Lunch and Stuff, Rhys/PC Andy, PG-13 (Appearances)
Pairing: Rhys/PC Andy
Challenge: 45 Appearances
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: (aftermath of) character death, mentions of Rhys/Gwen, PC Andy/Gwen, mild language
Spoilers: “Adrift,” for character background information
Lunch and Stuff
“You could still stand to lose a few pounds.” Andrew leans in to whisper in Rhys’s ear as he shakes his hand, and he breathes a sigh of relief as the water in Rhys’s eyes turn to fire. Andy smiles to the best of his ability and does not wince as the other man’s hand crushes his fingers.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, smoothing over his attempt to bury their hatchet.
“Yeah,” Rhys’s grip softens, then he properly shakes his hand. “Yeah, me too.”
Andrew takes his hand back, wiping the sweat off on the side of his trousers. “I’d imagine you’d be pretty hungry. After the service.”
Rhys’s eyes fall to the floor, but they return soon enough, grateful. “When aren’t I, according to you?”
The hall fills with coworkers and friends, and Andy moves with the flow of people. He hangs around in the back, not sure why, but knowing that he wants to make sure Rhys Williams doesn’t eat himself into a stupor. Hours later, face still streaked with tears, Rhys stops in front of him and gently steps on his toes.
“Thought you thought I was an arse.”
“You are an arse.”
“No I’m not.”
“No, you’re not.” Andy stands and Rhys is swaying slightly from the weight of the day. To help people. That’s why he is a cop, and he’d a fine one, at that. He had the perfect partner, too, once upon a time, before a stupid oaf with a stupid laugh scooped her up, before a dashing man in a magnificent coat pulled her underground. This one’s for you, Gwen. Andy puts his arm around Rhys’s shoulders and leads him out of the reception.
***
“Brought you lunch.” Andy holds up two paper bags and smiles when Rhys swings the door open. Rhys glares at him, but lets him in just the same. “Boss says you been down, not even peeking your head ‘round the deli at the corner. S’been a month, you know. Not that that excuses much. We’ve all been off our game lately, but thing is, the other team’s still playing, so . . . ” Andy shrugs, forgetting what he’s been getting at. “Boss said to check up on you. New guy gets the shit jobs.”
“Boss?” Rhys asks, taking one of the bags and peeking inside.
“Bologna and cheese. With crisps.”
A sound that may be laughter gets muffled by the paper bag Rhys sticks his (no doubt starving) face into. “I always thought you were dim, but taking orders from some meat between bread slices?”
“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind that description. Not even if it were pumpernickel.”
Rhys cracks a grin. “So you working there now, then?”
“Yeah. Kinda. I . . . just hang about. Police liaison or something. They don’t even let me carry a cool gun.”
“You’d take your eye out.”
“That’s what Jack says.”
Rhys stares at him a while before pulling out a stool. “Sit. You got time to share a bite?”
“Brought two bags, didn’t I?” Andy sits.
***
“I can’t believe that I was beginning to think you were a nice bloke!”
“I am a nice bloke.” Rhys punctuates his statement with yet another snatching of Andy’s chips.
“Not when you starve public defenders of the earth! How am I supposed to do my job?”
But Rhys has already cracked up. “Public defenders of the earth!” Andy determines to be the words Rhys has wheezed out, spraying bits of semi-chewed food all over the place. “That’s a great one for a paper pusher.”
“Oi! I’m not a paper pusher! I’m a vital member of the team. I even got a nickname.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s that? Paper pusher?”
“No. I’m the Tin Dog.”
“Tin dog?”
“Yeah. Mickey gave me that one.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Don’t know.”
As Rhys is puzzling over the new bit of information, Andy snatches his helping of chips and takes back what Rhys had stolen. The thing is, taking food from Rhys is like taking food from a bear: he gets angry, and isn’t afraid to swipe at Andy’s head. Andy puts his hands out to saves his face from planting on the pavement. Rhys takes back his food.
“I get it now.” He grins. “You're built outta tin, and you yip like one of those annoying puppies!”
“I don’t yip!” Rhys laughs at him. Andy scowls. “You are such an arse. Why do I even bother talking to you, let alone spending my precious lunch hour with you?” He gathers his jacket and stands up from the stairs. He takes a moment to look over the beautiful water of the Bay, then turns back towards the Hub. “We still on for Saturday night?”
“Sure thing,” Rhys nods stuffing his face with the rest of Andy’s chips. “Mind if I bring my mates with us? Joe’s been craving to see this film like he were pregnant or something, I swear. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I got to go see it first.”
Something weird coils in his chest, but Andy mentally conjures a weevil to stamp it down. “Yeah, sure. That’d be fine. More the merrier, right?”
“Great!” Rhys grins. Stupidly. Andy leaves him to his lunch.
***
He’s reading a tour guide book from seven years ago when the door swings open and a terribly accented American voice says, “Yes, hello, I was wondering what you could recommend for lunch around this here Wales?”
“That’s the shittiest accent I’ve heard, Rhys, and I’ve heard plenty.” Andy doesn’t even bother looking up. He turns the page to find some information on a museum that just opened that closed down last month.
“Oh, shove it. Listen, what are you doing cooped up in here? Let’s go grab a bite. I’m starved.”
“When - ”
“-When aren’t I?” Rhys speaks over him. “Yeah, I know. But it’s just . . .” He trails off and his shoulders sag. That’s when Andy’s eyes trail over to the calendar on the wall.
“Shit,” he breathes. “Fuck,” he repeats softer. “I completely - Shit. Rhys, mate, I’m . . .” He stops himself from saying anything. Instead, he puts down his book, brings out the “Closed for lunch” sign, and grabs his jacket. “Pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
“What doesn’t sound good to you?” Andy playfully shoves Rhys’s shoulder before wrapping the same arm around him. “Let’s go give her a toast, hm? Not the slice of cooked bread, now. I know that’s where your mind always goes. I’m thinking a nice pint and some good words.”
“And flowers.” Rhys says, allowing himself to be lead out the door. “She loves flowers.”
Andy wonders briefly what Rhys would have done on Gwen’s birthday without someone to talk to, but he doesn’t want to go down that route. He sees enough on the job, and as it stands he only does stupid tasks around the Hub. They eat pizza, drink beer, and buy a bouquet of beautiful red roses from the corner cart. The old woman winks at him as Rhys shuffles nervously a few steps away. He begins to explain that they’re not for him, but that weird thing creeps up in his chest again and he has to conjure Myfanwy to stamp on it.
***
He wakes up on the couch, his t-shirt hiked up over his stomach, his belt undone. The buffet of pizza, garlic bread, pasta, and various other Italian takeaway staples lies strewn across the small coffee table. He still feels full. How much had he eaten? How much had he drank? Instinctively, Andy checks his mobile for messages. Ianto lets him know not to come in until late. Ianto again tells him to say hi to Rhys (Did they keep surveillance on him? How did they know he was here? Or had they just assumed?). His mum. Nothing too pressing. He groans, collapsing back on the arm of the sofa. “I’m gonna vomit,” he complains.
“Not on that rug you’re not. You’re big enough to find the bathroom.” Rhys replies from the kitchen.
Andy rolls his eyes. “What’re you doing up, big boy?”
“I have this thing called a job.”
“I feel like I ingested an anvil. I can’t move. So heavy.” He mumbles as his face falls back against the pillow.
“Not used to partying are you?”
“Usually the copper that breaks ‘em up. Get all the shit jobs.”
“Like paper pushing?”
“Exactly.”
“Listen, you can stay as long as you want. There’s a spare key on the counter for you. Lock up when you leave, all right? Keep the key. I never can get rid of your arse over here. Might as well come and go as your please.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Oh, and can you put all that in the fridge? I’m thinking leftovers for lunch.”
“You’re always thinking leftovers, even while you’re eating lunch.”
“Last night musta done a turn on you, Andy. That was weak.”
“Shut up, you oaf.”
“All right, but only ‘cause if you keep talking, something is surely gonna hurl up on my rug.”
The door shuts and Andy rolls over. His stomach is pressing into the cushion the wrong way, and he can taste the acrid tomato sauce in the back of his throat. Never again would he agree to stay for a football match with Rhys and his mates. (Only, he will, because he may have a stupid laugh, but it’s nice to hear it once in a while.)
***
“You know the boss thinks we’ve got a bit of thing, don’t you?”
“A thing?”
“You know, like lunches and stuff.”
“We do have a thing.”
“No. A thing. Oh never mind. Don’t know why I even brought it up.” Andy is ready to dismiss it all, until Rhys’s face lights up and he exclaims, “Oh! A thing. Oh. And stuff.”
“You sure are dim, Rhys.”
“But you light me up, Andy.” They share a snort of laughter, which Andy’s chest decides would be a perfect time to do one of its weird things. He doesn’t have the time to conjure any mental image to squash it. Rhys’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and the man isn’t laughing anymore.
“Listen, Andy. Right, I just thought . . . I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated you being there for more and everything. I know we weren’t mates or anything before and, well, you’re a great bloke for taking up the burden of cheering up boring ol’ Rhys.”
“You’re not boring,” Andy murmurs as his chest tightens. “You really are a great guy, once you get past the cobwebs in that unused brain of yours and the Father Christmas tummy.”
“You think so?” Rhys asks.
Andy isn't sure which bit that question refers to, but he thinks it's safe enough to agree.
“I still miss her,” Rhys admits a moment later.
“So do I.”
When Rhys looks up at him again, it is as though he’s just lost Gwen all over again. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears and his body deflates. “You think she’d like that we got to be friends?” he asks.
Andy squeezes his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “She always used to bug me about getting the stuck out of my arse so that I would be nice to you.”
“Yeah?”
Andy nods. “Yeah.”
They share a moment of silence, Andy’s hand now rubbing soothing circles on Rhys’s shoulder blade.
“Harkness really say that?”
“What?” Andy stops his motions, rewinding the conversation in his head. “Oh, that. Yeah. You know Jack. Always looking to get in on everything.”
“You know. I never even bothered to ask. Do you have anyone . . . you know, special . . . in your life?”
“At Torchwood? Mate, that’s just asking for it.” Andy shakes his head and walks over the sofa for his jacket.
“I don’t really know much about you, mate. I . . . Mind if I get to know you?”
“That’s what mates do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“It does . . . get lonely, though.” Andy folds his jacket over his arms, clasping his hands in front of him. “Not having anyone.”
Rhys nods.
“I wouldn’t mind, though.”
“What?”
“Having someone. You know, who could deal with . . . my job.”
“Someone who knew about it, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
Andy shrugs. “Guess not.”
“But it’s better than being alone.” Rhys says quickly. “Maybe . . . do you think . . .”
“He might’ve had a point?” Andy finishes for him, not needing to explain who ‘he’ was.
“Yeah.”
Andy shrugs, trying not to vomit from nerves, or pass out. “Maybe. I mean. We already go one dates. Just not . . . stuff.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for . . . stuff. Without her.”
“I don’t expect you to be.”
For a minute, Andy thinks he’s just overstepped a Really Big Line, but then Rhys is grinning like an idiot and a warm hand claps him on the back. “Tomorrow? Lunch?”
“Do you know how to do anything else?”
“Oi. No cheek.” Rhys reaches out to give him a shove, but Andy twists away. He jogs down the street, feeling like his heart is about to give out. He’d never have thought in a million years that he would live to see the day when Rhys Williams would be special to him. But here he is. Here they are. (It must be Torchwood. Bloody Torchwood.)
***
“I’m not quite sure how having lunch over Gwen’s fake grave on the anniversary of her fake burial is paying tribute to her.”
“The thought that counts.” Rhys takes a bite out of his sandwich. Andy rolls his eyes.
“You know, I thought when I met you, that you looked like a fat, stupid gorilla. And I was right. But then I got to know you again and maybe I thought, that appearances were deceiving. You were a hungry gorilla, but you were sorta nice.”
Rhys smiles at him. Stupidly.
“But I was wrong again. You’re an arse. I don’t know why I put up with you. It’s not like you get out of bed in the morning to make me breakfast.”
“You hardly eat anything!”
“You could make me coffee, then. Or doughnuts. I love doughnuts.” Rhys opens his mouth to say something, but Andy quickly continues to speak. “No, Rhys, I didn’t not become a cop because I like coffee and doughnuts, and I do not like coffee and doughnuts because I’m a cop. I prefer tea with my doughnut.”
Rhys snorts, no doubt having found something perverted about that statement.
“You’re a strange bloke,” Andy shakes his head.
“She loved me for it.” Rhys rests his back against the headstone.
“And I love her for being such a saint.” Andy smiles, because he knows he’s got his point across. I love you for it too . . . stupid gorilla.
The weird thing in Andy’s chest sighs happily and he, too, settles back against the grave. “Did I ever tell you about the time Gwen and I got caught with our pants down in our boss’s office?”
“Since I know you never got anywhere near lucky enough so much as to kiss her, do tell.”
They trade stories until dark.
Challenge: 45 Appearances
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: (aftermath of) character death, mentions of Rhys/Gwen, PC Andy/Gwen, mild language
Spoilers: “Adrift,” for character background information
Lunch and Stuff
“You could still stand to lose a few pounds.” Andrew leans in to whisper in Rhys’s ear as he shakes his hand, and he breathes a sigh of relief as the water in Rhys’s eyes turn to fire. Andy smiles to the best of his ability and does not wince as the other man’s hand crushes his fingers.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, smoothing over his attempt to bury their hatchet.
“Yeah,” Rhys’s grip softens, then he properly shakes his hand. “Yeah, me too.”
Andrew takes his hand back, wiping the sweat off on the side of his trousers. “I’d imagine you’d be pretty hungry. After the service.”
Rhys’s eyes fall to the floor, but they return soon enough, grateful. “When aren’t I, according to you?”
The hall fills with coworkers and friends, and Andy moves with the flow of people. He hangs around in the back, not sure why, but knowing that he wants to make sure Rhys Williams doesn’t eat himself into a stupor. Hours later, face still streaked with tears, Rhys stops in front of him and gently steps on his toes.
“Thought you thought I was an arse.”
“You are an arse.”
“No I’m not.”
“No, you’re not.” Andy stands and Rhys is swaying slightly from the weight of the day. To help people. That’s why he is a cop, and he’d a fine one, at that. He had the perfect partner, too, once upon a time, before a stupid oaf with a stupid laugh scooped her up, before a dashing man in a magnificent coat pulled her underground. This one’s for you, Gwen. Andy puts his arm around Rhys’s shoulders and leads him out of the reception.
***
“Brought you lunch.” Andy holds up two paper bags and smiles when Rhys swings the door open. Rhys glares at him, but lets him in just the same. “Boss says you been down, not even peeking your head ‘round the deli at the corner. S’been a month, you know. Not that that excuses much. We’ve all been off our game lately, but thing is, the other team’s still playing, so . . . ” Andy shrugs, forgetting what he’s been getting at. “Boss said to check up on you. New guy gets the shit jobs.”
“Boss?” Rhys asks, taking one of the bags and peeking inside.
“Bologna and cheese. With crisps.”
A sound that may be laughter gets muffled by the paper bag Rhys sticks his (no doubt starving) face into. “I always thought you were dim, but taking orders from some meat between bread slices?”
“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind that description. Not even if it were pumpernickel.”
Rhys cracks a grin. “So you working there now, then?”
“Yeah. Kinda. I . . . just hang about. Police liaison or something. They don’t even let me carry a cool gun.”
“You’d take your eye out.”
“That’s what Jack says.”
Rhys stares at him a while before pulling out a stool. “Sit. You got time to share a bite?”
“Brought two bags, didn’t I?” Andy sits.
***
“I can’t believe that I was beginning to think you were a nice bloke!”
“I am a nice bloke.” Rhys punctuates his statement with yet another snatching of Andy’s chips.
“Not when you starve public defenders of the earth! How am I supposed to do my job?”
But Rhys has already cracked up. “Public defenders of the earth!” Andy determines to be the words Rhys has wheezed out, spraying bits of semi-chewed food all over the place. “That’s a great one for a paper pusher.”
“Oi! I’m not a paper pusher! I’m a vital member of the team. I even got a nickname.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s that? Paper pusher?”
“No. I’m the Tin Dog.”
“Tin dog?”
“Yeah. Mickey gave me that one.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Don’t know.”
As Rhys is puzzling over the new bit of information, Andy snatches his helping of chips and takes back what Rhys had stolen. The thing is, taking food from Rhys is like taking food from a bear: he gets angry, and isn’t afraid to swipe at Andy’s head. Andy puts his hands out to saves his face from planting on the pavement. Rhys takes back his food.
“I get it now.” He grins. “You're built outta tin, and you yip like one of those annoying puppies!”
“I don’t yip!” Rhys laughs at him. Andy scowls. “You are such an arse. Why do I even bother talking to you, let alone spending my precious lunch hour with you?” He gathers his jacket and stands up from the stairs. He takes a moment to look over the beautiful water of the Bay, then turns back towards the Hub. “We still on for Saturday night?”
“Sure thing,” Rhys nods stuffing his face with the rest of Andy’s chips. “Mind if I bring my mates with us? Joe’s been craving to see this film like he were pregnant or something, I swear. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I got to go see it first.”
Something weird coils in his chest, but Andy mentally conjures a weevil to stamp it down. “Yeah, sure. That’d be fine. More the merrier, right?”
“Great!” Rhys grins. Stupidly. Andy leaves him to his lunch.
***
He’s reading a tour guide book from seven years ago when the door swings open and a terribly accented American voice says, “Yes, hello, I was wondering what you could recommend for lunch around this here Wales?”
“That’s the shittiest accent I’ve heard, Rhys, and I’ve heard plenty.” Andy doesn’t even bother looking up. He turns the page to find some information on a museum that just opened that closed down last month.
“Oh, shove it. Listen, what are you doing cooped up in here? Let’s go grab a bite. I’m starved.”
“When - ”
“-When aren’t I?” Rhys speaks over him. “Yeah, I know. But it’s just . . .” He trails off and his shoulders sag. That’s when Andy’s eyes trail over to the calendar on the wall.
“Shit,” he breathes. “Fuck,” he repeats softer. “I completely - Shit. Rhys, mate, I’m . . .” He stops himself from saying anything. Instead, he puts down his book, brings out the “Closed for lunch” sign, and grabs his jacket. “Pizza?”
“Sounds good.”
“What doesn’t sound good to you?” Andy playfully shoves Rhys’s shoulder before wrapping the same arm around him. “Let’s go give her a toast, hm? Not the slice of cooked bread, now. I know that’s where your mind always goes. I’m thinking a nice pint and some good words.”
“And flowers.” Rhys says, allowing himself to be lead out the door. “She loves flowers.”
Andy wonders briefly what Rhys would have done on Gwen’s birthday without someone to talk to, but he doesn’t want to go down that route. He sees enough on the job, and as it stands he only does stupid tasks around the Hub. They eat pizza, drink beer, and buy a bouquet of beautiful red roses from the corner cart. The old woman winks at him as Rhys shuffles nervously a few steps away. He begins to explain that they’re not for him, but that weird thing creeps up in his chest again and he has to conjure Myfanwy to stamp on it.
***
He wakes up on the couch, his t-shirt hiked up over his stomach, his belt undone. The buffet of pizza, garlic bread, pasta, and various other Italian takeaway staples lies strewn across the small coffee table. He still feels full. How much had he eaten? How much had he drank? Instinctively, Andy checks his mobile for messages. Ianto lets him know not to come in until late. Ianto again tells him to say hi to Rhys (Did they keep surveillance on him? How did they know he was here? Or had they just assumed?). His mum. Nothing too pressing. He groans, collapsing back on the arm of the sofa. “I’m gonna vomit,” he complains.
“Not on that rug you’re not. You’re big enough to find the bathroom.” Rhys replies from the kitchen.
Andy rolls his eyes. “What’re you doing up, big boy?”
“I have this thing called a job.”
“I feel like I ingested an anvil. I can’t move. So heavy.” He mumbles as his face falls back against the pillow.
“Not used to partying are you?”
“Usually the copper that breaks ‘em up. Get all the shit jobs.”
“Like paper pushing?”
“Exactly.”
“Listen, you can stay as long as you want. There’s a spare key on the counter for you. Lock up when you leave, all right? Keep the key. I never can get rid of your arse over here. Might as well come and go as your please.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Oh, and can you put all that in the fridge? I’m thinking leftovers for lunch.”
“You’re always thinking leftovers, even while you’re eating lunch.”
“Last night musta done a turn on you, Andy. That was weak.”
“Shut up, you oaf.”
“All right, but only ‘cause if you keep talking, something is surely gonna hurl up on my rug.”
The door shuts and Andy rolls over. His stomach is pressing into the cushion the wrong way, and he can taste the acrid tomato sauce in the back of his throat. Never again would he agree to stay for a football match with Rhys and his mates. (Only, he will, because he may have a stupid laugh, but it’s nice to hear it once in a while.)
***
“You know the boss thinks we’ve got a bit of thing, don’t you?”
“A thing?”
“You know, like lunches and stuff.”
“We do have a thing.”
“No. A thing. Oh never mind. Don’t know why I even brought it up.” Andy is ready to dismiss it all, until Rhys’s face lights up and he exclaims, “Oh! A thing. Oh. And stuff.”
“You sure are dim, Rhys.”
“But you light me up, Andy.” They share a snort of laughter, which Andy’s chest decides would be a perfect time to do one of its weird things. He doesn’t have the time to conjure any mental image to squash it. Rhys’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and the man isn’t laughing anymore.
“Listen, Andy. Right, I just thought . . . I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated you being there for more and everything. I know we weren’t mates or anything before and, well, you’re a great bloke for taking up the burden of cheering up boring ol’ Rhys.”
“You’re not boring,” Andy murmurs as his chest tightens. “You really are a great guy, once you get past the cobwebs in that unused brain of yours and the Father Christmas tummy.”
“You think so?” Rhys asks.
Andy isn't sure which bit that question refers to, but he thinks it's safe enough to agree.
“I still miss her,” Rhys admits a moment later.
“So do I.”
When Rhys looks up at him again, it is as though he’s just lost Gwen all over again. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears and his body deflates. “You think she’d like that we got to be friends?” he asks.
Andy squeezes his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “She always used to bug me about getting the stuck out of my arse so that I would be nice to you.”
“Yeah?”
Andy nods. “Yeah.”
They share a moment of silence, Andy’s hand now rubbing soothing circles on Rhys’s shoulder blade.
“Harkness really say that?”
“What?” Andy stops his motions, rewinding the conversation in his head. “Oh, that. Yeah. You know Jack. Always looking to get in on everything.”
“You know. I never even bothered to ask. Do you have anyone . . . you know, special . . . in your life?”
“At Torchwood? Mate, that’s just asking for it.” Andy shakes his head and walks over the sofa for his jacket.
“I don’t really know much about you, mate. I . . . Mind if I get to know you?”
“That’s what mates do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“It does . . . get lonely, though.” Andy folds his jacket over his arms, clasping his hands in front of him. “Not having anyone.”
Rhys nods.
“I wouldn’t mind, though.”
“What?”
“Having someone. You know, who could deal with . . . my job.”
“Someone who knew about it, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
Andy shrugs. “Guess not.”
“But it’s better than being alone.” Rhys says quickly. “Maybe . . . do you think . . .”
“He might’ve had a point?” Andy finishes for him, not needing to explain who ‘he’ was.
“Yeah.”
Andy shrugs, trying not to vomit from nerves, or pass out. “Maybe. I mean. We already go one dates. Just not . . . stuff.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for . . . stuff. Without her.”
“I don’t expect you to be.”
For a minute, Andy thinks he’s just overstepped a Really Big Line, but then Rhys is grinning like an idiot and a warm hand claps him on the back. “Tomorrow? Lunch?”
“Do you know how to do anything else?”
“Oi. No cheek.” Rhys reaches out to give him a shove, but Andy twists away. He jogs down the street, feeling like his heart is about to give out. He’d never have thought in a million years that he would live to see the day when Rhys Williams would be special to him. But here he is. Here they are. (It must be Torchwood. Bloody Torchwood.)
***
“I’m not quite sure how having lunch over Gwen’s fake grave on the anniversary of her fake burial is paying tribute to her.”
“The thought that counts.” Rhys takes a bite out of his sandwich. Andy rolls his eyes.
“You know, I thought when I met you, that you looked like a fat, stupid gorilla. And I was right. But then I got to know you again and maybe I thought, that appearances were deceiving. You were a hungry gorilla, but you were sorta nice.”
Rhys smiles at him. Stupidly.
“But I was wrong again. You’re an arse. I don’t know why I put up with you. It’s not like you get out of bed in the morning to make me breakfast.”
“You hardly eat anything!”
“You could make me coffee, then. Or doughnuts. I love doughnuts.” Rhys opens his mouth to say something, but Andy quickly continues to speak. “No, Rhys, I didn’t not become a cop because I like coffee and doughnuts, and I do not like coffee and doughnuts because I’m a cop. I prefer tea with my doughnut.”
Rhys snorts, no doubt having found something perverted about that statement.
“You’re a strange bloke,” Andy shakes his head.
“She loved me for it.” Rhys rests his back against the headstone.
“And I love her for being such a saint.” Andy smiles, because he knows he’s got his point across. I love you for it too . . . stupid gorilla.
The weird thing in Andy’s chest sighs happily and he, too, settles back against the grave. “Did I ever tell you about the time Gwen and I got caught with our pants down in our boss’s office?”
“Since I know you never got anywhere near lucky enough so much as to kiss her, do tell.”
They trade stories until dark.