Careful
Title: Careful
Author: lookninjas
Characters: Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13; Lisa's got quite the temper.
Spoilers for: General for "Cyberwoman"
Summary: He's not her type. Not at all.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine, and I'm not publishing it in encyclopedia form. Really.
This was written for skidmo_fic's Song Lyrics Challenge; the prompt was:
"Someone tell me why I do the things that I don't want to do
When you're around me, I'm somebody else."
from "Teenage FBI," by Guided By Voices. It's more or less pure fluff.
The first word she ever said to him was, "Careful."
He was gawking, typical newbie behaviour, wide-eyed and awestruck at the size of this place, the glass and chrome and concrete and pure white marble. Other, more experienced Torchwood personnel brushed past him, rolling their eyes and making quiet comments to each other. Ordinarily, Lisa would have been one of them; she didn't go in for the adopt-a-newbie game. Either this dark-haired boy would get used to Torchwood or he wouldn't; either way, she wasn't going to see him around very much, so why did she care? But she did care, or she was intrigued, or she just really liked his tie, so she stopped. Tapped him on the shoulder. Said, "Careful," and grinned as he jumped at the sound of her voice. Easily startled, like a scared little bunny. Ordinarily, Lisa didn't like scared little bunnies. "You don't want to act like you're too impressed by the Tower. It's a sign of weakness, don't you know."
The newbie blinked. He had very blue eyes. Lisa'd never really been a fan of blue eyes Then he smiled, and the smile was nothing she would have expected. It was a sly twist of the lips that hinted at something decidedly un-bunny-like, something a little wicked, perhaps. "Sorry," he replied. "My facade of ironic detachment must have slipped for a moment."
She laughed, caught by surprise by both the joke and her own laughter. The newbie's accent was Welsh, folksy, smoothed over by a sort of Oxford refinement. Lisa had never really cared for Welsh accents, and she never ever wasted her time on Oxford boys. "Just don't let it happen again," she said, and thought of walking away. After all, she had no reason to stay, and plenty of reasons to go. Then she stuck her hand out. "Lisa Hallett."
"Ianto Jones." His grip was warm, dry and firm, and she rather liked that. Limp handshakes had always irritated her, and she didn't want a man who'd treat her like she was fragile. She didn't need to be cossetted and cared for; she'd always done fine on her own.
"So," she said, unwilling to walk off, though she couldn't have said just why. "Where've they got you hidden away, then?"
"Archives," he said, and she had to admit there was something in that smile of his. Also, he was taller than she'd first thought, lean but broad-shouldered. Dark-haired, pale-skinned, clean-shaven, comfortable in his suit. Attractive, to be sure. Still, not her type at all. "Very exciting place to work, really. Filing, dusting... not for the faint of heart. Yourself?"
"Accounting," she replied. "Dangerous place, but I can handle it."
His grin widened. There was something really unfair about that sly smile on such a nice boy. "You must be very brave. I don't think I have the courage for accounting, really. It's too much for me."
Lisa shrugged. "All in a day's work." She wondered if he meant to flirt with her, or if she was just reading too much into that smile. And if she was starting to ask herself those sorts of questions, it was time to go. "Speaking of work..."
The faintest flicker of disappointment crossed his face, or maybe she was still reading too much into this. "Of course. It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Hallett." He nodded at her, then turned on his heel to walk away.
"Remember," she called after him, and he turned with an expression of polite inquiry. "Don't look too impressed. They'll eat you alive if you do."
There really was something about his smile. "I'll do my best, Ms. Hallett," he replied, and with another nod, walked away.
Lisa watched him go. Not her type at all, really. Not her type at all.
*
The next time she saw Ianto Jones, he was bustling around the second-floor lounge, fiddling with the coffee maker, singing absently to himself in a remarkably pleasant baritone. It was very domestic.
Lisa'd never really been a fan of domestic.
"Careful," she said, and he turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at her. "Alien coffeepot. Voice-activated. Hit the wrong note, and it'll blow up in your face."
He nods. "Thanks for the warning. Although it'd be more impressive if I hadn't already heard it from someone else three days ago."
She gaped at him for a few seconds before she recovered her equilibrium. "Bet it was Trevor," she muttered. "Bastard's always stealing my jokes."
"Trevor Jones?" he asked, and she nodded. "That it was. You have the better poker face, though."
"Thank you," she said, and watched as he pulled two mugs down from the rack. He hadn't even asked her if she wanted any, just assumed. Still, the coffee smelled divine.
He was back to singing again; it sounded a bit familiar. "'... a secret chord that David played and he pleased the Lord...' Cream and sugar?"
"Just black, thank you." He handed the mug over, and their fingers brushed, and for some reason, Lisa felt the stirring of butterflies in her stomach. And that wouldn't do at all; she didn't get nervous around men, not since she'd been fourteen. "I know that song. Rufus Wainwright?"
Another smile, just a bit condescending. "He did a version, but Leonard Cohen did it first."
Lisa was taken aback again, and really, this was getting unfair. Clean-cut, well-groomed Welsh boys were supposed to be predictable, and he wasn't at all, and she wasn't sure she liked it much. "Oh. Well. I never claimed to know much about music."
He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, then shook his head and took a sip of his coffee instead. Lisa almost asked him what he'd almost said, but then thought better of it (she'd already made a fool of herself enough for one day), and raised her own coffee to her lips. It was, without a doubt, the most sublime experience involving hot drinks that she'd ever had. "Wow," she said, when she'd recovered.
Ianto Jones just chuckled. "Improvement over the usual, is it?"
"My God," Lisa said, and took another drink. "You really shouldn't let anyone else know you can do this, or you'll never do anything but make coffee for the rest of your life."
"I can keep a secret if you can." He grinned at her over his coffee mug, and damn him and his smiles. She'd have been able to come up with a really clever response to that if he hadn't smiled at her. His smile broadened, and he nodded slightly. "Good day, Ms. Hallett," he said, and brushed gently against her as he walked out of the room, coffee in hand.
And she was still speechless. And dammit, she didn't do speechless!
*
The problem was, Ianto Jones made her do a lot of things that she'd never done before.
Like jealousy.
It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He wasn't her Ianto Jones, and she didn't want him to be, and even if he was, she'd never been jealous, and she'd never be jealous of someone like Joanne fucking Hawthorne, even if she was a field agent and had an absurd amount of cleavage (fake, of course, and the cleavage was the only reason she was a field agent in the first place.) Joanne Fucking Hawthorne wasn't nearly as clever as Lisa, nor as funny, and of course Ianto, who was ridiculously clever and funny in his own right, would see past all the cleavage and the blonde hair and the makeup and realize just how stupid Joanne Fucking Hawthorne really was...
And oh god, that bitch was fucking stroking his tie, and oh god, Lisa really shouldn't want to kill her as much as she did right then, but she did. She really really did.
And if Ianto hadn't carefully pulled his tie out of Joanne Fucking Hawthorne's grip, and politely excused himself...
Well, Lisa couldn't have been held responsible for what happened next.
But he did pull away, after all, and left Joanne fucking Hawthorne standing chagrined in the middle of the hallway, and Lisa grinned to herself and hurried to catch up with him. "You should be careful," she said, quietly. "A girl like that might snatch you up and steal you away, and then where would you be?"
He smiled sidelong at her, and take that, Joanne Hawthorne! "Wherever she set me down, of course," he replied, almost absently. His eyes met hers for a second, just a second, before he looked away. "Of course, a girl like you would never dream of doing such a thing."
"Of course not," she said, too fast, and her heart was pounding in an absurd way, and her hands had gone cold and damp. "I'm very old-fashioned."
"I can tell," he said, and gave her another look from the corner of his eye, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn he was just as nervous as she was. "You'd wait for the gentleman to make the first move."
This couldn't really be happening.
"It'd only be proper, of course," she said, pleased to find her voice as steady as always, her tone light and teasing. His hand brushed against hers, and she sucked in a quick breath.
He stopped walking abruptly, put his hands in his pockets, and just looked at her for the longest time. And Lisa stood there, trying not to fidget, and let him study her like a specimen. "Flowers, first," he said. "Not roses, though. They're too showy. Something subtle. Classic."
Lisa opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find anything to say. Her throat was dry and her mouth was stuffed with cotton wool, and dear god, he had the bluest eyes. There was something unnerving about his expression, at once nervous and predatory, and she swallowed hard.
"Good day, Ms. Hallett," he said, and walked briskly away.
*
Lisa didn't like flowers.
She didn't like flowers, and she was never jealous. She didn't care for music, and she didn't do domestic, and she didn't fall for clean-shaven Welsh boys who looked good in suits, even if they did have sly, knowing smiles and good handshakes and a way with coffee.
And she definitely, definitely didn't like flowers.
So when she arrived at work the next day and found a beautiful arrangement of white and plum calla lilies in a tall vase at her workstation, she ought to have laughed and discreetly thrown them away. She shouldn't have immediately gone off to hunt for Ianto Jones. And when she found him, back in the second floor lounge, making coffee and singing quietly to himself, she definitely shouldn't have grabbed him by the lapels, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him until they were both weak in the knees.
(He was an unfairly good kisser, of course.)
When they broke apart, panting for breath, his hair rumpled from her roaming hands, and his hands large and warm and perfect on her hips, he asked, "Liked the flowers, did you?"
"I loved them," she said, and kissed him even harder.
Author: lookninjas
Characters: Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13; Lisa's got quite the temper.
Spoilers for: General for "Cyberwoman"
Summary: He's not her type. Not at all.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine, and I'm not publishing it in encyclopedia form. Really.
This was written for skidmo_fic's Song Lyrics Challenge; the prompt was:
"Someone tell me why I do the things that I don't want to do
When you're around me, I'm somebody else."
from "Teenage FBI," by Guided By Voices. It's more or less pure fluff.
The first word she ever said to him was, "Careful."
He was gawking, typical newbie behaviour, wide-eyed and awestruck at the size of this place, the glass and chrome and concrete and pure white marble. Other, more experienced Torchwood personnel brushed past him, rolling their eyes and making quiet comments to each other. Ordinarily, Lisa would have been one of them; she didn't go in for the adopt-a-newbie game. Either this dark-haired boy would get used to Torchwood or he wouldn't; either way, she wasn't going to see him around very much, so why did she care? But she did care, or she was intrigued, or she just really liked his tie, so she stopped. Tapped him on the shoulder. Said, "Careful," and grinned as he jumped at the sound of her voice. Easily startled, like a scared little bunny. Ordinarily, Lisa didn't like scared little bunnies. "You don't want to act like you're too impressed by the Tower. It's a sign of weakness, don't you know."
The newbie blinked. He had very blue eyes. Lisa'd never really been a fan of blue eyes Then he smiled, and the smile was nothing she would have expected. It was a sly twist of the lips that hinted at something decidedly un-bunny-like, something a little wicked, perhaps. "Sorry," he replied. "My facade of ironic detachment must have slipped for a moment."
She laughed, caught by surprise by both the joke and her own laughter. The newbie's accent was Welsh, folksy, smoothed over by a sort of Oxford refinement. Lisa had never really cared for Welsh accents, and she never ever wasted her time on Oxford boys. "Just don't let it happen again," she said, and thought of walking away. After all, she had no reason to stay, and plenty of reasons to go. Then she stuck her hand out. "Lisa Hallett."
"Ianto Jones." His grip was warm, dry and firm, and she rather liked that. Limp handshakes had always irritated her, and she didn't want a man who'd treat her like she was fragile. She didn't need to be cossetted and cared for; she'd always done fine on her own.
"So," she said, unwilling to walk off, though she couldn't have said just why. "Where've they got you hidden away, then?"
"Archives," he said, and she had to admit there was something in that smile of his. Also, he was taller than she'd first thought, lean but broad-shouldered. Dark-haired, pale-skinned, clean-shaven, comfortable in his suit. Attractive, to be sure. Still, not her type at all. "Very exciting place to work, really. Filing, dusting... not for the faint of heart. Yourself?"
"Accounting," she replied. "Dangerous place, but I can handle it."
His grin widened. There was something really unfair about that sly smile on such a nice boy. "You must be very brave. I don't think I have the courage for accounting, really. It's too much for me."
Lisa shrugged. "All in a day's work." She wondered if he meant to flirt with her, or if she was just reading too much into that smile. And if she was starting to ask herself those sorts of questions, it was time to go. "Speaking of work..."
The faintest flicker of disappointment crossed his face, or maybe she was still reading too much into this. "Of course. It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Hallett." He nodded at her, then turned on his heel to walk away.
"Remember," she called after him, and he turned with an expression of polite inquiry. "Don't look too impressed. They'll eat you alive if you do."
There really was something about his smile. "I'll do my best, Ms. Hallett," he replied, and with another nod, walked away.
Lisa watched him go. Not her type at all, really. Not her type at all.
*
The next time she saw Ianto Jones, he was bustling around the second-floor lounge, fiddling with the coffee maker, singing absently to himself in a remarkably pleasant baritone. It was very domestic.
Lisa'd never really been a fan of domestic.
"Careful," she said, and he turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at her. "Alien coffeepot. Voice-activated. Hit the wrong note, and it'll blow up in your face."
He nods. "Thanks for the warning. Although it'd be more impressive if I hadn't already heard it from someone else three days ago."
She gaped at him for a few seconds before she recovered her equilibrium. "Bet it was Trevor," she muttered. "Bastard's always stealing my jokes."
"Trevor Jones?" he asked, and she nodded. "That it was. You have the better poker face, though."
"Thank you," she said, and watched as he pulled two mugs down from the rack. He hadn't even asked her if she wanted any, just assumed. Still, the coffee smelled divine.
He was back to singing again; it sounded a bit familiar. "'... a secret chord that David played and he pleased the Lord...' Cream and sugar?"
"Just black, thank you." He handed the mug over, and their fingers brushed, and for some reason, Lisa felt the stirring of butterflies in her stomach. And that wouldn't do at all; she didn't get nervous around men, not since she'd been fourteen. "I know that song. Rufus Wainwright?"
Another smile, just a bit condescending. "He did a version, but Leonard Cohen did it first."
Lisa was taken aback again, and really, this was getting unfair. Clean-cut, well-groomed Welsh boys were supposed to be predictable, and he wasn't at all, and she wasn't sure she liked it much. "Oh. Well. I never claimed to know much about music."
He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, then shook his head and took a sip of his coffee instead. Lisa almost asked him what he'd almost said, but then thought better of it (she'd already made a fool of herself enough for one day), and raised her own coffee to her lips. It was, without a doubt, the most sublime experience involving hot drinks that she'd ever had. "Wow," she said, when she'd recovered.
Ianto Jones just chuckled. "Improvement over the usual, is it?"
"My God," Lisa said, and took another drink. "You really shouldn't let anyone else know you can do this, or you'll never do anything but make coffee for the rest of your life."
"I can keep a secret if you can." He grinned at her over his coffee mug, and damn him and his smiles. She'd have been able to come up with a really clever response to that if he hadn't smiled at her. His smile broadened, and he nodded slightly. "Good day, Ms. Hallett," he said, and brushed gently against her as he walked out of the room, coffee in hand.
And she was still speechless. And dammit, she didn't do speechless!
*
The problem was, Ianto Jones made her do a lot of things that she'd never done before.
Like jealousy.
It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He wasn't her Ianto Jones, and she didn't want him to be, and even if he was, she'd never been jealous, and she'd never be jealous of someone like Joanne fucking Hawthorne, even if she was a field agent and had an absurd amount of cleavage (fake, of course, and the cleavage was the only reason she was a field agent in the first place.) Joanne Fucking Hawthorne wasn't nearly as clever as Lisa, nor as funny, and of course Ianto, who was ridiculously clever and funny in his own right, would see past all the cleavage and the blonde hair and the makeup and realize just how stupid Joanne Fucking Hawthorne really was...
And oh god, that bitch was fucking stroking his tie, and oh god, Lisa really shouldn't want to kill her as much as she did right then, but she did. She really really did.
And if Ianto hadn't carefully pulled his tie out of Joanne Fucking Hawthorne's grip, and politely excused himself...
Well, Lisa couldn't have been held responsible for what happened next.
But he did pull away, after all, and left Joanne fucking Hawthorne standing chagrined in the middle of the hallway, and Lisa grinned to herself and hurried to catch up with him. "You should be careful," she said, quietly. "A girl like that might snatch you up and steal you away, and then where would you be?"
He smiled sidelong at her, and take that, Joanne Hawthorne! "Wherever she set me down, of course," he replied, almost absently. His eyes met hers for a second, just a second, before he looked away. "Of course, a girl like you would never dream of doing such a thing."
"Of course not," she said, too fast, and her heart was pounding in an absurd way, and her hands had gone cold and damp. "I'm very old-fashioned."
"I can tell," he said, and gave her another look from the corner of his eye, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn he was just as nervous as she was. "You'd wait for the gentleman to make the first move."
This couldn't really be happening.
"It'd only be proper, of course," she said, pleased to find her voice as steady as always, her tone light and teasing. His hand brushed against hers, and she sucked in a quick breath.
He stopped walking abruptly, put his hands in his pockets, and just looked at her for the longest time. And Lisa stood there, trying not to fidget, and let him study her like a specimen. "Flowers, first," he said. "Not roses, though. They're too showy. Something subtle. Classic."
Lisa opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find anything to say. Her throat was dry and her mouth was stuffed with cotton wool, and dear god, he had the bluest eyes. There was something unnerving about his expression, at once nervous and predatory, and she swallowed hard.
"Good day, Ms. Hallett," he said, and walked briskly away.
*
Lisa didn't like flowers.
She didn't like flowers, and she was never jealous. She didn't care for music, and she didn't do domestic, and she didn't fall for clean-shaven Welsh boys who looked good in suits, even if they did have sly, knowing smiles and good handshakes and a way with coffee.
And she definitely, definitely didn't like flowers.
So when she arrived at work the next day and found a beautiful arrangement of white and plum calla lilies in a tall vase at her workstation, she ought to have laughed and discreetly thrown them away. She shouldn't have immediately gone off to hunt for Ianto Jones. And when she found him, back in the second floor lounge, making coffee and singing quietly to himself, she definitely shouldn't have grabbed him by the lapels, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him until they were both weak in the knees.
(He was an unfairly good kisser, of course.)
When they broke apart, panting for breath, his hair rumpled from her roaming hands, and his hands large and warm and perfect on her hips, he asked, "Liked the flowers, did you?"
"I loved them," she said, and kissed him even harder.