Ianto Jones was draped across Miranda's bed, laying on his side, his head propped up on his hand. Even though he didn't really classify himself as such, in the grand tradition of gay male friends, he'd agreed to help her pick an outfit for her date. He was losing count as to the number of times she'd changed clothes. And I thought I was a clothes horse…
He had to admit that he had gotten himself into this situation. The two friends were trying to return to their normal routine after their fight. The drive back from London had been an awkward and messy affair. The two had ended up shouting at each other and after Ianto had suggested that perhaps Jack should be made aware of the possible threat to her life, Miranda had suggested that perhaps she should remove some choice pieces of Ianto's anatomy that Jack was quite fond of.
The two had avoided each other for days and, their stubbornness reaching new heights, hadn't talked for nearly two weeks unless unavoidably work related. Jack had tried to mediate between his lover and his ex-wife but after receiving the same threats to his anatomy from Miranda, had backed off. Not surprising to Jack, it had been Ianto who had swallowed his pride first. The young Welshman had tracked down one of Miranda's favorite desserts, a half-Westernised concoction of chocolate and sticky glutinous rice formed into a small bun. Ianto timidly knocked on Miranda's door one night with the sweets in hand. They hadn't talked about it much, Ianto afraid of opening the wound again. Miranda had merely accepted the sweets and apologised for yelling at him. The next day, she'd presented Ianto with some freshly made Welsh cakes. Things had been tense between the two of them but they were gradually returning to normal.
"So where are you going with Nora tonight?"
The two women had managed to squeeze in a second date before he and Miranda had had to travel to London. They had been back now for just over a month and a half and Nora and Miranda had managed a few more dates and were now trying for a fifth. Interrupted by Torchwood and the rift, it had been cancelled twice.
He hadn't thought it possible that someone could have less of a life than him. Before she'd started dating Nora, Miranda rarely left the Hub and spent nearly every free hour she wasn't working practicing her sword skills or exercising. The only socialising she seemed to do was with the rest of the team and that wasn't something she did often. He had been shocked to learn that Miranda's last date had been with their technician, Joseph Fischer nearly fifteen years ago and he was practically scandalised to learn that Jack was the last person Miranda had taken to her bed over six years ago. As far as Ianto Jones was concerned, his friend needed to get out more or, at the very least, get laid.
"Umm… a concert at the university. I forget what she said they're playing."
"You hate classical music," he observed. Miranda's love of modern popular music was a constant source of amusement for him.
"Nora likes it," she said as she stepped back into her bedroom. She was wearing a knee length sheath dress, deep purple lace draped over black satin. It was a pretty dress but wasn't really date worthy. He was about to open his mouth when something in his face must have betrayed what he was about to say, Miranda's face fell and she walked back into her closet, reaching up to unzip the dress.
"I can't believe you don't like any classical music." It wasn't his cup of tea either but he had a healthy respect for all good music.
He could hear her eyes rolling. "This from the man who blasted Blue Gillespie all the way to London and back? I like some of it. It might sound cliche but I enjoyed Beethoven's ninth. I haven't been able to stomach the modern renditions."
That statement made Ianto sit up. "You heard the originals?"
"I saw a performance of Herr Beethoven's ninth symphony when it premiered in Vienna," she said from inside the closet.
"Did you see him? Beethoven?" Ianto asked in awe. From his history, he knew that Beethoven was at those performances himself. Miranda almost never spoke of such things. She generally remained silent about any person or event of significance she may have known or experienced. It was a sharp contrast to Jack who constantly told stories of how he'd shagged his way across the whole of human history.
"Yes, the Maestro shared the stage with Herr Umlauf during the performances. It was some of the most incredible music I had ever heard. The modern versions have lost something." She stepped out of the walk-in again, this time wearing a pair of tan trousers that sat low on her hips with a gold, woven belt. She had on a beaded top that had a deep scoop neck and no sleeves. "How about this?"
"Very nice. Bit dressy isn't it?" and regretted saying it immediately as Miranda's face fell and she disappeared back into the walk-in. Ianto let out a small groan and rolled onto his back. "Mandy! You look fine!"
"I don't want to just look 'fine', Ifan."
"You look beautiful… sexy even," he said flatly, picking up her pillow and tossing it above him.
"Don't be rude," she called.
When she appeared again, this time wearing a pair of dark grey trousers with a thin black patent leather belt and a bright pink ruffled top with a plunging v-neck, Ianto felt blood rushing away from his head. He swallowed on a slightly dry throat.
"You look great. Stunning. Really gorgeous," he said, slightly breathless.
Miranda raked her eyes down his body and smirked. "Now that's the reaction I was looking for."
Blushing, Ianto dropped the pillow in his hands over his hips as Miranda laughed at him.