John Watson does not resemble a hedgehog. (what_son) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-06-14 15:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, amy pond, john watson |
Who: John Watson and Amy Pond
When: early June
Where: Amy's place (which is actually Zuko's place)
What: hanging out
Rating/Status: Low
Status: Complete!
Amy gave John the address. She realized it was the first time he'd ever been to her home. Or, well, the place where she lived, anyway. Funny, that. Well, now she had her own space, and could do with it what she liked. She was playing Oingo Boingo at a very loud volume this morning. The louder the music, the easier it was to turn her brain off. She was dancing around a bit as she organised her clothes into her closet. She'd left the front door unlocked, and told John to just let himself in.
Which John did -- after double checking the address twice, because it would be really weird if he walked into the wrong place on accident.
There was a terrible, terrible irony to the fact that John walked in right when Little Girls was playing, and John was a little ashamed that he even had dots to connect for that one.
“Amy?” He called, looking around the place as he closed the door behind him. Goodness, it was larger than he’d expected.
“In here!” Amy called from the closet in the main bedroom. The irony that Little Girls was playing just when John came in was lost on her. She hadn’t put two and two together, though she’d probably realize something was funny a bit later if she thought about it.
Right now she was thinking that she should get more hangers.
John popped his head around the corner after being a bit lost for a moment more, and then, spotting Amy, made his way fully into the room. “Hey,” he said, looking around the bedroom. It seemed nice. And Amy seemed a bit more chipper today, what with all that Oingo Boingo playing on 11.
“Hey.” Amy said, turning to face him. She grabbed the remote and turned down the sound on her stereo from across the room. “...you made it.” She lifted her arms and gave him a big hug. That’s what she did, Amy. Give hugs. At least, to John Watson, if no one else.
“So... what do you think?”
John Watson wasn’t opposed to the idea of her giving only him hugs, although would be loathe to say so at the moment. Either way, he hugged her back, a tight snug sort of embrace. “It’s big,” he said, and sounded a bit impressed. “So you just knew a guy? Who wasn’t living here? What’s he possibly charging you?”
“You’re not going to believe it.” Amy said. “We bumped into each other randomly at a record store. I showed him The Cure’s Wish album, and we became fast friends. Apparently, he moved in with his husband and this place was just sitting empty. So he’s renting it to me.” Fully furnished. Then she told him the price. Sure to raise those eyebrows.
It did raise eyebrows. John was a little disgusted, actually. Where had his guy been when he’d been looking for a flat?
Well. Probably in the record store. Talking to Amy. But still.
“That’s a brilliant deal. You’ve got to know that’s -- does he know he’s being ripped off?”
“I don’t know if he knows. I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one to tell him,” Amy said, giving John a cheeky grin. She hung up the last of her clothes that she had hangers for, and moved to start sorting knickers into dresser drawers.
“What about you? Any news on the condo?”
“No,” John said, sitting down on the edge of the bed in the room. It was pretty big, too. Whoever she was renting from was kind of dumb. Lucky for Amy. “But no news is probably good news. I haven’t been outbid or anything.”
“Well, that is good news.” Amy finished sorting some of the things, then came over and sat down beside him on the bed. “I’ve got fingers and toes crossed.” She said, then added, “Well, not literally, of course. I’ve got shoes on, and have work to do. But in spirit.”
At that, John gave a smile. “Well, in spirit is better than nothing. I appreciate it. I’ve got a good feeling about it. Hopefully I’ll know soon.” Honestly, he wasn’t too worried about it. If he didn’t get this one, he’d just find another. Sure, this one was perfect, but -- there had to be more than one perfect home out there, right?
“Anyway. How’re you?”
Amy took a deep breath and exhaled. She wasn’t really sure how she was, to be honest. “I... I’m surviving. I got a lawyer, filed some paperwork. It’s all amicable. I think he might be as desperate to have it over with as I am, though... for slightly different reasons.” She assumed that her soon-to-be-ex was more in love with her than she him. “Apparently it’ll take six months in the state of California for the divorce to be final.”
John hadn’t really known about the time limit; but he supposed it made sense in it’s own right. “Well,” he said, attempting to sound comforting, or at least supportive. “At least you’ve taken steps to deal with it accordingly.”
“I have,” Amy nodded. “And that’s quite a relief. Actually, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to go celebrate in some fashion or another.” She stood, somewhat abruptly, and turned to him, holding her hand out for him to take. “What do you think? A bottle of wine and the new Depeche Mode cd?”
John rose his eyebrows in that blankly surprised way of his and then smiled, a little bemused, before taking her hand. “Why not?” He asked. “Seems like a good way to spend an evening.” Honestly, it sounded like the perfect way to spend an evening, but maybe that seemed too hopeful.
“Good.” Amy thought it sounded like the perfect way to spend the evening, too, but that sounded a bit pretentious. It was her idea, afterall. She gave him a little tug to his feet, then led him back out into the living room area, and across into the kitchen. “You pour the wine, I’ll grab my ipod.” She had one of those boom-box converter-slash-chargers for her ipod, and only needed to plug it in to make her music play.
It was nice to see that Amy was taking this pretty well. As best she could be, anyway (at least she wasn’t crying anymore), and so he was happy enough to make his way into the kitchen and root around in the mostly empty fridge for wine. She probably needed to go grocery shopping, he noted absently. Maybe he’d just bring her groceries the next time he stopped by.
“Shall we get a Chinese?” He called out, even as he found a wine cork and went to it.
It was possible that the happy demeanor was a good cover for the anguish she was still feeling inside. Possibly. She was a pretty good actress. The fridge had two bottles of wine and a case of red bull in it. And some really old ketchup.
"Yeah!" She called from where she was setting up the music. Boom box plugged in, iPod connected, and she was switching through songs now. She’d said the new Depeche Mode, right? "We should definitely order in! You know a good place that delivers?"
She’d definitely said the new Depeche Mode -- but John rarely had any issues with the music she picked, and so probably would have been happy with anything. With two glasses poured, John wandered into the living room to hand her one. “No. But I’ve got an app for it.” He grinned at that, because he fully expected an old person joke over that one.
Amy clicked around a bit on her iPod, then decided to put it on shuffle. John couldn’t complain--he seemed to like the same music she did, and this was her house, anyway. He wasn’t allowed to say anything if, say, Dude Looks Like a Lady came on, or something. She stood back up straight and turned around to accept the glass from him as the first song started playing.
“Oh?” Her nose crinkled up a little as she grinned, as happened sometimes. “You’ve got an app for that, do you? I never knew you were so hip, John.”
“Whatever,” John said, going for a cheeky eyeroll. “I’m a cool uncle, or something.” Not that he actually had any nieces or nephews, but that was hardly the point.
He pulled his phone out and poked around on it for a minute. “What’s your poison?”
“You said Chinese, right?” Amy asked after swallowing a quick sip of her wine. “I like beef. And broccoli. And those little... potsticker bits.” She added, leaning over to sneak a peek at the face of his phone while he was poking around at his app.
“They make those things,” Watson said, amusedly, even as he placed the order of those things plus some fried rice, and tilted his phone over a little so she could watch. “Aah, technology.”
“It’s bloody amazing.” Amy said, then ooh’d and aaah’d playfully, as if she’d never seen a smart phone before.
Look, he still had a bit to teach the kids these days. “So amazing,” he agreed, before locking his screen and reaching for the wine again. “The youth takes for granted the fact that you used to have to actually talk to people in order to get food brought to your front door.”
"Right. We take so many things for granted. Tell me more about how things used to be, Grandpa." Amy said, giving him a cheeky grin over her wine glass.
John liked her grin - was pleased she’d found it again. He rolled his eyes for theatrics anyway. “Oh, you know,” he said. “It was all uphill in the snow with no shoes both ways. And mobile phones were really just cordless home ones. Speaking of, home land lines actually existed. You wouldn’t remember.”
"What's a land line?" Amy asked, teasing. A new song came on and she took a gulp from her wine glass. "Oh! I wanted to show you something." She reached for his hand, then was dragging him off toward the guest bedroom. Timone was sitting on the bed, grinning up at them.
And then his heart was stupidly sitting in his throat for a moment, so he needed to swallow. And then Watson smiled. “He’s got his own room, huh? Spacious. Brilliant for him, really.”
"He does. He chose this one." Amy said, returning the smile with one of her own. "I told him that he should sleep with me in my bed, but he was like, 'what if Pumbaa wants to have a sleepover?' Which, y'know, is a possibility now." She was blushing a little now.
John scratched the back of his neck, going a little pink himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought on it, but he wasn’t one to push things -- he was more for a natural sort of advancement. “So it is,” he murmured.
Honestly, Amy wasn’t thinking about the naughty kind of sleepover. She was thinking about the ‘oh, we’ve had too much to drink, you should crash here instead of crashing your car on the drive home’ kind of sleepover. But, now that she’d said it, she realized what it might have meant. She dropped his hand almost abruptly and lifted hers to cover her mouth.
“Oh, I didn’t mean...” Then she gave a little shake of her head. “Well, what I mean is... you’ll have to bring Pumbaa over next time you visit, that’s all.” She was going pink. “You know, so we can have the matched set again.”
“Right no, of course. S’what I mean.” Awkward, awkward. Backpedal. “Pumbaa’d like it. But I figure we spike the tea a bit, he might need to stay the night.” God. He was making up excuses for plush animals now, and the world wasn’t even coming to an end.
“Well, we know how warthogs can’t hold their liquor, anyway.” Amy said, then gulped the last of her wine in a moment of trying to cover the awkward. At least... well... it was out there. For both of them to think about.
“More wine?” She asked, quickly. Change subject.
As if John hadn’t already been thinking about it. He finished his wine too, because it was a good excuse to further that change of subject. “What? Yes. Perfect timing.” Uh-huh.
Amy grinned, relieved that awkward turn didn't get any more awkward. She didn't know he'd been thinking about it. She certainly had. With a playful bow, she turned to lead the way back into the living room. There was a new song playing from the little stereo. "Oh, I love this one." Amy said, picking up the bottle. She poured them each another full glass, singing along gently the words of the song.
It was Duran Duran. Of course it was. And of course Amy loved it, because John loved it and that was just how things went. She might not have known it, but he’d been thinking more than just --- well. He wasn’t going to go into that.
John only smiled and leaned against the doorframe of kitchen to living room. This was an entirely new element -- seeing Amy relax in her home, and he wasn’t sure how to manage it.
Luckily, the doorbell rang -- Chinese food arriving -- and saved him from having to say anything for a while.