FIC: Conversing in Words, Fists, and Grunts
Title: Conversing in Words, Fists, and Grunts (Red Is My Colour Prompt for Day Twenty-seven)
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-ish
Characters/Pairings: Rhys, Ianto, mention of Jack/Ianto
Setting: post-series two
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Words: 1,220
Summary: Rhys drives an out-of-sorts Ianto back to Cardiff.
A/N: Still sick, but feeling better after having slept for twelve hours!
Rhys eased on the brakes and flicked his indicator when Ianto came into view. There were no other cars, or any other signs of civilization this far outside of Cardiff, really, but people who did not use their indicators were pond scum, in Rhys’ opinion.
Ianto climbed into the passenger seat and grunted a “Thanks” as he buckled up. As Rhys pulled away, he carefully checked his rearview and sideview mirrors. Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even have any idea how Ianto had got there himself.
Rhys glanced over at his companion out of the corner of his eye. Ianto’s jaw was clenched, hands curled into fists, eyes staring straight ahead. His usually immaculate suit was rather the worse for wear, and damp along the edges from tramping through the snow to make it to the road.
Rhys reached over and twisted the knob for the radio. Ianto flinched at the sudden movement, his hand automatically dropping to his side, where Rhys knew he kept a firearm.
“Little tense there, eh, Ianto?” Rhys gently teased him.
Ianto grunted again. He was starting to prove something that Rhys was only beginning to figure out for himself. Ianto was a mid-twenties, everyday bloke. The suit was like his uniform; it gave him authority and gravity that age would give another man. The same went, in a way, for his impeccable manners. Perhaps Ianto had learned to treat others with respect and common courtesy. Now, however, the real man was starting to show beneath the mask. Rhys wondered if Ianto would scratch himself next, and then decided that he could handle never witnessing the event.
“So . . . you and Jack have a row, then?” Rhys wanted to take the words back the minute they were out of his mouth. Ianto was staring at him incredulously. Rhys had just broken the first rule of mate-dom: don’t ask about what the other bloke obviously doesn’t want to talk about.
“Um . . . what happened to the SUV?” Rhys backpedaled.
Grunt. “Engine fell out.”
“Really? Wow! Was there a fire?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Rhys paused. “Where’s it now?”
“Garage, back there.”
“Oh.”
Duffy’s distinctive whine issued from the radio.
“Bit overplayed, this song, yeah?” Rhys gestured with his knuckle to the radio.
Ianto grunted again.
A petrol station beckoned from the next rise.
Rhys cleared his throat. “I’m going to stop there, okay?”
Ianto grunted. Rhys was getting a little sick of all the grunting. He wasn’t a pig farmer, after all. He flicked on his indicator and parked at a pump. They were the only car there; at the side of the building, a group of kids were playing some sort of game.
Rhys got out of the car and surveyed the pump. It was an older model, none of that automatic stuff, but he figured it out. Much to his dismay, he found himself whistling that Duffy song as he started to fill up. A shout from the side of the building caused him to raise his head.
“Oi! You little fag! Come back here and tell me how much you want to suck my cock!”
A slight boy was trying to run away from the group while the biggest one taunted him and the others laughed. As Rhys watched, debating what to do, the big one stooped, picked up a rock, and expertly pinged the slight one in the back. He fell flat on his face, and the pack jeered. Rhys hung the petrol hose back up and started forward, but before he had taken two steps, Ianto was there. He pulled back his arm and punched the big one in the nose. Blood erupted.
The big one fell to his knees, clutching his face, and his cronies started forward, until one of them spotted Ianto’s holster and they abruptly stopped. Two of them darted forward to help the big one up and then they all turned tail and went running off. Rhys made to help the slight one up, but he, too, had fled the scene.
Rhys sighed. “Come on, Ianto, I have to pay for the petrol, then let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Ianto didn’t spare him a glance, just marched over to the car and got in, slamming the door. Rhys rolled his eyes, and stepped into the station to pay. The clerk grinned at him when he came in.
“No charge! I’ve been wanting to do that to the little Smith wanker for years!”
Rhys nodded his thanks, and rejoined Ianto in the car. Ianto’s eyes were closed, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists.
They drove back to Cardiff in silence. Finally Rhys broke it.
“Hub or flat?”
Ianto was silent. Rhys glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Ianto looked . . . a little scared.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about from the group at the petrol station; the clerk implied that everyone wanted to knock that wanker down a peg or two.”
Ianto looked back at him, startled. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Okay. So where do you want to go?”
Ianto steeled himself. “Hub.”
Rhys pulled up to the Millennium Center a few minutes later, but Ianto made no move to get out of the car, just sat there, staring straight ahead.
“Ianto?” Rhys asked, hesitatingly.
“He told me he loved me. When I was driving. I mean, we were on the phone, talking about aliens and the usual shit and I said I’d be back soon, it was a false alarm, and then he said, ‘I love you, Ianto,’ and hung up and I drove off the road and into a ditch.”
Rhys closed his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting that.
“What am I supposed to say to that? We don’t say things like that. Not even when we’re fucking! I was driving, far away, and he chooses then to spring that on me? I don’t know what to do with it.”
Rhys sat back in his seat. This was a bit more than he had bargained for, himself. At least Ianto hadn’t conveyed it in grunts. That would have taken awhile.
“Well,” he started nervously. “You’re in love with him, yeah? I mean, that’s what it looks like to me.”
Ianto nodded slowly. “But it’s easy to fall in love with Captain Jack Harkness.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So maybe you should just tell him that you love him back, and even if it’s not true now, it may be true later, so you wouldn’t really be lying.”
Ianto finally looked at him. “That’s terrible advice.”
Rhys was a little affronted. “Well, excuse me, but I don’t hear you coming up with any brilliant plans!”
Ianto sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “Sorry, Rhys. Thanks for coming to get me.”
He finally unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, getting out.
“Wait!” Rhys exclaimed. “So what are you going to say?”
“Dunno.” He closed the car door, hesitated, and then leaned in through the window. “You see, I’ve always loved him, I just don’t want to admit that to him.”
Rhys grinned, and put the car back into drive. “Just try not to sound like a fucking greeting card when you say it, yeah?”
Ianto grunted as he pulled away.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-ish
Characters/Pairings: Rhys, Ianto, mention of Jack/Ianto
Setting: post-series two
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Words: 1,220
Summary: Rhys drives an out-of-sorts Ianto back to Cardiff.
A/N: Still sick, but feeling better after having slept for twelve hours!
Rhys eased on the brakes and flicked his indicator when Ianto came into view. There were no other cars, or any other signs of civilization this far outside of Cardiff, really, but people who did not use their indicators were pond scum, in Rhys’ opinion.
Ianto climbed into the passenger seat and grunted a “Thanks” as he buckled up. As Rhys pulled away, he carefully checked his rearview and sideview mirrors. Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even have any idea how Ianto had got there himself.
Rhys glanced over at his companion out of the corner of his eye. Ianto’s jaw was clenched, hands curled into fists, eyes staring straight ahead. His usually immaculate suit was rather the worse for wear, and damp along the edges from tramping through the snow to make it to the road.
Rhys reached over and twisted the knob for the radio. Ianto flinched at the sudden movement, his hand automatically dropping to his side, where Rhys knew he kept a firearm.
“Little tense there, eh, Ianto?” Rhys gently teased him.
Ianto grunted again. He was starting to prove something that Rhys was only beginning to figure out for himself. Ianto was a mid-twenties, everyday bloke. The suit was like his uniform; it gave him authority and gravity that age would give another man. The same went, in a way, for his impeccable manners. Perhaps Ianto had learned to treat others with respect and common courtesy. Now, however, the real man was starting to show beneath the mask. Rhys wondered if Ianto would scratch himself next, and then decided that he could handle never witnessing the event.
“So . . . you and Jack have a row, then?” Rhys wanted to take the words back the minute they were out of his mouth. Ianto was staring at him incredulously. Rhys had just broken the first rule of mate-dom: don’t ask about what the other bloke obviously doesn’t want to talk about.
“Um . . . what happened to the SUV?” Rhys backpedaled.
Grunt. “Engine fell out.”
“Really? Wow! Was there a fire?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Rhys paused. “Where’s it now?”
“Garage, back there.”
“Oh.”
Duffy’s distinctive whine issued from the radio.
“Bit overplayed, this song, yeah?” Rhys gestured with his knuckle to the radio.
Ianto grunted again.
A petrol station beckoned from the next rise.
Rhys cleared his throat. “I’m going to stop there, okay?”
Ianto grunted. Rhys was getting a little sick of all the grunting. He wasn’t a pig farmer, after all. He flicked on his indicator and parked at a pump. They were the only car there; at the side of the building, a group of kids were playing some sort of game.
Rhys got out of the car and surveyed the pump. It was an older model, none of that automatic stuff, but he figured it out. Much to his dismay, he found himself whistling that Duffy song as he started to fill up. A shout from the side of the building caused him to raise his head.
“Oi! You little fag! Come back here and tell me how much you want to suck my cock!”
A slight boy was trying to run away from the group while the biggest one taunted him and the others laughed. As Rhys watched, debating what to do, the big one stooped, picked up a rock, and expertly pinged the slight one in the back. He fell flat on his face, and the pack jeered. Rhys hung the petrol hose back up and started forward, but before he had taken two steps, Ianto was there. He pulled back his arm and punched the big one in the nose. Blood erupted.
The big one fell to his knees, clutching his face, and his cronies started forward, until one of them spotted Ianto’s holster and they abruptly stopped. Two of them darted forward to help the big one up and then they all turned tail and went running off. Rhys made to help the slight one up, but he, too, had fled the scene.
Rhys sighed. “Come on, Ianto, I have to pay for the petrol, then let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Ianto didn’t spare him a glance, just marched over to the car and got in, slamming the door. Rhys rolled his eyes, and stepped into the station to pay. The clerk grinned at him when he came in.
“No charge! I’ve been wanting to do that to the little Smith wanker for years!”
Rhys nodded his thanks, and rejoined Ianto in the car. Ianto’s eyes were closed, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists.
They drove back to Cardiff in silence. Finally Rhys broke it.
“Hub or flat?”
Ianto was silent. Rhys glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Ianto looked . . . a little scared.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about from the group at the petrol station; the clerk implied that everyone wanted to knock that wanker down a peg or two.”
Ianto looked back at him, startled. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Okay. So where do you want to go?”
Ianto steeled himself. “Hub.”
Rhys pulled up to the Millennium Center a few minutes later, but Ianto made no move to get out of the car, just sat there, staring straight ahead.
“Ianto?” Rhys asked, hesitatingly.
“He told me he loved me. When I was driving. I mean, we were on the phone, talking about aliens and the usual shit and I said I’d be back soon, it was a false alarm, and then he said, ‘I love you, Ianto,’ and hung up and I drove off the road and into a ditch.”
Rhys closed his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting that.
“What am I supposed to say to that? We don’t say things like that. Not even when we’re fucking! I was driving, far away, and he chooses then to spring that on me? I don’t know what to do with it.”
Rhys sat back in his seat. This was a bit more than he had bargained for, himself. At least Ianto hadn’t conveyed it in grunts. That would have taken awhile.
“Well,” he started nervously. “You’re in love with him, yeah? I mean, that’s what it looks like to me.”
Ianto nodded slowly. “But it’s easy to fall in love with Captain Jack Harkness.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So maybe you should just tell him that you love him back, and even if it’s not true now, it may be true later, so you wouldn’t really be lying.”
Ianto finally looked at him. “That’s terrible advice.”
Rhys was a little affronted. “Well, excuse me, but I don’t hear you coming up with any brilliant plans!”
Ianto sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “Sorry, Rhys. Thanks for coming to get me.”
He finally unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, getting out.
“Wait!” Rhys exclaimed. “So what are you going to say?”
“Dunno.” He closed the car door, hesitated, and then leaned in through the window. “You see, I’ve always loved him, I just don’t want to admit that to him.”
Rhys grinned, and put the car back into drive. “Just try not to sound like a fucking greeting card when you say it, yeah?”
Ianto grunted as he pulled away.