songofsong | AU } Maybe in another life, we wouldn't be alone tonight

Melody's expression twists into a knowing little smile when he calls her clever. She likes the compliment, and she likes the fact he's saying it.

"Well, that is a shame," she says, because it's nice to share the things you love with another. "Instead, you're stuck here with me instead."

She's joking, but there is an undertone there that acknowledges he might not quite want her company for too long.

The comment earns a whole new expression, a raise of his brow and twist of his smile that twists into a smirk.

"Mm, good job I came alone, don't you think?"

It's rather overt, but why not be? He's enjoying sitting with her; she's a beautiful woman after all, there's hardly any reason to pretend otherwise.

She senses something there, a meaning that he's not trying too hard to disguise. She's not quite so sure if she's reading things wrongly though, and the idea that she might be is even more embarrassing. She chuckles quietly, almost awkwardly, going to pick up her glass again and distract herself with another sip.

She glances across to him as she does so, trying to work him out, if he really meant what she thought she meant - or had she gone truly insane.

She did have a history of her mind playing tricks on her after all.

"So, when did all this start?" she asks, attempting to steer them back onto a safer topic. "You know, the space thing."

He sees it, of course. He sees the way she hurries towards her drink. It tells him more than she's saying, paints pictures he doubts she intends. He passes no comment on any of it, though, simply stores it away for later.

"Oh, long as I can remember," he says, and it's perhaps more true than even she could realise. Truly, as long as he can remember. It might not be as long as most.

"But enough about me. What about you, eh? Tell me about you, Madame Curator."

"Oh, me?" she asks, as though the topic is a surprising one to find themselves on. She pulls a small face as though she can't think what to say. She can't, really. What can she tell him about herself that isn't going to sound awfully boring to a man his age.

"Well, I run the World Museum - of course, you already know that part. And, well, I guess same as you, really. I've been interested in history for a long time, and I found a place that cares about it as much as I do. I do a lot of work in the area, with the local schools and libraries. Really trying to get kids interested, you know? I feel like if you get them hooked young, they're interested for life."

It's only as she talks, that she starts to feel a little more confident, a little more sure of herself. Less of a performance from a woman who clearly hasn't been playing this part for some time.

There's something utterly compelling about her. He isn't quite sure what it is, but he finds himself utterly rapt. He wonders if he might not even if she was simply reading the phone book.

"Oh I'm sure they are," he says, and though it's not quite suggestive, it wouldn't take much to make it so if that's what he intended.

His eyes have already glanced towards her hand, already noted the absence of any sort of ring. She's got a son, she said that much, but maybe she hasn't got a husband.

"And when you're not at work?" he asks. "Or are you just all museum all the time?"

She smiles at his words, seeming a little more comfortable. It seems she too likes the opportunity to talk about what she loves without ridicule - or in her case, disinterest.

"Oh, it feels that way sometimes," she admits with a faint laugh, going to touch somewhat awkwardly at the back of her hair, primping unnecessarily. She's spent many a late night in that museum, long after the doors have closed. Both because there was work to be done, and because there was little waiting for her at home but a glass of wine and the telly.

"I.. do things outside work. I go places." The supermarket. "And see people." The neighbours.

"Go places, really, careful now," James responds as though she just told him she takes regular day trips to the moon, teasing her a little with a smile that matches his words.

But it's more than that, of course. While there's curiosity about more, there's reason behind it all. James isn't one to step on toes, and certainly not one to make advances where they ought not be one. But he also finds no reason to pretend he doesn't find Melody attractive. She is, after all. Attractive and fascinating.

At her latter words, his brow lifts.

"Oh yeah? Seeing anyone at the moment, are you?"

"Oh. That's not.. that's not what I meant," she admits sheepishly, almost taking another drink when she steels herself through it and keeps her glass on the table. Though her fingers do seem to wrap around it a little tighter.

She takes a moment before she lets some of that uncertainty fall aside, and responds a little more confidently than she felt.

"No. Not at the moment."

"Right," he nods a little, taking another swig from his beer, finishing off what's in the bottle.

"Well in that case, Melody. Can I get you another drink?"

When it seems that answers something for him, she looks over curiously, beginning to wonder if perhaps she wasn't jumping to conclusions as she first thought.

"Another drink?" she repeats, like he's offered her something entirely unprecedented.

"Same again?" he asks, pushing up from his seat and giving her a questioning look. There's no push there, no demand. He's not trying to force her to anything, far from it.

When it seems that's his answer, she looks back to the glass she's still holding before she begins to smile somewhat, a little more sure of herself, able to see a little clearer.

"Actually, I'll have a white wine," she says, looking up at him with a smile. Might as well let him know of her preferences if he's going to make a habit of this.

"White wine it is," he says with an appreciative little smile. He stops only a moment, glancing at her for perhaps longer than he needs to, before he steps aside and heads back over to the bar.

Over there, he orders himself another beer, and a wine for her, a good one, because despite appearances, he actually knows his wines and maybe part of him thinks she might find that a little impressive.

It isn't as though he came here with some pre planned intention. No, not that at all. But if there's anything James has ever been, it's one to take an opportunity when it's put his way. He tries to live without regrets, without a world of what ifs and maybes. Live, because that's what life's for, isn't it?

A few minutes later, he's stepping back towards the table, setting down the large glass of wine in front of her. "It's the New Zealand Sauvignon. You never can get them very good in places like this but it should be alright."

Once he had left the table, Melody glances back to watch him go before she turns back to the wall, raising both eyebrows to herself at this whole evening. She had no idea what she was doing here, but it seemed the best thing to do was just sit back and see what happens. Something that she's not done in a long time, which is what makes her think it's about time she did.

When he returns to the table, she smiles at the sight of the large glass, eyes wandering upward when he speaks. "Oh!" she says, pleasantly surprised and indeed impressed by his knowledge. Too, impressed by his thoughtfulness.

"That's lovely, James. Thank you," she says, going to take hold of the glass to take a needful sip. Definitely needed it for what she was apparently letting herself in for.

"Any time," he says, bringing himself back down into the chair, but this time pulling it around a little, closer towards her. The pub is getting busier of course, louder, so it's no surprise he might need to get closer just to maintain conversation.

Or at least that's one reason.

"You know you shouldn't mix your drinks," he tells her, another gentle tease. "You might have a hell of a headache in the morning." So he's heard, he doesn't tend to get hangovers himself.

Though he'd know all about headaches.

She notices that he chooses to sit himself a little closer, and it does nothing to stop the thought that have started to run through her head. Like, what if he is interested in her? As mad as that sounds, what if he genuinely wants more from her that a casual drink in the pub. What would she do?

She tells herself she's undecided, but there's no denying the tense breath that flows through her as she goes to cross her legs, trying to maintain an image of composure.

"Oh, I'll be alright with just the one," she assures him. She's done the bar scene enough times to know what she can or can't handle.

"Glad to hear it," he agrees, leaning back a little in the chair, lifting one ankle and crossing it over his leg, more like he's sitting at home than in a pub. He looks at her, watches her, his curiosity clear.

"You know I hope you don't mind me saying," he starts, "but you've got some amazing hair there." Even with it damp from the rain, he's almost fascinated by those curls, and even pinned and somewhat restrained as they might be.

"So museum, check. Son down south, check. What else should I know about you, Melody?"

She can't help but smirk slightly when he makes a comment on her hair. She's never been within a man who didn't love those curls. She knows it's one of her more distinguishing features.

"Thank you," she says sincerely to his compliment, looking over to him with a warm smile. Adjusting the position of her wine glass, she fits forward against the table, chuckling when it appears he's running down a checklist.

"I don't know. That depends on what you want to know about me."

The way she smiles, the way she moves, it makes him smile in return. His position almost mirrors hers, and when she leans forward he slips his ankle from his leg and leans forward a little.

"Oh I'd say that depends what you want to tell," he says, almost conspiratorial.

"When was the last time you left your work at work?" he asks. "And I mean really. The last time you said fuck it and just enjoyed yourself?"

Melody purses her lips slightly as she considers before she gives a casual sort of shrug, acting far more relaxed than she normally dared. He was certainly bringing it out of her.

"Hm, I'd say about ten minutes ago," she replies, knowing she's playing his game now. But that's alright. It's ok if she knows he wants that. But any sign of uncertainty from him, and she'd close up again.

If he'd been looking for anything in particular, it seems she's found it, and that answer lights his eyes up a little.

"Ohh I like you," he tells her, smiling, before quickly adding, "good answer."

He takes a long swig from his beer, regarding her before his eyes flick down towards the small pull along suitcase by her feet.

"You know you packed for overnight. It'd be a shame for you to just go back home after you went to all that effort." Teasing, really, because it's hardly effort. Still though, the comment is pointed even if he is playing games.

She laughs when he says he likes her, and she really laughs. Not a flustered sort of chuckle that's trying to hide her insecurities, but full-bodied and warm, the kind of laugh that River used to have, and he used to love.

The mention of her suitcase causes her eyes to dip downward, eyebrows lifting slightly at the implication she was hear in his voice. She doesn't acknowledge it, however, because he has to try a little harder than that.

"Well, I might try and head down tomorrow instead," she replies, a knowing look in her eye, knowing that she's purposely ignored the point to his teasing.

He can tell she's playing with him, and oh he likes that. It's fun when it's a game, a bit of back and forth, giving as good as she got. He knew there was a reason he liked her.

One of his hands lifts, pushes back through his hair, shifting his fringe away from his eyes only for it to fall back again as soon as his hand moves back away. He's silent a moment, watching, waiting until she takes another sip of her drink, and only then does he go on.

"When were you last fucked, Melody?'

It works, because she almost splutters out her mouthful of wine when he asks that question. Both that, and her reaction making a touch of colour come to her cheeks. She covers her mouth to hide any splashes of wine and she gives him a slightly wide-eyed look.

"James!" she scolds as she sets the glass back down, her hand falling away from her lips. She doesn't answer him though - she rather hopes he wasn't expecting an answer - because the truth is a little embarrassing.

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