Mike (ghost_writer) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-01-29 17:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, tardis, tenth doctor |
Who: Tenth Doctor and Tara Smith (Tardis)
What: John wants to bring Tara some lunch. Cause they’re adorable.
When: Lunch time, January 22
Where: Tara’s place of employment
Rating: Low. Maybe PG, because birds are scary.
Status: Complete
Tara had a million fucking forms to go through today. Now that the company had returned to work, she and the rest of the HR staff had to get through forms and health checks after the quarantine. It was basically a Human Resources nightmare, and Tara’s paperwork might just swallow her up and never spit her back out.
She was terrified of dying under a pile of doctor’s notes.
It was just about lunch time when Tara crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head down, groaning loudly. According to John’s messages, he’d be there to pull her out of the paperwork mountain soon. Sadly though, he would not be pulling her out of there forever. She’d just have to deal with an hour away from it all.
John understood completely the daily grind that was having a normal job -- he hadn’t been an author forever, after all. Equally so, he was beginning to get an understanding of Tara -- and was more than a little amazed that she could even sit at a desk for eight hours a day and get work done -- the girl had hardly been able to watch a full length movie the other day.
He wasn’t really all that sure that bringing her candy at work was going to help matters, much.
Then again, after he left, it was her workplace that was going to have to deal with her jumping off the walls. Or just... typing really hard. Whatever it was she did.
After he’d picked up lunch (it was hard than he’d thought to find somewhere that sold grilled cheese) he headed over to her place of work (much easier to find, oddly), and let himself into the building.
She wasn’t very hard to spot -- there weren’t many other people around who looked like they were ready to just collapse underneath their desks. “Helloooo,” he greeted, extra cheerful, because she looked like she need it. “Delivery!”
Tara still had her head buried in her arms when John arrived. His extra cheerful greeting got him a groan from the girl at the desk, who then lifted an arm in greeting, and tipped her head back to look at him. Her arm flopped back down to stretch across her desk, as if John had to pull her out of the workload she had under her.
“I think I’m dying,” she said in greeting, motioning towards the mountains of papers on her desk. “Can you die from paperwork?” It was a legitimate question. She actually thought she might die from going through paperwork. And then filing. Oh lord, the filing.
Filing would kill her if the paperwork didn’t.
Whilst his expression was mostly sympathetic, John couldn’t help but be slightly bemused. She was just so... expressive. He’d never quite met someone who just said what was on her mind constantly, like her.
“I don’t think people can die from paperwork,” he said, wryly. “Maybe massive paper-cuts?”
Her desk really was filled with papers though, and although he was considering sitting on the edge of it, it was probably a poor idea.
“Is it lunch yet? Do you remember the sun? Let’s go outside. You can eat skittles in the sunlight. It will be very poetic.”
“But it feels like I’m dying,” she complained through a groan. She flipped her hands over and stretched them out at his mention of papercuts. She had two. Tara promptly pointed them out to John, pouting just a little.
“What’s the sun?” she asked (joking), making one of those cute puppy dog faces with her head tipped to the side and her eyebrows furrowed. “Where is outside?” She was just being a brat, now.
If there was one look that John was good at giving, it was this over exaggerated eyeroll -- he moved his whole body when he made that look -- head tilted up skyward as if to say ‘lord jeezuz save me from this plight’. He was giving that look right now. Right now. Because ain’t nobody got time for that.
“You’re sure to die,” he told her, dryly. “right here, in this pile of cold, dead paper.” Then he brightened up so quickly, it was as if someone flipped a switch. “C’mon. Outside. Your grilled cheese won’t do that swell melty stretchy thing if you don’t get to it soon.”
“You’d just leave me alone to die in here?” she pouted dramatically, finally pushing herself up to standing. She dragged her feet as she made her way over to John, putting her arms around him and giving a squeeze. She slumped and whined, not letting go straight away.
“Will you carry me?” she asked, being a brat. Again.
John took a second to fucking consider her question, and just how crazy he was allowed to look in this place of serious business. Then again. He did not work here. He shrugged, wrapped his free arm around her waist, picked her up and began waddling awkwardly toward the door.
Well, Tara’s coworkers wouldn’t look at her the same way ever again, that’s for sure. All semblance of professionalism gone, she offered a wave to those they passed on the way to the door.
Tapping him on the shoulder when they reached the exit, Tara smiled sweetly at her very favourite adventure partner. It was close enough to a thanks. “You can put me down now.” Because she had legs and stuff.
“Are you sure?” He asked, doing that thing where he was teasing and smug at the same time. It was something he was very good at. “Because, you know, I wouldn’t want to leave you do die or anything.”
“Yeees,” she told him with a giggle. He was one of the silliest people that she knew. She definitely did not mind being silly with him right back, either. And he had brought her grilled cheese, so he was her current number one. “I have legs, I’m not a mermaid! At least... Well, I wasn’t the last time I checked. Have I sprouted a tail?”
Only currently? Who had he been competing against before? As current champion, who had he bumped into the second slot? He finally set her down and then opened the door for her. “No tail,” he said, making a show of looking, and doing so very seriously. Hey, if there were new fish epidemics going around, he wanted to know about it. “you can relax.”
Had John just checked out Tara’s butt? Yes, yes he had. Tara raised an eyebrow when he’d stopped, giving him that look of, did you enjoy yourself? “Good to know,” she said as she stepped through the door, smiling up at him as she said Thanks. All manners, this one.
“There’s a great park with a pond and ducks down the street,” she told him, leading the way out the building and onto the street. “We can feed ducks!” Way more fun than paperwork.
Well, he had asked her to look. And let’s be fair here, it wasn’t exactly the first time. That was to say, she’d taken a head start when they were racing down hallways the other day... so. There that was.
“Sounds lovely,” John said, handing her the bag of food to carry so that he could slip his hands into his pockets. “Do lead the way. We can feed ducks cheese and french fries.”
Can ducks eat cheese or french fries? Tara wanted to find out. Taking the bag (such a gentleman, that John Smith), she started their way down the sidewalk. “Did you know,” she began, watching the cars as they whizzed by on the street. “That there are exactly ten forms for me to read fully, in Legalese, for every employee that’s returned to work since the plague. And I have to clear them all.” It was just painful.
“Can I just never go back?” she asked, hopeful as she looked up at him.
Ten pages of forms did seem pretty severe, and he could sympathize somewhat, though not completely. John didn’t know much about HR, except that he never wanted to do it. And also, why couldn’t they explain tax forms better? They were possibly the only ones in the world who knew how to fill out an A-9 form, and they were keeping that shit secret. He’d have to ask Tara about it later, maybe. Although, now that he thought on it, maybe he didn’t want to ruin the mystery of it.
“You could,” he said with a purse of his lips and a nod. “you definitely could. Of course, you know, then you’d have to be homeless, or meet a rich man to buy things for you.” A pause. “Don’t do that actually, it would be... weird.”
“Homeless is not good,” she mused quietly, frowning a bit. She crossed her free arm over her chest and tucked it under the other. “I think that finding a rich man is my only choice. It’s clear, it has to happen. Or else I’ll die from paperwork and never know life!”
She looked slightly distressed at that. “Do you know any rich men?” They had reached the park by now, and she led the way to one of those park benches near the pond. Checking that it wasn’t covered in duck and goose shit first, she took a seat and turned to look at him. “I’ll need to meet them, quickly, if I’m going to live to at least twenty-five.”
Flopping down next to her, he stretched out a bit wildly, legs straight in front of him, and arms perched on the back of the bench. “Let me get this right,” he said (quite sassily), “you want me to find you rich men to try and woo so that you can quit your job?” He gave a pause, and made his thinky sort of scrunched up face. “What’s in it for me?”
Tara had begun unpacking the bag, setting their lunches on the bench between them. She looked up when he started speaking, her smile slowly growing as he continued with his slightly incredulous questioning. “Yes, that’s pretty much the only way I’ll get out of having to do paperwork forever.”
At his second question, Tara took a few moments to consider her reply. She busied herself by opening up the box with her grilled cheese inside, hmm’ing a bit. “The pleasure that you’ve done good for a friend?” she offered, eyebrows lifted as she looked up at him. “The ability to adventure during the 40 hours a week I am currently using for work?” Neither were very good reasons to help.
Actually, they would be great reasons to help: if life actually worked that way. “And what if I introduce you to a rich man, and then he keeps you locked up in a tower somewhere? You’ll be a trophy wife, that doesn’t get to wear shoes. Or come out to play with her amazingly charming (and admittedly good-looking) friend?” He shook his head, opening up his own lunch, too (turkey and avocado on rye). “I think it’d be a disservice.”
“Why would you introduce me to a rich man who would lock me up in a tower?” she asked seriously, watching him instead of concentrating on her lunch. It wouldn’t be very nice of him to do something like that. Tara would not do well locked in a tower.
His expression was borderline indignant. “Well, I wouldn’t do it on purpose!” He argued like this was a situation that was even the slightest bit feasible. “But you know. You think you know a guy at work, and it turns out he’s just a woman hoarding sort of bloke. It’s not right, but what can you do?”
Tara laughed at the woman hoarding comment, shaking her head. She picked out a half of her grilled cheese and took a bite, smiling (and swallowing, because her momma taught her right) before she replied. “I suppose you’re out of the plan, then. I suppose I’ll have to look myself.”
She picked at the fries that came with her sandwich, noticing the ducks were approaching their bench hesitantly. If she began feeding those ducks straight away, they’d mass on the pair. She couldn’t have that. So she was eating them herself, saving the rest for when they’d gotten through their lunch.
John raised his eyes to the heavens for the second time in less than twenty-minutes (probably, there would be more to come), and shook his head a little. “You’re incorrigible,” he made sure she knew, because it would have been bad if she didn’t. “but good luck with that anyway. Maybe see if they’ll give me a bit of a stipend, also?” And man, this sandwich was delicious.
Tara smiled with all of her teeth, somehow looking proud when he called her incorrigible. She liked that word. Especially when he used it. “I’ll ask him when I meet him. First question, first date: ‘Can John have some of your money too?’”
Now she was imagining an encounter like that. As if that’s something that might ever happen. She worked her way through more of her cheesey-bready-buttery goodness before speaking again. “Speaking of dates. Did you find your blonde bedfellow yet?”
John nodded, enthusiastic, and with a mouthful. She should definitely ask prospective rich husbands for money for him. And not only because that would mean she’d never find a husband.
Swallowing before speaking (all polite men did that), John actually took a moment to look a bit abashed. “Actually,” he said, “I have. In a manner of speaking.”
Tara might have choked on a fry at that. Jelly. Raspberry jelly. She took a moment to clear her throat, a hand going to her chest as she coughed through it. John would kill her one day, she was sure of it.
“Congratulations,” she breathed once she’d gotten through that, voice still a bit hoarse. “Can I meet her?” You know, to meet his new bed friends. Not for any other reason, nope. She watched him with her eyebrows raised. Tara was no good at hiding emotion, clearly.
Clearly. And he was honestly a little more tickled at her reaction that he should have been. It was nearly cruel of him, except for the fact that he was about to clear it up, okay? Don’t pout, Tara!
“You should definitely meet her,” he said, eating a fry like it was no big deal. “We’re looking for a place.” Okay. He’d clear it up in a minute.
John was kind of a dick. She hadn’t been altogether serious about the whole tying down a rich man thing, she was kind of put out at his moving in with this blonde bedfellow. Hey, he’d put it that way. And wasn’t exactly denying it.
“I’m happy for you,” she didn’t sound terribly happy though. “You’ve got to move out of that hotel eventually. No more pool parties, though, when you’ve moved.” Literally with the double meaning.
John couldn’t help but grow a conscience immediately at her tone of voice. Better late than never -- he was kind of just rude sometimes. “I’m not sleeping with her,” he explained, apologetically. “I just met someone who needed a roommate same as I do and we figured if we pool our resources we can get a bigger, better kind of place.” He paused, only for a second. “So, it’s only bedfellows in terms of our beds would be in the same household. But in totally different rooms. And you should meet her. So she isn’t weirded out when you come to visit all the time.”
Smooooooth Operator.
She raised one eyebrow, clearly a bit put out that he’d been hiding the truth for that (short) time. He was rambling a bit to backpedal, which was amusing on its own. She was back to her regular smiling self in under five seconds.
Turning to the ducks when he’d finished his speech, Tara noted they’d made some good progress toward the bench. They really wanted the food the Smiths were currently consuming. She picked up a fry at their looks, tossing one out. There was a bit of a rush of ducks, but nothing to be worried about. She looked back at John, giving him a bit of a look. “Who says I’m going to be visiting all the time?”
Okay, yeah. He probably deserved a question like that. Fair was fair. He ate a few of his fries (such a funny American word) and watched the ducks fight over the one that she’d thrown to them. Ducks were weird.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked, playing oblivious.
“Because you’re mean,” she blurted out, making a face. He really was mean. But she was just teasing, really. He’d teased her enough today, it was her turn to reply in kind. “And I don’t visit people who are mean to me. I am especially not best friends with people like that.”
There, John. Take that. In the heart and stuff. She continued eating her sandwich, deciding she’d ignore him and give him some silent treatment for a bit. Because she’s mature.
So mature. He gave a frown, and then something of a pout before finishing off his sandwich, because at least that was nicer to him than she was. Probably, it could not build so great of a fort though.
“Well, you asked,” he said, petulant.
Tara was bad at silent treatment-giving, it seemed. She had to remind herself to not reply to him, instead just busy herself with her lunch. Not looking at him, she finished her sandwich quickly. And tossed another fry at the ducks, who started fighting over that one, too. The little birds looked like they were going to rise up and go for blood soon.
John, noting the silent treatment, gave a great sigh and a pout that could possibly break hearts. It wasn’t that he was practiced at it, or anything. Fidgeting, he dug through his fries, and began the long task of separating them long from short. Look, Tara. Look how sad I am, his face seemed to say.
Tara wasn’t going to pay attention to his sadness. Nope, certainly not. She continued feeding the ducks fries. The ducks were now definitely her friends -- they were appreciative of her attention. Except... Well, they were getting awfully close now. A wrinkle formed in Tara’s brow as her concern about the webbed-toe creatures rose.
It was moments later when one of the ducks came up and snapped Tara’s shoe. Forgetting her silent treatment, she let out a high-pitched yelp and pushed so she was standing on the bench. In the process, her remaining food had spilled all over the ground, and the ducks were literally going quackers for them. Pulling at John’s coat, she tried to get him up and away from the attacking ducks.
Smooth.
SO SMOOTH. Now they were under aviary attack. Not cool, Tara, not cool at all. When the birds started, they would never, ever stop.
Of course, in her tugging him up, his once nicely organized chips also fell to the ground creating even more of a terrible frenzy of birds. John was sure they’d just called in every single duck in the city -- and some geese were starting to look interested as well. And everyone knew that geese were the bird equivalent of the devil on Earth.
Even with the both of them standing on the bench, John could see that those birds had a hungry look in their eyes. Perhaps the chips (oh, sorry, Americans. Fries.) would not be enough; perhaps next they would want blood.
“I think we should go now,” he said, forgetting they were being petulant at each other. “Jump off the back of the bench.”
Tara looked up at John, probably looking the most terrified he’d ever seen her. Her face was a mix of worry and terror as they were swarmed by the ducks, but when the geese started coming?
Well, Tara had a bad history with geese. Let’s just put it that way. She nodded at John. They had to haul ass before those geese got them.
Without thinking, the girl turned and grabbed John’s hand, lacing her fingers between his before she leapt over the back of the bench. She wasn’t going to just leave him to get surrounded! He was fun, and even though he was mean, she still liked him! She took off toward the park’s exit, only slowing once they’d gotten away from the mass of geese.
For some reason, running from things hand in hand with someone else just seemed totally natural to John. Even though it was basically a very odd thing that not many people had to do, well, ever.
After they’d made it past the exit of the park, John stopped running and gave a little puff of breath. Okay, maybe he needed to lay off the American fried food for a while. “Close one,” he said, between little breaths. “No more lunch in parks, Tara.”
Relieved they’d gotten out unscathed (apart from the bite to her toe), Tara let go of John’s hand and threw her arms around his shoulders. She was breathing heavily from the combination of fear and exertion, but after catching her breath, she laughed into his chest. That had been a bit ridiculous, but at least it was over.
“No more,” she agreed, tipping her head back and revealing her great big grin to John. “Just lunches in places without scary birds.” Please and thank you.
“We should have taken the risk of sitting on the little step ladder,” John agreed, giving her head a pat -- something he apparently just liked doing. “I think the emotional damage would have been far more minimal.”
“I think so,” she agreed, wincing dramatically when he patted her head. She was all about the dramatics today, it seemed. Pulling her arms from around his neck, she placed hands on either of his shoulders, raised up on her toes and placed a quick kiss on John’s cheek.
“I’m glad we made it out,” she said, all smiles as she rolled back onto her heels and let go of John. She reached a hand toward him as she turned to start heading back to her office. “I should head back.”
John rose his eyebrows, looking a little bemused about, well, everything. He took her hand, and gave a little nod. “I’ll walk you back,” he said, because that was a smarter thing to say than something along the lines of ‘oh, so you’re not mad at me anymore?’. The wire-y man had a feeling that Tara might remember if she were reminded. She seemed like that sort.
She most certainly was that sort. Happy that he was walking her back, she swung their clasped hands between them. “At least something interesting happened today,” she pointed out, always the optimist. “Apart from my untimely demise in a stack of paper.”
“Which, as you’ve assured me, isn’t interesting at all,” John said, sticking his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “But I am certain you will live through it anyhow. You seem resilient enough.” His nod was sage, and his mood was light, because who wouldn’t be happy after the most adorable lady in California kissed your cheek?
Well, adorable according to John. And probably her parents, but that’s what they’re meant to think. Tara was probably thought of as a bit crazy to others. She’s okay with that. She turned to smile widely at her best friend, watching him for a moment. “You’re pretty great, you know that? Even if you’re mean.” Oh, she’d remembered. But was bad at grudges.
“I’m not mean,” John said, looking a little abashed about it. “I’m just... okay, yeah. It was kind of mean. Sorry.” He probably should have said that in the first place, but rudeness wasn’t about apologizing, man. “But I try.” Clearly, compliments went a long way around him, though.
They reached her office building, and Tara turned back to John. “You do try,” she agreed, swinging their hands one last time before letting go. “And thank you for that.” Sadly, she had to go back to work. She gave him a bit of a nudge in the chest with her fist (gently!), and told him: “I’ll see you soon?”
And he responded by not pretending to punch her at all, because it was a really weird thing for a bloke to even pretend about when a woman was involved. Instead, he grinned brightly, and rolled back on his heels. “Yep,” he said, and even gave an extra confirming sort of nod. “More adventures await.”