Timestamp meme - When Tomorrow Comes
For miss_zedem
Title: When Tomorrow Comes
Author: jadesfire2808
Words: ~900
Rating/Warnings: PG/None
Notes: For the Timestamp meme. Five minutes after Waiting for Tomorrow. Set in miss_zedem's AAU to ouvretesyeux.
Summary: Just one simple phone call.
When Tomorrow Comes
"I'm sorry, there's no answer from that number."
Richard stared at the wall for a long moment. There was a long crack in the plaster from a near miss last year. He should probably get someone to check that the wall wasn't about to fall down. If anyone was available. There was a war on, after all.
"Would you like another number?"
The operator's voice pulled him back to the present and he blinked, trying to think. Then he said,
"No, no it's fine. Thank you."
He held the receiver to his ear for a long time after she cut the connection, his eyes tracing the long dark line that cut through the dirty white of the paint. It ran all the way from floor to ceiling, narrow but clearly visible. Even if he couldn't get it replastered, he might have a tin of paint at home somewhere that he could use to blot it out. That should do the trick.
Scott would know. That was the kind of detail Scott always knew, while Richard was usually too distracted to notice. If Scott was at home, Richard could have asked him to bring it in with him, to drop it round on his way to work. But Scott wasn't at home, hadn't been at home. No answer from that number. It was too early in the morning for him to be at work, however dedicated he was. Like Richard, Scott would rather stay late than start early. They had that in common, which had always made life easier.
So much in common.
Shaking himself, Richard pulled the rest of the messages towards him. Most had come in late last night, and it was probably still too early to return the calls. Grimacing, he pulled a file from the top of a large stack and started to read. He might as well get something done.
It was nine-thirty, and he was on his fourth file and fifth cup of coffee (having his own sources had definite advantages) when the phone rang. He jumped, spilling the coffee on the file, and swearing under his breath as he lifted the receiver.
"Richard?"
"Scott." The word came out with more relief than he'd intended, and he tried to distract himself by mopping up some of the spilt drink.
"Are you-"
"I'm fine. Spent the night on Aldwych station. Not exactly the Hilton, but I'm fine, really."
"Thank God."
There was genuine relief in his voice, and Richard smiled.
"Miss me?"
"Always." The depth of emotion sounded real enough. It was real enough, Richard knew.
He opened his mouth to ask where Scott had bunked down for the night, when his hand knocked the packet of cigarrettes, now as sodden as the pieces of paper strewn across his desk. Although he didn't usually smoke in the office, he could suddenly smell the tobacco, laced with the unmistakable odour of too many bodies in too small a space, and the clean smell of soap that he'd caught, just for a second, when there'd been another body too close to his. He blinked, forcing Hugh Jones' face out of his mind, and realising that Scott was saying his name.
"…are you still there?"
"I'm here," Richard managed, clearing his throat and dropping the wet packet into the bin by his feet. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep."
"Poor thing." Scott tutted gently, in a mixture of sympathy and reproof. "That's what you get for sleeping on tube platforms. Why don't I come by and take you to lunch? Jack and Ianto are out of town, so I only had myself to worry at last night. Especially since the local exchange conked out at five and I had to wait until I got to work to ring you. I've been driving myself insane, so the least you can do is come share in my madness."
"The very least." Richard's voice sounded strangled to his own ears and he was finding it hard to swallow. When he managed it, his breath came out in a rush, and he had to steady himself on the desk, although whether it was out of guilt or relief, he couldn’t tell. "Look," he heard himself say, "forget that. I started too early this morning; I'll come home at lunchtime."
There was a pause, in which Richard could almost hear Scott smiling, and he felt his own lips twitch as Scott said slowly, "I suppose I could bunk off for one afternoon."
"Exactly. If Hitler wants to invade, he's just going to have to leave a note and call back later. Sound like a plan?"
"Like a very good plan." Scott's voice was husky, in the way that always made Richard's head feel light and his knees go weak. "I can probably get back by two."
"I'll see you there."
He dropped the receiver back into its cradle and sat still for a moment, staring at the wall again. There was a coffee stain on his shirt cuff that he could feel against his wrist, and he was going to have to lay the papers out to dry before he could read them, but he still found himself smiling. He was fairly sure that they had a tin of mostly-white paint in the cupboard under the stairs at home. It was probably time to dig that out and patch the crack up. That, at least, was something he could do.
Title: When Tomorrow Comes
Author: jadesfire2808
Words: ~900
Rating/Warnings: PG/None
Notes: For the Timestamp meme. Five minutes after Waiting for Tomorrow. Set in miss_zedem's AAU to ouvretesyeux.
Summary: Just one simple phone call.
When Tomorrow Comes
"I'm sorry, there's no answer from that number."
Richard stared at the wall for a long moment. There was a long crack in the plaster from a near miss last year. He should probably get someone to check that the wall wasn't about to fall down. If anyone was available. There was a war on, after all.
"Would you like another number?"
The operator's voice pulled him back to the present and he blinked, trying to think. Then he said,
"No, no it's fine. Thank you."
He held the receiver to his ear for a long time after she cut the connection, his eyes tracing the long dark line that cut through the dirty white of the paint. It ran all the way from floor to ceiling, narrow but clearly visible. Even if he couldn't get it replastered, he might have a tin of paint at home somewhere that he could use to blot it out. That should do the trick.
Scott would know. That was the kind of detail Scott always knew, while Richard was usually too distracted to notice. If Scott was at home, Richard could have asked him to bring it in with him, to drop it round on his way to work. But Scott wasn't at home, hadn't been at home. No answer from that number. It was too early in the morning for him to be at work, however dedicated he was. Like Richard, Scott would rather stay late than start early. They had that in common, which had always made life easier.
So much in common.
Shaking himself, Richard pulled the rest of the messages towards him. Most had come in late last night, and it was probably still too early to return the calls. Grimacing, he pulled a file from the top of a large stack and started to read. He might as well get something done.
It was nine-thirty, and he was on his fourth file and fifth cup of coffee (having his own sources had definite advantages) when the phone rang. He jumped, spilling the coffee on the file, and swearing under his breath as he lifted the receiver.
"Richard?"
"Scott." The word came out with more relief than he'd intended, and he tried to distract himself by mopping up some of the spilt drink.
"Are you-"
"I'm fine. Spent the night on Aldwych station. Not exactly the Hilton, but I'm fine, really."
"Thank God."
There was genuine relief in his voice, and Richard smiled.
"Miss me?"
"Always." The depth of emotion sounded real enough. It was real enough, Richard knew.
He opened his mouth to ask where Scott had bunked down for the night, when his hand knocked the packet of cigarrettes, now as sodden as the pieces of paper strewn across his desk. Although he didn't usually smoke in the office, he could suddenly smell the tobacco, laced with the unmistakable odour of too many bodies in too small a space, and the clean smell of soap that he'd caught, just for a second, when there'd been another body too close to his. He blinked, forcing Hugh Jones' face out of his mind, and realising that Scott was saying his name.
"…are you still there?"
"I'm here," Richard managed, clearing his throat and dropping the wet packet into the bin by his feet. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep."
"Poor thing." Scott tutted gently, in a mixture of sympathy and reproof. "That's what you get for sleeping on tube platforms. Why don't I come by and take you to lunch? Jack and Ianto are out of town, so I only had myself to worry at last night. Especially since the local exchange conked out at five and I had to wait until I got to work to ring you. I've been driving myself insane, so the least you can do is come share in my madness."
"The very least." Richard's voice sounded strangled to his own ears and he was finding it hard to swallow. When he managed it, his breath came out in a rush, and he had to steady himself on the desk, although whether it was out of guilt or relief, he couldn’t tell. "Look," he heard himself say, "forget that. I started too early this morning; I'll come home at lunchtime."
There was a pause, in which Richard could almost hear Scott smiling, and he felt his own lips twitch as Scott said slowly, "I suppose I could bunk off for one afternoon."
"Exactly. If Hitler wants to invade, he's just going to have to leave a note and call back later. Sound like a plan?"
"Like a very good plan." Scott's voice was husky, in the way that always made Richard's head feel light and his knees go weak. "I can probably get back by two."
"I'll see you there."
He dropped the receiver back into its cradle and sat still for a moment, staring at the wall again. There was a coffee stain on his shirt cuff that he could feel against his wrist, and he was going to have to lay the papers out to dry before he could read them, but he still found himself smiling. He was fairly sure that they had a tin of mostly-white paint in the cupboard under the stairs at home. It was probably time to dig that out and patch the crack up. That, at least, was something he could do.