Spoilers: beginning of S2
Summary: It wasn't a good start to her Sunday but it turns out bizarrer than Abby had imagined too. Abby/Connor USTness + OC.
A/N: Written belatedly for fififolle's birthday, who asked for Abby/Connor + pizza. Not betaread because she usually does my betas and didn't want to spoil the surprise.
Abby got up out of bed and groaned, she was so hungover after the office Christmas party. She should never have thought she could out drink any of the SF lads, that much booze had been such a bad idea.
Glancing at her watch she groaned in frustration. Shit, it was 2pm, which meant she'd missed her regular advanced kick boxing class. It was probably the last time they'd tolerate too, considering how many times in the last year she'd been called away in a hurry by an anomaly appearance. The excuse that she worked for a top secret government agency wouldn't cut it even if she could tell them, who'd believe that? As far as they knew she had a mostly boring Home Office consultancy job, which was as close to the truth as anyone came, including her family. Ah well, just another way work got in the way of having an semblance of a life.
She tentatively stick her feet out of bed and realised that unlike when she usually got up, earlier than Connor, it was warm – the heating was on. Connor had remember to put the heating on, and unless he'd forgotten to turn it off, that meant he was here and possibly she could beg for his kindness in bringing her some tea and breakfast whilst she died on the sofa.
However, she hadn't got far up the hall when she realised Connor wasn't alone.
“Squeeze it out, don't be gentle. It won't work without enough.”
“There isn't enough!”
It was devious to eavesdrop but her curiosity was piqued now. Mainly because Connor barely ever had friends over who said anything more than a gruff “Hi” between bites of pizza. Besides, they were actually talking pretty loud. It wouldn't really count as eavesdropping with them being such oafs and her happening to be in the hallway...
“Fine then, use this instead. It's as good a substitute as any of that if you're stuck.”
There was a strange splurting noise as something obviously came out of a tube or a bottle in a hurry.
“Are you sure you're meant to put that much on?” queried Connor, sounding distinctly uncertain about all that was going on.
Question was, what the hell were they doing on a Sunday? As far as she knew Connor lazed in bed until mid morning, long after she'd normally leave, and then mooched about in the flat playing video games and watching whatever trashy scifi films he'd recorded on that new gadget he'd got installed in the summer by the cable company. Abby crept closer in order to hear a bit better,
“Trust me, won't you? I said I'd show you how it's done and then you can get some practice in before you do the same for her. By the time you show her you'll be an expert and she'll love it, no doubt about it. ”
It sounded like Mark Spencer, one of the ARC's general dogsbodies. He did a lot of hands on organising, oversaw equipment lockers, rotas for the cafeteria etc. In fact Mark always seemed quite hands on overall, happy to help with a wink and a smile type of guy, and so she was sure the thud she heard was him giving Connor an inspiring slap on the back – didn't sound like anywhere else at least.
“I dunno mate, not sure I can get the hang of this malarky. There's too much to remember-”
“Just think about what you've seen before, get a picture out if you have to when you're practicing alone, then it'll come back to you. But it's easy really; that goes on there, and so does that lot, should be obvious how and then it goes in here. 20 minutes later everyone's happy.”
She took a step forward, determined to find out what they were doing in there and tripped up on her dressing gown tie, falling flat on her face and into the kitchen doorway. A few seconds went by in stunned silence before the men reacted and peering up at them she was distinctly relieved to see them fully clothed. There was what looked like flour stains on Connor black jeans, and as they hiked her up and set her on the nearest stool, she gazed across the mucky counter tops. She sniffed the air and even in her dazed state she could tell...“Isn't something burning?”
Connor raced across to the oven, swinging the door open and momentarily forgetting the gloves, giving out a yelp. Mark was quick to guide him to the sink, turning on a subtle mix of the cold and hot taps - Connor let out a sigh of relief at the soothing feel of the water that made Abby slightly uncomfortable considering where her brain had taken previous noises and chatter in here – and then the other man swiftly presented her with a rather crispy pizza, sliding it off the tray onto a larger white plate.
Abby stared down at the pizza. It was blackened around the edge and had a few gaps with no sauce, plus a veritable mountain of cheese in the middle. She looked back up at Mark and he leaned a bit closer than necessary. Before she could wonder what he meant by it, he whispered sort of conspiratorially to her, “It's probably not as good as he wanted you to see, but he made it just for you lass, which has gotta count for something.”
She leaned to one side, taking a good look at Connor stood by the sink, who seemed concerned at what was going on but still with his hands firmly under the running water. There was nothing for it but to eat every bit of the damned thing and be grateful, she guessed.
“Thanks, Con.” she said, holding up a small chunk on her fork and showing him her taking the first bite. She smiled and swallowed it, and for all the horror it appeared to be it tasted fine. As she took another bite she considered the fact that actually, despite having had expensive dinners and proper dates with other blokes in the past – sometimes with flowers and chocolates and all that lot - not one had ever bothered cooking for her, not even the chef she'd dated.
Mark watched her eat, which was a little odd but she supposed he deserved thanks for being a willing tutor. She was about to say as much, except he opened his mouth first, another quiet comment.
“In all their fifty years of marriage my da never cooked a single day for my ma, so count yerself lucky.”
Abby swallowed hard and wondered how long Mark planned on sticking around the flat.