Temporarily Waylaid in the World of the XX
Rating: G
Word count: ~ 1400
Warnings: Crack and bad humor.
Summary: Ianto hates the entire world with a passion, and he’s beginning to see that the feeling is most definitely mutual.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Because apparently once I start writing crack I just can't stop. Geez, I'm sorry for this, but it just kind of spewed out and I couldn't control it. Also, this was typed on my phone, which does not recognize English as anything but a spelling error. If there’s anything glaringly wrong, please let me know, but I think I got most of it. The title also deserves an apology, but I just couldn't resist.
Temporarily Waylaid in the World of the XX
Ianto hates the entire world with a passion, and he’s beginning to see that the feeling is most definitely mutual.
It’s very, very tempting to call in sick, even though he’s never done that in his life before now. But calling in sick means that Jack will worry, and bug Owen, and Owen will get fed up and storm up to Ianto’s flat after several hours of Jack's hovering to find out just how dead Ianto really is. Then, when he sees Ianto in his current state, he will either laugh himself sick or call Jack in. Possibly both.
No. If Ianto is going to face them anyway, he’d rather it be on his own terms.
He looks down at himself, contemplates what he’ll need to do, and immediately shuts the thought down. It’s far too early for this, and he needs coffee. Ianto heads for the coffee machine, pulling his biggest mug from its emergency-use-only place as he passes. If this doesn't qualify as an emergency, he doesn't know what would.
When he’s drunk his own weight in the finest Jamaican Blue Mountain, he allows himself to contemplate the order of the day, drawing up a mental list of needs that should be addressed. The first problem is clothes. Ianto spends nearly five minutes staring in despair at the neat rows of perfectly pressed suits in his closet before resigning himself to the fact that they'll no longer fit in the least. Yet another black mark against the universe today. And he’d had such high hopes last night, laying out Jack's favorite suit and his own favorite tie, and contemplating whether the Rift would allow them to keep dinner reservations, should they be made.
Not that it matters now, Ianto supposes.
Thankfully, there's a small boutique down the street that happens to open early, and the sleepy salesgirl is entirely sympathetic to his story of lost luggage. She outfits him with everything he’ll need, including shoes-enough outfits for several days, in case this should continue that long-and tries to give him a discount, though he politely refuses. The commission is enough to widen her eyes, and Ianto is glad one of them is having a good day.
By the time he bears his purchases home and manages to dress himself-all of the clothing is unnecessarily complicated, and it’s already driving Ianto spare-it’s about the time he normally leaves for work.
Ianto is so completely unprepared to face the Torchwood team right now. He stands in the doorway of his apartment for several minutes with his eyes closed, breathing deeply to ward off the panic attack he can feel gibbering in the back of his mind. Oh, this isn’t good at all.
“Oh, my!” A voice startles him into opening his eyes, and he finds himself face to face with Morgan, the mother of two who lives next door. She’s got her daughter perched on her hip and her son hanging on her arm, and she’s smiling at him. “I’ll say! I didn't know Mr. Jones had a sister.”
Ianto manages a smile, though it’s the last thing he wants to do at the moment. “Rhiannon,” he offers on a whim, nearly holding out his hand before he realizes she doesn't have any free limbs. “I don't get to visit much.”
“Morgan,” she offers in return, and bounces her baby a little. “I’d shake, but… Anyway, it’s very nice to meet you. Maybe you can stop that brother of yours from working too hard.” With a nod and a small wave, she vanishes into her apartment, and Ianto beats it down the stairs, cursing the day.
What in God’s name could have possessed the universe to turn him into a girl?
*.~.*.~.*
Thankfully, although Jack has been threatening to get some sort of bio-scanner security system for the Hub, he hasn't yet-
(“What do you mean I have to fill out all of those forms? That’s cruel and unusual, and I'm disappointed in you, Ianto. If you're going to kill me, at least have the decency to do it personally.”
“Sir, you wanted to know what it would take to change the Hub’s security system. This is the absolute minimum. Good luck.”)
-so Ianto gets in easily enough through the Tourist Office, weighted down with three bags of groceries and one paper sack from everyone’s favorite bakery. He’s not above a bit of bribery to get the day to go a little more smoothly.
Ianto is usually the first one in every morning, even when he hasn't spent the night with Jack. It’s comforting to have the Hub all but to himself, making coffee and laying out breakfast foods and starting up the computers. Sometimes, he’ll catch Jack coming out of the showers, and Jack will drag him down to his bunker to make a very wonderful morning indeed. And even when he doesn't, there's companionable silence between them, an ease of being that lasts for the rest of the day.
Except, of course, the universe has deemed that this is the day it will kill Ianto dead, so Gwen is at her desk filling out forms, Tosh is half-asleep over her computer, and Owen is stalking out of Jack's office, Jack following him to the doorway.
Ianto closes his eyes, stamps on his panic, and makes his way down the stairs as best he can in clothes he is most definitely not accustomed to. “I have breakfast,” he calls, injecting a completely false note of cheer into his voice. “Pastries, anyone?”
The sound of four guns cocking should not be that loud, not when the Hub is at its normal noise level. Ianto takes a breath, steps off the stairs, and raises an eyebrow at Jack as the Captain thunders his way down the stairs.
“Really, sir?” he asks dryly. “Torchwood code 27-A9, unwilling change of an agent’s gender due to artifact of alien origin. Must I quote the handbook?”
Jack almost misses the last step, barely managing to catch himself on the railing. “Ianto?” he demands.
Ianto gives him a perfunctory smile. “That damned Mycloxian chromosome alteration device,” he explains briefly. “Apparently what it does isn’t ‘nothing’ after all. I woke up this way.” A sweep of his hand incorporates the fact that he now has curves when he never did before.
There's a sound like Owen swallowing his tongue.
After a long moment, Gwen shakes her head and puts her gun away. “You make a lovely woman, Ianto,” she offers with a smile. “Will it wear off, or is there something we have to do to fix this?”
Tosh clears her throat and settles back at her desk, though her eyes keep flickering over to Ianto and back to the computer screen. It only takes a few keystrokes for her to call up the correct file. “It’s temporary,” she offers reassuringly. “Mycloxians use it for recreational purposes. Maybe three days?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto sees Jack open his mouth, a familiar expression crossing his features. With a sharp eye roll, he tugs off his heavy wool overcoat and hurls it straight into the Captain’s face. “No, Jack,” he snaps. “Whatever you were about to say, just, no.” Turning on one sensible heel, he stalks towards the kitchen, trying not to flinch at the feel of the skirt fluttering around his knees.
“But-” Jack starts mournfully.
Ianto ignores him, and tries not to let the feel of long hair on his shoulders distract him from his universe-induced snit.
He feels he’s entitled, after today.
Even if it’s only just gone seven.