Andy considered this, for a moment. And considered his room, a strange, bare affair with a wall of window out into space and a single mattress on the floor. A blank slate. The trick was not to get attached, and it turned out that it wasn't a very hard trick at all when you could just will away anything you imagined.
Though he'd had a bit of trouble willing away the sleek black sports car that took up rather a lot of the space.
Don't get attached.
...it wouldn't hurt to leave it around a little longer.
"Hello," said Ianto, still smiling pleasantly. He held up a a mug, close enough to Andy's face that he would be able to smell the pleasant aroma it was emitting. "Coffee?"
There was a sports car, rather similar to the one that Ianto had once dreamed of owning, over Andy's shoulder. It appeared to be the only decor in the room. Ianto didn't so much as blink. "Love what you've done with the place, by the way."
Andy opened his mouth, about to respond -- and paused, for a moment, caught on the sensory input. Didn't smell like prison. Smelled sharp and bitter and fresh. Not old and dirty and streaked with mold.
His expression shifted, caught between something indefinable and a hint of -- hope, maybe.
"Station's nine miles in circumference," said Andy. "Transportation could come in handy."
He stepped aside, an invitation for Ianto to enter.
Ianto stepped through the doorway, then turned and held the mug out again. "Try it. Jamaican Blue Mountain Blend. One sugar, no cream. I didn't make it myself, but so far everything the station has produced has tasted exactly like my very best efforts."
He missed the process, though. The anticipation right before the first sip, the sense of pride in a job well done. Instant materialization was convenient, but there was always a price.
"I didn't do much," said Andy. "I just had thoughts. The place changed itself." And there was another train of thought on which he was about to embark, fully fueled and ready to leave the station, when Ianto passed him the coffee and it scattered.
The trick is to stay unattached.
He took a sip, automatically remembering how to do so without burning his tongue. Muscle memory, not mind memory. Muscle memory is better than mind memory.
It was right. He tallied up the reasons it was right, mentally, subconsciously, having to do with brewing time and unburnt coffee beans and things of that nature. It was right, though, and it existed, because he thought that it existed (which was really all that mattered, in this space station).
"One cream, four sugars," said Andy. "I remember now."
Comments 59
Andy considered this, for a moment. And considered his room, a strange, bare affair with a wall of window out into space and a single mattress on the floor. A blank slate. The trick was not to get attached, and it turned out that it wasn't a very hard trick at all when you could just will away anything you imagined.
Though he'd had a bit of trouble willing away the sleek black sports car that took up rather a lot of the space.
Don't get attached.
...it wouldn't hurt to leave it around a little longer.
Andy touched the door open.
"Hi."
Reply
There was a sports car, rather similar to the one that Ianto had once dreamed of owning, over Andy's shoulder. It appeared to be the only decor in the room. Ianto didn't so much as blink. "Love what you've done with the place, by the way."
Reply
His expression shifted, caught between something indefinable and a hint of -- hope, maybe.
"Station's nine miles in circumference," said Andy. "Transportation could come in handy."
He stepped aside, an invitation for Ianto to enter.
Reply
He missed the process, though. The anticipation right before the first sip, the sense of pride in a job well done. Instant materialization was convenient, but there was always a price.
Reply
The trick is to stay unattached.
He took a sip, automatically remembering how to do so without burning his tongue. Muscle memory, not mind memory. Muscle memory is better than mind memory.
It was right. He tallied up the reasons it was right, mentally, subconsciously, having to do with brewing time and unburnt coffee beans and things of that nature. It was right, though, and it existed, because he thought that it existed (which was really all that mattered, in this space station).
"One cream, four sugars," said Andy. "I remember now."
Reply
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