• Cyrilla typed, listening to the computer keys click without any particular rythem. She listened to those by the water cooler talk. Her keen ears didn't need to tell her they were talking about her again.

    She'd worked at Torchwood for two years, and she was still doing data entry. Not that she minded the long hours, and the low profile work, but it felt as though she was doing useless work and being overlooked because she was an alien. By alien, not meaning in Great Britain illegally, but from another world. She knew her father was, he'd given her his dark blue eyes that turned black when her temper flared, as it did now.

    She continued typing, her jaw set, not noticing her friend Dallia come over to her desk. Dallia was level two, and she was allowed in the file room, as well as to meetings and the rest of the normal Torchwood business.

    "They're talking again," Cyrilla said, not looking up, but continuing to fix her dark gaze on the computer screen.

    "They're always talking," Dallia said, somewhat sympathetically.

    "Files are right there," Cyrilla guestured with her head in the direction to her left.

    "Mhmmm," Dallia murmered absentmindedly.

    Great. Jack Harkness. Most elegible bachelor in Torchwood. Immortal. Unkillable. Well, that's what everyone said, but you can't trust the rumors. Cyrilla didn't even bother to look up from her work as all the rest of the girls in the cubicle started gaping, and drooling over Torchwood's top agent.

    Cy rolled her eyes. "He's not your type, Dallia," she said deadpan.

    To be continued...