Ianto Jones strummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his Audi. He looked up at the shop front and then looked at his watch again. When Miranda had gone into the bookshop, she'd told him she'd only be ten minutes or so. Twenty minutes had passed and he was beginning to grow concerned. He was parked illegally on the London street and it was a miracle a traffic constable hadn't happened along but a ticket wasn't his worry. They'd arrived in London for the annual UNIT and government briefings two days ago and Miranda had been in a positively foul mood.
Jack had always despised these briefings and, this year, had made the command decision to delegate them. After he'd decided to bring Miranda back to Torchwood three years ago, he'd discussed the matter of the second-in-command position with Ianto and Gwen. Since Jack's time with the Doctor, Gwen had been the presumptive second-in-command but, when Jack suggested it, the former PC was all too eager to shed the administrative duties and trim her role back down to local liason. Miranda had reluctantly accepted the position and Jack had been weaning more and more responsibilities onto her ever since.
They'd been in London for two days now and even though Miranda wasn't her cheerful self, Ianto couldn't help but be grateful Jack wasn't with him this year. Usually he ended up leaving a diplomatic hailstorm in his wake that Ianto ended up having to smooth over in the weeks following their return to Cardiff. Given the fact that Miranda had greeted Ianto and Jack on her doorstep with a loaded gun, Ianto had had his doubts about her diplomacy skills but she was a far more effective and subtle diplomat than Jack. Unfortunately, while she was the picture of manners and poise during the two days of UNIT meetings, once they were over, she became short tempered and snappish, retreating to her room at their hotel suite and emerging only for meals.
Ianto had gotten to know Miranda quite well since she had returned to Torchwood, the two forming a close friendship, and her mood wasn't that of a disgruntled employee. At first, the Welshman had attributed his friend's anger to how ill timed these meetings were for Miranda and Nora's budding relationship but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe he'd seen too many movies but the deserted looking shop and Miranda's odd behaviour had the distinctive air of the clandestine.
Tomorrow the two of them needed to be at Downing Street to meet with the Prime Minister and then it was on to Windsor Castle for tea with Her Majesty. Though the meetings during their first two days were not as disastrous as they could have been, they were still stressful and tense and Ianto wasn't hopeful about tomorrow. He'd been looking forward to an early night with some room service followed by a long soak in the large jetted tub back at their hotel suite. Miranda had thwarted his plans when she'd insisted she needed to stop here, a small rare bookshop in a dodgy section of east London. That had been twenty minutes ago. Thirty now… That's it…
He checked his gun before getting out of his car and walking towards the shop. As he opened the shop door, a bell tinkled and he immediately squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose. The place looked as if it had been closed for years. Musty and dark, nearly everything in the store was covered in a thick layer of dust.
A long faced man emerged from the back of the shop, only slightly shorter than himself with a similar build. His hair was short and dark. He didn't seem the least bit pleased someone had walked into his shop and wanted to be rid of him as soon as possible.
"I'm sorry. We're closed," he said hurriedly, with a slightly Welsh accent that surprised Ianto.
"It's all right, Adam. He's with me," Miranda said, bored. She had been right on the other man's heels and was standing behind him with a sour look on her face.
"Is he now?" the other man said with a leer. He then turned to the immortal woman to say something to her in a language Ianto neither understood nor recognised.
The sour look on her face deepened and she rolled her eyes.
"Ianto Jones. Adam Pierson," she said, introducing the immortal man by his alias. Ianto had no way of knowing he was standing in front of Methos, the oldest living immortal.
Ianto nodded a slight acknowledgement. Methos smirked and spoke again in the unknown language.
Her patience at an end, she hissed, "You're being rude, Adam. As usual."
He clapped his hand to his chest and said dramatically, "You wound me, my darling."
"Stop that. Histrionics don't suit you," she snapped. Without a word of farewell, she started for the door.
Methos snagged her arm as she brushed passed him, whipping her around to kiss her soundly. Miranda settled into the kiss, returning it for the briefest of moments… before recoiling backwards and punching him hard in the jaw. He staggered backwards against the counter, spitting blood.
"This changes nothing between us," she said, a slight quiver to her voice and then turned on her heel and strode for the door.
"You can't stay mad at me forever!" he called after her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
She gave no answer and Ianto followed her out of the shop door. Once out in the open air, he saw her conditioned series of movements - a sharp inhale followed by a slow exhale as she rolled her shoulders. The sequence was something he'd seen her do over and over again in the years he'd known her to calm herself.
Her eyes didn't look quite as murderous as she said, "I'm sorry about that Ifan."
"It's fine, Mandy." He was concerned and understandably curious but he didn't bother asking. He'd known her long enough and gotten to know her well enough that he knew when he wouldn't get a straight answer or, more likely in this case, any answer at all. "We should get back to the hotel. We have to be at Downing Street early."