Prompt #23: Just in Time
30 Days in Europe: Day 8
Prompt #23: Just in Time
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 8
We get to Carlisle station just in time to catch the 2:32, which makes Fraser happy. I can’t figure out why it’s suddenly so important - we’d only have to wait an hour for the next train and it’s not like we’ve got an appointment to meet the queen or anything - but Fraser’s the Mountie with the Plan, and sometimes it’s easier to play along. At least it means we got to take the bus for the last part of the Wall, which counts as a bonus. After twenty-four hours of pretty much non-stop rain even Frase has stopped pretending that the walking's fun.
The trouble with being the last people onto the train is, all the good seats are taken and we have to walk through five coaches looking for somewhere to sit together, thanking people kindly for letting us pass and dripping water all over. We finally spot a couple of likely places just as the train starts to pull out. Two women, sensible-looking, mid to late thirties, are taking up a pair of doubles facing each other across a table. One of them’s sitting on the aisle side, the other near the window, and they’ve both got heavy-duty purses on the vacant seats and body language shouting back off, freak.
That changes when Fraser leans down and asks oh-so-politely if the other places are taken. You’ve never seen luggage move so fast. We’re settled in nice and cosy before the train’s even up to top speed, and we’re on to introductions ten seconds after that. I’ll say this for Fraser, he’s not losing his charm any as he gets older. Bottle and sell it, and we’d be richer than Bill Gates.
It turns out the women - Janet and Valerie - have been up at Hadrian’s Wall too, so there’s a lot of ooh-ing and wow-ing about the museums and the views and the way the whole thing really brings history alive. Not that it isn’t all true, but I’m having a hard time keeping from saying something rude just to break it up. Frase knows it, too - his legs are stretched out under the table and every so often he presses his calf against mine, letting me know he’s watching me.
After a while it all calms down and Valerie, the shorter one, starts asking Fraser about his accent. That’s as good as an engraved invitation any day, and he’s off, telling her everything she could possibly want to know about Canada in general and the Northern Territories in particular. You’d think he had nothing better to be doing, when I know for a fact there’s a journal of forensic science in his pack that he’s been itching to get into for the past three days.
That leaves me chatting to Janet on my side of the table, because yeah, I admit it, some of that Mountie politeness has rubbed off on me by now. She’s actually a pretty interesting woman, and once we get on to our jobs we’re doing great. She used to run a school for kids with behaviour problems, does consultancy work now, and really knows what she’s talking about. I tell her about the dog fostering program and my boxing sessions, and she’s got some new stuff on anger management that I know Gerry’s going to go for. If it wasn’t for the way her friend keeps laughing too loudly, turning her whole body round toward Fraser and giving him that big toothy smile, I’d say I was having a good time.
Janet and Valerie get off the train at Preston, which saves me from having to do something stupid like grab Fraser’s hand or lean across and kiss him just to make it clear he’s not public property. A few people have got on and are wandering up the aisle looking for seats, but they’re going to have to look somewhere else. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s body language, and I’ve had six years of practice at doing back off, freak, the Mountie’s mine.
And my prompt table...
Prompt #23: Just in Time
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 8
We get to Carlisle station just in time to catch the 2:32, which makes Fraser happy. I can’t figure out why it’s suddenly so important - we’d only have to wait an hour for the next train and it’s not like we’ve got an appointment to meet the queen or anything - but Fraser’s the Mountie with the Plan, and sometimes it’s easier to play along. At least it means we got to take the bus for the last part of the Wall, which counts as a bonus. After twenty-four hours of pretty much non-stop rain even Frase has stopped pretending that the walking's fun.
The trouble with being the last people onto the train is, all the good seats are taken and we have to walk through five coaches looking for somewhere to sit together, thanking people kindly for letting us pass and dripping water all over. We finally spot a couple of likely places just as the train starts to pull out. Two women, sensible-looking, mid to late thirties, are taking up a pair of doubles facing each other across a table. One of them’s sitting on the aisle side, the other near the window, and they’ve both got heavy-duty purses on the vacant seats and body language shouting back off, freak.
That changes when Fraser leans down and asks oh-so-politely if the other places are taken. You’ve never seen luggage move so fast. We’re settled in nice and cosy before the train’s even up to top speed, and we’re on to introductions ten seconds after that. I’ll say this for Fraser, he’s not losing his charm any as he gets older. Bottle and sell it, and we’d be richer than Bill Gates.
It turns out the women - Janet and Valerie - have been up at Hadrian’s Wall too, so there’s a lot of ooh-ing and wow-ing about the museums and the views and the way the whole thing really brings history alive. Not that it isn’t all true, but I’m having a hard time keeping from saying something rude just to break it up. Frase knows it, too - his legs are stretched out under the table and every so often he presses his calf against mine, letting me know he’s watching me.
After a while it all calms down and Valerie, the shorter one, starts asking Fraser about his accent. That’s as good as an engraved invitation any day, and he’s off, telling her everything she could possibly want to know about Canada in general and the Northern Territories in particular. You’d think he had nothing better to be doing, when I know for a fact there’s a journal of forensic science in his pack that he’s been itching to get into for the past three days.
That leaves me chatting to Janet on my side of the table, because yeah, I admit it, some of that Mountie politeness has rubbed off on me by now. She’s actually a pretty interesting woman, and once we get on to our jobs we’re doing great. She used to run a school for kids with behaviour problems, does consultancy work now, and really knows what she’s talking about. I tell her about the dog fostering program and my boxing sessions, and she’s got some new stuff on anger management that I know Gerry’s going to go for. If it wasn’t for the way her friend keeps laughing too loudly, turning her whole body round toward Fraser and giving him that big toothy smile, I’d say I was having a good time.
Janet and Valerie get off the train at Preston, which saves me from having to do something stupid like grab Fraser’s hand or lean across and kiss him just to make it clear he’s not public property. A few people have got on and are wandering up the aisle looking for seats, but they’re going to have to look somewhere else. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s body language, and I’ve had six years of practice at doing back off, freak, the Mountie’s mine.
And my prompt table...