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fellowshippers2004-08-10 11:14 pm
charlottemay.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-08-10 11:14 pm
Watching
Title: Watching
Author: Charlotte May
Email:charlottemay43@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I intend no disrespect to Dominic Monaghan or Billy Boyd.
Feedback: Always welcome!
Summary: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotrpschallenge #16 – strangers. A barman watches.
Cross-posted tomonaboyd, fellow_shippers and my lj.
Watching
He polished the glass, and placing it carefully back on the shelf, glanced up at the clock. Ten past seven. He’d be here soon. He was regular as clockwork. The pub doors swung open and the barman smiled. Right on cue. Every weeknight for the last month, he’d walked in at seven fifteen and had a double whisky. He walked purposefully up to the bar. “Double Glenfiddich, please,” he said, his accent betraying his Scottish roots. From the sound of him, probably Glaswegian. The barman nodded and poured the drink.
After paying, the Scotsman found an empty table near the bar, as he always did, and sipped his whisky. The barman found himself watching and wondering. The Scotsman only ever had one drink, made it last about an hour, then he left. He was always on his own, always quiet, always looked slightly irritated. He frequently glanced at his watch.
In the barman’s eyes he was an enigma.
Why did he come to the pub? Could he be on his way home from work? Unlikely, thought the barman. He didn’t give off the air of a man trying to unwind after a day at the office. He usually seemed just as tense when he left as when he arrived. Perhaps he was on his way to work? No. The barman dismissed that idea immediately. No-one with half a brain would go to work smelling of whisky.
All the clock watching made him wonder if he was waiting for a woman. A woman who couldn’t get away… perhaps a married woman. The barman stared at the Scotsman. Not particularly tall, with sandy hair, he didn’t look like an adulterer, but then who did?
Or perhaps he was a spy, waiting for a rendezvous with another agent. The barman shook himself. No, that was a stupid idea. He must have watched one too many James Bond films.
The barman was brought back to reality by the door opening again. A man stepped through and immediately looked round the pub. When he saw the Scotsman his eyes lit up. “So this is where you’re hiding,” he exclaimed, walking over to his table. “Have you come here every night?”
The Scotsman nodded, and to the barman’s eyes looked more irritated than usual. So he’d been hiding from this guy, had he? Why? He looked quite harmless. Younger and slightly taller than the Scotsman, his accent was local, and he shifted from one foot to the other with a kind of restless energy.
He sat down opposite the Scotsman and said, “Why? Why do you come out every night and not say where you’re going?”
The Scotsman looked nervous and clasped his hands tightly round his glass. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it must be something. You’ve done it almost every night all the time you’ve been here.” His brow furrowed in concern. “Am I crowding you? Do you need more personal space?”
The Scotsman shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. He took a sip of his drink, and looked everywhere except at his friend. “It’s kind of silly…” he said nervously.
The other man reached over and took the Scotsman’s hand in his. “Tell me.”
The Scotsman fidgeted in his chair. “I… I…”
“Spit it out,” said the other man, beginning to sound irritated.
The barman held his breath as the Scotsman looked up at his friend. What was he going to confess? This was going to be something big, something special. “I love staying with you, but I just can’t stand being in the same room when you watch EastEnders. I hate that programme.”
The other man roared with laughter. “Is that all it was? God, I didn’t realise you hated it that much. I can tape it. You should have said.”
The barman smiled to himself and turned away. Something told him he wouldn’t be seeing the Scotsman again.
Author: Charlotte May
Email:charlottemay43@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I intend no disrespect to Dominic Monaghan or Billy Boyd.
Feedback: Always welcome!
Summary: Written for
lotrpschallenge #16 – strangers. A barman watches.Cross-posted to
monaboyd, fellow_shippers and my lj.Watching
He polished the glass, and placing it carefully back on the shelf, glanced up at the clock. Ten past seven. He’d be here soon. He was regular as clockwork. The pub doors swung open and the barman smiled. Right on cue. Every weeknight for the last month, he’d walked in at seven fifteen and had a double whisky. He walked purposefully up to the bar. “Double Glenfiddich, please,” he said, his accent betraying his Scottish roots. From the sound of him, probably Glaswegian. The barman nodded and poured the drink.
After paying, the Scotsman found an empty table near the bar, as he always did, and sipped his whisky. The barman found himself watching and wondering. The Scotsman only ever had one drink, made it last about an hour, then he left. He was always on his own, always quiet, always looked slightly irritated. He frequently glanced at his watch.
In the barman’s eyes he was an enigma.
Why did he come to the pub? Could he be on his way home from work? Unlikely, thought the barman. He didn’t give off the air of a man trying to unwind after a day at the office. He usually seemed just as tense when he left as when he arrived. Perhaps he was on his way to work? No. The barman dismissed that idea immediately. No-one with half a brain would go to work smelling of whisky.
All the clock watching made him wonder if he was waiting for a woman. A woman who couldn’t get away… perhaps a married woman. The barman stared at the Scotsman. Not particularly tall, with sandy hair, he didn’t look like an adulterer, but then who did?
Or perhaps he was a spy, waiting for a rendezvous with another agent. The barman shook himself. No, that was a stupid idea. He must have watched one too many James Bond films.
The barman was brought back to reality by the door opening again. A man stepped through and immediately looked round the pub. When he saw the Scotsman his eyes lit up. “So this is where you’re hiding,” he exclaimed, walking over to his table. “Have you come here every night?”
The Scotsman nodded, and to the barman’s eyes looked more irritated than usual. So he’d been hiding from this guy, had he? Why? He looked quite harmless. Younger and slightly taller than the Scotsman, his accent was local, and he shifted from one foot to the other with a kind of restless energy.
He sat down opposite the Scotsman and said, “Why? Why do you come out every night and not say where you’re going?”
The Scotsman looked nervous and clasped his hands tightly round his glass. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it must be something. You’ve done it almost every night all the time you’ve been here.” His brow furrowed in concern. “Am I crowding you? Do you need more personal space?”
The Scotsman shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. He took a sip of his drink, and looked everywhere except at his friend. “It’s kind of silly…” he said nervously.
The other man reached over and took the Scotsman’s hand in his. “Tell me.”
The Scotsman fidgeted in his chair. “I… I…”
“Spit it out,” said the other man, beginning to sound irritated.
The barman held his breath as the Scotsman looked up at his friend. What was he going to confess? This was going to be something big, something special. “I love staying with you, but I just can’t stand being in the same room when you watch EastEnders. I hate that programme.”
The other man roared with laughter. “Is that all it was? God, I didn’t realise you hated it that much. I can tape it. You should have said.”
The barman smiled to himself and turned away. Something told him he wouldn’t be seeing the Scotsman again.
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