Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, concepts and situations are copyright to the BBC.
Of Toasted Cheese and Peace
The only coffee shop open in Cardiff this late on a Sunday night was a pretty poor affair. On the verge of closing, the woman behind the counter had been less than thrilled to have three people descend on her seeking food. Luckily for her she didn't subscribe to ridiculous American notions of customer service so was free to express her displeasure in audible sniffs, humphs and the occasional pointed glare.
"There's no hot food left."
That seemed to take them aback for a moment, and she waited for them to leave.
The young man pushed forward and leaned across the counter, smiling at her, eyes wide, trailing his fingers across the faded yellow counter top. "Now, surely a fine establishment like yours could manage something for three weary travellers?"
Even she was charmed. He was like a cat, bright eyed and beautiful, and she was horrified by the sudden vision that paraded before her eyes of how nice it would be to stroke him. Blushing slightly, she covered her confusion, begrudgingly offering, "Well, I could do you some toasted sandwiches…"
"That would be lovely, thank you." He grinned at her again. Cheeky bastard, she thought, aware she'd been played but finding it hard to be resentful. He was just that endearing.
"So what do you want on them?"
The three conferred for a moment as she waited impatiently. "Ah, okay. Two ham and cheese, one with tomato, and one plain cheese." The tall man delivered this request with a smile, but she just gave a little sniff in return.
"And tea."
The blond girl wanted tea. And wasn't she no better than she ought, all tight clothes and hair flying everywhere. She'd been watching her, hands all over both of the men, and she was sure she knew what was going on there. Her sniff was far more audible as she repeated the word, pronouncing it like it was some vile substance. "Tea."
"Yup. Three teas, please."
With a stiff nod, she turned and began preparing their order.
As he sat with his companions in the cold air of a Cardiff night, the three perched on rickety plastic chairs drawn around an equally unstable table, he was struck by a creeping sense of well-being. He resisted it. He knew it was false, knew that even though they'd averted disaster this time, saved the world, it was just going to need saving again.
Nothing was ever saved forever.
He could feel the earth, turning beneath their feet, feel the universe hurtling towards entropy. Knew absolutely that this tranquillity was an illusion. Sitting there, with a toasted cheese sandwich and an insidious sense of peace he allowed himself, just this once, to surrender to it.
A/N: This really needs some explaining. The last line ('a toasted cheese sandwich and an insidious sense of peace') was actually a self-description I used in my LJ. It was ponced upon by a friend who insisted it needed to be used in a story or some such. This is my attempt to appease her.