FIC: Let's Not Talk About It
Title: Let’s Not Talk About It (Red Is My Colour Prompt for Day Six)
Author: blue_fjords
Pairings/Characters: Owen, Ianto, reference made to Jack/Ianto
Setting: between seasons one and two
Word Count: roughly 1,000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: PG-13, for swearing
Summary: Owen's thinking. Ianto's doing.
Prompt:
As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.
“Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”
-- Charles Dickens,
A Christmas Carol, Stave II - The First of Three Spirits
Owen sighed irritably, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. This was wonderful. Just bloody wonderful. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm, and blew on his hands. Loudly. Ianto didn’t even glance at him, just continued rolling the spare tire over to the front left of the SUV.
Owen looked back out at the fields, stretching as far as he could see. “Have I told you, Tea Boy,” he began, breath puffing in the chill air, “how much I hate the countryside?”
Ianto did not reply. Owen huffed to himself. He may as well be dead for all that Ianto would notice. He was reminded of a game he used to play with himself when he was a boy. He called it “When I’m Dead, Won’t They Be Sorry.” The object of the game was to get his mother to look up from her drink and acknowledge his presence. Ianto was a worthy opponent, but his mother, oh his mother had won near every game they ever played, and hadn’t even known it.
Owen scowled down at Ianto. Not only was he stuck on the side of the road with his least favorite co-worker, now he was thinking about home, his least favorite place.
It was all the girls’ fault, he decided, as Ianto brought out the tool box and set to work. Gwen, with her doe eyes and bleeding heart, and Tosh, with her mind-boggling lack of self-confidence - they had unexpectedly joined forces and sent Owen and Ianto off on this wild goose chase. Well, they had sent Owen. Ianto had fucking volunteered for the job. He practically reeked with the desire to do something other than talk about Jack bloody Harkness, and Owen was the only teammate guaranteed not to ask about his feelings.
The two of them had driven to within sight of the border between Wales and England. Tosh had tracked a series of small surges, so tiny that they normally would have ignored them, but then that morning the tiny surges had suddenly multiplied. Five tiny surges? Not important. One hundred tiny surges? That warranted investigation. But what did they find when they got there? Alien toothpicks. One hundred fucking alien toothpicks. Owen felt like Rain Man. No, Ianto was Rain Man. Owen wanted to be Tom Cruise. What was his name in that? Jerry? No. Charlie? Yeah, that was right. Charlie Babbitt.
Ianto had the flat tire off now and was wrestling on the spare.
Still, the day hadn’t been a complete bust, until the flat. Owen and Ianto had spent the drive to the border in utter silence. No cheesy male-bonding moments. No “Hey, I’m sorry I shot you, will you forgive me;” no “That’s okay, man. I’m sorry I made light of your demented sex life with our fucked-up boss who doesn’t give a shit about you.” So maybe Owen was still a little bitter.
But then Owen had run over a branch. It was still sitting there, in the middle of the road, about 10 yards behind the SUV. Owen glared at it. Dumbass branch. Ianto was probably going to insist on driving back, now.
Ianto grunted to himself, shoving against the spare tire. It didn’t sound at all pornographic. Until he cursed softly and sucked on his pinched fingers. Then Owen was forcibly reminded of an early morning in the Hub, about three weeks before Jack Left, just days before Diane.
Owen had been autopsying a Weevil that he and Jack had spent the greater part of the night chasing after it had killed a man. The smell of Ianto’s freshly brewed coffee reached down to the medical bay, and Owen suddenly couldn’t wait for it; he had to follow it to its source. He was just within sight of the coffee maker when Ianto accidently closed a cupboard on his fingers while grabbing out a package of biscuits. Ianto had cursed softly, and Jack had walked into Owen’s line of sight. Jack took Ianto’s hand in both of his, and slowly raised the swollen fingers to his lips. His eyes never left Ianto’s as he sucked at his fingers. It was so unexpectedly erotic. And then Ianto had taken his fingers out of Jack’s mouth, and used that same hand to wrap around Jack’s neck to pull him into his personal space. Ianto had kissed him with an open mouth, unabashedly eager, like a drunkard downing his first whiskey in a year, and Jack’s hands had circled his waist, underneath his suit jacket, running up and down his sides. Owen had forgotten about the coffee.
He wished he could forget about the whole damn incident again now. On the ground, Ianto finished with the tire, despite his pinched fingers. He hefted the toolbox in one hand, stood up, and hoisted the flat tire in his other arm. His eyes met Owen’s.
Owen didn’t know what Ianto could see in his eyes, but whatever it was, Ianto just nodded and said, “You ready to drive home now?”
It was the most he had said all day, and the only thing Owen wanted to hear. He gave him a grimace that could almost pass for a smile, and gallantly opened the back of the SUV for Ianto to stow the toolbox and hole-y tire. Owen got behind the wheel and revved the engine as Ianto clambered into the passenger seat, quickly fastening his seatbelt.
Waste of time kind of day? Check. Zero heartfelt conversations? Check. Freezing arse off in the back of beyond? Double check. But Ianto was letting him drive despite hitting the branch, and that fucking counted for something.
Author: blue_fjords
Pairings/Characters: Owen, Ianto, reference made to Jack/Ianto
Setting: between seasons one and two
Word Count: roughly 1,000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: PG-13, for swearing
Summary: Owen's thinking. Ianto's doing.
Prompt:
As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.
“Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”
-- Charles Dickens,
A Christmas Carol, Stave II - The First of Three Spirits
Owen sighed irritably, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. This was wonderful. Just bloody wonderful. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm, and blew on his hands. Loudly. Ianto didn’t even glance at him, just continued rolling the spare tire over to the front left of the SUV.
Owen looked back out at the fields, stretching as far as he could see. “Have I told you, Tea Boy,” he began, breath puffing in the chill air, “how much I hate the countryside?”
Ianto did not reply. Owen huffed to himself. He may as well be dead for all that Ianto would notice. He was reminded of a game he used to play with himself when he was a boy. He called it “When I’m Dead, Won’t They Be Sorry.” The object of the game was to get his mother to look up from her drink and acknowledge his presence. Ianto was a worthy opponent, but his mother, oh his mother had won near every game they ever played, and hadn’t even known it.
Owen scowled down at Ianto. Not only was he stuck on the side of the road with his least favorite co-worker, now he was thinking about home, his least favorite place.
It was all the girls’ fault, he decided, as Ianto brought out the tool box and set to work. Gwen, with her doe eyes and bleeding heart, and Tosh, with her mind-boggling lack of self-confidence - they had unexpectedly joined forces and sent Owen and Ianto off on this wild goose chase. Well, they had sent Owen. Ianto had fucking volunteered for the job. He practically reeked with the desire to do something other than talk about Jack bloody Harkness, and Owen was the only teammate guaranteed not to ask about his feelings.
The two of them had driven to within sight of the border between Wales and England. Tosh had tracked a series of small surges, so tiny that they normally would have ignored them, but then that morning the tiny surges had suddenly multiplied. Five tiny surges? Not important. One hundred tiny surges? That warranted investigation. But what did they find when they got there? Alien toothpicks. One hundred fucking alien toothpicks. Owen felt like Rain Man. No, Ianto was Rain Man. Owen wanted to be Tom Cruise. What was his name in that? Jerry? No. Charlie? Yeah, that was right. Charlie Babbitt.
Ianto had the flat tire off now and was wrestling on the spare.
Still, the day hadn’t been a complete bust, until the flat. Owen and Ianto had spent the drive to the border in utter silence. No cheesy male-bonding moments. No “Hey, I’m sorry I shot you, will you forgive me;” no “That’s okay, man. I’m sorry I made light of your demented sex life with our fucked-up boss who doesn’t give a shit about you.” So maybe Owen was still a little bitter.
But then Owen had run over a branch. It was still sitting there, in the middle of the road, about 10 yards behind the SUV. Owen glared at it. Dumbass branch. Ianto was probably going to insist on driving back, now.
Ianto grunted to himself, shoving against the spare tire. It didn’t sound at all pornographic. Until he cursed softly and sucked on his pinched fingers. Then Owen was forcibly reminded of an early morning in the Hub, about three weeks before Jack Left, just days before Diane.
Owen had been autopsying a Weevil that he and Jack had spent the greater part of the night chasing after it had killed a man. The smell of Ianto’s freshly brewed coffee reached down to the medical bay, and Owen suddenly couldn’t wait for it; he had to follow it to its source. He was just within sight of the coffee maker when Ianto accidently closed a cupboard on his fingers while grabbing out a package of biscuits. Ianto had cursed softly, and Jack had walked into Owen’s line of sight. Jack took Ianto’s hand in both of his, and slowly raised the swollen fingers to his lips. His eyes never left Ianto’s as he sucked at his fingers. It was so unexpectedly erotic. And then Ianto had taken his fingers out of Jack’s mouth, and used that same hand to wrap around Jack’s neck to pull him into his personal space. Ianto had kissed him with an open mouth, unabashedly eager, like a drunkard downing his first whiskey in a year, and Jack’s hands had circled his waist, underneath his suit jacket, running up and down his sides. Owen had forgotten about the coffee.
He wished he could forget about the whole damn incident again now. On the ground, Ianto finished with the tire, despite his pinched fingers. He hefted the toolbox in one hand, stood up, and hoisted the flat tire in his other arm. His eyes met Owen’s.
Owen didn’t know what Ianto could see in his eyes, but whatever it was, Ianto just nodded and said, “You ready to drive home now?”
It was the most he had said all day, and the only thing Owen wanted to hear. He gave him a grimace that could almost pass for a smile, and gallantly opened the back of the SUV for Ianto to stow the toolbox and hole-y tire. Owen got behind the wheel and revved the engine as Ianto clambered into the passenger seat, quickly fastening his seatbelt.
Waste of time kind of day? Check. Zero heartfelt conversations? Check. Freezing arse off in the back of beyond? Double check. But Ianto was letting him drive despite hitting the branch, and that fucking counted for something.