Sorry for the huge delay in uploading- further maths is a killer. I've also been working on a purely Downton series, but I've finally found the time to sit down and write this one. The next chapter will probably be the last, just as a warning.
"What the bloody hell has he gone back in time for?" Gene thundered. He stared at the letter in Branson's hands in disbelief. "He could at least've told us he was going to go poncing off on his time-travelling adventures!"
"Maybe he just wanted to get back to Annie and Chris as soon as possible." Branson offered, but was shot down by Gene.
"He could've taken you two with 'im as well! And how the hell has he managed to get there anyway?"
"It says here he found that bit of meteor." O'Brien was looking over Branson's shoulder at the letter with interest. "Says he thinks it's the key to the pothole."
"Portal." Branson corrected.
"Portal, pothole- either way there are bloomin' big holes in the fabric of time! What if we start getting dinosaurs coming through?" Gene paused for a moment, and thought. "Actually, having a T-Rex on the team could be good. He could do Ray's job- they 'ave about the same size brains!" He chuckled to himself, and elbowed O'Brien in the ribs. She rolled her eyes at him.
"What do we do now?" O'Brien asked Gene. This did nothing good for Gene's ego- O'Brien asking him a simple question was followed by the self-assured thought that in a crisis he would be flocked by hordes of women clamouring for his protection. Puffing his chest out he replied grandly.
"Well, it seems like Tyler's got this thing under control- when he brings Annie and Chris back he'll drop you two off wherever you came from."
"Finally. I thought we'd be stuck here." The relief was evident in Branson's voice. Gene narrowed his eyes at him.
"Yes- I was beginning to worry you'd be stuck here too." Gene hurriedly rethought, and turned to O'Brien.
"Not you. You're alright. Just him because he's…" Gene lost inspiration.
"Because I'm not a psychopathic misogynistic drunken racist?" Branson offered helpfully.
"Irish. You're Irish. You're not." He added to O'Brien, just in case she was in any doubt over her own nationality.
Branson shook his head and walked away, muttering something along the lines of 'fascist racist sexist'.
O'Brien eyed Gene warily, thought about making a point, but couldn't be bothered and so turned to the washing-up. She'd barely started when Gene cleared his throat. She turned round, one eyebrow raised. To her surprise Gene was staring sheepishly at the floor, and for the first time since she'd met him he looked slightly unsure of himself.
"It's probably your last day in this time then." He started, still not looking her in the eye.
"Yes, it seems that way." O'Brien wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"So, I was thinking just now, me and you could…" Gene hoped O'Brien would help him out. He got no such luck.
"Yes? We could…" O'Brien's eyebrow was still raised.
"Dinner. At eight. That Italian place round the corner." It was more than an order than an invitation, but Gene didn't wait for an answer. Pausing only to grab a biscuit on his way out, Gene stormed out the door, leaving O'Brien standing by the sink, eyebrow back to its normal level, and mouth forming an 'o'.
. . . . .
"Sam!" Sam turned round. He'd been helping Thomas clean the surprising amount of clock parts in the courtyard, but was interrupted by Annie rushing towards him. Reaching him, she wrapped her arms around him so tight he started choking.
"Annie… can't… breathe." He managed to cough out. Annie hurriedly stepped back, looking abashed.
"Sorry, it's just, I haven't had a chance to properly talk to you, and I just…" she broke off, blinking back tears.
"I don't even know why I'm crying! This is good, isn't it? We can finally get back home, can't we?" she continued, now distinctly red in the face. Thomas grudgingly held out a cloth for her to dry her eyes.
"Of course we can go back. I was just waiting until you were ready to go." Sam patted her on the back, feeling awkward.
"I'm ready now, can we go?"
"How about we find Chris first, yeah?" As much as Sam too wanted to get back home, he wasn't going to leave Chris behind.
"Oh, right, I think he's in the garage. Wait there, I'm going to get changed." Annie remembered she was still wearing dress and apron, and raced back into the house to put her normal clothes back on, barrelling into Daisy on the way.
Daisy dropped the bucket she was carrying, sank onto the step, and put her head in her hands.
. . . . .
"You're late." O'Brien looked up from where she was standing, as Gene finally pulled up outside the restaurant.
"I'm fashionably late." Gene replied arrogantly.
"Flaming rude more like." O'Brien strongly resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Are we going to stand here all night arguing, or are we actually going to have dinner?" Gene barged into the restaurant rather like a cowboy entering a saloon, and left O'Brien to hurry along in his wake. He slumped down at a table, and waited for O'Brien to do the same. Instead, she stood there, not sitting down.
"I take it you're not going to pull my chair out for me?" She asked.
"Oh you are high and mighty tonight aren't you?" Gene retorted, but rose and pulled her chair out all the same.
"Thank you." O'Brien smirked to herself.
"Are you ready to order?" A waiter had soundlessly appeared by Gene's elbow. He jumped slightly.
"Bloody hell, I've only just sat down!"
"Indeed. I shall come back later then." The waiter disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, clearly disgruntled.
Gene glared down at his menu. "I just realised, I can't speak a word of this poncy language." He clicked his fingers at a passing waiter.
"Oi! Do you do stake here?"
"Stake, sir?" The waiter enquired.
"Yes, stake, real man's food. None of this pasta business!"
"I see sir. I'll see what the kitchens have." He left, leaving Gene being shot angry glares from other diners. O'Brien couldn't help it. She smiled.
. . . . .
The evening was going pretty well, despite the grudges the staff were holding against Gene. O'Brien was more relaxed than she had been since she had entered service, and was even laughing freely, without malice, at the countless stories Gene told her.
The evening was going pretty well, until Tom Branson burst into the restaurant.
Again, sorry it's short, but the next chapter will be longer, and hopefully up within a week. And also by then I'll be able to write something a bit more romantic between O'Brien and Gene!
