Author's Note: Hello, readers! After becoming totally addicted to The IT Crowd (and developing a crush on Chris O'Dowd), this idea nagged at me until I finally put pen to paper. It's taken a lot of writing and editing, but I think it's finally ready to be published. It's a Roy/Jen pairing, because I love them together. The title is a line taken from Neil Hannon's "Song for Ten" from Doctor Who. This is in American English instead of British English, since I'm not familiar with the latter. Forgive me?

One last thing: There's another chapter in the works–it's in the midst of being edited. However, I can't decide if I want to add a third chapter to finish. Let me know what you guys think.

Enjoy!

Jen

If someone had, just a few years ago, told Jen that she would fall for a gangly, geeky Irishman, she would have laughed out loud.

Funny how life works, isn't it?

In the beginning, she'd totally overlooked him. Blind with ambition and hot with anger at the inferior position Denholm had given her, she'd written Roy off (along with Moss) as just another little obstacle in her way. She exerted her power over the two of them as much as possible, sometimes blatantly ignoring them. She made them do menial tasks that she could well have done herself, just to see them bend to her will. She was confident that she'd rise to the top in no time flat.

It started out as a bumpy ride.

She knew Roy was going to be the trouble-maker of the pair from the first few minutes in his company. She'd sensed his outrage at the idea that he needed a supervisor. He was a grown man with his own flat, goddammit; he could take care of himself! (A theory that was, however, silently disputed by a shoe-shaped bruise on his arm.) He'd drawn himself up to his full height and had looked her straight in the eyes, trying to intimidate her. She'd had to admit she'd faltered a bit when she looked back at him, but her ludicrous twinge of fear had disappeared when she took in his attire: jeans and some nerdy t-shirt. Employee at one of the greatest companies in Britain? Ha! After that, all of Roy seemed ridiculous: his curly red hair, slight beard (what, did he just roll out of bed?), long arms and legs, large hands and feet. He seemed like a tall, awkward boy who'd been thrust into a man's world.

Her thoughts rarely turned to him. But that was in the beginning.

As these things are wont to do, Jen's outlook went through some adjustments. Those things about Roy that had seemed ridiculous to her before became things she enjoyed, then daydreamt about. First it was the way his red hair caught in the light. In conversations, she would try to keep him close to a lamp or whatever illumination was handy, just to watch little bits of gold dance around his head. Her fascination with his hair soon turned to urges to bury her hands in it, letting the curls slide in between her fingers. She'd barely spoken to him for a week after he'd cut it, saddened at the thought of all those beautiful locks thrown away like yesterday's jam. (He'd just assumed Aunt Irma was visiting.) After that week, however, she grew to adore his new look.

Jen had never fancied tall men before, being a little shorter than average herself, but she didn't mind craning her neck to gaze up at Roy. With most people he was embarrassed about his height; he was prone to hunching his bony shoulders as if he were a turtle hiding in his shell. She'd tell him constantly to correct his posture–under the pretense of it being more professional–just for the pleasure of seeing him straighten his back and stand lanky before her. She would smile and he would grin crookedly and she would pat him on the arm, holding on just a little too long to be between co-workers, but too short for her liking. Always too short for her liking.

Her little crush gained more and more momentum the longer she stayed on as Relationship Manager. She had really developed a fondness the cluttered basement and its two socially-awkward inhabitants–though her fervor for a higher position in Reynholm Industries hadn't been completely extinguished. It would turn out, though, that a situation away from Roy and Moss–no matter where–just wasn't acceptable. Case in point: that time she became Douglas' personal assistant. She'd missed Roy (and yes, Moss, too) so much that she'd almost cried when he'd greeted her loudly and excitedly on the phone. His accent didn't grate on her ears as it used to; now it made her think of winding stone roads through green pastures where sheep grazed. Even a quick Hi, Jen in the morning put a smile on her face.

By year three she was completely in love with Roy. How it had happened, she hadn't yet figured out. Her moods seemed to hinge on his notice of her, and she couldn't bear him having dates with other women, once in a while deliberately ruining his relationships. Sometimes she'd catch him working quietly at his desk (how rare, she'd joke to herself), leaning forward with his blue eyes focused on the computer screen. She'd stare for as long as she could, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from wrapping them around his neck and resting her cheek on his head. She'd only allowed herself this privilege once–when he'd broken up with a long-term girlfriend (something she'd honestly had nothing to do with) and couldn't stop crying during Moss' game. She'd called him into her office and had sat him down in a chair, for once having the height advantage. He'd been surprised, glancing up at her with the most adorable furrowed brow. As she'd told him to buck up, she'd nestled against his glossy hair to whisper in his ear and splayed her small hands on his shoulders, noticing the muscles bunch under her touch. (She liked to think it meant something.) And that smack on the bum as she let him go? That was just for fun.

Occasionally she reached a quiet valley with Roy. He'd be so sweet that she could try to forget those rough hills. Like that time when he'd encouraged her to take the job as Douglas' personal assistant, to "reach her potential." One of her favorite memories was of him during the Aunt Irma fiasco, watching girly movies with her and Moss, looking adorably ridiculous in a bathrobe and twisted hair towel, trying his best not to complain to her face. She could have kissed him then–she'd been absently wondering, strangely, if he tasted like some traditional Irish dish. But that would have invited a lot of awkward questions from Moss.

So in the valleys she'd hang back and there they'd go, traveling up the hills again. Damn those hills.

There was no explaining her thing for Roy. He was so utterly unlike any guy she had dated–real or imaginary. He wasn't classically handsome (though she excused herself for that train of thought when he brought out the suit and tie) and he was constantly getting into scrapes that she had to, annoyingly, get him out of. He never let her forget she was technologically incompetent. His idea of a balanced meal was a bucket of fried chicken perched precariously on one of his long legs as he fiddled with some electrical device. He was so unbelievably, impossibly exasperating! Yep, it was impossible to explain. But that was love, right?

No matter how inexplicable, every day she was finding it harder to pretend to be just friends with him. There were times when she thought he was showing interest in her in his own weird way, but what did she know? She was too hopeful and too biased. Almost every week Jen promised herself that she was going to just say it, but every time she called him in and he asked What is it, Jen? while leaning against her doorframe, all she could do was mumble something incoherent while her brain got stuck on the way he said her name (adding a few embellishments, of course). She felt pathetic, pining over him from a distance; she usually was such a dynamic go-getter. Yet this was Roy, and he was…well, Roy. One wrong move could destroy their fragile ecosystem, and then where would she be? Stuck without him in a cubicle way up high, that's where. (She'd get fired for breaking the company computers and "overtaxing" the IT department.) That was harder to take than keeping her hands off him when he was so close.

So each day, she'd hang her jacket on the coat rack and greet two of her favorite people, catching Roy's eye long enough to smile and think, I wouldn't trade this for anything.

I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I accept good reviews and constructive criticism. I will also accept a donation of a certain Chris O'Dowd to my lonely writer's club...