a visitor.”
Lisa already knows. She’s been perched on that wall for eons, waiting. She’s learned patience, a talent she had just reserved for her scientific experiments before.
Wilson squints into the sun as she straightens to her feet. There’s a flower behind her ear, and her yellow sundress floats around her, brushes the tops of her knees. She looks beautiful. She knows she looks beautiful.
She watches him come closer to her. She’s imagined this moment so many times; she’s had a lot of time for it. But when he reaches her, and stops, she doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? I love you? I hate you? I missed you? Why didn’t you let me go? Why didn’t you fix me? Did you know I could see you moving on from me? Did you know I was watching you when you were watching him sleep?
In the end she doesn’t say anything. The field fades away, the brick wall, Wilson’s glasses, Wilson himself. There’s just him there, with new scars on his body and deep wounds in his eyes. She does the only thing that’s really left for her to do, and opens her arms wide.
Author: blue_fjords
Characters: Lisa, OMC, Ianto
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word length: ~650
Summary: Lisa is waiting for Ianto.
A/N: I was supposed to be doing a different post, but this came out instead. It’s … odd. Not sure how I feel about it. Spoilers for COE.
“There’s a new flavor of ice cream in the cafeteria.”
Lisa grunts.
“It’s, well, chocolate-based. Creamy chocolate. And there’s a white swirl, kind of sticky, and some nuts. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Lisa grunts again, and mumbles something that sounds like “rroawr der.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” her companion continues cheerfully. “Anyway, this ice cream I’ve invented - it needs a catchy name. Something that says ‘I am tasty and sophisticated.’”
Lisa looks out over the field. It’s sunny today. It was sunny yesterday, too, and the day before. Every day since she came here, it’s been sunny.
“What do you think, Lisa? I was thinking ‘King Solomon’s Mines.’ Unless that’s too pretentious? It is just ice cream, after all.” He thoughtfully taps his empty spoon against his lips. “Or maybe -”
“It’s rocky road, Wilson,” Lisa cuts him off. “And it’s been around forever. We had this same conversation last week. Only then, you were sure I invented it, and you wanted me to name it ‘Wilson’s Nutty Pudding Ice.’”
Wilson blinks owlishly at her from behind his glasses. His mouth opens and closes like that of a dying fish. Lisa looks away. It’s a typical expression on him. Hers is a typical reaction.
“Have I told you about the meat pastry?” he starts after a moment. “A tubular construction, with a rather rubbery casing around the meat?”
“The hot dog,” she answers, not even bothering to sigh. There’s no point in showing exasperation; it just makes Wilson babble even more.
“Right.” Wilson’s feet drum against the wall. He can’t touch the ground. Lisa runs her bare foot over the soft grass up against the base of the wall. She can reach the ground.
Wilson starts to hum to himself. It’s the Spice Girls’ paean to safe sex. Lisa can’t think of a more inappropriate song for her former boss to sing to her, unless there’s one about punching holes through the condoms first. There probably is a song like that. In another week, Wilson will be humming it, no doubt.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that dress,” Wilson interrupts himself abruptly. “What color would you call it?”
Lisa unconsciously fingers the fabric, rubbing it between her finger and thumb. “Yellow.”
“Ah.” Wilson takes off his glasses and blows on the lenses, then rubs them with his ink-stained button-down. Wilson has not yet changed his clothes. Lisa changes hers every day.
Somewhere off in the distance, a breeze begins. Lisa closes her eyes and raises her head, like a heroine in a Disney film. There’s a change a-comin’.
“I say,” Wilson starts up again. “But I do believe we’re getting a visitor.”
Lisa already knows. She’s been perched on that wall for eons, waiting. She’s learned patience, a talent she had just reserved for her scientific experiments before.
Wilson squints into the sun as she straightens to her feet. There’s a flower behind her ear, and her yellow sundress floats around her, brushes the tops of her knees. She looks beautiful. She knows she looks beautiful.
She watches him come closer to her. She’s imagined this moment so many times; she’s had a lot of time for it. But when he reaches her, and stops, she doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? I love you? I hate you? I missed you? Why didn’t you let me go? Why didn’t you fix me? Did you know I could see you moving on from me? Did you know I was watching you when you were watching him sleep?
In the end she doesn’t say anything. The field fades away, the brick wall, Wilson’s glasses, Wilson himself. There’s just him there, with new scars on his body and deep wounds in his eyes. She does the only thing that’s really left for her to do, and opens her arms wide.