A/N: Hm. Can't think of one.
Bluebottle: Thinks: What shall I thinks? Thinks: I can't think of a think! Unthinks.
OK, only people who listen to The Goons will get that. Anyone else will just think I'm even more of a loon than they already thought I was.
Still and all, you'd be right, so who am I to criticise?
Anyway. *wrenches mind back onto Fic with effort* This one took a while to materialise, mostly because it came in chunks. It appears to be Lynne's new method of working - somehow the Muses' Union has organised her flexi-time, so I get bits and pieces of lots of different fics all mixed together and cast up on the shore of my brain.
This one...is unusual. It's the closest to a True AU fic I've come yet. I can't actually tell you how it came about, because I don't really know. And it's not a one-shot, not if I have anything to say about it. As usual, though, that depends upon response...
Disclaimer: usual stuff. Digimon ain't mine. Matt and Tai may live inside my head (and they do), but I'm not authorised to do any of this stuff with them. And the London Underground doesn't belong to me either - I'd never fit it in my room.


_____



"The next station is Westminster. Change here for..."
"Nnh..."
As the carriage coalesces before my eyes, my first reaction is Oh, shit!
Luckily, my second is calm down, this is the Circle Line...
Then consciousness finally kicks in, and I realise I'm not upright. Damn it, Kamiya, you can't even stay awake for two minutes! One stop, that's all you had to go, but nooo, you had to go and fall asleep on god-knows-what...
'God-knows-what' appears in this case to be someone's shoulder. My eyes travel up the dark-blue material of a shirt to a pair of amused blue eyes behind lightly-tinted glasses.
Ah. So, an attractive young man's shoulder, then.
These are the kind of eyes you could fall in love with, even without the...my brain tries to analyse the input from sleep-blurred eyes...the lovely half-smile, flawless creamy skin and shampoo-advert-golden hair.
The amused smile becomes a lopsided grin. "I bet myself that you had beautiful brown eyes. I guess I owe myself a fiver."
Belatedly, I realise my head's still resting on his shoulder, and I'm staring up at him. I jerk away, blinking furiously to try and clear the sleep from my eyes. "What?"
When I can see again, he's still smiling amusedly at me, blue eyes dancing behind his glasses. "What stop were you hoping for?" He tilts his head towards the station map on the wall. "Because I don't think we're in Kansas any more."
I look at the floor, embarrassed. "I only wanted to go two stops."
His clear laughter fills the carriage, causing the only other occupant - an elderly man, as fast asleep as I was a minute ago - to shift and mutter unintelligibly in his sleep. "Oh, we left Baker Street behind a long time ago. But if you wait long enough it'll come round again. In the meantime," he stretches his long legs out in front of him and extends a hand to me, "Matt Ishida."
I take it, trying to regain some of my composure. "Taichi. Taichi Kamiya."
He chuckles again. "Not related to Boutros Boutros Ghali, are you?"
Despite myself, I can't help smiling. "My friends call me Tai."
"Mine wouldn't dare call me Matthew," my new acquaintance grins. "You're not English, are you?"
I shake my head. "Japanese. I'm over here working for the British Medical Journal. What about you? Ishida doesn't sound very English to me."
He gives a kind of one-shoulder shrug, as if to indicate that it's not important. "We moved here when I was very young. Dad's a journalist - he works for the BBC now."
A vague memory stirs - a grizzled-looking correspondent signing off with "...Ishida, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster."

A brief silence follows, and I use the respite to tidy myself up a bit - and take a few surreptitious sideways glances at Matt. I feel very plain next to him, in just a short-sleeved white shirt, red tie and pinstripe trousers. He looks stunning in a shimmery dark-blue shirt and silver tie, and of course those slightly-tinted glasses - are they prescription, or just for show? I can't tell...
The recorded voice chimes in again, telling us that this station is the Embankment, and to change here for Northern, Jubilee and Bakerloo lines. The train slides smoothly into the station - there aren't many people around at this time, even in such a big main-line station. Suddenly, just as the doors are opening, Matt grabs my hand and pulls me out of my seat. I barely have time to snatch up my jacket and case before the doors slam shut behind us, and we're out on the platform, the close air of the carriage swapped for the cooler but still artificial breeze of the station.
"I know a faster way," he explains. "We can take the Bakerloo from here straight to Baker Street. It'll cut at least half an hour."
"Fair enough," I manage to pant out as he lopes ahead of me, up stairs and through a bewildering maze of corridors. I only know my own little corner of the Underground - the Circle Line between the British Medical Association at Euston Square and Baker Street, and the Jubilee line out to Swiss Cottage where there's my favourite Vietnamese restaurant - so I haven't a clue where he's going.
I eventually catch up with him on an escalator, almost going head-first down it. He catches me just in time, grabbing my arm to steady me, and I look up into his laughing blue eyes. Those eyes never seem to stop laughing, even when his face is serious - it's as though he finds the humour in every situation.
Especially so when I've nearly broken my neck falling down an escalator. I dust myself off, trying to look nonchalant, but even as I do so we both hear the sound of a train pulling into the platform below.
He turns and grins at me. "Reckon we can catch it?"
"From here?" I stare incredulously at him. "No chance!"
"Want to bet?" And then he's off again, careering down what's left of the escalator and off through the station. I pant after him, bewildered, calling on my long-ago soccer training to keep up with him. People stare, and some glare, as we speed past them, rattling down the last set of steps onto the platform just as the doors are closing. Matt leaps onto the train, slamming the 'open' button to keep them from shutting completely; I just manage to squeeze through the last remaining gap before they clunk shut.
Unfortunately, since my hands are full with jacket and case, I can't reach up to grab one of the handholds before the train pulls off. The sudden motion throws me off balance, and I end up teetering precariously, unable to right myself. Just as I think I'm about to fall over, Matt grabs me, encircling me with his arms and keeping me on my feet. I look back over my shoulder, smiling up at him.
"Thanks."
"No problem," he smiles, sinking gratefully into a seat. "Told you we were going to catch it."
"Know-it-all." It's weird - I've known him barely ten minutes, and yet already we're teasing each other as though we've been friends for ages.
As I slide into the seat next to him, he stretches out an arm and drapes it around my shoulders. The gentle motion of the carriage is soothing, and even in the short time before we reach Baker Street I can feel my head nodding - only to be jerked awake by a prod from Matt.
"Hey, don't fall asleep on me again." He chuckles, and winks at me. "Not that I mind, but," he slides fluidly out of his seat, "this is your stop."
My stop? I can't help wondering at that, even as I grab my case and follow him off the train. If this isn't his stop, where is? Have I dragged him miles across London at gone eleven p.m., forcing him to trek all the way back again?
"Have I brought you out of your way?" I ask him as the elevator carries us up to ground level, but he waves my worries away.
"Forget about it. Five, ten minutes and I'll be back home. Dad's flat isn't far from Euston Square - or from the British Association, for that matter. So...maybe I'll see you around?"
There's a definite question in his voice as we step off the escalator. I guess the polite thing to do would be to thank him for his trouble, maybe swap phone numbers and half-hearted promises to call each other. I open my mouth.
"Walk me back to my hotel?"
Startled, I try to squint down at my mouth, wondering where those words came from - but the apprehension just melts away when Matt's face lights up.
"I'd love to."

I daren't open my mouth all the way back to the hotel, for fear of saying something else really stupid. It doesn't matter, though - Matt chatters away amiably, seeming not to notice my silence.
Truth is, I'm not saying anything because I'm trying to sort out my feelings. Matt is unbelievably gorgeous, and I can't deny how attracted I am to him, but I barely know the guy! I can't just jump into a relationship with him after five minutes!
On the other hand...he's not entirely indifferent to me, as that corny, cliché, perfect line about my eyes shows. And it feels like I've known him a lot longer than five minutes. And, when it comes right down to it...why not?

By the time the door of my hotel looms up before us, I've made a decision. For good or evil, I'm not letting Matt get away. I'm not a great believer in destiny or anything, but even if our meeting was coincidence, that doesn't mean I shouldn't take advantage of it. Sure, I could walk away, and he'd just be 'that cute guy I once saw on the Tube', but I'd much rather he were 'that gorgeous guy I met on the Tube and who is now my boyfriend'.
Now if I can just tell him that...
He stops at the door and extends a hand to me, a smile quirking his lips. "Well, I guess this is it. It was great to have you fall asleep on me. We must do it again sometime."
It's his laugh that does it - the clear, infectious laugh that soars out into the cold night air. My resolve hardens - I couldn't bear never to hear that laugh again. I steel myself, trying to sound flirtatious - or at the very least not as shit-scared as I really am.
"You mean you're not going to come in for coffee?"
His face lights up again, his already stunning features transformed even further by a huge grin. "Coffee...would be great."
I cover my embarrassment - and relief - by scrabbling through my pockets for my room key as he courteously holds the front door open for me. The girl at reception glances up, recognising and smiling at me - then does a double take as Matt walks through the door after me. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open before she has time to recover her composure; then she looks at me, winks, and starts semaphoring madly with her eyebrows.
I raise one of my own - I can speak Japanese and French, but not Eyebrow - and she beckons surreptitiously to me. I glance at Matt, who smiles at me, oblivious, before I move over to the desk.
"Who's that?" she hisses at me, before announcing - purely for Matt's benefit - "Room thirty-seven, sir?"
"Yes please," I answer, dropping to a whisper to tell her, "He's called Matt."
She makes a pretence of looking for my key - which, of course, I already have - whilst sneaking glances at Matt from under her lashes. "Quite the looker, isn't he?" she whispers, fluttering a hand over her heart.
I must've gone bright red, because she chuckles and winks at me. "There you are, sir," she grins, sliding the spare key to my room across the counter.
"Thanks," I manage, and she giggles again.
"Don't forget the 'Don't Disturb' sign," is her sotto voce parting shot, and I blush scarlet for the second time as I turn away.
Luckily, Matt doesn't seem to notice, as I gather up my coat and case and lead the way up the stairs, trying to ignore my pounding heart and churning stomach. I don't think I've ever been this nervous before in my life...

After what seems like fifteen flights of stairs, the door to room 37 finally reveals itself. I unlock it and dump my stuff gratefully in the corner of the room. True, it's on the small side, but it's clean, smells nice and has a bathroom and shower and oh god, nowhere to sit except the bed...
However, Matt doesn't mind, settling himself comfortably on the end of it as I try and coax the ageing coffee machine into some semblance of life.
"Nice place," he remarks as I curse and resort to violence against the intransigent machine. "You been here long?"
"Nope," I reply over my shoulder, cheering inwardly as the coffee-maker shows signs of life. "Just a month. Another two weeks, and then I'm off home to Japan. Sugar?"
He chews on his lower lip for a moment, caught between healthiness and taste and looking adorable in the process. "Go on, then. But I'll have it black - wouldn't want to fall asleep on your shoulder, now, would I?"
"I wouldn't complain," I tease in return, handing him a steaming cup of midnight-black coffee. He takes a sip, looking at me through the space between the rim of his cup and his trailing golden bangs.
"Mmm," he murmurs appreciatively, "now that is one good cup of coffee."
"I've had practice," I tell him, plopping down on the bed next to him and taking a long drink from my own cup. God knows I need the caffeine - I'm shattered.
"I guess I ought to apologise."
I turn abruptly at those words, searching for a sign that something's wrong, but there's still that spark of amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
"What for?" I respond guardedly.
"That terrible line about your eyes." He chuckles, shaking his head deprecatingly.
"Don't apologise," I tell him firmly. "I take it as a compliment."
"And it was meant as one." He sets his cup down, staring intensely at me. "I meant it. You have really beautiful eyes."
My heart catches in my throat as his hand seeks out mine, our fingers twining subconsciously together. Then he leans forward and kisses me.

We part a few seconds later, unwillingly. His lips are soft and warm, his taste indescribable; I lean back reluctantly, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as he gives me that lovely lopsided grin. "Wow."
"Wow yourself," I murmur, picking up my coffee mug and turning away to hide my embarrassment. I get to my feet, moving over to the sink to wash the cups, but he follows me. Within a second, his warm arms are around me, turning me back round to face him, and then his fingers are working on the top button of my shirt.
"I've been wanting to do this since I first met you," he says conversationally, his tone belying his actions. Then he flicks his gaze up to mine, dazzling smile and laughing eyes making my heart miss a beat. "I didn't just bet on your eyes, you see."
I stand there, not daring to breathe as his gentle hands shift down my chest, button after button, until finally he slides my shirt off my shoulders and it drops unheeded onto the floor.
"Whoa," he murmurs. I drop my eyes and blush again as he leans in close, lips barely an inch from my neck, breath warm on my skin. "I guess I win..."
Suddenly daring, I reach up to his face, sliding my hands up his neck and into his thick, lustrous hair. "Does this means I get to do something I've been wanting to do since I met you?"
He looks at me for a moment, unsure what I mean, and I take advantage of his confusion to slip my fingers up to his ears, unhooking his glasses and pulling them gently away from his face.
Wow. If his eyes were stunning before, without those tinted glasses in the way they are beautiful. Blue as the clearest deep water, as the cloudless summer sky. I trail my hands back through his hair, letting it flow through my fingers.
"Does your daddy know you're out this late?" I tease him as he takes my hands in his and walks backwards towards the bed, drawing me with him.
"I'm a big boy now," he murmurs, chuckling softly. "I can stay out as late as I want."
"I like the sound of that," I purr as he pulls me to him until he can kiss the tip of my nose. My last thought as his mouth slips down and captures mine is maybe the receptionist was right...the sign would've been a good idea...
Still, it's not like we're going to be available to answer the door, right?
Do Not Disturb...