A/N: Beta'd by TenRose4ever :)
A cascade of ice-cold water washed over Rose Tyler's head, interrupting what was supposed to be a serene morning of drinking tea on her new patio.
Leaping to her feet, she shrieked and looked up to see where the water was coming from. An arrangement of plants and flowers hung down from the balcony above, dripping from recently being watered.
"Hello," she called out, trying to keep her voice pleasant despite her growing irritation. When nobody came she yelled out louder, "Hey!"
A man came strutting out, bracing his hands on the banister as he peered down with angry eyebrows. "What is it?" he bit out irritably in a thick Scottish accent. He paused to take in her appearance as she shivered from the cold. "You know, you shouldn't be standing out there all wet."
"I wasn't wet a minute ago," she hollered. "I was sitting out here having my tea when you decided to surprise me with an arctic shower."
"Well you shouldn't be sitting right under where I do my morning watering, now should you?!"
Rose stared at him perplexed. "How the hell should I know your watering schedule? Besides, this is my patio and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing that over my head."
"Oh!" His eyebrows raised as his voice turned condescending, "Well I'm sorry, princess, I didn't know I had bloody royalty living below me."
"Wait. What?" Rose stammered, unsure how to respond.
"Look, these plants," he indicated the plants hanging above her, "are up here on my balcony. I can't help it if they might drip a little. Do you come out and yell at the fuckin' clouds every time it rains too?"
"Of course not," she uttered in surprise at the audacity he had, turning this around on her.
He pointed toward her door. "Why don't you go dry off, and drink your tea inside like the rest of us peasants?" With that, he turned away and went back inside, slamming his door shut in the process.
Rose could only stand there, staring at his empty balcony in shock. She thought once she'd left the Estate she'd be done dealing with people so incredibly rude and inconsiderate. Apparently she was wrong. This man living above her made some of her more boorish neighbors in the past seem gracious.
A cool breeze blew through, causing her to shiver again, and she headed back inside. She peeled off her sopping wet clothes, cursing under her breath as she made her way toward the bedroom.
After putting on some dry clothes, she headed back to the living room and decided to put this morning's fiasco behind her for now. This was only her second day in her new flat and she had a lot of unpacking to do.
Her mum had told her she was being pretentious and didn't think she needed two bedrooms, but Rose didn't see it that way. She was making more than enough for rent and after all her hard work, why shouldn't she reward herself?
Honestly, there had been very little her mum could have said to talk her out of it. The minute she stepped inside, she had known she wanted to live here. The flat featured a bright open kitchen and living area, with breakfast nook and hardwood floors. The master bedroom was very spacious as well, complete with an impressive en-suite.
Then there was the patio. Being on the first floor meant Rose had a private outdoor space all her own. Of all the amenities this flat had to offer, this feature excited her the most.
The flat was everything she could have dreamed of, with only one drawback: the madman she had just learned was living upstairs.
Soon after the water fiasco came the clippings that littered her patio whenever he trimmed his plants. The first time she'd let it slide, hoping it was a simple mistake, but the second time it happened. she went up to his flat and approached him about it. That interaction had gone worse than the first one, much louder too, and ending with a door being slammed in her face.
It was basically a downward spiral for the next month after that, but of all the irritating habits her upstairs neighbor subjected her to, nothing bothered her more than the one she was experiencing now: his pacing. Not just normal pacing, but quick, inconsistent footsteps erupting from the ceiling above her.
She did her best to ignore it, she really did, but after lying in bed listening to it for over an hour, the pacing only became more erratic. Looking at the time, she saw it was reaching midnight. She needed to get some sleep, so she did what they always did in the Estate when they had a similar problem; she grabbed a broom and rapped the ceiling at the source of the pacing.
His response came in a series of loud stomps of his foot in the same spot. Seconds later the pacing resumed. Rose waited a moment then pounded again, much more aggressively than before because she wanted him to know she wasn't going to put up with this. The pacing stopped, and for a moment she thought it had worked. Then she heard the heavy footsteps racing to his balcony.
"Will you stop that incessant banging," he cried out from above, "I'm trying to think!"
Rose grumbled and stepped out onto her patio and fired back, "Can't you think a little quieter?"
"Of course I can, but if I do, I won't be able to hear my thoughts!"
Rose screwed up her face in confusion. "What?"
Grumbling something about whiny kids, he stomped back inside, and the pacing continued. At least it did for about five more minutes, then he came back out and bellowed down to her. "Well, now I lost it! I hope you're happy!"
Rose turned over in her bed, mumbling to herself, "I am, actually."
A few short hours later, her alarm clock started blaring, and it took every bit of willpower she had to drag herself out of bed. Once she was up, her first stop was the kitchen where she started a kettle, then proceeded to get ready for work
She made her tea and had a seat, fighting exhaustion. It only took a few sips before she realized, if she was going to get through the day, she would need something much stronger than tea.
There was a coffee shop not too far from her flat, making it a very convenient stop for Rose on mornings such as these. It was owned by Donna Noble, a feisty, quick-witted redhead Rose greatly admired.
The front of the shop was often attended to by Donna's grandfather, Wilf. She never asked Wilf to work for her, he simply insisted by doing it anyway. He wanted to help his granddaughter out anyway he could, and he was glad to be out of the house and away from his daughter, Sylvia's, nagging.
He soon became a house favorite, with an unusual talent for memorizing the names and drink orders of all their regular customers. Another valuable aspect Donna gained by letting her grandfather work for her were his scones. He had a family recipe even his daughter didn't know for some of the most delectable scones anyone had ever tasted.
Rose entered the shop, thankful she'd missed the busy, morning rush and greeted Wilf as she approached the counter.
"Good morning, Rose. Caramel latte for you?"
"Please," Rose smiled and removed her sunglasses, revealing her tired eyes. "I barely slept a wink last night."
"Neighbor problems again?" Wilf asked as he rung up her order. This wasn't the first morning she'd come in feeling exhausted from a long night of dealing with her neighbor.
"When is it not?" She rolled her eyes as she handed him the money then stepped aside to wait for her order.
The chime from the front door sounded and she turned, scowling when she caught sight of her heinous neighbor entering the shop. He seemed to be far more rested than she was. She glared at him as he approached and couldn't stop herself from commenting, "I didn't get any sleep last night because of you and your endless pacing."
"And I lost my train of thought because of you," he retaliated, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Before you moved in, nobody else complained about my thought process."
"Because everyone else is afraid to approach you," Rose pointed out. "Why can't you be like normal people and play music or something while you think?"
"Why can't you invest in a pair of earplugs, then we could both be happy?"
Rose gaped at him in shock and felt a storm of vulgarities brewing on her tongue when Wilf touched her arm, snapping her from her vile thoughts. He looked at her pleadingly, silently begging her not to cause a scene. "Here you are Miss Tyler. Don't let Mr. McGregor's insolence ruin your day."
"Thank you, Wilf." She smiled politely as she took her drink from his hand, then turned back to her neighbor with fury in her eyes. "We'll talk about this later, Mr. McGregor," she warned him.
He rolled back on his heels and grinned cheekily. "I can't wait, Miss Tyler."
His elation had her seeing red, and as much as she wanted to let him have it, she really needed to get to work. Cursing under her breath she made a quick exit.
"Aiden, why must you be so mean to her," Wilf asked once Rose was out of sight.
Aiden feigned insult. "Mean to her? I simply came in here for a cuppa and she began attacking me."
Wilf shook his head dismissively and resumed taking Aiden's order.
Two days later, as Rose lay in bed, she heard a strange sound, like something heavy being moved around above her, followed by a scraping noise. She was trying to figure out what that wanker was up to, when a loud buzz pierced her ears, followed by the unmistakable screech of an electric guitar.
Rose leapt out of bed. "What the hell?"
The ear-piercing wailing continued, filling her flat with the unpleasant noise. She grabbed her dressing gown, put on her slippers, and headed upstairs. It was oddly quiet outside and she didn't hear the guitar again until she approached his door. She wondered, not for the first time, if the noise bothered anyone else and they were just too afraid to confront him. He was insanely rude to everyone, but she wasn't about to let him intimidate her too.
She banged on the door loudly until the music stopped, then his heavy footsteps could be heard approaching as he barked out, "What is it now, Miss Tyler?"
The door flung open to reveal him in a pair of denims, a dark t-shirt, and a long black coat. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling self-aware as she stood there in her dressing gown. "How did you know it was me?"
"Lucky guess," he quipped.
She pointed at the guitar he had slung over his shoulder. "Mr. McGregor, do you have any idea how late it is?"
"You suggested that I play music," he remarked. "Now you're complaining about that too?"
"I meant soft music, like on the radio," she argued. "I didn't mean for you to go out, buy a guitar, and go all Keith Richards on me."
"Actually, I didn't go out and buy it." He looked down as he cradled the guitar in his hands. "I've had it locked away for far too long. I haven't thought of playing it much until you mentioned it. Thank you."
"Listen," Rose pleaded, "it's nearly midnight and I-." Her words were cut off as the door closed in her face.
Seconds later the wailing resumed. Rose began pounding on his door again, but her efforts were hopeless.
"Arsehole," she screamed at the door, giving it a final kick that should have provided her with some level of satisfaction. But, with only thin slippers covering her feet, all it actually gave her was a painful stubbed toe. She limped back down and entered her flat, hearing the continuous wailing resonating from above. She wondered how much worse it could get as she climbed into bed and yanked a pillow over her head and prayed for sleep.
Rose wearily dragged her feet about the restaurant kitchen on an unusually busy Wednesday afternoon.
She worked at Torchwood, an up-and-coming London hotspot with all the attributes of a sophisticated restaurant, but with a more relaxed atmosphere and a budget friendly menu.
It was owned by Ianto Jones, a young entrepreneur whom Rose had met while in culinary school. He was a natural in the kitchen with a highly refined palate and a talent for creating remarkable dishes. Being from a wealthy family, he always carried himself with a sort of self-importance, a trait that Rose initially found off-putting, but soon realized was just a product of his upbringing and not how he saw himself.
He was the one who had befriended Rose in the beginning. After being singled out for not only his social status, but also his sexual orientation, he appreciated having a friend like Rose who treated him as an equal.
Together, they were an unlikely pair: a well-off kid who had every luxury growing up, and an estate girl who had had to work harder than anyone to get where she was. Yet they were inexplicably similar in nearly every other way.
After they had finished school, they went their separate ways, he to get his new restaurant underway while Rose took the long path. Over a few years, Rose had worked her way up and continued learning more about her craft as Ianto had gone through his own hardships of making his dream a reality through failed attempts.
Five years later, he'd finally found his stride and once he was fully established he'd tracked down his old friend and proposed she work with him in his restaurant.
At first, she was hesitant, worried that working for her friend could be catastrophic, but then dismissed those thoughts considering he'd always treated her with more respect than she was often used to. Ianto had offered her a very generous salary, and the desire to leave her current job and nightmarish boss also made the idea of working for him very appealing.
That had been nearly a year ago, and today the restaurant was still highly successful, even more so than when she'd first come on board
She was carefully putting the final touches on a couple of dishes before they went out when an enormous yawn escaped her.
"Looks like someone was out late last night," Ianto jested as he slid into her station.
Rose scowled and nudged him back to give her some space. "I didn't sleep well s' all; no reason to make assumptions."
"Moody too," he sassed while adjusting his suit jacket. "How come you couldn't sleep?"
"Because of that tosser living up above me," Rose growled.
Ianto smirked, "And what did Mr. McGrump do this time?"
Rose chuckled at Ianto's play on her neighbor's name. "He decided the middle of the night was a great time to play a two-hour guitar solo. Then when I went up there to tell him to cut it out, he slammed the door in my face. I honestly don't know how much longer I can put up with him."
"Do you need me to handle it?" Ianto playfully cracked his knuckles.
"No," Rose laughed, "I've dealt with much worse growing up on the Estate. I just need to go about this differently."
"Well, the offer still stands." Ianto danced his fingers along her work station as he left her to prepare for the dinner crowd.
When Rose arrived home that evening, she spotted something taped to her door. She eyed it curiously as she approached and found it to be a pair of earplugs. She yanked them off the door mumbling, "Seriously!" and entered her flat.
She only had two things on her mind at that moment: a shower and sleep. After washing the day's grime off, she slipped on a comfortable set of pyjamas and crawled into bed. Her mattress had never felt so heavenly as she curled under the blankets ready to drift off to sleep.
As if he knew she had just climbed into bed, the wail of his guitar started up again. Rose rubbed her tired eyes and groaned before slipping out of bed. She looked around for her notepad and a pen before she walked out and headed upstairs.
First, she knocked, although she knew he wasn't going to answer. Once she was certain he was ignoring her, she began writing out her note:
Mr. McGregor,
Although you may find your guitar practice soothing, it's keeping the rest of us awake. I'm not sure what it is you do, but I have a job to go to every day. Please consider this next time you decide to pollute the air with your racket. The world doesn't revolve around you.
She didn't bother signing it; there was no doubt he would know who it was from. She stuck the note to the door and headed back downstairs to try and sleep. As she walked to her bedroom, she stopped and grabbed the earplugs. She figured it couldn't hurt to try for one night.
She wouldn't admit that the earplugs helped at all and told herself it was exhaustion that ultimately brought her to sleep that night. Whatever it was, Rose finally felt refreshed when she woke up the next morning.
She puttered about her flat for a bit, knowing she didn't have to be at work for a few hours. Like every other morning, she headed to the kitchen to start a kettle, frowning when the range wouldn't start. She tried several more times, but nothing happened.
After taking a few deep breaths to keep from screaming, she grabbed her phone to call her landlord and request it get looked at. After such a good night's sleep, she refused to let something so trivial ruin her day. Instead, she decided to make the best of it and take a walk to the coffee shop and get one of Wilf's scones while she was there.
The coffee shop was slightly more crowded than usual, but like the issue with her range, she refused to let it bother her and waited patiently.
The line crept along slowly and when she approached the counter Wilf greeted her kindly. "Good morning, Rose. The usual?"
Rose nodded. "And can I get a scone too?"
Wilf frowned. "Sorry love, we're all out. We still have plenty of danishes."
"Ok," Rose sighed, "I really had my heart set on one of your scones this morning."
Wilf rang up her order and as he took her money he glanced over her shoulder uncomfortably. Rose wasn't sure what that look was about and turned to see her neighbor sitting there, drinking his coffee. On a plate in front of him was a scone.
Rose turned back to Wilf, wide eyed. "Please don't tell me he got the last scone."
"Sorry Rose, you know it's first come, first served," Wilf explained, handing over her change.
Rose noticed the unease in his eyes and gently touched his hand. "I know Wilf, I'm not angry at you." But she was angry. It felt as if the universe was against her and her morning's efforts of trying to remain calm escaped her the moment she saw her neighbor's face.
When her order was ready, Rose took her items and headed for the door, but couldn't keep herself from stopping at his table. "First you make it impossible for me to relax on my own patio, next you leave your plant clippings for me to clean up, then you keep me up most nights with your endless racket, and now…," she pointed down at the scone, "now this?"
He looked down at the table before him. "Am I at your table? You can join me if you'd like."
"Not the table," Rose snapped back. "The last scone. It's like you're doing this to me on purpose?"
Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled under his breath before addressing her. "Yes Miss Tyler, I walked all the way here and bought out every last scone just in hopes that you would come in and want to buy one. All to ruin your day."
"Honestly, I don't know anymore," Rose fought to keep her voice level so as not to draw any attention. "With everything else you've been doing to make my life miserable, maybe you did."
His eyes lit up. "Oh, so suddenly the whole world revolves around you?"
Rose's jaw dropped. He was using her own words against her. Now she was livid. "Are you seriously…"
Aiden leapt to his feet. "Don't bother!" He stood over her. "I'm tired of hearing it over and over again. It's exhausting. Why don't you give it a rest?" He bent down to pick up his scone, and a sly grin spread across his face as he eyed three flowers sitting in a vase on the table. With his opposite hand he reached out and picked the red one. "Next time, if you're going to say it," he held the flower up to her, "say it with flowers."
Speechless, Rose plucked the flower from his fingers.
Looking her directly in the eye, he took a large bite from his scone, chewing it delightedly. "Delicious!" He winked insolently before stepping around her to exit the shop, leaving Rose stunned... as always.
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