Short: "Tea in my Pocket"
Oct. 22nd, 2008 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyusTitle: Tea in my Pocket
Characters/Pairing: Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness
Type/Setting: Gen
Rating: G
Length: drabble/460 words
Summary: "I made tea in my pocket."
Notes: experimenting,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
horizonssing summer challenge, day three prompt
tea·cup /ˈtiˌkʌp/ [tee-kuhp]
–noun
1. a cup in which tea is served, usually of small or moderate size.
2. a teacupful.
—Idiom
3. tempest in a teacup or teapot, a disturbance or uproar about little or nothing.
"I made tea in my pocket-"
"Doesn't make sense."
You didn't look up and I didn't look down, only set the coffee on the desk, forgot the lame attempt at a joke and kept my hand in my pocket, fingers closed around the sweet. As I turned, your chair creaked, and I stopped, quite frozen, and watched Gwen and Tosh laugh down in the Hub.
"I missed you," you said, and your voice sounded tired and faraway.
When you were gone? When we were here? I turned to look over my shoulder, and you'd sat back, hands behind your head, and looked out at something past me. I suppose there may have been something floating in the air, but more likely you tried to avoid me without avoiding me, even when you were right there.
"I don't believe you." It wasn't a lie but not truth either. Asked now I would repeat the words and say "I don't believe you" with more conviction or maybe with less if you looked at me with a smile, and I'd be the fumbling teenager with a gift for a girl. Even if you aren't a girl. Even if I'm not one either. The films make life look a lot simpler and a lot more complicated than it is. The sweet began to melt then, sticking to the inside of my pocket.
You avoided my gaze, and I avoided yours, just turned back to walk out again. "I missed you," you said again but I didn't listen. Then, "You made tea in your pocket?"
I hesitated on the stairs, turned fully and pulled my hand from my pocket, aware they were watching and, frankly, embarrassed. Sticky syrup squelched between my fingers and thumb, coating my skin in see-through green. I'd found it too sweet and thought I'd give it to you.
"It was for you," I said, and you looked at me, like you didn't know what I meant. The syrup dropped to the floor between us. "Tea in the pocket, and you didn't want it," I said with a smile I almost meant.
The joke rang flat. As I walked out and down the stairs, as you didn't call me back to say something else, it also rang true: the way jokes sometimes do when you watch too many films in old cinemas or read too many books, and the silliest things suddenly feel profound.
I washed the sweet off my hand in the sink. It clung to the enamel before dissolving and swirling down the drain. I knew you were watching me, but I didn't turn around.
I know you are watching me now, but I'm not turning around, because it's your turn to surprise me. If you had tea in your pocket, I'd accept without hesitation, foolish as that would be. But you won't think of offering, not when you are looking at the world like that, and I'm not a girl from the films running after the boy who ignores her.
Characters/Pairing: Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness
Type/Setting: Gen
Rating: G
Length: drabble/460 words
Summary: "I made tea in my pocket."
Notes: experimenting,
horizonssing summer challenge, day three prompt–noun
1. a cup in which tea is served, usually of small or moderate size.
2. a teacupful.
—Idiom
3. tempest in a teacup or teapot, a disturbance or uproar about little or nothing.
"I made tea in my pocket-"
"Doesn't make sense."
You didn't look up and I didn't look down, only set the coffee on the desk, forgot the lame attempt at a joke and kept my hand in my pocket, fingers closed around the sweet. As I turned, your chair creaked, and I stopped, quite frozen, and watched Gwen and Tosh laugh down in the Hub.
"I missed you," you said, and your voice sounded tired and faraway.
When you were gone? When we were here? I turned to look over my shoulder, and you'd sat back, hands behind your head, and looked out at something past me. I suppose there may have been something floating in the air, but more likely you tried to avoid me without avoiding me, even when you were right there.
"I don't believe you." It wasn't a lie but not truth either. Asked now I would repeat the words and say "I don't believe you" with more conviction or maybe with less if you looked at me with a smile, and I'd be the fumbling teenager with a gift for a girl. Even if you aren't a girl. Even if I'm not one either. The films make life look a lot simpler and a lot more complicated than it is. The sweet began to melt then, sticking to the inside of my pocket.
You avoided my gaze, and I avoided yours, just turned back to walk out again. "I missed you," you said again but I didn't listen. Then, "You made tea in your pocket?"
I hesitated on the stairs, turned fully and pulled my hand from my pocket, aware they were watching and, frankly, embarrassed. Sticky syrup squelched between my fingers and thumb, coating my skin in see-through green. I'd found it too sweet and thought I'd give it to you.
"It was for you," I said, and you looked at me, like you didn't know what I meant. The syrup dropped to the floor between us. "Tea in the pocket, and you didn't want it," I said with a smile I almost meant.
The joke rang flat. As I walked out and down the stairs, as you didn't call me back to say something else, it also rang true: the way jokes sometimes do when you watch too many films in old cinemas or read too many books, and the silliest things suddenly feel profound.
I washed the sweet off my hand in the sink. It clung to the enamel before dissolving and swirling down the drain. I knew you were watching me, but I didn't turn around.
I know you are watching me now, but I'm not turning around, because it's your turn to surprise me. If you had tea in your pocket, I'd accept without hesitation, foolish as that would be. But you won't think of offering, not when you are looking at the world like that, and I'm not a girl from the films running after the boy who ignores her.
