WIP fic Meme
“Are you sure?” I heard Agent Peter Burke ask the rich twat, “It’s just I have an Agent over there that has....”
I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a newcomer had caught my eye. He was quite handsome in a charming sort of way, dressed in a blue suit with a fedora upon his head. It reminded me of the rat pack era, in particular Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. He was also quite familiar.
“Can I help you?” I asked him as he went passed me. He stopped and turned around.
“So has Jordan Baker called you back yet?”
I smiled, “I don’t go for golfers.”
“Shame because she’s pretty hot.”
I couldn’t believe it, after all this time I never believed he would pop back into my life. The smile on his face caused redness to creep up on my cheeks. It was a little surprising that he remembered who I was with just a glance.
Torchwood
Her name was Isabelle.
She always sat near the window of the cafe, watching the world go by. Her short brown hair firmly touched her shoulders, normally covered by a turtle neck jumper. People around her would compliment on her beautiful smile and offer to buy her a coffee. Isabelle was a like a dream that I wanted to make my own.
“Dark chocolate is good for your serotonin.”
She looked up, “Hello Ianto,” her smile widened, “I see that you still full of helpful facts.”
I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a newcomer had caught my eye. He was quite handsome in a charming sort of way, dressed in a blue suit with a fedora upon his head. It reminded me of the rat pack era, in particular Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. He was also quite familiar.
“Can I help you?” I asked him as he went passed me. He stopped and turned around.
“So has Jordan Baker called you back yet?”
I smiled, “I don’t go for golfers.”
“Shame because she’s pretty hot.”
I couldn’t believe it, after all this time I never believed he would pop back into my life. The smile on his face caused redness to creep up on my cheeks. It was a little surprising that he remembered who I was with just a glance.
Torchwood
Her name was Isabelle.
She always sat near the window of the cafe, watching the world go by. Her short brown hair firmly touched her shoulders, normally covered by a turtle neck jumper. People around her would compliment on her beautiful smile and offer to buy her a coffee. Isabelle was a like a dream that I wanted to make my own.
“Dark chocolate is good for your serotonin.”
She looked up, “Hello Ianto,” her smile widened, “I see that you still full of helpful facts.”