[TM] 237. It's your birthday!
To be honest, he could think of much better ways to spend his birthday.
To be fair, he could also think of worse. A drink after work hadn't sounded bad. Not at all. Ianto had only been with Torchwood for a few months now, but he'd made some friends, and when he accidentally let the occasion slip, they wouldn't take no for an answer.
He hadn't expected them to disappear after the first round. He doubted it was a slight, and they'd only been gone a matter of minutes, but he was beginning to feel awkward. One man nursing one drink at a table for five in the middle of a crowded pub.
That was when he saw her.
She was pretty. Well, no, pretty was an understatement: she was gorgeous. She worked in the Tower; he was almost certain of that. He thought he could remember passing her in the corridor, but found it hard to believe that she'd ever been nothing more than another face in a white lab coat.
Now, though... She wasn't wearing the lab coat now. Just tight trousers and a low-cut blouse. Too low. Ianto caught himself staring and quickly looked back to the table. He forced himself to focus on his fingers as he stroked the side of a glass, tracing patterns through the mist.
He reminded himself that she probably wasn't on her way to see him. She had no reason to be. They'd never met. They might never meet. She was going to walk on past, toward her friends or her boyfriend or whoever, and Ianto was going to go find someone to buy him another beer.
He was wondering where Amar had got off to, since Amar definitely owed him a pint, when the woman twisted her ankle. She stumbled toward his table, and he acted instinctively, reaching out to steady her, one hand on her arm. She didn't fall, but she did drop her drink.
Directly into his lap.
He managed not to jump from his seat, but couldn't restrain the yelp of surprise.
"Oh," she gasped, stepping closer and only then realizing that she couldn't exactly brush it off. For a few seconds, her hand hovered just above his thigh. "Oh, oh my god. I am so sorry--"
"It's all right," he told her, though he did spare a brief mournful look at his trousers. Immediately she grabbed a handful of napkins from the next table over and pressed them into his palm. Even with the distraction of cold beer seeping straight through to his skin, he didn't miss the way their fingers touched. "Are you?"
"I think. It's these heels, you know. They're murder."
"You should, should sit down," he said, with a little wave to the seat next to him. It wasn't subtle, but then again, he prided himself on it being a complete sentence. He looked up from where he still blotted the stain on his trousers and added, "Safer."
She didn't seem to mind the invitation. In fact, she slid into the chair all too quickly, a sly grin spreading across her face. Carefully, she set the now-empty glass on the table. "For both of us, you mean."
"Well," Ianto started, willing himself not to sound flustered, "you haven't anything else to spill..."
Her laugh was so beautiful that he lost hold on the bunched-up napkins and they tumbled to the floor.
He barely noticed.
"I'm Lisa," she said, once they'd both been silent a moment. "Hallett. I work in tech retrieval."
"Ianto Jones." For one impossible second, he wished he could follow that with something more impressively James Bond. Field agent, maybe. Reverse engineering specialist. R&D. Q, if not Bond. But no, the universe was not on his side. "Archives and research."
Lisa smiled. There was something mysterious in it, something teasing. "I know."
His heart beat faster as he tried to work that out. In a perfect world, his confusion wouldn't have shown on his face, but it must have, because she took pity on him and continued.
"I know Gareth," she explained, motioning back to the last place she'd seen him. As Ianto glanced over her shoulder, he saw the man himself at the bar, two empty pint glasses in front of him, as he appeared to be chatting up one of the cuter girls from accounting. "He invited me. I asked him to point you out."
Ianto tried not to look so surprised. He was a Jones, after all. Joneses were calm, cool, and collected. He needed to remember that. "You did?"
She nodded and leaned her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her interlocked fingers. "He said it was your birthday."
"It is." He shrugged. It didn't seem all that important, really. Nice enough to celebrate, but certainly not worth all the fuss. He'd grown out of birthdays long ago, when he'd started to wish for things more impossible than a new bicycle or a trip to the cinema.
"I'm glad. Because otherwise it would be completely innappropriate for me to do this."
He had no idea she was going to kiss him until she had, and by then it was over. It was just a press of her lips against his cheek and a warm breath ghosting over his skin.
"Happy birthday," she said, her voice rich like a laugh that never quite escaped, just before she pulled back to a more respectable distance.
"I--"
"And I really am sorry," she went on with a tiny smile, without waiting for him to stutter out a response. When she paused, she chewed on her bottom lip and Ianto was instantly enamored. "Can I at least buy you a drink?"
The next morning, she would sit on his desk and insist she ought to buy him lunch to apologize.
Six months later, she would confess she'd spilt her drink on purpose.
Ianto Jones
Torchwood
990 words
To be fair, he could also think of worse. A drink after work hadn't sounded bad. Not at all. Ianto had only been with Torchwood for a few months now, but he'd made some friends, and when he accidentally let the occasion slip, they wouldn't take no for an answer.
He hadn't expected them to disappear after the first round. He doubted it was a slight, and they'd only been gone a matter of minutes, but he was beginning to feel awkward. One man nursing one drink at a table for five in the middle of a crowded pub.
That was when he saw her.
She was pretty. Well, no, pretty was an understatement: she was gorgeous. She worked in the Tower; he was almost certain of that. He thought he could remember passing her in the corridor, but found it hard to believe that she'd ever been nothing more than another face in a white lab coat.
Now, though... She wasn't wearing the lab coat now. Just tight trousers and a low-cut blouse. Too low. Ianto caught himself staring and quickly looked back to the table. He forced himself to focus on his fingers as he stroked the side of a glass, tracing patterns through the mist.
He reminded himself that she probably wasn't on her way to see him. She had no reason to be. They'd never met. They might never meet. She was going to walk on past, toward her friends or her boyfriend or whoever, and Ianto was going to go find someone to buy him another beer.
He was wondering where Amar had got off to, since Amar definitely owed him a pint, when the woman twisted her ankle. She stumbled toward his table, and he acted instinctively, reaching out to steady her, one hand on her arm. She didn't fall, but she did drop her drink.
Directly into his lap.
He managed not to jump from his seat, but couldn't restrain the yelp of surprise.
"Oh," she gasped, stepping closer and only then realizing that she couldn't exactly brush it off. For a few seconds, her hand hovered just above his thigh. "Oh, oh my god. I am so sorry--"
"It's all right," he told her, though he did spare a brief mournful look at his trousers. Immediately she grabbed a handful of napkins from the next table over and pressed them into his palm. Even with the distraction of cold beer seeping straight through to his skin, he didn't miss the way their fingers touched. "Are you?"
"I think. It's these heels, you know. They're murder."
"You should, should sit down," he said, with a little wave to the seat next to him. It wasn't subtle, but then again, he prided himself on it being a complete sentence. He looked up from where he still blotted the stain on his trousers and added, "Safer."
She didn't seem to mind the invitation. In fact, she slid into the chair all too quickly, a sly grin spreading across her face. Carefully, she set the now-empty glass on the table. "For both of us, you mean."
"Well," Ianto started, willing himself not to sound flustered, "you haven't anything else to spill..."
Her laugh was so beautiful that he lost hold on the bunched-up napkins and they tumbled to the floor.
He barely noticed.
"I'm Lisa," she said, once they'd both been silent a moment. "Hallett. I work in tech retrieval."
"Ianto Jones." For one impossible second, he wished he could follow that with something more impressively James Bond. Field agent, maybe. Reverse engineering specialist. R&D. Q, if not Bond. But no, the universe was not on his side. "Archives and research."
Lisa smiled. There was something mysterious in it, something teasing. "I know."
His heart beat faster as he tried to work that out. In a perfect world, his confusion wouldn't have shown on his face, but it must have, because she took pity on him and continued.
"I know Gareth," she explained, motioning back to the last place she'd seen him. As Ianto glanced over her shoulder, he saw the man himself at the bar, two empty pint glasses in front of him, as he appeared to be chatting up one of the cuter girls from accounting. "He invited me. I asked him to point you out."
Ianto tried not to look so surprised. He was a Jones, after all. Joneses were calm, cool, and collected. He needed to remember that. "You did?"
She nodded and leaned her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her interlocked fingers. "He said it was your birthday."
"It is." He shrugged. It didn't seem all that important, really. Nice enough to celebrate, but certainly not worth all the fuss. He'd grown out of birthdays long ago, when he'd started to wish for things more impossible than a new bicycle or a trip to the cinema.
"I'm glad. Because otherwise it would be completely innappropriate for me to do this."
He had no idea she was going to kiss him until she had, and by then it was over. It was just a press of her lips against his cheek and a warm breath ghosting over his skin.
"Happy birthday," she said, her voice rich like a laugh that never quite escaped, just before she pulled back to a more respectable distance.
"I--"
"And I really am sorry," she went on with a tiny smile, without waiting for him to stutter out a response. When she paused, she chewed on her bottom lip and Ianto was instantly enamored. "Can I at least buy you a drink?"
The next morning, she would sit on his desk and insist she ought to buy him lunch to apologize.
Six months later, she would confess she'd spilt her drink on purpose.
Ianto Jones
Torchwood
990 words